#i am a flaming bundle of sticks and everyone knew but oh well

[plantgothsimblr]

Anyway, I'm Sapphic. 💗🤍🌸🤍💗

Dasit.

[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Capriccio (Chapter 4)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow whose ask box is always open for questions, comments, and anything else about this story as well!

Catching the small flames of romance, starting to get turned on higher. They have a tour to do, right? Not spend all their time making goo-goo eyes at each other.....unless?

Content | Fluff

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 8274

Taglist | @damianodavide @lizstans @unitermoonshine @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you@vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @nientedaridere @rainbowmarta @tiaamberxx @shaunthesheesh @enjcltaire @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3 @dacey0eg @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @solasullabarca @fanfictionandfluff @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @bookish0918 @mehrmonga @kanevill @butterfly-skinnylegend @lidiyabest @ccweasley @bluscryn @deluxeplanteater @ohtorchio @bidet-and-legolas @maybanksslut @katyldamusic @fedorable-killjoys

***

"Thomas," Y/n stared down as he entered the bus. "When I gave you my personal number it was meant for emergencies, not you texting me because you forgot what "sempiternal" means in the middle of the night. What were you reading anyway?!"

"Nothing." Thomas looked up at her from where he was sitting, wide eyes, feigning innocence.

Y/n shook her head, not believing the guitarist and his horrible poker face, but not being bothered enough to question him any further either. “Well, next time you have a question like that in the middle of the night, ask google instead.” She gave him a warm smile and a little pat on the head as she passed him by, moving down the hallway of the tour bus.

It had become a routine for her to stop at the stove first, starting the coffee for everyone, then having a look around as she was waiting for it to boil. Damiano was slumped over on a couch, his head in his hand and still half asleep. She wondered how little rest he had gotten last night, after meeting him out on the balcony at 2 am.

Had he stayed awake for hours, like she had? Had he been thinking about her, the way she had been thinking about him? He had flirted quite heavily last night and she wasn’t sure whether to attribute it to his sleepiness, or if he had meant it at all. She wasn’t quite sure what she was hoping for either. He was insanely attractive, and the attention he gave her made her heart beat in ways no other man had managed to do before. But this wasn’t the time or situation to turn into a bundle of nerves because of a boy.

Even if her brain had decided to play fantasies of him storming into her hotel room last night. Demanding to kiss her. Holding her face in his hands. Looking at her with those dark, hazel eyes, like she was the only person in the world. Probably smelling of sleep and cigarettes and all that made him inherently Damiano. She knew the smell well, it had been haunting her all throughout this whole fucking tour. But the fantasies kept coming, imagining him in love with her, even if she never truly believed in it. It was a nice idea, nothing more.

The sharp hiss of the coffee pot pulled her out of his thoughts and woke up Damiano from his half-slumber. Tired eyes trying to make out the source of the noise, smiling slightly when realising that caffeine was coming his way. Y/n quickly moved to get his cup ready, preparing it the way she had already learned he preferred. He readily held out his hand for the beverage, fingers briefly touching. She almost dropped it as sparks ran through her. She wasn’t sure if he had felt the same or simply hid it better. But as soon as the cup was safely in his hands, she turned back around. Back to the stove to take a deep breath and continue her morning routine.

I need to get over myself. This is a job. Getting fluttery over your boss is not gonna help get the job done. Ignore him. He didn’t feel anything. You need to work. Not imagine something that is never gonna happen. It's not gonna happen, Y/n.

She made quick work depositing the other mugs to Victoria and Thomas, before finding Ethan in the very back of the bus. Drum sticks in hands and absentmindedly tapping a beat on the table in front of him.

“Coffee?”

“Yeah, thank you,” he answered, absentmindedly. “Hey, Y/n, does this sound good to you?”

Ethan started to play out a beat, effectively ignoring the cup that had been placed on the table, as she sat down beside him to listen.

“I’m no musician, but it certainly sounds good to my ears!”

Ethan gave her a proud smile, putting his drumsticks to the side for a second to take a sip from his drink. Y/n, grabbed them immediately, beating randomly on the table.

“You know what? I may have to take you up on your offer of teaching me to play. Love how you guys always have stuff around, you’re just constantly thinking about music. I wish I knew how to play," she sighed.

“I can show you a bit of drumming right now, if you’d like?” He offered. “Just a bit of a rhythm on the table right here.”

He moved closer to her, taking her hands in his as she kept holding onto the sticks and tried to get her to play a little, easy beat, but the angle was awkward and her wrist was bent too much to properly tap along.

“Okay, this isn’t working,” he laughed. “Would you mind, um, moving between my legs?”

Y/n could feel another blush coming on. It may be just Ethan, but it IS Ethan and Ethan sure is pretty. She studied his face, unassuming, nothing but a welcoming smile. But she felt odd. She had only been working for this band for a few days, yet she’d already grown closer to them than any other client she had worked with before. Normally she’d do her job, get a quick thank you on the way out, and then just retire somewhere. Do uni work, wait for further instructions. This whole thing was new and as much as she was enjoying it, she wasn’t sure if she was crossing lines she shouldn’t as a personal assistant. Then again, what was the harm in a little lesson? It wasn’t like there was anything else to it. This wasn’t him trying to flirt with her, this was him trying to be a friend. She could do with a friend.

With a quick nod, she moved and sat down on the floor in front of Ethan. Nestling between his legs as he held her hand. Helping her get into position before backing up a little to give her more space. Grabbing her hands again with the sticks to demonstrate how she was supposed to hold and then hit the table. He leaned over her to watch what she was doing. She understood quickly, getting the hang of it and before she knew it Ethan had let go of her hands as she was successfully keeping the rhythm going.

“See? Natural talent,” he laughed behind her.

Neither of them had noticed Damiano walk down the corridor towards them until he stopped in the doorway.

“Ah, Dami! Look what Ethan taught me!” Y/n starts repeating the little rhythm with the biggest smile on her face, proud of herself and what she’d learned in such a short time. Ethan leant back, watching her with a smile.

“Good job, Y/n. Keep going and you might replace Edgar soon,” Damiano said, ducking into the bathroom with a laugh.

Y/n watched him disappear. Her heart fluttered as he left her sight. If he could just not be my boss, that’d be fucking great…

She stood back up to sit next to Ethan on the couch, shaking the thought off. “I see why you like drumming, it’s fun.”

“Thank you, I think so too. You enjoy being our assistant, by the way?” Ethan asked, looking at her inquisitively while finally continuing to drink his coffee.

“Actually, yes. Best job I have ever taken. I know your manager is an absolutely wonderful woman. Didn’t know she planned this position for me originally though, kinda scared me to be honest.”

“Are we scary?”

“No, no. You’re all lovely. You are the biggest group I’ve worked for so far, so there’s that. But…” Y/n moved to sit on her leg now, leaning closer to Ethan, starting to feel more comfortable around him. “You four are indescribably amazing people. My mum would probably call you ‘people after God’s heart’,” she imitated her mother’s Northern accent, making Ethan laugh.

“Shocking, I know, that we’re normal!”

Y/n smacked his chest.

“No! You are far better than anyone- no one on this bus is ‘normal’.”

“Even the driver?”

“Especially the driver.”

***

Damiano hadn’t meant to listen in, but standing behind the slightly closed door of the restroom, he couldn’t help himself, even if it was killing him. Ethan and Y/n would probably be really good for each other… The thought flashed through him. No. It wouldn’t happen. Not under his watch.

Last night had been a blessing and a curse. After finishing his smoke, he had stood out on the balcony for a little longer, imagining the conversations they would have been having if she had stayed out with him. Under the moonlight. Måneskin. Her hair down, she would probably go get another glass of wine. Coming back out to see him.

“What about you, amore mio? Working on more Shakespeare?”

“Yes. Always. I work hard for things I want, you know me. All work no play makes Y/n a happy girl,” she would snicker into her wine glass.

“What if I wanted you. What would I have to do? Never been shy about ... hard… work, either…”

“Why don’t you come and find out, the door is unlocked…”

With a heavy sigh, he moved to the sink to splash some water on his face, raking it through his hair. It was only early in the morning, he didn’t need to unscrew his head just yet. She was just a girl. Just some girl that worked for them. There were so many people on the team, she was simply one of them. But she was also a woman, with wants and needs and desires, and oh, how he would love to attend to every single one of them… Maybe I could be a need for her, for the beautiful woman just one room over. He screamed internally. He was done for.

***

By the time Y/n left Ethan to his coffee, Damiano was back on the couch with a pen and paper, gears visibly turning in his head. He didn’t even look up when she entered. See, just a guy, Y/n thought. Victoria was busy bickering with the driver about wanting to stop at a service station within the next hour. Thomas was scrolling through his phone absent-mindedly.

As soon as Vic had finished her conversation, she walked over to where Y/n was sitting, letting herself drop onto the seat next to her heavily, laying her head on her shoulder. “Y/n I want snacks.”

“I bought snacks, they’re in the cupboard.”

“But, fun snacks! Like you,” the bassist winked.

“As much as I love the compliment, Victoria, I am sure the driver will take us to the next petrol station after hearing your plea.” She kissed the top of the blonde’s head. “You can survive a little longer without sugary snacks.”

Victoria looked up at her with big blue eyes, wrapping her arms around the assistant. “But what if I can’t, Y/n,” she whined, pulling a dramatic pose. “What if I waste away without fun snacks.”

“Vic, love, nothing here will make you die because you haven’t had food. I provided all of you with breakfast - it was your decision to let Thomas eat yours.”

“And I don’t regret a thing!” Thomas shouted from his seat, all three of them breaking out into laughter. Y/n grinned, eyes falling back onto some of the papers in front of her, ready to get back into work. Victoria’s arm looped around Y/n’s as she snuggled into her shoulder with a pitiful sigh.

***

Goddamnit, not her, too.

Damiano had meant to start writing some more, lyrics and words and images flowing through his head in a chaos that needed to be tamed by pen and paper. But as soon as he had sat down Victoria had started moaning about snacks and her little interaction with Y/n had taken up all of the brain space the lyrics should have. His eyes kept focusing on the closeness between the two of them. The way Vic leant her head on Y/n’s shoulder, the way she in turn kissed the bassist’s head. So far he had only considered Ethan to be a concern. But now the thought of Victoria herself meddling was increasingly growing. So she might have had a boyfriend but that had been, what? Years ago? She had said? And the guy had been a dick. What if she’d just given up on men completely, deciding to exclusively date girls from now on? Fuck.

Staring at the way Victoria was now cuddling her, his thoughts ran wild. Was this still friendly? Was the smile she was giving Vic flirty? Maybe she hadn’t been returning his flirtations the way he’d been hoping because it was Vic she was interested in, not him?

Dwelling on these thoughts wasn’t going to help. Jealousy, envy, insecurity… as interesting as they would be as drag names, they weren’t going to solve the issue. Damiano felt stuck. Making heart eyes at a girl who was three feet away while she was none the wiser. Yet it was Victoria latching onto her arm. He wasn’t surprised. She was gorgeous, and funny, and cared about people. And Vic had a lot of good qualities he himself didn’t possess. Maybe it’s the boobs? His brain mused, but he shook it off. That wasn’t it, he was sure of it.

***

Victoria studies Damiano. His face would have been unreadable to anyone else, obviously lost in his thought. But she knew him well enough to understand that the look on his face was one of insecurity and upset. Not necessarily at anything in particular, just upset. Her eyes softened. Raising a brow at the singer. He simply shrugged, shaking his head, then taking the notebook he was carrying everywhere. Opening it up, staring at the words written there, but not adding anything. Yet his eyes never stopped flicking away to everyone else around him, obviously restless. What was up with him? If there was one thing Victoria hated it was one of her friends feeling off and her not being able to do anything about it. But she knew Damiano, and she knew it could be hard to get him to budge if he didn’t want to talk.

As their eyes met once more, she took the chance to mouth at him, “You alright?”

His eyes flashed at Y/n for a split second, he probably hadn’t even noticed it himself, before nodding with a tight-lipped smile, then looking back down at his pages. That was when it finally clicked in Victoria’s mind. It was about her. And from the looks he kept secretly giving her, the problem wasn’t dislike.

***

“SNACKS!” Victoria and Thomas all but yelled as the bus pulled into the parking lot of a little petrol station. The band ran out of the bus, stumbling over each other like a hoard of kindergartners, and Y/n couldn’t help but smirk at their behaviour. Following them in a much more composed manner.

By the time she entered the shop, all four members of the band had dispersed into different corners. Trying to figure out what to buy. Damiano was holding up two chocolate bars, obviously trying to decipher what the difference was with no knowledge of Swedish whatsoever, before shrugging his shoulders and taking both.

Y/n was still in the doorway, grabbing a basket and consulting a little list on her phone. As much as she loved to let them run wild, she would not completely have them overdose on sugar. No matter how much they wanted to. She still felt responsible for their wellbeing, even on their days off. Juice felt like a sensible choice.

Suddenly, she saw a hand appear from behind her, casually taking out some orange juice from her basket. She turned around in surprise, only to be faced with Thomas looking at her with wide eyes, obviously feeling caught.

“No healthy stuff from the petrol station!” He suddenly shouted, grabbing her whole basket now and running away with it.

“Thomas!” She flew after him before she knew what she was doing, almost running over Ethan as she chased the guitarist through the little store. With not much space available, they ended up going round and round one of the shelves, until Thomas unceremoniously crashed into a cooler when he didn’t manage to take a turn in time. Trying to bite back a smile, Y/n walked over, breathlessly asking him if he was alright, as laughter still bubbled out of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Victoria, giggling away, phone pointed towards them.

“Oh no, you’re not putting that on the internet!” Y/n pointed a finger at her in what she hoped was an authoritative gesture, but Victoria wasn’t impressed.

“Too late!” She squealed as she skipped away, out of reach, to pay for whatever she had picked out.

Thomas had gotten back up on his feet in the meantime, contents of the basket still spilled all around him, sporting a pout.

“Stop it with that face,” Y/n scolded, but she couldn’t keep the smile at bay. “Go pick out your favourite snack, you can add it to my basket.”

Thomas happily skipped away as Y/n quickly picked up the mess, then moved to another aisle finding Damiano there. He seemed to be debating over the crisps now, having moved on from the chocolate bars.

She stood to the side, her eyes flashing over him a couple more times than necessary. He was just too pretty. It was simply impossible to look away. Even now, no fancy clothes, no stage makeup, no grand performance, he was mesmerising.

Her brain couldn’t help itself, images and ideas flashing in front of her eyes. Going to a petrol station on road trips with their future kids. Them bouncing around, chasing each other over a candy bar. Her and Damiano trying to get them not to cause a mess, slightly annoyed, but always laughing along with them.

She looked at him again. In a blink, the daydream changed.

It’s past midnight. He’s in the same sweatshirt he’s wearing right now. Her arms wrapped around his torso. Looking up at that beautiful face of his. Him picking up condoms from the health section. Winking at her with that certain glint in his eyes. Smacking her arse on the way to the cashier. Filled with giggles and flirtatious glances and knowing what the night ahead would entail. The anticipation crackling around them.

Oh, to be that girl. The girl he looks at with lustful eyes. The one he wasn't to make a baby with. Not the one to be ashamed of.

***

Damiano had chosen what kind of crisps to buy long ago. He simply was too busy staring back at Y/n, who seemed to be lost in thought. Eyes focused on him, yet apparently not noticing him looking back. He could basically see the gears in her head turning, mouth slightly open, far away in her mind.

Whatever enraptured that beautiful mind of hers… He wanted to know - could he be that very thing someday? Be so involved in her thoughts that it caused her to finally slow down? Get her to relax. He kept daydreaming about the massage he had given her the other day. How she had melted into his touch. He wanted that again. But more. He wanted her sighs and her moans as he worked her body in any way she would let him. Hell, he’d be her personal roadie if she wanted.

Fuck, he was smitten. She was always so strong-willed, so passionate. That night on the balcony had done nothing to help his fantasies. Her teaching him how to dance? Bodies close to each other, breathing the same air… Whatever perfume she used, he wanted to drown in it.

***

Victoria had been on the way back out, snacks acquired, Instagram story uploaded, and ready to head back to the bus for the last two hours of the ride. However, she stopped dead in her tracks when Y/n and Damiano caught her eye. Both of them were staring at the other, yet neither seemed to realise it. Just lost in their own worlds. Vic frowned, not oblivious to the dreamy look on Y/n’s face or the way Damiano’s eyes kept flicking up and down their assistant’s body. Something was definitely going on here and she was determined to find out what exactly it was.

After Y/n had finally moved again, paying for the snacks, Victoria caught up with her outside the shop. Their driver was having a smoke, surely had more than enough time left for a little talk.

“Y/n, wait up,” Vic quickly jogged up to her, taking the shopping bag out of her hand and carrying it into the bus ahead of her.. “Let me help you.”

She was counting on the guys to be staying outside for a little longer, probably lighting up a cigarette each as soon as they were done snack-shopping.

“So…” She started, putting away the snacks alongside Y/n. “Saw you staring at Damiano in there.”

Great, this wasn’t subtle at all, she scowled at herself. Tact had never been her strong suit in these situations. She was far more likely to rush into a conversation, head first, too open, too honest, too soon.

“I- uh- I don’t know what you mean. I was probably just staring off into space.”

Okay, she was getting flustered. Victoria knew she was onto something here, but it wouldn’t be easy to get anything out of Y/n. She was way too professional and… uptight for that. And they didn’t exactly have any red wine on tap to get her to open up.

“You know, there’s no harm in it. He’s a very attractive man,” she said, playfully nudging Y/n’s side. “Pretty sure everyone’s had the hots for him at some point.”

“Well I haven’t, it's very unprofessional.” Y/n stubbornly replied and Victoria almost laughed out loud.

Sure, she hadn’t. That’s why she was staring at him like he was a drink of water in the middle of a desert. Or why she was getting all flustered every time he touched her. Or why she always seemed to gravitate towards him, whatever she was doing. But that wasn’t what Vic was going to say. It wouldn’t get them anywhere. She had learned that much about Y/n.

“All my friends used to have a crush on him in school,” Vic laughed, remembering their beginnings. “They’d just hang out whenever we were rehearsing, making heart eyes at him and complimenting his every move, but he never cared. He never even looked at them, just giving them a polite hello. Never paid them any attention because he was way too focused on the music we were making. He’s always been like that. Music has always come first. It’s why I think it’s so peculiar how interested he is in you.”

If Y/n had been flustered before, she was full-on blushing now, rapidly opening a random cabinet to hide her face, but Victoria had seen. Her eyes got wide, as if she had been struck by lightning.

“He’s not interested in me, don’t be silly. I work for him just as I work for you and we all get along. Nothing is going to happen if that is what you are worried about. I would never jeopardize the tour or our friendship. He doesn’t even see me like that, anyway, so it’s fine. It’s not like I’m his type, and like, I mean-”

“Hey,” Victoria turned more serious now. As much as she enjoyed teasing her new friend, she felt like she needed to let her know that she wasn’t kidding in this case. She put a tentative hand on her shoulder. Having the other turn around to have Y/n face her. “I’m serious though. I know it’s early days, but if you feel something for him? I’m not going to stop you. Neither is anyone else on this tour. He’s a great guy. And I’ll personally punch him if he isn’t. And I think you’re great Y/n. You deserve good things.”

For a second, Victoria could see a flicker of Y/n’s softer side, of her vulnerability. She felt compelled to pull her into a hug, but she feared making her uncomfortable, so instead, she simply pretended she hadn’t seen. Just like she pretended not to hear Y/n’s voice breaking just the tiniest bit when she said, “Thank you.”

***

The old town of Malmö was full of cobblestone, canals, and adorable old houses. When Y/n led them into the restaurant she had reserved for the evening, Damiano made sure to ask for a table by the window, enamoured by what looked to be the main square of the town and the people hurrying along. As he turned back towards the table, he noticed Y/n with a similar look on her face. Chin held up by her hand as she leaned on the table, watching the world pass by outside. A serene smile played on her face and he feared he was mirroring her expression when Victoria kicked his foot from under the table. Giving him a knowing smile and a raised brow. He shook his head, quickly grasping the menu to distract himself.

“Oooh happy hour!” Victoria squealed. “First round of cocktails is on me!”

Damiano almost let out a sigh - knowing fully well that when it came to an evening like this, they would not stop at a round or two. He was to be proven right.

About two hours later, the sun was on the verge of setting. There was a nice buzz going on, dinner eaten, while the drinks kept coming. Thomas was retelling a story Damiano had heard about a hundred times. Excitedly waving his hands around he only just managed to grasp one of the glasses before the guitarist knocked it over. Y/n was listening attentively - the only one out of the bunch to not have heard Thomas’ retelling before. Damiano couldn’t help but notice how her cheeks were slightly flushed, a sure sign that she’d had a drink. He thought she looked adorable. She’d look just as adorable under me. He quickly put the thought away, blaming it on the alcohol he had consumed. Apart from Y/n - who had been responsible enough to switch back and forth between cocktails and water - they were all on the edge of being drunk, laughing too loudly, talking too excitedly, being a little too affectionate.

It’s what he blamed his behaviour on, when he found his foot searching for hers under the table. Giving her just the slightest, playful kick to get her attention. She looked at him immediately, raised eyebrows, obviously wondering if he had touched her by mistake. So this time, he fully smirked, holding eye contact, as he nudged her again. A timid smile appeared on her face and he was convinced that she would be awkward. Pulling back, possibly scolding him any other time. But her slightly intoxicated state seemed to leave her more open to his teasing. He barely believed it when she nudged him back. Maybe we’re actually getting somewhere here.

“Um, excuse me?”

The whole table looked up at once at the timid voice. Only to find two young girls awkwardly and uncomfortable standing next to them, faces as red as tomatoes and eyes wide.

“Are you Måneskin?”

“We are, actually!” Victoria beamed, immediately getting up. “Do you guys want some pictures?”

The girls didn’t seem to manage anything but hectic nods, too excited and overwhelmed. Damiano smiled. It didn’t matter how big they were getting - having people coming up to them to ask for photos, so obviously in love with them. Still made his heart beat like crazy. He’d do anything for the fans.

Quickly, getting up from his chair as well, he pulled the other two along with him, taking a few photos with the two, exchanging some words and thanking them for their support. Looking back at Y/n, he noticed she was getting a bit nervous.

“Guys, we should probably move back to the hotel now,” she said and it was only then that he took a look around and saw the amount of people staring. Talking and pointing phones at them. It was obvious none of them were actual fans - just hoping to get a glimpse of something to put on their social media. Damiano nodded, rounding up the rest of his band and leading them out of the restaurant, ready to call for a taxi as Y/n went to settle the tab and then followed them outside mere seconds later.

“Right let’s get you back to the hotel,” Y/n decided as they finally managed to flag down a taxi. “But don’t worry, the night’s not over yet - bring your swimsuits, I’ve got a little surprise for you.”

***

Y/n was perched on a little tiled bench, laptop with work opened at her side. A bluetooth speaker ready nearby. She’d slipped the girl at the reception a little money and a signed picture of the band, which she had gratefully taken, to make sure they’d have the hotel pool to themselves that night. Y/n was aware that the band tended to really enjoy a nice dip in the water and she was determined she’d get them to let loose and relax a bit before more gigs were coming their way.

She didn’t notice that everyone had arrived until a flash of blond ran past her and jumped into a pool with a massive splash. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Thomas would announce his presence like this. She still flinched for a second. Ethan followed not much later, with Victoria opting for the stairs ‘for hair-related reasons’ and Damiano pushing her in anyways. Following swiftly himself, as she grabbed his hand as she was falling. Y/n shook her head, amused at the four, and turned on some music as she watched them.

She couldn’t help but smile at the way they all acted like little kids on a pool day. But behaviour was one thing - the way they looked was quite another. Water was running down their bodies… okay, one body in particular. She would be lying if she said that Damiano swimming around in nothing but his little shorts wasn’t… well, breathtaking. Tattoos on full display, hair wet, glistening skin. He was smiling, laughing, trying to outswim Thomas. The way his physique moved through the water… He was in formidable shape. What she would give to be manhandled by this man.

Him pinning her to a wall, smirking, looking down at her like he was going to eat her. He rightfully just might. Telling her all the dirty thoughts he had when on stage. Making her look away in a blush, but grabbing her face. Tsk-ing, ‘no, no, no, good girls look at who is speaking to them’.

But no. Work called her name, just loudly enough to pull her out of her fantasy.

***

Opening the laptop, she immediately seemed to get immersed in her work. Damiano watched her with a frown on his face. This was so like her - making sure everyone else got taken care of and was having a good time, only to withdraw and bury her in her work again. He wished she’d take more breaks to just enjoy.

Every now and then she looked away from the screen, watching what everyone else was doing and contently smiling to herself. He couldn’t help imagining her watching over him the same way with their kids. His head was running away with the idea.

Him splashing around with the children. Her watching over them, staying on the sidelines, smiling the way she was now. Making sure everyone was safe and happy. Snacks in hand. Their daughter climbing out of the water, running over to her. The way her eyes would light up, arms open wide, not caring about getting wet as she hugged her. He knew she’d be the most perfect mum, just from looking at her. Nothing had ever been as obvious to him.

A splash of water over his head pulled him out of his thoughts. Apparently, Ethan had caught him staring. He shrugged it off.

“Y/n! Come swim with us!” Victoria called, moving to the edge of the pool. The assistant did nothing but raise a brow at the request, shaking her head.

“You kids go have fun,” she laughed. “I’m fine here, doing a bit of work. Just because you got a day off, doesn’t mean I do too!”

“Ah, you’re no fun, Y/n. One night won’t kill you,” Thomas groaned, diving back under the water.

“Well, I didn’t even bring my swimsuit, so it’s out of the question anyway. Now let me do some work.” She tried to sound strict but the giggle bubbled in her voice anyway, still tiny traces of intoxication in her speech. Damiano grinned at the thought of her still being tipsy, slightly wondering if it’d give him the chance to get her to let her guard down the way she had done the night before.

“Oh, rubbish, you party pooper!” Vic shouted back. “Your underwear will do just fine, it’s not like anyone is here to tell you off.”

Y/n shot a look at Victoria. A blush that definitely wasn’t caused by alcohol crept onto her face.

“I’m alright, you have fun.”

Damiano’s head spun, looking at Y/n sitting on the bench. The sheer idea of her joining them like that? Potentially seeing her undress? He was more than glad the water was hiding the lower half of his body.

“Get over here now or we’re dragging you in!” Thomas threatened, already halfway through heaving himself out of the water.

Oh, no way I’m getting out of the water right now, not like this.

“Oh fine! Fine, fine. If it will make you all stop worrying about me ‘not having fun’,” she laughed.” She rolled her trousers up as she moved to the edge of the pool, kicked off her shoes, and let her legs dangle in the water as she sat down. “Happy?”

“For now,” Vic laughed. “But don’t think you’ll always get out of things this easily!”

“Oh come on guys, leave her be.” Ethan decided to be the voice of reason once again. He swam up to her, hair all piled on top of his head in a bun. “Sorry about them - they don’t know when to quit.”

Y/n giggled at his comment.

“It’s cool, nice seeing everyone have a good time though.” Y/n tilted her head for a moment, looking at Ethan. Slowly she raised a hand to hold his face still, the other hand pulling something out of his hair. “There you go. Can’t have fuzz in those luscious locks of yours!”

A scowl appeared on Damiano’s face. He knew he shouldn’t be feeling like this, but the way she was looking at Ethan right now, that soft touch, made all the fantasies in his head shatter for a moment. Why wasn’t she fixing his hair instead. Fuck, he was being stupid. His attention was drawn away from the pair as a loud squeal escaped Victoria, who was currently being wrestled in the water by Thomas.

“Don’t you dare dunk me!”

Damiano didn’t even have to watch to know what happened next. A second later, a spluttering Vic emerged, a murderous look in her eye as she dunked Thomas in return. Their little fight turned chaotic, ending with the top of her bikini slowly floating away from her.

“Aw Vic, do you always have to be topless?!” Thomas laughed loudly.

“You dick! You untied it!”

Y/n instantly covered her eyes, avoiding Victoria’s half-naked body at all costs, looking down at her lap.

“Um - maybe someone should, uh, give her her top back?” She stammered.

Vic looked at the blushing girl, a smirk growing on her face as she whispered something at Thomas, pointing at Y/n, obviously hatching a plan. She swam up to their friend, gently grabbing her legs under the water.

“You are the only one that seems to mind, amore… Do you not like my tits?” Victoria teased, cocking her head to the side as she tried to catch Y/n’s eyes.

“No! No, I mean- That’s not what I mean. Um… I don’t know - is it just me or is it hot in here?” Y/n was a mess, tripping over her words.

“The only one that’s hot here is you, Y/n,” Thomas grinned, swimming off to retrieve Vic’s top, which he handed to her as he came back. The blonde held it up to her boobs in a fake-clumsy way, big eyes looking up at Y/n.

“Oh, I think I’m going to need your help with this, Y/n. Mind tying me up?”

Y/n looked like she was about to explode, her face once again covered in a deep red. With slightly shaking fingers, she moved forwards as Vic turned her back towards her, fumbling with the strings around her neck and her back to tie them up.

“Thanks, babe, you’re a doll!” Victoria grinned, taking the assistant’s hand and leaving a little kiss on her knuckles. It was the point at which Damiano decided he’d definitely need to protect her from his bandmates. If anything, it was his time to bother Y/n now.

As Damiano swam over, Y/n was still bright red. Her head was still lowered, picking at her nail polish, as she squeaked out a “hi”. You’ve got to put on the charm now, you can do it, he said in his head, hyping himself up as he looked back at her. He didn’t want to bring her into even more of an awkward situation, but his hands were on her legs before he even noticed, slightly stroking along the curve of her calves under the water.

“Don’t mind those fools,” he told her in a voice low enough that they wouldn’t hear. “They’re just trying to rile you up because they like seeing you blush. It is a nice sight, to be fair. Seeing you blush.”

“Well, it’s not like I have control over that. Um. Y-you look cool… I mean - good. You know? … fucking hell.” She buried her face in her hands, stifling a flustered chuckle. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I apologise, I will just hide now, forever.”

Yet, the smile on her face hadn’t left since Damiano had arrived. She bit her lip nervously, looking at the singer. Staring at him, maybe trying to figure out what his intentions were. He wished he knew. “Your, uh… eyes… they’re pretty.”

“Don’t even think about ever hiding that face from me, yeah?” He pulled her hands back down as she once again attempted to cover herself. He briefly forgot his hands were wet, until she giggled and patted her own dry on her shirt as he let go. “Your eyes are really pretty too, Y/n, so don’t deprive me of them.”

She blinked a couple of times, taken aback by what he had said. “Alright, I can do that.” She barely noticed they were holding hands. Rubbing her thumb over his skin softly, keeping herself grounded in place by the heat his body gave off under the water. “You just gotta step in when they start taking the piss again, yeah?”

He moved in closer now, only letting go of her hands to grasp onto her thighs, trying to keep himself above water. He was desperate to move between her legs, but he wasn’t going to ruin the moment by taking it too far. Not yet. “Of course. But amore mio, what if I wanted to, uh, ‘take the piss’?”

She smirked. “Oh! Then that’s fine.”

Damiano was sure his heart wasn’t even beating anymore, it was fluttering. There was something about her… every time he watched her, talked to her, he felt like he was looking at her for the first time. Finding a new side to her. He wanted more, constantly craving to get closer, and in moments like these. When she let him in just a little bit, made him feel like he was just one small step above the others, he felt like it was all going to be worth it. The slow way he was working himself into her heart.

“Y/N HAS A TATTOO ON HER ANKLE!” Thomas suddenly shouted, popping out of the water and pointing at the assistant. Damiano was pushed out of the way by Victoria, who grabbed Y/n’s leg. Hoisting it up in the air, turning it to show her ankle. A black outlined hand giving the middle finger with long black nails stared back at the band.

“That is really pretty,” Ethan said softly, but Victoria scoffed

“Pretty? It’s fucking cool! See,” she turned back to Y/n, “you are rock ‘n’ roll!”

Damiano stared at the little drawing on her leg, fascinated to have found yet another side to her he hadn’t seen coming. He wondered if she would let him tattoo her one day, letting him grab her leg, smoothing over the skin, putting that kind of trust in him. He was determined to find out, sooner or later.

“I mean... you think you’re the only ones with tattoos?” Y/n smirked, almost in a cocky way. It was a good look on her. “That one hurt like a bitch-”

“That one?” Damiano threw in. “Does that mean there’s more?”

Looking over at him, she simply smiled, shaking her head. “Anyway, it’s late, we should be going to bed soon. I know - I’m not trying to parent you, but somebody’s gotta be responsible here!” She stood up, fixing her trousers, putting her shoes back on, and grabbing towels to pass around. “Come on, out of the pool. Comply and I will get you something special with your coffee tomorrow!”

***

After everyone had retired to their rooms, Victoria decided she needed another talk. Moving along the hotel corridor, she stopped in front of Damiano’s door, softly knocking. He opened hastily, his face dropping ever so slightly as he saw her.

“Not who you were expecting?” She asked with a smirk as she pushed past him into the room. She was glad they’d all gotten their own rooms for the night and didn’t have to share - no need to involve Ethan or Thomas in the little conversation she was aiming to have with Damiano. Victoria dropped down onto the bed, kicking her shoes off and getting comfortable, as the singer followed.

“What can I do for you?” Damiano asked, shutting the door behind her.

“How about explaining why you were all over Y/n in the pool?” A grin spread on her face. She knew she’d have to be much less careful with Damiano than she had been in the conversation with Y/n, but still needed him to know this was good-natured teasing. “Pretty touchy, if you ask me.”

“Well, we were talking. Don’t need to tell you everything I do.” He flopped onto the bed, grabbing a pillow to smother his face into. “Why?”

“Yes you do, I’m one of your best friends!” She didn’t hesitate in grabbing the second pillow to whack him over the head, before putting it back behind herself to lean against. “Just interested to know what you think of her. You know, because I’m your friend and I care. And I’m nosey, so spill.”

He started groaning into the pillow.

“If I told you I think I like her, would you shut up about it?” He turned his head to the side to look at the blonde. “I don’t know, Vic, she walked into our lives and…” His eyes grew distant as he thought about her.

“Wait, you actually like like her? I was thinking you were just attracted, you know the thrill of the chase and all that. Fuck, Damiano!” Her smile came back tenfold. “I love this!”

He shot up from his lying position. “No! No, you don’t love this! I don’t love this! I have no fucking clue what I’m doing! She is so sweet and kind and sensitive and I can’t stop thinking about her, it’s turning me into a brain-dead zombie. I could never actually win her over, I fuck up so much and- … I talk too much don’t I?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so flustered!” Victoria remarked in amazement. “You’re actually, properly, crushing on her! You should tell her.” She almost added if only for my amusement but decided against it. This was obviously tormenting him already, no need for her to rub it in.

“I’m not gonna tell her shit! She’s our assistant, for god’s sake. I already could be in so much trouble if she took something I said wrong. I could fall flat on my face and- … Vic, I know that you care and you want me to be happy. Which I love and appreciate. We are best friends, we really are. I would do the same thing if you had a crush on someone, but I just don’t know what to do,” he moans, falling back onto the bed. “I haven’t been like this since school.”

Victoria patted his head in sympathy as he buried his face back into the pillow. She wasn’t quite sure what to advise him in this situation. Sure, she would love to see her friend happy. And there was definitely something cooking under the surface of Y/n’s feelings. And, honestly, the thought of the two of them together? She was basically swooning at the thought. But she also knew it wasn’t her place to meddle. Right?

“I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. I don’t wanna scare her away.” He looked at Victoria with pleading eyes. “Has she talked to you at all? Have you picked up anything from her? Any hints?”

A sigh escaped her lips, but she knew she couldn’t help but give him at least a little push in what she hoped was the right direction. “Look, Damiano. I’m not gonna pretend like I didn’t notice she fancies you. Honestly, no surprise there. But I think we both know she’s not exactly the type to jump right into bed with someone. So take it slow. Show her you care. Woo her.”

“Woo her?! Like an old Italiano romance? I can do that… I think. Okay, what does she like… Y/n, what does she- She doesn’t really talk about herself that much, does she..” Victoria could see the gears turning in his head. “This was so much easier when I wasn’t invested… Why do I have to be invested, Vic?”

He looked at her with dopey eyes, before jumping up and pacing around the room. “Argh! She is making me go insane! I tried writing lyrics, but nothing is working. I just can’t focus when she’s around. She gets this look, especially when talking about her work and language.. At the pool, did you see how she looked at me?”

“You’ve written lyrics?! Now, you really got it bad, my friend,” Victoria shook her head in amusement. “But yes, I did. I told you, she’s interested. Can’t tell you how deep that runs, I’ve only known her for a few days myself and she is working for us, no way to ignore that. So maybe take a step back until you figure this out?”

“Yeah, you’re right. She works for us. That’s… that’s a giant, neon ‘no’.” He stopped walking, looking out of the window. “I need to cool it, don’t I? We’re on tour. What am I doing! We have fans and people who are looking forward to seeing us. We have gigs to play! Fuck.” He sighed, staring off into the distance. “We should probably sleep. No long drive tomorrow, but lots of interviews, right?”

“Don’t get in over your head about this,” she put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She hadn’t expected this kind of outburst when she had knocked on his door earlier. “It’s the first week of tour. You got three more of seeing her literally every day. Concentrate on the job, then on her, yeah? Now let’s get some sleep. And I mean it - no pondering and smoking all through the night, you gotta rest!”

“You’re right, I don’t know what I was thinking. Thank you.” He pulled Victoria into a hug. “Thank god you’re here. Wouldn’t know what to do. Goodnight.”

She gave him a little wave as she left his room, only just hearing him mumble, “I have music to perform…”

***

As the night grew to a close, Y/n found herself in her own room, snuggling into a pillow. Glad that the next day would leave less free time. Drive to Copenhagen. Get everyone settled it. Maneuver them from interview to interview, although this time around Victoria would be a great help since she knew Danish. Then off to soundcheck, light dinner, the gig, sleep. No time to get lost in silly daydreams for once.

Yet, as sleep slowly crept up on her, she couldn’t help one last thought entering her mind.

I wonder if he is thinking of me.

[hyrule-kingdom-updates]

🌼 any of them

Whoops, wrote a fic

Describe one of your OC’s worst nightmares.

An optimist would look at the world of divination with wonder. The universe is a but a magnificent hall of tapestries, beautiful pieces of art woven into anything you could imagine. Tapestries where you are a hero, tapestries where you are royalty, tapestries where your people live with riches, tapestries depicting your eternal victory over your enemies. The universe is endless and bountiful, for in the future, all futures are possible.

This is how Astor usually can depict the good fortune tellers from the worse.

If they’re an optimist, they’re most likely a faker.

The only true divinator that he had met that was even a bit of an optimist was his mother, and even then, he had always had the sinking feeling that she hid a deeper sorrow behind her simple shoes of colorful flames and shining moon and starlight. No, it was quite hard to stick to true, unfiltered optimism in this field, as while it was true that all futures and choices were possible, that freewill ran its course through all who walked the vast possibilities of the universe, the issue came in the fact that you could not travel it to and fro.

There are futures where you live, there are futures where you achieve your wildest dreams, timelines where your childhood is happier, and timelines where you find true love and satisfaction.

But you aren’t in those timelines. The future you have is this one, and it is set in stone.

Walk all the roads you want, say all the words, read all the stories, but when a seer analyzed exactly what world we live in, exactly what end is destined for this string of the universe, there will be no holding back. There is only the unfiltered, raw, typically pessimistic truth of the end. Savor it.

“In truth, Elane, I hate my job. Fear it, even,” Astor set his teacup down, looking out the balcony towards the inky, midnight view. “I fear one day I will find the prediction—the true, ultimate glimpse into the night, that seals in the fact that we’re doomed.”

The Queen only cocked her head with a smile. “Well, I’m flattered that there’s still a ‘we’ in this scenario. Good to know I’ll be joining you in the lockup when my mother find our contraband cucco nuggets—“

“I’m serious, Elane.”

She only laughed quietly, before leaning back in her chair, and gazing out into the pleasant evening. “I know...”

There was a quiet between them, not quite awkward or stiffening, but quiet in the way that you might hold your breath after someone embraces you warmly. Quiet in acceptance, quiet to make room for the sounds of something rare and fickle.

“I swear, I might retire early,” Astor finally said. “Quit while I’m ahead. Head off to Hateno or Mabe and bury my head in the sand.”

“You might want to try Gerudo then, if sand is what you’re searching for. I’m sure Urbosa would be thrilled.”

“Tsk. I am inclined to disagree.”

Elane chuckled again, and she let the quiet embrace her for a moment.

“Eternal doom aside, for a moment, I would posit that there’s hardly anything to fear. You’ve foreseen my daughter’s growth, analyzed the future livelihood of the kingdom, and predicted our victory over Ganon. I’d say it’s hard to bargain with that.”

“Maybe, but I could be wrong.” Astor circled his finger on the lip of his cup. “It happens, people make a prediction, but miss one star, or slip up one word...or perhaps one cow suddenly dies, or one ember quickly fades, and suddenly we’re actually in an entirely different timeline than predicted.”

“Didymos Astor? Wrong about something? Oh my, I never thought I’d see the day...” Elane smiled to herself again as she lifted her cup for another sip.

Astor clicked his tongue. “Well. You should hope I’m not wrong about anything. If someone of my skill makes an incorrect prediction, it would probably be disastrous for everyone.”

Elane winked as she set down her cup. “Well, good thing you’re a prodigy, then.”

“Good thing, indeed.”

Quiet keep their third company once again. Astor still had not sipped from his cup, but Elane was already heading for her fourth refill, no doubt begging for any energy after tucking her daughter to bed. A young toddler with enough energy to power a Guardian army, Elane has always found it quite odd that she used up a lot of her energy to annoy the Royal Seer. It was charming to see him get put off by a Mallory’s boundless curious aura, but mostly relieving in the sense that the Queen could get a moments rest and trust little Zelda would be alright.

Elane looked back inside through the half open door, and smiled at a bundled sleeping figure, surrounded by an army of stuffed animals. She then turned back and finally noticed Astor’s continued silence on the next refill.

She sighed. “Although I would be saddened to see you leave,” she began, “If a retirement would make you happy, Astor, I would loathe to do anything to stand in your way.”

He looked up at her, analyzing her body language and expression. She was genuine, of course, as she always was in these sorts of talks. Astor finally let himself exhale in peace, as he smiled and shook his head.

“Unfortunately I don’t think it would do me much good, anyways. Location won’t let me escape my own thoughts and visions.” He took a sip of his tea—a bit citrusy this evening, a hint of apple—and relaxed. “I’d imagine His Majesty would miss me dearly, and I simply wouldn’t want to leave him in distress.”

“Ha! Oh yes of course, Rhoam would be crying tears if you left us...” she replied, sarcastically. “Tears of deep, deep sorrow.”

Astor looked out into the night in silence again, not touching his cup.

“But I’ll tell you what Astor,” Elane began again. “If you ever receive that world dooming prediction, whatever may happen that may instigate your view of the deepest hells,” she raised her cup. “You come find me, and we’ll have a drink.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A drink? What sort of drink?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you like. Tea, wine, beer, water or juice if it’s your fancy. Whatever will keep your spirits high.”

Astor smirked, solemnly. “I don’t think you understand just how severe and dreadful certain predictions can be. When we say ‘all futures are possible,’ we do mean all possibilities.”

“And I understand, dear seer. I truly do.” She tilted her head as she kept her cup in the air. “But the way I see it, is that with divination or not, doom and hell come into people’s lives one way or the other. But it hasn’t really stopped the majority from loving their lives now, has it?” Her eyes twinkled like starlight. “Dearest Astor, if our destined doom is predicted one day, I command you to at least smile through our tea party.”

Quiet.

He finally sighed, the corners of his lips perking. His protests drowning in her expression.

“I suppose if you’re the one pouring, it’d be difficult to refuse.” He raised his cup and clinked it with hers.

She was dead eight days later.

With her death came the final factor. The final star.

“Your daughter is destined to fail us,” he said again. “The Calamity shall rise and consume us all, and she won’t stop it in time.”

Rhoam slammed his fists on the desk, but the seer did not flinch. “We’ll train her hard, we’ll start now, even! I’ll get those clerics from the temple to teach her the starting prayers!” he yelled.

“It won’t work.” Astor replied, simply. “Perhaps she might attain them down the line, but she most certainly won’t awaken her powers by Ganon’s rise. It’s over.”

“You told me we could do this!” Rhoam pointed a finger, accusingly. “You saw our prosperity, our victory!”

“That was what I initially saw, yes. But unfortunately we live in world where the Queen of Hyrule is dead, and thus the threads of our future weave accordingly.”

“You’re a liar!” Rhoam bellowed again. “You saw her death, saw our end and lied to us since the beginning, haven’t you?!!”

“Don’t you think that if I knew Elane would die, I would say something?! That I would give ample time for her to say goodbye to you and her daughter??” Astor finally raised his voice, met with equal silence. “I failed to correctly analyze our timeline the first time around, and for that I am sorry. But I can not control what pieces of the future fate allows me to see. It’s not an open novel for you to give me a bad book report grade on. It’s a museum of endless tapestries, of which I am task with analyzing one stroke at a time to identify which is woven to a singular man, and the fact that I have given you a complete enough answer now is a gift within itself, so don’t even try to accuse me forgery and lies.”

The two men clenched their jaws, staring angrily at each other.

Astor finally whispered. “Overtime I might gather more specifics, but overall—this is over.”

Rhoam balles his hand into a fist. “We’ll start a new schedule for Zelda first thing in the morning—“

“It won’t work, it’s futile—“

“We’ll make it work—“

“This is set in stone, this is the world you live in—“

“Well what if you’re wrong again?”

“I’m not.”

“But what if you are?”

“I’m. Not. I’ve read the signs again and again and again, in fact I’ve been reaching the same conclusions repeatedly for the last four weeks. It. Is set. In stone.” He tapped his finger on the wood with each syllable to emphasize. “Perhaps the futures of prosperity are accurate for the Rhoams and Mallorys that live in a different time, but unfortunately for us, we live in one where Elane is dead. This is our reality and you’re doing no good denying as such.”

Silence.

Rhoam made his way towards the door. “You’re a liar.” The seer scoffed. “You’re a liar and you don’t know what you’re saying! Borderline treason if I’m being honest! You’re pathetic, and a rotten fake—“

“If it pleases His Majesty to confirm the integrity of his humble subject,” Astor cut in, sarcastically, “It might be good to know that also I’ve predicted you won’t imprison me, or exile me, or execute me, given you’re still ever reliant on my uncontested skills for more personal matters. That, and you wish to try and keep me around to hopefully prove me wrong, in which you can then tell yourself you’d be in the right to truly punish me.” He stared the regent dead in the eyes. “But don’t worry, you won’t.”

Rhoam slammed the door shut as he stomped off.

That night, Astor has another dream. Or perhaps it was a vision, he wasn’t sure, as the details were so surreal and horrific and captivating that it would have surely been a blessing to chalk it up entirely to vivid imagination.

There were screams and the sound of rocks crumbling. Bones were cracking and monsters were squealing and shrieking. And be felt his arms burn, and he felt his soul drain, and he looked down to see his skin peeling into dark flakes, his muscles, sludge. And in the distance, a young woman with golden hair laughed at him, but her eyes were hollow and gold. And she laughed and laughed as his body was slowly broken to pieces, bones torn asunder, skin burned to smoldering malice, senses vivid until the final moment when he woke.

But the good thing about nightmares, was that...that was it. There was no where else to go. There was nothing left to offer. No more pain to fear.

It made sense of course. Of course, of course. He never went to the funeral, he never offered his sympathies. There was no longer anything to mourn, as he allowed himself to view the world in its true, disgusting form. The people were doomed, and the dead, well...perhaps they might have deserved it. Yes, that was the only way this all made sense, of course. He even stopped trying to warn other folk after a few too many dozen harsh rejections to his character. No, now in complete isolation and resignation of his path, there was nothing else that could possibly drag him back to—

“How do I die?” Zelda Mallory Hyrule asked, one day.

At first, he was confused, and he turned in his chair. “What?”

She was seven at the time, and it was truly an odd and concerning thing to be coming from a seven year old girl’s mouth. Or perhaps it wasn’t, given the circumstances.

“How do I die?” she said again. She was laying down on his worn carpet, fiddling with the frilled edge.

Was she truly that bored? Already out of other questions? Hmph, he had always warned her to stay away, as a seer’s office wasn’t really meant for childish entertainment. Yet still she always came and asked to hide away from her father, and, well...anything to spite that man...

“Why do you ask?” he finally replied. Had someone said something to her? A threat? He clenched his jaw. I swear, if that fool tried to force her powers by—

“You’re always going on about how I’m wasting my time with praying and stuff...but father says I still gotta to stop the Calamity or else we could all die.” She didn’t look up from the bits of carpet string she was playing with (and contemplating on popping in her mouth), “So I figured if you tell me how I die we can settle the debate for good!”

Astor just sighed. “Well, of course you d—“

He stopped himself, but not for the reasons a more put together person, might. Not because of the generally frowned upon action of telling a child how she dies, no, that was not exactly beyond him. No, Astor cut off his sentence simply because it had crossed his mind that—

“...I’m not entirely sure...” he whispered.

He suddenly stood. Walking towards the other end of his office, carefully stepping over the child. “E-Excuse me a moment.”

Why had he never considered this? Of course, he had seen the signs clearly enough, the visions, the stars. A girl cries over a corpse, a light vanishes in the night. Malice plagued the sky and dooms the day. But did the Calamity actually kill her? Does she drown in rubble and malice like the others? Slain by a demon or monster perhaps? Or if not, then, would that mean...?

The princess soon forgot about the question by the next day, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next.

Astor spent nearly eight sleepless nights into finding an answer.

But he never truly did.

These things happened more times than one may think, when it came to predictions. Vagueness was commonplace, but specificities and straightforward answers were about as rare as a green sunset. Of course, he knew she would die, goddess blood or not, she lived the life of a mortal. But how? When? While it certainly wasn’t impossible to predict a person’s death, but whatever the circumstances of Mallory’s was made the process was infuriatingly impossible.

It was possible she would die of malice or suffocation under rubble, even circumstances where she dies at the Ganon’s hand himself. But then there were clear visions of her living, walking through a grassy field, ruins in the distance covered in leaves and moss, her turning and calling to a friend to keep up with her pace.

But no, nonono. She would die during the Calamity’s rise, that was the majority of what the futures offered to her were. That was the probable outcome.

But the factors and visions and signs and alignments were so fine and minuscule in difference, that Astor truly couldn’t a true statement, a true prediction, a true answer to the question. What timeline did we live in?

It taunted him.

Maybe it was better if the question was put to rest, did it even matter?

“Mallory?” he asked. “That’s a stupid name.”

“What?! No it’s not!” Elane laughed and shoved his shoulder. “Please, YOU’RE not one to talk.”

“Well as a victim of stupid first names, I think I’m qualified to speak accurately on the subject.”

“Aha! But it’s not technically a first name.” Elane tapped his head. “It’s a middle name, her first name would be ‘Zelda,’ of course.”

“Yes, and that is also a s—“

The queen shoved his shoulder into the wall before he even finished the sentence. “Oh would you shut up...”

He laughed, unconventionally carefree. Her Majesty’s happiness these days truly was contagious. Or perhaps that was a side effect of pregnancy? Did all expecting mother’s give off this aura?

“I think it’s a wonderful name.” Elane said. “Reminds me of a cute little duck, like a mallard!” She tucked her arms and flapped her elbows to imitate as such. “Quack, quack!”

“This is further adding to my argument actually”

“Hmph! Ok then Mr. Overseer of all names” She tapped a finger to his chest. “If it’s such a stupid name, then when she starts getting bullied for it around the castle, I shall expect you to take care of her in full.”

He scoffed. “Oh, I’ll be sure to do so. She’ll definitely need it.”

Elane pecked his head with a kiss.

“Good! I grant you my blessing lovingly tease her, as well. And I expect the best from you, Astor!”

His face suddenly warmed for some reason, and he couldn’t form words.

“What?”

“.....W...”

He was suddenly whack in the head with a rolled up piece of paper. Astor sprang awake from his desk. “...W...What...?”

“Morning, Mr. Astor!!” Princess Zelda-Mallory beamed. “And happy birthday!!! Sorry I woke you up early, but I needed to give this to you before the winter solstice festival later and—“

She continued to ramble on and on, but Astor simply opened the rolled up paper she had handed to him. It was simply filled with dozens and dozens, arguably hundreds, of hand drawn stars. In the corner was written, “You always look at the same stars so here’s some new ones!” in crude purple crayon. At the time, he failed to notice the accompanying note on the back that read “One for each year of how old you are!” Thankfully he was too busy looking through the different stars, with varying degrees of sparkles and smiley faces.

He finally looked back at the princess, who was still rambling on and on about her day, and her father’s day, and her newest stuffy dress, and her latest adventures with her stuffed toys, and—

“Why are you always here, Zelda?” Astor finally said. She stopped talking, looking at him, quizzically. “I mean...” he grumbled, “You know I don’t really like you, right?

“Eh, I don’t care. I think you’re neat!!” She held out her arms as she zoomed around his circular office. “Your room is so cool! And you got fun books!”

“Necromancy isn’t necessarily what I would consider ‘fun’ reading material—“

“Plus your outfits are cool, and you’re super smart, like my mom.”

He blinked.

“Plus, you’re the only one that’s not mean to me about my dumb powers. But really that’s just a chair on the top!”

“Do you mean cherry on top?”

“No! I meant chair! Watch me!! I’m gonna do a backflip off of this—“

“NO.” Astor immediately stood up, and snatched the girl off of the wooden chair. “NO. No backflips.” He set her down on the rug and pointed to a side of the room which held a broken table, stool, and a few old chairs—the victims of the princess’ previous acrobatic attempts.

She crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m running out of furniture, is what I am.”

“But I’ll let this slide since it’s your birthday! Hmph.”

She started pulling at the loose threads of the carpet. “Don’t know why you had to stop my birthday backflip! Who cares if I get a little scratch?”

“I do—“

“YOU DO?!” Mallory was immediately up and clinging to his robes.

Astor sputtered, instinctively waving his arms to free himself from the child’s grip. But then he finally processed her question, and...

“I...” He looked at her starlight eyes. She had that stupid, naive grin that he always remembered from her mother. A stupid, pathetic, horrible, terrible, optimistic smile.

He finally scoffed. “I just can’t have you getting hurt on my watch, as otherwise, I’d probably be a dead man. That’s all.”

The princess lifted her hands in a “hooray!” fashion, and yelled the exclamation, accordingly. She then resumed her zipping and zooming around the room, much to Astor’s unexpected relief.

That night, he visited the question again.

Why? He didn’t really know.

The question wouldn’t offer him anything, it wouldn’t relieve him of anything—in fact it really did just the opposite. If he found that died miserably, it would be another scream in the nightmare, another nail in the comforting coffin of despair. But if he someone found that she lived, that there was a day after the Calamity, where even a child such as her could possibly prosper...

Having hope and seeing it fail anyway would probably be the most torturous of all.

Again, he had a dream, of a world tainted by blood and malice. But this time he was floating. He was floating and watching the end of it all.

Castle Town was nothing but ruins and ash, and no colors existed but red, black, and grey.

He couldn’t hear anything but a shrill hum in his ears, but he knew there was screaming. He looked to his hand, expecting to see malice or blackened skin, but instead found a strange floating device in his palm. It spin slowly, pink constellations drifting across its surface.

The hum in his ears turned into a groan, and then a whisper. It said something familiar, but he was sure he had never heard it before.

It is time.

The next night he had a dream of a girl standing in a green field, calling out to her friends somewhere behind her. She rested under the ruins of a collapsed pillar, and ate a homemade sandwich with a memorable smile.

Astor reached a conclusion.

In most futures, the girl dies horribly. He wrote in his journal. To be expected, I would assume the rise of the Calamity isn’t exactly easy to survive from.

But what I have discovered is a very specific set of circumstances that lead to a more favorable outcome, at least for her.

I have no way of knowing if it accurately depicts the comings of our time, or another. There are too many variables and specifics. Too long I have spent trying to discern our fate, but the probabilities and possibilities for doom are so interchangeable that it really go either way. The only truth I know is that she lives if—

He paused, tapping the dry quill to the desk again in thought. He dipped it once more.

I’ve decided that if I ever find myself in the scenario where I can solidify her a more favorable destiny, I will take it. I can only hope dare to alter my existing nightmare into something different, there’s really nothing left to lose, is there?

Astor leaned in his chair for a moment, savoring the silence of his office. He looked out the window and took in the night. The stars were gorgeous this evening.

Although if it fails I hope it kills me.

Call it arrogance, but I don’t think I can handle being wrong again.

The seer sighed, then suddenly flipped to the next blank page, angrily.

If I had never met her it would have been fine. If I had just minded my own damn business and continued to work in being resigned to our fate, at least then I could have—

There was a soft knock at his door.

He knew who it was.

Astor pinched the bridge of his nose as he opened it. “It’s past 2am, Princess, what could you possibly have to tell me?”

She looked down and shuffled her feet. “I had a nightmare...”

“Yes, people do have those sometimes.” He immediately closed the door.

Another knock.

After a moment, Astor opened it again. “Don’t you have guards outside your room, how did you sneak up here?”

“Secret tunnel!” She grinned, proudly, as she replied with a sort of sing-song tone.

“That’s nice.”

The door slammed shut again.

She knocked once more. There was the longest pause.

“FFFFFFine!” The world was out of his lips before he even fully swung open the door, and Mallory happily scrambled inside. “But no touching anything, I’m working.”

“It’s ok, I just wanna stay up all night and read your books!” She was already scrambling for the necromancy section, again.

Astor sighed, and went to slump back into his desk. The princess was already sprawled across the floor, distracting herself with another stack of wondrous, ill-recommended book. He didn’t really care.

I don’t really care. He wrote once again. I know there are futures where I dedicate myself to the Calamity, and she dies anyway. I know it doesn’t really matter, I know it’s hopeless to care, and that’s why I don’t.

He looked back at Zelda, he saw her slowly blink back her tiredness. He knew in a few hours or so, he’d have to drop her sleepy figure back off to those useless guards, and berate then for letting her wander off again, as it always was.

If I do this and it’s all for nothing, he began, I fear it will be worse than if I had just stood to the side and perished. It’s already doomed, and this pathetic, foolish optimism might cause me to turn this nightmare into something even worse.

He sighed, and the hours passed as he just sat with his thoughts.

Zelda was using and open book as a pillow.

Astor opened the door, and went to pick her up.

I’m not living through another nightmare. He thought, as he descended the stairs from the observatory. The girl’s breathing was steady as she wrapped an arm by his shoulder.

If it fails I hope it kills me before I see it. He repeated again.

I can’t handle being wrong again.

[hi-hey-haechan]

This isn’t showing up in the tags again. See, when I post at 3 AM, I don’t have this problem, but instead, it’s the middle of the afternoon.

102: “I know for a fact that you can be hell of a lot louder than that.”

110: “Do you think they can hear us through the tent?”

“The stars are so beautiful tonight,” Ten sighed. He was sitting next to you on a log that faced into the fire. There were three other logs, making a square around the flames, and the rest of WayV were occupying them. The six other members were staring at Ten, perplexed by his sudden statement regarding something so serious and meaningful. You were slightly puzzled, as well. He looked straight at Yangyang. “You know what else is beautiful?”

Yangyang rolled his eyes. He, along with Ten, were savages, roasting everyone left and right, especially each other. “I don’t know, what?” You could catch the tint on his cheeks, as though he believed for a second that Ten was talking about him.

Ten stared at him with a faint, condescending smile. “Y/n.”

Xiaojun struggled to restrain Yangyang from tackling Ten. You hit Ten in the shoulder affectionately before burying your face in your hands, slightly embarrassed. “Sleeping is much less painful than this,” Sicheng said, sending everyone a hint.

It was around midnight, and everyone had been sitting around the campfire, talking for hours as the daylight slowly drained out of the sky, cut open by the branches of the giant trees surrounding you. They were dark shadows now, the only illumination coming from the campfire and the lanterns inside of the four tents, standing in a line. The flames were smaller than they once had been, and there were embers that sat around the actual fire, ablaze in brilliant hues of orange and red and blue. The embers glowed brightly, contrasting against the dark coals, sticks, and woodchips, looking as though you were in an airplane, flying above a busy city at night, illuminated by all its lights. It was beautiful.

Before long, Kun was putting the fire out, and everyone was heading back to their tents, flashlights leading the way.

Your tent provided no warmth, and the cool night air was chilling you to the bone. The lantern illuminated the entire tent, and the silhouettes of moths and mosquito hawks were visibly standing on the outside of your tent, attracted to the contrasting illumination from the pitch-dark woods. Ten removed his shirt, flinching against the cold as he looked for the hoodie he’d brought to sleep in. The lantern bathed his skin in gold, the muscles of his back flexing as he looked around for his sweatshirt. His shoulders were broad, and you knew the skin was soft to the touch, as well as warm. You wanted to reach out and receive some warmth from his body, but he’d flinch away from your ice-cold hands. He laid back against his pillow and kicked off his jeans, exposing his long legs. You were immersed in the sight of him, barely able to believe how gorgeous he was. He quickly changed into sweatpants, not enjoying the cold air against his bare skin. The show was nice while it lasted, and you quickly scolded yourself for having those thoughts at that time.

You then removed your shirt, inhaling sharply as the nighttime air chilled you to the bone. Luckily, Ten’s hoodie that you’d brought for sleeping was sitting on top of your bag, so you didn’t need to look around for it, meaning less time exposed to the cold.

You braced yourself before removing your jeans, flinching as the cold air attacked the bare skin. As you leaned over to look in your bag for your sweatpants, you felt a decently warm hand gently run up your bare thigh. Your head swiveled around to see Ten’s face. His eyes were fixated on your legs.

“Can I help you?” you inquired, sort of sarcastically.

“Wha-? Oh, sorry,” Ten murmured. “I just...I really like your legs”

“Well, my legs don’t like the cold,” you said, pulling on your sweatpants.

“I mean, if you let me have my way with you, more than just your legs would be warmed up in no time.”

When Ten was blunt like this, unyielding and refusing to shy away from what he wanted, you had to admit that it was hot. Plus, seeing him change definitely made you feel some type of way. “But we’re in a tent.”

“But I want you. Plus, it will warm us up.” His face was persistent in the lantern light, and his eyes were pleading.

You let your hormones decide your next answer. “Fine.”

He gave you a grin then, his beautiful smile that melted your heart and could convince you of literally anything. In a flash, his lips met yours in a searing kiss. Every nerve in your body turned to liquid fire, warmth becoming prominent in your body and fueling your desire.

Before long, you two were inside of Ten’s sleeping bag, with him on top of you. Both of you had removed your sweatpants and underwear, but you kept on your hoodies, needing as much warmth as you could get.

“Don’t be too rough,” you warned him. “We can’t let them hear us.”

Ten lined himself up at your entrance, lubricating his cock in your arousal. He didn’t hesitate a second longer to slam himself inside of you. “Why not?” he inquired as you bit down on his shoulder to muffle your scream. The initial move was harsh, bringing in a sharp pain as he literally was splitting you apart. Your walls clenched around him like crazy, attempting to get used to the sudden intrudance that was stretching you open. You wanted to cry out, both in the familiar pain and the slight pleasure that came with the hurt.

“Do you think they can hear us through the tent?” you asked as you exhaled through clenched teeth.

“Probably,” he replied as he slid out slowly, teasing you, before slamming back in. His length delved into your wet walls, which were powerlessly clenching around him. “You’re so tight,” he groaned.

You cried out, not able to muffle your shout in his shoulder at the moment. You heard a raccoon scamper off from outside of the tent, and you could feel Ten’s laugher as his body shook with giggles. “Ten, please.”

“What? Please what?” He began to move again, thrusting his huge length in and out of you. You were conscious of every vein and ridge of his cock against your walls as he dragged through your dripping pussy.

“W-what if they hear us?”

“Then they’ll find out exactly how good I’m fucking you.” His lips connected to your neck, and you felt his hair tickled your jawline as he kissed your sensitive skin. His lips were hot against yours, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. His breaths and the heat of his mouth was sending goosebumps and feelings of pleasure through your body. Ten’s tongue flicked outward, making you shudder, but you pulled yourself infinitely closer to him. When he brought some skin in between his lips, sucking lightly, you let out a mewl before inhaling sharply.

When you gave him the okay, Ten began to move his hips. You had to will your body to relax, to adapt to the pain that came along with his thick length filling you up like that.

The spots that had once hurt were now stinging less, and every spot he was pressed up against was feeling good. Upon this, you found it more and more difficult to contain your sounds of pleasure, moans and gasps and whines spilling from your lips as your bodies stirred with incandescent life.

Ten’s mouth was still against your neck, attempting to muffle his moans but failing. He wasn’t the best at keeping quiet when he was feeling good, and you loved this. The sounds he made could only be described as “pretty,” and they were hot, as well, causing your core to gush a bit with arousal.

His thrusts were neither fast, nor slow, but they were deep. The sound of skin hitting skin was fairly loud, and you knew that the others could hear. You knew that you two should stop, but no part of you wanted to. Your entire being just wanted Ten closer, closer than he already was. Your legs moved to wind around his waist, and your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

You could physically hear how wet you were, the squelching sound of him inside of you matching with the sound of his thighs and hips making contact with yours. He smirked against your skin, knowing all too well the inevitable effect he always managed to have on you.

“Admit it,” he whispered in your ear. He was breathless, and his voice was rough and hoarse. “You like the idea of the others hearing us. You like the fact that they know how good I can make you feel, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, fuck,” you whined. Your eyes were screwed shut in pleasure, jaw hanging slack as Ten hit the spots inside of you that sent your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Then why are you trying to stay quiet? I know for a fact you can be hell of a lot louder than that.”

Just then, his tip found the bundle of nerves deep inside of you, making you cry out, back arching up off the bed. He pulled back from your skin and gave you a cocky grin, knowing that he could force you to scream his name if you had to.

His hips sped up, pounding into you swiftly but deeply. He had the hips of a dancer, which could make you literally beg for more, as well as turn to putty at his expense as he skillfully rolled his hips into yours. Even with his face buried into your skin, the sounds he made couldn’t be contained. Breathless gasps and moans filled the tent from both of you, failing to stay quiet completely.

“Will you guys shut up? We’re trying to sleep, not listen to a pornography tape,” Yangyang called out from his tent.

You could hardly hear him. Ten filled your senses, and he was all you could hear and see and feel and adore with everything you had.

“Ten,” you gasped out, squeezing your thighs tighter around his hips, “I’m gonna cum.” A loud, breathless whine left your lips, and your legs shook violently, feeling the knot in your stomach tighten. Without another second to spare, the most intense wave of pleasure hit you, and your hands balled into the fabric of his hoodie as you thrashed under him, core violently clenching as you came on his member. You cried out his name, quite possibly the only word your mind could think of.

He continued to pound into you, chasing his own high, which hadn’t yet fallen upon him. The friction of your wet walls that were clenching around him so tightly, causing stars to shine in his vision, was bringing so much pleasure to him. Ten couldn’t contain his own moans when he came, a mix of swear words, moans, whines, and calling of your name as his hips stopped moving. His seed shot up inside of you, a sensation you craved more than you would ever admit.

Eventually, after milking out the last of his high, he collapsed on top of you, gasping.

“Are you still cold?” Ten asked cheekily. Your bodies were both sweating, hair clinging to your foreheads as you both breathed heavily. You let out a faint giggle, shaking your head. His lips then connected to yours sweetly, his mouth curled into a grin against yours.

Stomping from outside caused you to jump a bit. However, Ten recognized Sicheng’s voice as he said, “If you guys plan on going again, I suggest you go a few miles away. Maybe then we’ll be able to sleep in peace.”

[the-unknown-storyteller]

The Sight Of Such Pretty Things

Summary: Wilbur is dead and Ghostbur fills the place he has left behind, mending the broken relationships he has thrown aside.

Wilbur is dead, but Ghostbur is alive in the sense that he gets to experience all the little things his former self may have taken for granted.

Talking with Philza about the colour green, stargazing with Tommy until deep into the night and collecting wild potatoes with Techno remind him that he is not that person anymore. That these moments are his and his alone.

Nevermind the fact that he can't talk freely, breaching sensitive topics left and right and touching people with hands that can only seem to remind and hurt with memories he himself cannot remember.

__

It all starts with Philza. With him and his green-striped bucket hat that ignites an irrational interest in Ghostbur's mind. It's such a nice green, is all he can think, as he walks laps around Philza's living room, mindlessly chattering and rambling on about his day. 

His restless hands throw a small piece of lapis that he found the other day from side to side, palming it in his right hand whenever he raises his hands in exaggerated sweeps and gestures to accompany his excited words about his newest project.

"-saw it just the other day and I really wanted to build it and Tubbo said he didn't mind it, so I just went right ahead and, Phil, I just gotta say, it's coming along great! Fundy is helping me balance it properly, so that it won't topple over and accidentally crush the main walkways and-" 

Ghostbur can hear his father hum every now and then to let him know that he is listening, as he mends the latest rip in one of his green shirts. Green like the stripes on his bucket hat. Both his feet and his words come to a stop, strangely fixated. It's so green.

"Hey, Phil, have you ever noticed how green your bucket hat actually is?" Ghostbur drifts over to his father to get a closer look at his hat, his crane building story forgotten. "Like, it's really green. One might think that, with all the fighting and running it has probably endured, it must have definitely lost its colourfulness. But look!" He raises his hands to frame the hat, as though it were something exceptionally precious. "Still as green as the day you got it, I'm sure!", he exclaims with a grin, his face mere centimetres away from Phil's.

"Uh, thanks, I guess." Philza laughs awkwardly, shuffling on his seat. "Never knew you were this enthusiastic about green clothes, mate."

"Oh, I'm not," Ghostbur chirps, playing with his piece of lapis, "I just really like yours, especially your hat!" He rubs his thumb over the stone one last time before putting it away, missing the way Phil's smile becomes strained. 

"It's funny that you say that. Someone I knew had the exact same sentiment towards green," Phil says softly, pulling the bucket hat from his head, rubbing at the worn fabric. "Especially towards my hat."

"Oh, how fun! Who was it?" Ghostbur loses concentration in his excitement and can distantly feel his body slowly float upwards, rotating until he stands upside down on the ceiling. Unbothered, he keeps talking. "Maybe you could introduce us sometime and we could talk about the colour green, about your green! I don't know what-"

"I… I don't think that will be possible, mate. It's been some time since I last… saw them," Phil apologizes, his voice catching at the end of the sentence.

Ghostbur sinks back down to the floor with a frown. He's done it again. "Are you okay, Phil? Here, have some blue. Calm yourself," he says, folding his hand around the blue he's just placed in his father's hands. He knows he's upset him. He keeps upsetting everyone because he keeps forgetting what is taboo to talk about and what isn't. Apparently, Philza's bucket hat is one of those things. What a shame, he really likes how green it is.

__

Tommy lets his almost broken axe fall to the ground, before flopping down himself. Sitting next to the small fire he lets out an annoyed groan.

"You know, you could have helped me chop down those trees instead of just standing there, watching and shit", he scoffs, picking at the splinters in his hands. All afternoon he had been chopping down tree after tree. Probably for his tower, which was looming behind Tommy in the far distance.

Ghostbur gives him a smile, quietly picking at the strings of his guitar, as he ignores his complaint. The soothing melody accompanies the constant crackling of their campfire and the sizzling of the fish above the flames. He starts humming for a bit, letting his gaze wander, and then he starts talking. 

"You know, I think you're quite lucky, Tommy. To be out here-", he starts, rotating the fish to keep it from burning. He resumes his strumming.

"Wha-?! What the fuck are you saying, Wil-"

"Where there is barely any light to taint the night sky", Ghostbur continues, undeterred by Tommy's protest. He repositions his left hand and the song becomes a bit more somber, bringing down the mood of the conversation with the descending chord progression. "I mean, the sky is just so beautiful out here, look," he breathes, tilting his head upwards. He notices his little brother frowning in his peripheral, but he follows his instructions and looks up as well.

"And what am I supposed to be seeing?"

"The stars, Tommy!" A grin spreads across his grayed out cheeks. The soft strumming stops for a moment, as Ghostbur makes a sweeping motion across the horizon. "The stars." A breath of admiration leaves his empty lungs.

"What about them?", Tommy asks, an annoyed tint to his voice. He sounds exhausted. Maybe he should have helped with the wood chopping, actually. Next time, maybe. Because right now, all he can think about is the twinkling and shining of the stars above him. How has he never noticed how many there are? How bright they are?

"Are you not seeing the same thing I'm seeing? Look at the stars, the milky way, they're all so incredibly clear out here in the wilderness." A shooting star flies across the sky, making Ghostbur gasp in child-like glee. "Quick! Make a wish, Tommy!"

"That's stupid, Ghostbur. I'm not a stupid child, believing in something stupid such as-"

"Ah, come on, Tommy. What's the worst that could happen? Just make a wish with me." Ghostbur claps his hands together more forcefully than was really necessary and closes his eyes. He peeks at the boy in ragged and torn clothes next to him, looking more tired and broken than a boy his age should, and mouths his silent wish for his little brother to please, please, come out of this alright. 

"Your turn!" He smiles, quietly rubbing at a piece of blue from his messenger bag when he's done.

"Ugh, fine," Tommy groans. He claps his hands together and closes his eyes with much less enthusiasm than the former did. His lips don't move along with his silent wish, but Ghostbur trusts his sincerity. Knows that the other can't be anything but sincere in almost everything he does. Whether he wants to or not. After a few moments he opens them back up. "There, done," he grumbles, "happy?"

A grin in approval and a nod, making Tommy roll his eyes. A shiver runs down his arms with the dropping temperatures of the night. Ghostbur stands up without a word, dumping three thick blankets on top of the younger when he returns. Satisfied when Tommy is adequately bundled up for the night, he sits back down at his place in front of the fire, picking up his guitar from the ground, and begins to strum yet another melody, more soothing than somber this time. He leans back against the tree log behind him, continuing to play long after the other has finally fallen asleep, only occasionally stopping to throw a log in the flames to keep the fire going. His eyes stay fixed at the stars that are so much brighter than they ever were in any of his faded memories.

__

The third time he gets fixated on something arguably insignificant, he is with Techno. They're out on a hunt for wild potatoes, since most of his old crops lay abandoned in their old ravine and the few that he managed to take with him long ago were not enough to start a proper farm. 

So here they were, quite a few thousand blocks away from Techno's base, where the ground isn't permanently frozen and manages to support the occasional berry bushes and even some wild carrots. When they come across some tall yellow-white flowers, Techno immediately puts down his bag next to them and gets out his shovel. He plows through the dirt, bringing up large chunks with every scoop he takes. They're littered with the beautiful golden glow of potatoes. 

Ghostbur floats up to the piglin, watching him check every potato he finds and throw the good ones in his bag. The dirt, damp with recently fallen rain, sticks to Techno's clothes, getting stuck in the fur of his red cape and leaving dirty smudges on his crown whenever he adjusts it. Ghostbur tilts his head, feeling a strangely familiar itch in his hands, urging him to go, go, touch it, touch it now, take it. He ignores it.

It's dirty.

"You know, I've always been curious, Techno." He picks up one of the bigger potatoes on the ground to keep his hand busy and turns it over in his hand, looking for any faults on its skin. He throws it up in the air a few times, judging its weight. "Why are you so… fascinated with them?" He throws the large potato, which the other catches easily. His eyes drift down to the red of his cape and the white of his fur collar, clumps of dirt and mud spread throughout. He tears his gaze away. "I remember you having a large farm in the ravine and I think I've never seen you eat anything other than a baked potato." 

"I do not only eat baked potatoes," Techno protests, picking up his bag and walking towards the next yellow-white flower cluster he sees in the close distance. The ghost follows with impossibly light steps.

"I only eat them most of the time," he admits, driving his shovel into the ground. He throws his falling cape back over his shoulder, ignoring the way it accidentally gets dragged through a muddy puddle next to him.

"Which is most of the time if we're being honest," Ghostbur remarks with a grin, his hands still itch with the thought of Techno's red cape getting dirty, he's always so careless with it, the white fur is getting ruined. He starts plucking the yellow-white flowers, delighted when he finds a slightly purple variant of it.

"Because they are clearly the superior food source," Techno shoots back, throwing the last potato in his bag. He notices that Ghostbur's is still completely empty except for a piece of lapis and the sack full of blue that he is so fond of carrying and handing out. With a sigh, he keeps moving. They change location a few more times, whenever the ground has no more potatoes to give, until both bags are finally filled to the brim.

Satisfied with the amount, Techno puts his shovel away and they start the trek back to his base. The sun is only two hours away from setting and they're quite a long way away from home, so Techno picks up his pace, pulling the ghost with him, away from the bees and their nest in the tree.

With nothing to preoccupy his hands Ghostbur takes out his piece of lapis, running his fingers over its rough ridges. His crown is smudged with mud.

"There is dirt on your crown," Ghostbur points out, looking up at Techno's head with a frown. "And your cape." He picks at some clumps of mud and pulls out a few small twigs.

"It's fine, I can just wash it, when we get back." And that's that. Except Ghostbur knows that Techno will just hang it up at the entrance, brushing off the worst of the by then dried mud the next time he has to go out and wear it. How does he know that. Now that he's pointed it out and begun cleaning it, the itch in his hands has grown to be unbearable. This feels familiar. He won't be able to clean the cape right away without any soap or water, he's always so careless with it, never properly taking care, and his crown is dirty with mud.

"Give it to me," Ghostbur suddenly demands, extending his hand towards Techno's crown. Why is this so important to me? "Give me your crown." The piglin raises an eyebrow at the demand, but hands over the golden crown with a shrug, curious as to what has the ghost riled up so suddenly.

Ghostbur snatches the crown from the other's hand and starts to clean it with the fabric of his sweater. The mud that has since dried slowly flakes off and reveals the shiny surface underneath. He almost obsessively rubs at the inlaid jewels, scratching away the dirt. He turns it over a few times when he is done and returns it to his owner with a slight huff. "Please take better care of it next time."

Techno chuckles at the ghost antics, but his brows are pulled together and he looks anything but amused. He doesn't hide his small frown fast enough.

Ghostbur mentally adds Techno's crown to the taboo list, as they continue walking home. At least the itching in his hands has stopped.

[cowboyshit]

Only for the Holidays

Ship: Adam “Hangman” Page and Ivy (OFC) Summary: Adam and Ivy cross paths at a mutual friend’s holiday party and hit it off, both admitting they’ve grown tired of constantly being asked about having a partner at the various holiday events they have to attend. They come to an agreement to pretend to date for the holidays to get their friends and family off their backs, but neither of them admit that they’ve had an attraction to each other from the beginning. Will these feelings come to a head? Or will the pair be able to stick to their original plan and only get through the holidays together? Rating: general/fluff the whole way through Length: 2,221 words part ONE of THREE

author’s note: this is my first entry for the @12daysofchristmas​ challenge hosted by viv! this fic is split into three parts, the other parts will be posted on other days during the challenge!

The warmth of the crackling, orange-red fire soaked beneath her bundled layers of clothes and heated the bare skin of her cheeks. She held her hands out to it and felt it soak into her palms and fingers until it was almost uncomfortable, pulling them back to rub them together. Her eyes darted over the tops of the flames, where little red sparks flew off into the night sky, distinguished quickly in the cold. All around the bonfire there were groups of friends gathered, drinking and laughing, their conversations rising and falling in volume.

“Hey Ivy, what are you doing by yourself over here?” Her friend, Mia, was frowning as she walked up next to her and held out a mug she’d brought over of something that was lightly steaming.

“I was just warming myself up by the fire,” Ivy said, feeling the heat of the liquid in the ceramic mug before she wrapped her fingers around it’s handle. “What’s this?”

“Homemade cider! Spiked with a bit of honey whiskey, of course.” Mia winked and then nodded toward the house quite a distance off where soft, yellow lights poured out of the windows. “There’s more in the house when you need a refill. Roger has been working on it all day and he’s very proud.” She rolled her eyes, but playfully, clearly amused by her husband’s party-host excitement.

Roger and Mia hosted a winter bonfire for all their friends when the temperature dropped enough to comfortably host. There was always good food, good drinks, good company, and…

“Stop standing by yourself! Roger invited a lot of his friends through work,” Mia leaned in, lifting her dark brows, “Cute, single friends.”

There it was. Every single year Mia tried to use it as an opportunity to hook Ivy up, too.

“That’s nice, Mia, but I’m not interested. Remember?”

“Yes, yes, you’ve had a string of bad dates the past two years that’ve dramatically turned you away from love forever.” This time when Mia rolled her eyes it seemed far more pointed.

“That’s not the only reason,” Ivy felt herself getting defensive, but carried on, “I also need to focus on my career, and I do just fine on my own. Honestly, Mia, I get it. You and Roger are great together and I see how happy he makes you and you make him, but I promise you my life isn’t lacking anything because I don’t have anyone.”

Mia frowned and shook her head. “Alright, alright, that’s a fair point. Still…” she raised her brows and seemed to fight a smile, “There’s some really cute single guys here. I’m not saying you need to fall in love and get married or anything... But what’s wrong with a little bit of companionship?” She winked, just as Roger beckoned her from the house. “I better go see what he needs. Mingle! I mean it! This is a party!”

Ivy laughed, promising to find someone to talk to as Mia walked off. Alone again, she glanced over the different sized gatherings of people to figure out where she could seamlessly slide into a conversation. There were a few familiar faces and enough for her to find somewhere to go or someone to talk to. But it was the man she’d never seen, standing off by himself much like she’d been, with the colorful pearl snap tucked into a tight pair of Wranglers, a decent-sized buckle catching the reflection of the flames of the bonfire, and blond hair loose in fluffy curls around his face that caught her attention. 

Okay, so there were definitely some cute guys here.

***

“Did you choose to outcast yourself, or were you just enjoying the fire and I’m being a presumptuous jerk by assuming you’re all alone?”

Adam looked over at the woman who’d walked up to him just then and gave a half-grin. “Ah- you caught me, but don’t tell anyone. I don’t really know many people here, just Roger.” He pointed the tip of his beer bottle toward the house where he’d last seen his friend. “I was trying to figure out how to get naturally into a conversation with these strangers or wait until Roger came back out here to tag around with him.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me. I’ll tell anyone who asks that you were enjoying the bonfire and minding your own business and not at all an outcast.”

“That’s very kind of you,” he said with a chuckle. She was cute, and witty. Adam prided himself on being fairly charming in most conversations, and always quick with something to make people laugh. But this girl was tripping him up, he felt like he was a step too slow with her and he wasn’t sure what he was more of: excited or nervous?

“How do you know Roger?” She asked.

“I used one of his horses for work.”

“Oh! You work in the film industry?”

“Kind of,” he gave a small grin and shrugged. “I’m on t.v.” It still felt weird to say it, even a year later.

“Let me guess,” she said, narrowing her eyes in thought as she tilted her head and looked up at him. He couldn’t help but notice the way the orange-glow of the nearby fire looked pretty in her eyes. “You’re definitely one of the stars of whatever show it is.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just a hunch.” When she smiled, there seemed a bit of extra brightness in her eyes. A little bit of mischief. She lifted her cup to her lips to take a drink of whatever she had in her hands, and Adam found himself momentarily distracted by the shape of her lips.

“Well, I guess you’re sort of right.” Though he certainly felt a pang of nervousness at referring to himself as a star. “I am on there pretty frequently.”

“I knew it!” She grinned. “What’s it about?”

The hand not holding his beer reached to rub at the back of his neck as he grinned. “I’m a professional wrestler?”

“No way!” She seemed delighted.

“Yeah,” he said, putting his hand back to comfortably rest his thumb on his belt.

“Wait… Why on earth did you need a horse as a wrestler?”

It was Adam’s turn to laugh. “I have this whole cowboy persona, so we just thought it would be cool for me to ride a horse.”

“Ahhh, I guess that explains the wranglers and the pearl snap,” she gestured at his front.

“Well, hey now, just because I have a cowboy persona for wrestling doesn’t mean I’m not a cowboy myself.”

“Are you?”

“Kind of?”

They looked at one another and she grinned.

“I grew up on a tobacco farm, we had cattle, horses. The whole thing.”

“So you’re a cowboy who wrestles.”

“Yep,” he said, and was happy to see another smile on her face. “And you?” He had fallen comfortably into their conversation, and hadn’t even noticed Roger was already back around the bonfire, mingling with the other attendants. Adam was too distracted by her.

“I am not a cowboy who wrestles,” she pointed out playfully, and at the roll of his eyes, laughed. “What I do is not nearly that exciting. I’m an editor at a publishing firm.”

“Hey, that’s pretty cool!” He encouraged.

“Not as cool as being a professional wrestling cowboy on T.V.”

“Okay, maybe you got me on that one. My job is pretty cool.” He lifted the beer to his lips to take another swig. “But you get to read stories like they’re plain river rocks and polish them up so they look as pretty as a gemstone, and I know that’s no easy job to do. We do a lot of that where I work. Kind of. We come up with our stories and everyone kind of helps refine them to make them something great by the end of it. I could only imagine what it must be like to read other people’s work and have the talent to go in and make it great.”

“Thank you…” her voice trailed off as she looked at him almost curiously, and Adam worried he’d said something wrong. His brows dipped in together as he watched her. “Sorry,” she said when she noticed him frowning, “it’s just that no one has ever really cared that much about what I do. Or at least, not really understood it. They normally go with a traditional nod of their head and a polite compliment before they change the subject.”

“Well, maybe you haven’t been telling the right people.”

“Maybe,” she said, her smile growing. “Honestly, this whole conversation is refreshing. I’m used to dodging people not caring about my job and jumping right into asking me about my relationships. It’s like everyone assumes my life isn’t complete without a partner in it. Every single conversation always leads back to that.”

Adam laughed and nodded in agreement. “Oh, I know. Almost all of my friends are happily settled down, and they all like to worry about me, so every time there’s some big event where everyone’s got their partner and I’m standing off with my beer they start to bug me about not finding a girl yet.” He shook his head and took another swallow of beer, then realized it was the last drink in the bottle. He licked the remnants off his lips and sighed. “Don’t even get me started on my mama.”

“Don’t get me started on mine!” She retorted. “Come on, let’s get you a refill.” They fell easily in step together, and as they left the warmth of the big, crackling bonfire he found himself moving a little bit closer to her in step, as if to block away some of the chill on the path to the house. There was an ice chest filled with beer back at the bonfire, but Adam didn’t want to question her as she led him away from it.

“My mom has been pressuring me about settling down and having kids for years now,” she continued as they walked up the back porch steps and into the cozy (and quiet) house. “Sometimes I wonder if she even knows what I do for work, because it sure doesn’t seem like she cares.” She stopped in front of a large crock pot with its light on to signal it was keeping whatever was inside warm.

“You know what really sucks?” She asked as she gave him a look, to which Adam widened his eyes a little and shook his head. She was ramped up on a rant, and he was happy to stand aside and let her work through those frustrations.

As she took the ladle and poured rich, amber liquid into a new cup and then added more to hers to refill what she’d drank, she sighed. “I’m possibly up for a promotion soon. A big one. I want to tell everyone, but I already know the next words that are going to follow are going to be about if I’m dating.”

“Congratulations,” he offered a little gently, and found he didn’t like the way dejection looked across her face. “They really wouldn’t care about you getting promoted?”

“I mean, they’d congratulate me and say it’s nice and they’re proud, but I already know unless I have someone, they’re still going to see me as…” she frowned as she tilted a bottle of honey whiskey to spike the drink, “Incomplete.” The golden liquid splashed inside before she set the bottle down and then handed him the cup. “Enough of my woe-is-me stupidity. Here, no more beer tonight. You’re at a bonafide bonfire, and that means you’re going to get really into the traditions and drink some homemade, spiked apple cider.”

“Yes ma’am.” He grinned as she pressed the warm cup into his palm, but he was thinking. As she turned to walk around him, intending to head back out the door with her cup in hand, he spoke up.

“Hey, wait a second.”

She looked back at him and he wondered why his heart was suddenly beating so fast.

“I know this is cliché and a little dumb, but I don’t like people poking into my personal business, even my friends, and I don’t like those looks they give me when they’ve got their arms wrapped around their loved ones and I’m alone. If you had someone, it’d stop all those questions about your relationship, right? What if we just pretended to date? Just to get through all these holiday parties.”

“This sounds like a set-up to one of those cheesy, Hallmark Christmas movies.”

“I promise not to fall in love with you if you promise not to fall in love with me.” He teased, and was happily rewarded with her smiling. To hide how much he liked seeing it, Adam lifted the cup to his lips and took a sip of the drink she’d made him. It tasted just like winter traditions, warm apples, cinnamon, and a sweet hint and burn of honey whiskey.

“Oh, what the hell,” she shrugged after seeming to contemplate it for a moment, “If it means I have one Christmas season where everyone isn’t up my ass about finding someone, I’m in.”

“Alright,” he grinned and held out his hand. “Shake on it?”

She slipped her hand into his, and he tried not to pay any mind to how much he liked feeling the contact. He told himself he had no ulterior motives and that this was simply to get everyone off his back, and everyone off of hers. Plus, she was nice and easy to talk to, he wouldn’t mind having her company at the holiday party.

“I promise not to fall in love with you while we fake date through the holidays to get all of our loving but annoying friends and family off our back.” She declared, and they shook on it as he chuckled, then raised his cup.

“Cheers, I’ll drink to that.” 

Adam and Ivy will return on December 19th - Holiday Party!

[peterxwade24]

BWYD Chapter 3

How Marinette Becomes a Wayne (Probably)

Bruce Wayne walked hand-in-hand with his youngest two children, Damian to his right and Marinette to his left, with his four older sons behind them. Marinette was bouncing excitedly, looking up at Bruce with a fond expression.

Jason let out a chuckle before he strode forward, his duffle bag slung across his back while Marinette’s pink duffle bag was hung from his shoulder, and picked up Marinette. With a quick look to Duke, Jason tossed Marinette to him before he picked up Damian.

Bruce shot a glare at his second oldest son before he looked at Duke and smiled. He shook his head and looked over at his other two sons, Dick carrying his own duffle and Bruce’s while Tim had his own rolling suitcase and Damian’s duffle, before smiling. “If only your sisters were here with us.”

“Babs and Steph offered to stay and watch the house for us. And Cass is still in Hong Kong.” Dick filled in, ruffling Tim’s hair before he fell into step with his father. “Where exactly are we staying?”

Bruce looked at his son before taking his duffle bag from Dick and slinging it over his shoulder. “A place called Le Grande Paris.”

Marinette’s head shot up and, with a gasp, she squirmed out of Duke’s arms and ran towards Bruce. “Le Grand Paris? Le père de Chloé le dirige!”

Jason shook his head before looking at his father and older brother. “Apparently Pixie Pop knows the guy who runs it.”

Marinette grabbed Bruce’s hands and tried to drag him from the airport, her face broken out in a smile and her pigtails bouncing with every tug. “Come on! Come on!”

Bruce smiled at his little daughter and pretended to be dragged by her, his four oldest sons had smiles on their faces while his youngest son scowled at everything.

---

The doors of Le Grande Paris opened, admitting the small family of seven, with a nearly silent woosh that was felt, rather than heard, by six members of the family. A nine-year-old blonde-haired girl looked up from where she had a shorter nine-year-old red-haired girl painting her nails and sneered.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She began in French, “what are you doing in my Daddy’s hotel?”

Marinette shrunk in on herself, missing the look Jason shot Dick, before she forced a smile onto her face. “My adoptive family and I are here visiting friends.”

“Can’t you stay anywhere else?” The blonde’s face split with a malicious grin. “Can’t you stay with those dumb friends of your’s? Oh wait, you don’t have any friends.” She let out a cackle before she, and her red-haired friend, began to laugh.

Jason’s eyes widened before he looked over at Dick. The two had a silent conversation before Dick translated the conversation for Bruce, Damian slid from Jason’s arms, Jason picked up Marinette and Damian took a protective stance in front of his siblings. Damian may not like his new sister Grayson, Todd, Drake, and Thomas’ new sister but only he was allowed to be mean to her.

Bruce turned back to the scene, a frown present on his face, when a large man walked into the room.

André Bourgeois walked into the room, noticing the glares the boys were directing at his daughter, and put himself between the five glaring boys and his daughter. “What seems to be the problem here?” He asked in English with a thick French accent.

Bruce slipped into his perfect businessman persona and gave the French gentleman a tight smile. “It appears your daughter started picking on my daughter as soon as we walked in. Excuse my boys, they’re overprotective of their younger sister.”

André rolled his eyes, not believing a word from Bruce’s mouth. “They are but children. Surely your children tease one another, non?” His tone was full of amusement and joy and his thick French accent seemed to have gotten thicker. “Let’s get you checked in, Monsieur…?”

Bruce let a smirk flit across his face before he schooled his expression. “Wayne. Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce and his kids watched as the hotel manager seemed to deflate before he ushered his daughter and her friend back to his daughter’s room. “Yes, yes. Monsieur Wayne we’ve been expecting you.”

---

“I am not sharing a room with her.” Damian called while exiting the back bedroom, his ever present scowl on his face.

Marinette looked up from where she was being held against Duke’s chest, Jason just a short distance away, and frowned. “What do you mean?”

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. He shot a look at his youngest son. “Almost all of the rooms have two beds. If you don’t want to room with your sister,” what did I just say don’t let it get to you don’t let it be something “then don’t.”

Dick, Jason and Duke all shot their heads up with a resounding “I’ll room with her!”

Marinette scrunched her nose in thought before her eyes sought out Tim’s form. She wiggled out of Duke’s arms to go wrap her arms around Tim’s leg.

Tim, in all his insomniac glory, merely blinked in confusion. “Wha-”

“Thank you Tim for volunteering. Everyone go deposit your bags in your room so we can go meet with your sister’s friends.” Bruce clapped and ushered his sons to figure out who’s sleeping where.

Dick and Duke took the room beside Tim and Mari’s, only to be close to the two, while Jason slept in the room between Damian’s and Bruce’s. The family of seven met back up in the main room, with Damian clinging to Jason and Marinette sticking to Tim’s side.

Bruce led his family down to the lobby, a contrite smile being passed between businessmen, and out the door, before his six children fanned out around him.

Jason and Marinette were discussing something in French, with Tim simply adding to the conversation when he saw fit. Dick and Duke, however, were discussing how fun it’d be to do parkour throughout the city. Damian, headstrong Damian, took point and walked ahead of the rest of the family.

---

The family of seven reached the park, Marinette separating from her brothers and running at her friends. Dick held out his arm to prevent his younger brothers from following their sister.

“Look at her.” Dick whispered when his brothers started to disagree. “She looks so happy.”

Marinette was smiling and laughing with her friends, a lanky Vitamese-French boy and a shorter Morrocan-French boy, but would occasionally turn to smile at her brothers.

“She looks so free.” Duke commented. “What happened?”

“What made her the girl she is in Gotham?” Jason asked, “is that what you mean?”

Duke and Dick nodded, they weren’t assigned to the mission that brought Jason and Bruce to Paris last year.

Jason swallowed harshly, before he let out a cough. “I’ll tell you what happened. B would, but he’s still distraught.” He motioned his brothers away from their father, but still within view of their sister. He looked all of his brothers in the eye, his face in a forced expression of neutrality. “It was a year ago, give or take a few weeks. We’d just finished doing a perimeter check when we caught sight of smoke. We rushed to the smoke, but we didn’t make it in time. When we arrived, the building, I think it was a bakery, had collapsed in on itself. B and I, we found two bodies. They were charred beyond belief and we had given up hope of finding survivors, when we heard movement. B went to check it out while I coordinated with the local police and when B approached us, he had the smallest little bundle held against his chest. The local police demanded that he drop it, and when his eyes blew wide I knew exactly what was in his arms. He came towards us, and turned the bundle in his arms towards us. Her tiny face was covered in soot and she had these long scratches stretching from her temples to her jawline. We don’t know how she escaped without more injuries,” without permanent physical injuries “and we tried to not mention it around her. We stayed in Paris for nearly two months, and B got custody because the court system had already failed her. They placed her with people,” horrible people like my mother and Tim’s parents “who didn’t support her.” He let a tight smile cross his face while he looked at his brothers. “You must remember how she refused to speak in anything other than French for the first few months she was with us.”

Dick placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder and nodded. “Thank you for your candor.”

The other brothers all shared a look, they weren’t used to seeing Jason have so many emotions.

---

The family of seven returned to their hotel room, the two youngest standing at either side of the group before they disappeared into their own rooms. Bruce’s older sons all clapped him on the shoulder before they left to go to their rooms as well.

Bruce sagged onto the couch and waited all of five minutes before he was joined by his two youngest children. He wrapped his left arm around Damian and his right arm around Marinette.

Damian looked across his father their father at their his sister. ¨You are a formidable opponent. I shall remember to not underestimate you.”

The girl, Marinette, nodded. She looked up at Bruce. “Thank you for responding to my distress signal. I didn’t know what else to do, I feared they would hurt me. I didn’t mean for the bakery to go up in flames or to get trapped in the rubble. I didn’t mean for Maman and Papa to get trapped. I didn’t want them killed, I loved them.” Marinette rubbed at her eyes, tears pouring down her face. “I only wanted to protect them.”

Bruce knew what his daughter was talking about. He remembered exactly why they were in Paris. Two rogue villains were terrorizing Paris, and Batman had gotten a tip from a distressed child. He took Jason, the only one of his sons he could convincingly lie to, and they went to investigate. Bruce had apprehended the two villains and had met back up with Jason when they saw the smoke. Bruce had run to the bakery, flat out sprinted, and when he arrived it was too late. Bruce looked through the charred rubble, hoping to find the girl. He did but she was in worse shape than he thought she’d be in.

Bruce held his daughter close and looked at his son. “Your brothers cannot know the truth. They can only know the version Jason told them.”

Damian nodded and extended his hand to his sister. “My name is Damian al Ghul Wayne. I’m your brother.”

Marinette smiled and shook his hand. “My name was, is,” she shot an uncertain look up at Bruce before shaking her head and looking back at Damian, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I guess I’m your sister.”

Bruce looked over his youngest kids, seeing the transformation in Damian, before he picked them both up and walked to his room. He tucked his two youngest into his bed before he retreated to the main room and sighed. He didn’t want it to come out like this.

@dast218

[notquitejiraiya]

Ripples - {ShikaTema}

Summary:  Taking a breather from a wedding reception, Temari is joined by an unwanted stranger. (Modern AU)

AO3: lethargicshadowlover

The reflection of the moon across the water was warped a little more with every pebble Temari threw, the ripples barely getting a chance to flatten before the next impact. She raked up the skirt of her dress above her knees and leaned forward to grasp her next handful of ammo. The faintest hum of music was overpowered by each stone hitting the water violently; louder and louder as her patience wore thin. While it wasn’t her reason for abandoning the party roaring away behind her, she had decided that by the time she stood up, even if that was when the sun was rising, she would have skipped one properly. It might have been testing her patience and the breeze which swept across the lake cast an unwanted chill across her shoulders, but Temari wasn’t one to give up even the most menial of tasks.

Frustrated, she kicked at the dirt with her bare toes and let the remaining pebbles fall from her palm beside her in. Her hand reached for the bottle of wine she’d nabbed on her way out to find only the slightest dregs remaining. She wiped her eyes, necked what remained and savoured the kick on the back of her tongue. It was true: wine always taste better when it was free, especially when it was as expensive as this.

As she dropped the empty bottle to the side and uncrossed her legs, adjusting her stance to resume her game, she suddenly felt a presence looming nearby. Temari chose not to turn as the figure perched beside her, but caught the slightest glimpse of poorly shined leather as she reached for her next stone. She knew those were a man’s shoes, and for a moment she wondered if it was Kankuro, but she’d seen the amount of drinks he’d had this evening and knew full well he would fall onto her by this point, not beside her. So that meant this man was a stranger to her, much like everyone else at this wedding, and a quiet one at that.

Temari payed him no notice outwardly, merely flicking her wrist and almost beating her record for this evening of three skips. She wanted to blame her poor technique on the thought that plagued her mind: any moment this man might lean into her, or open his mouth and drive her away from this peaceful place she’d found for herself. Who was she kidding—he would! From her experience, men did nothing but get in the way and ruin things, so the fact this one was doing neither was unnerving to say the least.

The next stone didn’t even skip once, just splashed with an unsatisfying plop.

And then he clicked something, and not just once—it was the most obnoxious sound Temari had ever heard. Upon the fifth click she couldn’t help herself and turned, nose crinkled and eyes narrow, to see an oblivious young man attempting to light a cigarette.

Click.

A tie was tied loosely around his neck, a pop of green against his crumpled, monochrome suit, and his dark hair was bundled up into a ponytail. While Temari couldn’t deny the man was nice to look at—she particularly liked the shadow the sharpness of his jaw cast in the moonlight—he was most definitely a mess. The state of him almost made her feel better about her own appearance and the growing ring of dirt around the violet hem of her skirt, but that relief—or that jaw—didn’t help downplay her irritation or stop her wanting to snatch the lighter from his grip.

Click.

Temari’s grip tightened around the next stone as she leaned down.

Click.

Finally there was a flame, and his eyes shifted towards her, ignorant. For a moment she thought she saw him smirk as a subtle glow emerged from the end of his cigarette, but as he pulled it from his lips he turned away, blowing smoke out onto the water as he ignored her once more. She held back the urge to cough obnoxiously and scowled at him, expecting him to turn back to face her. When he didn’t, Temari could feel her bloody boiling and words just spat out on their own: “What the fuck are you doing?”

Dark eyes sat intently on the lake, unfazed by her crudity. “I thought that was obvious,” he said carelessly. “I’m having a cigarette.”

“And you have to do that here?” she hissed. “Right here—right next to me?” 

There was a beat as he brought the cigarette back to his lips and rolled his eyes.

Half expecting him to ignore her, Temari turned back to face the water and scoffed. “If you haven’t noticed, Einstein, there’s a whole other acre of land for you to prance about with your death-sticks and smoke.” She tossed her pebble in her palm. “Why don’t you try a spot that isn’t already taken?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he snarked. His head finally turned to face her. “Could I get a map? Maybe directions to the area of this lake best suited to drowning?”

Temari growled. “I’m obviously sat here cause I want to be alone!”

“So am I.”

“Well, you’ve gone and ruined that for the both of us, haven’t you?” When Temari looked over he was chewing on his bottom lip, forcing back a mischievous smile as smoke filtered out his lips. With a look that smug on his face, she wanted to punch that perfect jaw right out of socket. “What’s so funny, huh?”

His eyes flickered shut. “Nothing’s funny.”

“Sure seems it.”

“No, it’s just so typical.”

She could feel her ears burning. “Typical?”

“Yes, woman: typical,” he chuckled. “I leave that tent to get away from the yelling, sit down here and the yelling continues.”

“Oh,” she scoffed, “this isn’t even nearly yelling. But if you want to hear yelling, I can arrange that for you.”

“I mean, listen to yourself—it’s inevitable.”

Temari had to turn away to stop herself screaming.

“So what drove you out here away from the ‘fun’?” He formed little air quotes as he tapped the excess ash away.

She let herself side-eye him and held back a snarl. “As if you care.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Just thought it was polite given that I’m definitely not going to move.” He was going straight in that lake in a minute if he wasn’t careful, especially given the hint of liquor she could detect in the smoky air. “Terribly sorry,” he added with an unenthusiastic look in his eyes.

He clearly wasn’t.

It took no time for Temari to decide that his annoyingness wasn’t some kind of flirtatious tactic as it had been for many of the men she’d come across in life. How she hated men, especially those that found such behaviour amusing or assumed it was endearing. In fact, until this moment she was certain no male attitude could infuriate her more, but here he was: smoke between his lips and sighing like the world was on his shoulders, speaking almost as brutally as her and clearly getting a kick out of it with no care for what she thought.

She couldn’t bare how interested she was in what was happening beneath that scruffy hair. What she hated even more was the fact she wanted him to be thinking about her, and the fact that undoubtedly his ignorance was fuelling her interest in him. As he lifted his head and stared her down, eyebrows raised in an almost condescending way, Temari bit down on her lip and scowled straight back.

He was insufferable.

Why couldn’t she control her intrigue?

“Right, I’ll bite,” she growled, “what’s the matter with you? Why are you out here?”

He shrugged. “Well, for starters, I’m pretty sure I just got dumped.”

Temari’s mouth fell open. “Excuse me?” she got out through laughter.

Chuckling as if it didn’t matter the man shook his head, but she swore she could see his face fall slightly. “Or if I wasn’t, I will be by tomorrow.��� As he picked up a stone from her carefully selected pile Temari contemplated swatting him away, but the thoughtful way his eyes glistened momentarily stopped her in her tracks. “That and the fact that if I hear one more ABBA song I might actually drown myself.”

“Well honestly, I can see why.” She slowly sat down and pursed her lips, trying not to let him win by laughing. “You’re irritating.” 

“Wow, woman,” he said, looking back her way, “kick a man while he’s down.”

“Are you usually this much of an ass, because I don’t know about your girlfriend but I definitely couldn’t live with you?”

He laughed, properly this time. Temari decided the sound fell nicely amongst the silence. “Are you usually this troublesome?”

Any pity she might’ve housed was quickly vanishing. She rolled her eyes. He was clearly fine. “So, what did you do to this girl?”

“Nothing.”

Temari frowned. “Nothing as in you did nothing wrong, or did nothing for her?”

“I honestly have no idea,” he mumbled.

“I find that hard to believe,” Temari mused, “especially considering how sad you don’t seem about all this.”

The young man turned his head and smirked at her. “You’re determined to pin me as an asshole, aren’t you?”

“Well, you haven’t exactly made the best impression so far—invading on my personal space and blowing smoke at me.”

“Well,” he mimicked her as he turned, his tone bitter and feistier than before, “is it really so bad if I’m not upset I’m now single? I’m sure a woman like you has had a few questionable relationships in her life—you must get that it can just be relief.”

Temari almost couldn’t comprehend how insulting it was listening to him speak, and she had to fight the urge to smash the rock in her palm straight into the back of his thick skull. Worst of all he wasn’t wrong, and the look in his eyes told her he already it knew it. She could only hope that confidence was born of arrogance and not from her gormless expression.

It felt to Temari like this man was put on earth to push her buttons, and he was doing a terribly good job.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” she asked through gritted teeth, knowing full well the answer that would follow. “A woman like me?”

He nodded and blew smoke straight into her face. “You’re a firestarter; that much isn’t difficult to tell.”

“Wow,” she scoffed, snarling. “I was going to try and be consoling if you were upset, but you know what? You don’t deserve it.”

“Good,” he chuckled. “I don’t want sympathy anyway.”

Swiftly and precisely, without even standing up, his wrist flicked and sent the pebble he held flying. As it hit the water Temari was mesmerised, and begged silently for it to sink as quickly as her own attempts had. However, much to her dismay, perfect ripples surrounded it as it flew on and on and on…

When it finally dipped beneath the surface, disappearing from view further away than she cared to measure, Temari was sure she’d never been this livid. The last hour of her life suddenly felt utterly meaningless, and how nonchalant he was about his success wasn’t helping. All he seemed to do in response was shrug a little and fall onto his back to stare up at the stars. She watched him lift his cigarette to his lips and coughed dramatically until he turned her way, the paper tube balancing between his lips. “What now?” he asked.

Temari flared her nostrils, rolling her eyes to the back of her head for the millionth time.

“Do you want one or something?”

Finally she caved, unable to stop herself laughing at his idiocy. “Of course not! They’re vile!”

“Stop being such a pain or leave then,” he grumbled, letting his eyes flicker shut.

Never had Temari willingly let someone best her like is, and if it weren’t for the fact his grating personality was starting to wear her thin Temari wouldn’t have considered walking away. Then again, for the exact same reason, she felt inclined to stand her ground. She was here first, and she was most certainly going to be petty about that fact.

“Right, asshole,” she began, “it was you who invaded my evening, not the other way around, and if you’re not going to leave me alone I have some questions.” She twisted her body to face him properly as she debated impaling him with the heel of her shoe. “Name?”

His face contorted into the most childish unimpressed expression she’d ever seen. “Why?”

Temari cocked her head to one side, squinting. “Or would you rather I kept calling you ‘asshole’?”

There was a beat as he stubbed out his cigarette in the grass only to immediately light another, repeating that horrendous clicking routine a second time. Temari was certain from the little chuckle after the eighth click that he knew she hated it, and he was clearly basking in the attention whether he’d admit it or not.

When the damned thing was finally lit, Temari raised her eyebrows expectantly at him and he huffed at her.

“Shikamaru,” he said, letting his eyes shut again.

“And are you capable of not sounding bored, Shikamaru?”

“Maybe when the company isn’t boring.”

The smile playing on his lips was the only thing stopping Temari punching him, and frustratingly she could feel herself grinning, too.

One eye pried open before quickly snapping shut. “What about you?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your name—what is it?”

She frowned and crossed her arms beneath her bust. “What does it matter to you?”

“Right, like mine matters to you…”

“I’m going to throw you into the water in a minute.”

“Go ahead,” he chuckled, fluttering his eyes open in far too sweet a way for Temari’s taste. “It is a getting bit warm…”

“No it isn’t, idiot,” she snapped. “I’m freezing.”

Shikamaru frowned at her. “That’s your own fault for not bringing a jacket—you’ve made your bed, now lie in it.”

“How terribly kind of you,” she laughed, spiteful and amazed.

His eyes narrowed as he propped himself up on his elbow. “What were you expecting me to say?” he said with a laugh. “‘Oh, madam, here—have my blazer!’ Yeah, fat chance of that happening, love.”

Temari pouted to try and hide her smile. “You’re impossible.”

“Less than a minute ago you want to throw me in the lake and now you’re trying to make me feel bad for not lending you my jacket?” He shook his head and took a long drag go his cigarette. “So we know who the really impossible one is here, don’t we?”

The smoke filtered through the air and through the haze Temari caught a glimpse of him giving her what looked like a genuine smile. Without the spite or the depreciating undertone it was actually somewhat beautiful—subtle and calm, paired with eyes that looked honest above all else. His now lopsided ponytail fluttered in the wind, and he blinked a few times before sitting up properly. She was taken aback as he got to his feet, and almost grabbed his ankle to stop him leaving. A wave of hot embarrassment flooded her cheeks and she quickly turned back to the lake, biting down on her lip to stop herself being pathetic and asking that he stay.

Above the water, and the trees on its border, the moon sat high and mighty, casting a glorious glow across everything. The way the light bounced off the lake was stunning; she could’ve looked at it forever. But somehow she found herself wanting to turn back to him and look at him once more, yearning to see him under a more artificial light where the finer details of his face weren’t obscured by darkness.

It felt wrong being drawn to him. She felt stupid for being drawn in by the arrogance and mind games he undoubtedly played, and it wasn’t often she felt this much of an idiot. The bottle of wine in her system must’ve played its part in all of this, but despite that she was kind of enjoying the feeling of giddiness rippling through her stomach. For whatever reason, she was as excited as she was irked by the image of his smirk forcing its way to the forefront of her mind when she blinked; she wanted to hear him speak just to hear his voice, even though she knew every word would rile her up again.

Nothing was as easy as turning and telling him not to go, however, and Temari let her shoulders fall as his footsteps sounded beside her.

“Heads up!”

Temari turned to find fabric colliding with her face at full pelt, and grumbled through her giggles as she felt a button whip her forehead. She peeled the garment from her head, mindless of the mess it made of her hair, and pursed her lips into a smile.

His jacket.

When she looked over he’d moved a few metres away, seemingly to redirect his smoke away from her, and saluted when she caught his eye. “Just making the most of this whole other acre you mentioned,” he smirked.

Shaking her head at him, she slung his jacket over her shoulders. Maybe he isn’t that awful, she thought. She grabbed another stone to skip in order to ignore the butterflies building in her stomach.

“Temari,” she smiled. “My name’s Temari.”

[rogerblackwolf]

The Hudson Incident

8 Miles North of Hudson, New York

-1938-

The skies were clear as the full moon shined down on the dense woodlands flanking the road. The sound of two sedans being the only disturbance as they drove towards their destination. Aside from the music on the radio, the four occupants were silent, none saying a word since they left Brooklyn. One, a priest, was reading a passage from his Bible and holding his rosary which was wrapped around his left hand. The man next to him, a skinny built fellow with neatly kept hair and peach fuzz named Michael, was staring out the window as if in thought, he'd sometimes look at an envelope that contained a file and read it likely out of boredom. The man in the front seat, who was of average build with short dark hair named Vin, fiddled with the dial of the radio but settled with what they were listening to before. Finally the driver, a heavier set man with a slight Italian accent named Luca, spoke.

"Alright, it's been a few hours and no one's said a word."

"Maybe there's nothing to say." Vin responded.

"Really Vin? You've had a wisecrack or smartass thing to say about anything and everything and Now is the time you got nothing?" Luca replied

"Like I said." Vin repeated

"Calm down Luca, The Organization got us all on edge." Michael said.

"If you call going into a cultist compound full of trigger happy saps, all to destroy some artifact, on edge. I mean we don't even know what this artifact is anyway." Luca adds

"We don't need to know, just that these people plan to use it for something not good." Vin says

"Oh come on for God's sakes-" Luca starts only to be cut off by the priest.

"Do not take His name in vain." He scolds

"Alright, Alright...sorry Father Bruni, just nervous is all." Vin replied apologizing.

"You are forgiven. But be sure to go to confession as soon as you can." Father Bruni said.

The ride was silent for another few minutes before Luca turned off the main road followed by the second car. Michael looked at the file for the fifth or sixth time during the ride. The cult they were going after was set up in the old Bryant Sanitorium, closed during the peak of the Depression for lack of funds and unethical practices. The cult was called Pathway to Heaven, led by a man who was known only as The Speaker, a self-proclaimed prophet who claimed to know a way to Heaven. The Sanitorium had been under surveillance for a week, during which it was determined that there were thirty members, that they were armed, and strange lights emitted from the building's basement windows. Luca pulled off to the side of the road, the other car following suit. The gate was no more than fifty yards ahead, the main building just beyond it across a sizable front drive and of course the gate is chained, complete with a padlock.

"Ok...let's get the guns. And the bolt cutters." Luca said as everyone gathered at their car trunks. Michael pulled a strap in the floor to reveal multiple M1921 Thompson submachine guns, a pair of Browning Automatic Rifles; or BARs, a separate box had several Colt 1911s, and plenty of ammo for each firearm. The second car had a similar setup only instead of BARs they had a pair of Winchester Model 12 shotguns as well as a crate of dynamite and grenades. As everyone grabbed their weapons and some grenades, Michael took a 1911 and offered it to Father Bruni.

"Father I know you aren't allowed to carry guns but I doubt these cultists will be kind to you." He said

To his surprise, he took it and loaded a single magazine.

"There is no verse in scripture that says I am not allowed to defend myself. I am a man of peace, but I also understand that when peace is not an option then force is required." He explains.

As the rest of the group gathered, Father Bruni asked everyone to bow their heads. He then prayed for their success, their safety, for guidance in their mission, and protection from evil as he felt the sinister forces at work even from this distance. Upon him saying "Amen" Father Bruni asked Michael to take the lead with Luca and Vin while the others, led by a man named Thomas, watched their backs.

Vin cut the padlock and gently opened the creaky gate, the old sign on it read "Jeremy Bryant Sanitorium for the Mentally Ill", the group of eight men briskly made their way across the drive to the front double doors, only to find them locked.

"Now what?" Luca asks

"There's a reason I brought dynamite." Thomas suggests

"They will get a rude awakening." Vin commented as everyone gave Thomas some space. He rigged a three stick bundle on the door handles, set the timer and ran to hunker down with everyone behind a low wall off to the side. The following explosion practically splintered the tall double wooden doors, windows on the first and second floors were shattered sending glass everywhere. With the dust beginning to settle the men rushed in, firing their Thompsons and BARs at the cultists who came to investigate. Between dodging bullets and taking cover Bruni could see these cultists were not human, something was terribly wrong. Aside from the gunfire, Bruni could also hear faint chanting in no language he knew. 

As the group of men proceeded through the halls, they saw many strange symbols written in blood. The further they went into the bowels of the Sanitorium, the more the men felt presences all around them, shadows danced and formed inhuman images. The cultists also seemed off, Bruni noticed strange and gruesome ailments had befallen the individual cultists.

Many were covered with injuries that looked self inflicted, bloodshot eyes, and blackened veins around the face.

"These men...they are under some kind of spell. Their actions are not their own." Bruni warned

"I don't think they'd listen to us anyway, Father." Luca said as he checked a corner.

Down the hall, just beyond a closed set of double doors, the group heard the chanting clearly as well as seeing a red glow on the other side. The group slowly walked towards the doors, feeling a powerful pulse of energy pass over them every few seconds. When they get close to the doors, the pulse is so strong it forces them all back a step. Bruni steps to the door and goes to grab the handle only for all of them to hear the sounds of multiple people screaming. 

"Thomas, blow the door." Bruni ordered.

The group took cover in an alcove taking the time to reload their weapons, once Thomas joined them they braced for the explosion. Once the initial shockwave had passed the group eased their way towards the room, the doors were obliterated by the explosion, blackened burns on the stone floor marking the direction of the fireball into the room.

Inside the room the group saw a more gruesome scene. Gathered in a circle of candles and cryptic symbols were the bodies of five cultists, their throats slit, the blood flowed through channels along the floor to a dais covered in the same runes the group had seen throughout the building. Just past the dais stood a male figure dressed in a white robe, his brown hair was pulled into a ponytail and his face was clean shaven. He looked human but the air around him felt anything but, especially as an unsettling smile curled across his face.

"You are too late. It is done. The Path is open." He said in a distorted voice. 

He then revealed an amulet from around his neck, both it and the symbols began glowing bright crimson he then resumed the chant. The room darkened as inhuman voices joined in, the candles flickered as the blood in the dais started gathering in a floating orb of pulsating liquid. The amulet siphoned the blood from the orb seemingly empowering the Speaker.

"Put him down!" Michael shouted followed by the hail of gunfire, when one of the men ran out of ammo in his BAR he dropped it and pulled two 1911s to continue the fire. The Speaker was hit so many times his robe changed from white to red, the orb splattered onto the dais as the runes ceased glowing along with the amulet. Everyone sighed with relief before investigating the room, Bruni walked towards The Speaker stepping over the blood as best he could. When he closed the distance the presence of evil was easily felt on the medallion, which he now realized was made of carved bones, dark forces were at work darker than any man could conjure. Bruni retrieved his bible and a flask of holy water, beginning to read whilst splashing the holy water on the dais and body. Bruni, as well as the others, were caught off guard when the body began to twitch; a little at first but more violently once touched by the holy water. The twitching was replaced with bones breaking and violent convulsing, The Speaker got to his feet revealing his full transformation. A pair of horns sprouted from his head, a tail whipped out from under his robe, and claws adorned his hands.

"You cannot stop me!" He roared.

Bruni did not stop his incantation while splashing the last of the holy water into the Speaker's face. Unholy screams of agony and pain were heard as the holy water burned the creature like acid. The creature lunged at Bruni only for its fangs to scratch the metal of Bruni's 1911 as the barrel was shoved into the creature's mouth. The first shot sent it to the ground, the next three to the head ensured it wouldn't get back up. The men came to check on the father only for him to finish his incantation.

"In nomine patri, et filii, Spiritus Sancti, Amen." He said while making the symbol of the cross with his free hand. 

Bruni reached down to the amulet, upon touching it he was bombarded with multiple visions. Visions of a dark world filled with mountains of skulls, oceans of fire and blood, cries of agony while dark figures chanted and cackled at their nefarious deeds of slaughter. He watched vast armies rising and clashing, beasts made of iron and steel trampling the land, and cities turned to ash in an instant. He then saw a creature that looked akin to a dragon cloaked in shadow and flame, speaking a tongue he didn't know but it filled him with primal fear especially when it lunged to devour him. Bruni was then thrust back to reality with Luca and Vin restraining him while Michael calmed him down. Bruni calmed after a moment before Michael asked him;

"What should we do now Father?"

"This place is filled with evil. That amulet is an instrument of chaos itself, I fear the influence it would have if it ever left this place. Thomas, use what dynamite you have left to destroy this room and that infernal thing. We need to return to the Organization, tell them that this place must be buried along with its secrets." Father Bruni explained as beads of sweat drizzled from his brow.

Thomas went to work as everyone else began leaving the building Thomas caught up just as they exited the front door. By the time they reached the gate the fireball engulfed the entire right side of the building, the floors fell through into the basement. The group watched the fire for a time before finally getting into their cars, leaving the Sanatorium and it's dark secrets. Even still Father Bruni felt that what he saw, were they simple visions made to strike fear into him? Or were they premonitions of a future that has yet to come? Either way, they had succeeded in putting a fear in him he could not easily shake...nor escape.

[something-tofightfor]

Firestarter (Drabble #14)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Word Count: 1777

Rating: M (Language, talk of murder)

Author’s Note: I like this side of Billy, and giving him a girl that’s gonna deal with it - and not judge. Please enjoy, @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes ... and thank you for the request! 

 “I’m going to go and get some firewood.” Billy sniffed, standing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. “Can I have the keys?” You rolled your eyes but stood as well, reaching into the backpack that was next to your tent and fishing out the keys for Billy. 

 “No you’re not. We’re in the middle of the woods, Billy. There’s plenty of firewood here. You don’t need the keys.” Billy’s tongue darted out, and his face smoothed into that impassive look you knew all too well. “Where are you going, Russo?” He shook his head. 

 “You know I can’t tell you that.” Billy stepped closer, his hands moving to your waist as he lowered his face next to yours, mouth moving against your ear. “The less you know, the better.”  Dammit. You’d figured that Billy agreeing to go camping with you as long as he could pick the place meant that he was on assignment again, but you hadn’t ever imagined that he’d leave to take care of business. “I’ll be back in an hour, and then how about we see if we can pop that air mattress of yours, hmm?” You nodded before he’d even stopped speaking, and Billy stepped away from you, eyes moving over your face in the fading light. 

 “Be careful, Billy.” He locked eyes with you and offered a smile, the expression pulling at the edges of the large scars on his cheeks and the ones on his nose. You loved him just the same both before and after the accident, but the times when he let his guard down, let himself react naturally to things instead of hiding his emotions were the times when those feelings were the strongest - and this was one of them. 

 “I always am.” He leaned in, lips finding yours quickly. “An hour.” He nipped at your nose as he stood, spinning on his heel and climbing into the driver’s seat of your car before slowly backing down the dirt road and turning so that the car disappeared into the woods. After you could no longer see the taillights, you went back to what you had been doing, mind racing. 

 You knew that there were aspects of Billy’s job that he didn’t talk about - things that he did with and for and to people that he was paid well for. These things didn’t bother you, because while they weren’t exactly legal, Billy had learned his lesson while in the Marine Corps, and refused to do business with anyone that wasn’t fully trusted by the people that mattered the most to him: Frank, Curtis and David Lieberman. The three of them were more deadly than an entire army, and while Frank and Billy were hotheaded and quick to act, Curtis was their voice of reason - and David was the brains of the operation. Things had been tense for a while, especially after Billy had gone against his own better judgement and warned Frank about the incoming attack by the people behind Cerberus, finding a way to do so without tipping any of the wrong people off. You’d needed to go off the grid, leaving New York (and Billy) for nearly a year with Maria and the kids while he and Frank took care of things with the help of Curtis and David, whose own family had been shuttled off on an extended vacation as well. 

 Frank, Billy and Curtis had systematically eliminated Schoonover, Morty Bennett and Carson Wolf, but Rawlins had been the real issue, and the three men hadn’t been able to save everyone involved in that mess. Though you weren’t allowed any direct contact with Billy or Frank, you’d kept tabs on the things that happened, anxiously awaiting a headline telling you that something terrible had happened. Plenty of Homeland agents had lost their lives, including partners Sam Stein and Dinah Madani, who had been tasked with finding Frank and keeping tabs on Billy, who was operating as usual, running Anvil from out in the open and figuring that his status would protect him - along with playing double agent between his own operation and the US-based Cerberus unit. 

 It had worn him down both physically and mentally, and that’s why, when moving in on Rawlins for the final time, Billy had been caught off guard and injured severely, requiring months of care in the hospital. You and Maria had headed back to New York as soon as it was safe, and the recovery had been slow - even for Frank, but with the bulk of his Anvil fortune, the four men had come out on top, and their names were often whispered among the military elite… which is how they continued to get their side work on top of the legitimate business that they ran. 

 Billy and Frank would often disappear for unexplained periods of time - sometimes together, more often not, but always watching each other’s backs - and you and Maria had long ago learned not to ask questions, but that didn’t make it easier. You knew that what they did ‘off the clock’ was dangerous, but you also knew that they’d never let anything happen to each other; Billy’s risk had proven him loyal in Frank’s mind, and that was more than enough motivation. 

 The sound of a car pulling up startled you out of your thoughts, and you put down the mug you’d been drinking from, shielding your eyes from the headlights before they were cut off and the car came to a stop. That was fast. Billy stepped out of the driver’s side, wordlessly turning around to the back door and opening it, pulling out a bundle of firewood. “Told you I was going to get some wood,” he said as he walked toward you, arms full. “Did I make it back within the hour?” You glanced down at your watch and nodded, smiling as you stood and walked to his side. He’d changed between leaving and coming back, and as you reached out to put your arms around him, you gave him a once over. “Let’s get this fire started.” 

 Billy busied himself next to the fire pit, arranging the branches and lighting the kindling, and in no time, he had a large fire going. “We gonna roast marshmallows, Russo?” With a laugh, Billy shook his head, moving back to the car and popping the trunk. 

 “No, but I’ve got some other stuff to add to this fire.” He carried a small bundle toward the flames, kneeling and as he passed you, you got a whiff of a coppery smell. Those are his clothes, and they’re covered in blood. Even as he slowly peeled the pieces apart and laid them atop the flames, one at a time, you felt your heart beating faster. 

 “Billy, are you hurt?” It wasn’t until he added the shirt that he’d been wearing, a long sleeved one in black that  you saw the smears of red on his skin - bright against his forearms, which were exposed in the dark blue sweatshirt he’d changed into. “There’s so much blood, it’s….” 

 “Not mine, I’m fine.” His tone was clipped, but you didn’t detect pain in it, and you moved next to Billy, crouching down in the dirt alongside him. “Had to get a little closer than usual, but it’s nothing to worry about.” He turned to you, finally setting down the pants he’d been wearing and waiting until the flames were licking over the fabric to turn to you. “Frankie ‘n I made enough tonight to buy you a house in the Catskills.” He looked down at his hand, making sure there was no blood on it before he reached up, pushing the hair away from your face. “If that’s what you still want.” Who did you kill, Billy Russo? But you didn’t want to know, couldn’t  know, since it would mean being in it with him - though you already were. That’s a lot of money. “Yeah, it is.” 

 “I didn’t realize that I said that out loud.” You smiled at him and Billy wrinkled his nose, leaning in. “But I do want that, Billy. Sometime, with you.” He kissed you on the mouth, tongue smoothly sliding past your lips and into your mouth as he held your head with his clean hand, kissing you deeply. “Shit, Billy.” You were breathless when he pulled back, eyes on yours for long moments - black as the darkness surrounding the two of you, but full of emotion - and you shook your head. “What was that for?” 

 “For bein’ there for me no matter what. Most people wouldn’t stick it out knowin’ what I’m doin’.” His accent was always more pronounced when he came back from his missions and he was keyed up, but this was different than usual, and you could see his chest heaving. “But you do, and you will, and I think… I know what that means to me.” He shook his head, looking back at the fire, where the pants and shirt were still slowly turning into nothing more than ash. “I love you. I know I didn’ tell you that much before, but I do. I did. And I always will, too.” 

 You didn’t know what to say, and after a moment, you watched as he used one of the metal rods that you’d brought with you to stoke the fire to prod at the logs, causing the flames to grow. He reached over, adding another large piece, which caught almost immediately. “Billy, when you’re… satisfied with the way those are burning, I’ll be in the tent.” He stayed silent for a few minutes as you stood, unzipping your hoodie and tossing it onto the fire as well. He jerked his head upward, but before he spoke, you did, shrugging your shoulders. “Now we can say we had to burn some clothes and it won’t be a lie. We can say we got skunked or something.” As your hoodie caught, the flames dancing and casting shadows across Billy’s face, he stood and looked down at his arms, taking a deep breath. 

 “Let me go and wash this shit off of my skin, and then we’re gonna go and destroy that air mattress.” His words chilled you - but in a good way, and you grinned at him, lifting your shirt over your head as you turned away, hearing the hiss of his breath as he saw that you were already braless. “You’re in for it tonight,” he called after you, voice thick with arousal. “You have no idea.” 

 As you unzipped the tent flaps and ducked in, you fought back a laugh. Oh, I have a pretty good idea.

---

[lokikingofasgardslover713]

Havoc’s Worship 6: Raison D'être

Masterlist

Havoc’s Worship Masterlist

Loki is chaos, chaos is havoc & havoc has found a treasure, a jewel, a new being to worship other than himself!

Pairing: Dragon!Loki Laufeyson X OFC Reader

Warnings: Hints of past torture, Mind games, Fluff, hints at miscarriage but no details

Summary: New truths are brought to light. Can the reader find it in her heart to start over or will Loki be left alone to deal with the havoc he caused in efforts to keep everyone safe?

A/N: Sorry this took so long to update! So, this is the final chapter! I took this in a completely different direction, hope you enjoy.

Words:+5,100

————

The desperate crying echoing down the narrow way made her heart race and had her jerking harder against the dark elf guards leading her in chains. All her aches forgotten along with the recent throbbing headache and possible broken ribs at the desperation in her daughters cry.

The tent they were kept in on Svartalfheim did little to mask the tiny princess's cries when they came for the ulfhednar. Two guards had jerked her from the tiny cell in which she had assured to pass Ember to Jane to keep safe, their confines separated by bars far enough apart to allow Ember through. Drug before Malekith for what she wasn't sure other than to beat her around some more before they sent a message to Loki.

Jerking desperately to pull free and rush down the way, the woman spun facing the masked elves, their eyes staring her down. They chuckled as she jerked to the end of the chains, trying to tug them along in a rush to get to the cell. Before they reached said confines they jerked harshly to force her to the ground inches from the cage she had been kept in the past 2 days next to Jane. 

Letting out a weak growl, she tussled with the two, clothing ripped and stained from the mistreatment of the past few days. The black earth of Svartalfheim sticking to new wounds as Jane yelled out to the guard to stop. 

One banged a weapon on the bars of Jane's cage to shut her up, but that only made the tiny princess scream louder. A gloved hand wrapping in the collar of the ulfhednar's ruined tunic to choke while lifting the defiant creature to dead feet and flung into the cell. 

“Quiet the welp or we will,” one snarled as the door slammed shut.

Hastily the disheveled queen scrambled to reach the bundle of dirty fur and cloth that kicked and screamed. Pulling the wailing bundle tight, she sunk to a corner with Jane who hurried to join her in her own cell. Deftly the mortal helped what she could through the bars to aid the weak warrior in getting the child fed and quieted. 

“I’m sorry. When they left with you they took her from me,” Jane apologized, careful of fresh bruises littering the others collar bone. It appeared the mortal was sporting a bruised cheek for her efforts. 

“It’s ok Jane. There isn’t much to control here,” she sighed looking down at the babe as she latched onto a nipple, instantly quieting to feed. Noting her daughter's red cheeks, stained with tears and this cursed black earth they all had come to hate.

“I know. But I have to tell you something,” Jane spoke gently, the warrior turning to look at the brunet. “I’m pregnant.”

That took more time than it should have to register to the queen. Chartreuse orbs searching over the mortals dirtied face, holding the princess tight. “Oh gods,” she finally sighed, reaching a free hand out to place it to Jane's head, resting her forehead on hers. “We will get out. Your baby is safe.”

Jane gave a weak smile, pulling away slightly as she began to fidget before producing clean cloth appearing to be from the lining of the mortals own dress. “Here, I salvaged some things, so Ember had a few more diapers.”

Nodding, the warrior graciously took the kind gesture. The babe and area quieting for the three to relax if only it was for a few unknown moments. Eyes heavy as she relaxed against the painful bars, but what else was there? The ulfhednar’s body ached from all of it, the beating, the recent birth and the weight of returned memories.

"Get some sleep," Jane's voice drifted through her ears as if in a fog, the quiet suckling of Ember beginning to fade out when the warriors eyes fluttered closed.

The queens worries dancing around with the latest development between she and Loki before all this.  

It was the day she returned with Loki; Ember asleep in a bundle of furs in the nest as she slept. Carefully Frigga guided the warrior through dark memories Loki had placed. Each one unraveling to show a kind, gentle lover who done nothing but dote over his wife, his mate. It was intoxicating but angering as Frigga gently guided her through the literal chaos the god had created. The question on her lips though was-.

“Why,” slipping past dry lips, eyes still closed to watch and feel what the old monarch was showing her.

An excited version of herself stepping off of the plane the moment all this began. Loki was surrounded by his own guard as was she, but she strode happily towards him, the god gracing her with a cheerful smile, wings unfolded. A cheer went up from the crowd as he took her hand gently and knelt before her, Thor smirking like the idiot he was. 

This wasn't their first meeting by no means as the memory slipped in the two of them had been meeting for several years. Possibly longer?  

“He felt you were ruining yourself by deftly agreeing to wed without question. Regardless of fate,” the older monarchs voice spoke to her, the woman watching the beautifully haunting memory.

Thoughts crossing this was another way to break her, maybe this wasn't real. An excited Loki standing to lift her from the ground, arms wrapped around her knees to lift her over him. Like two idiots they smiled at each other, her hands wrapping his face to take a kiss, wings folding protectively around them. 

This had a different feel, one stating this was an all too real memory hidden in darkness. She could literally taste the acrid seidr placed over the memory to hide it, this was heartbreaking. Would he rather her believe whatever dark things were placed over this instead of how he truly loved her?

“I wasn’t,” this wasn’t a dream any longer. The all-mother lifting the veil the god of mischief placed over her mind's eye. 

“Loki still believes even after he was given the crown by Odin, even after all the blame was lifted off of his shoulders of Sigyn's death; he still thinks himself unworthy to possess you. More so now that you have given him Ember. Loki fears he will have to hide you away to keep you safe and felt these memories would help him do so. 

He was wrong, had I known the real reason he told me he sent you back to Midgard I would have never allowed it. It made me wonder why he stole you in the night a few months ago, he finally admitted it, and when he returned to fetch you he found you were pregnant and had run in fear. I was afraid the illusion he placed when you were sent to the small village was too much. I found you, told him where to retrieve you,” the queen explained in the darkness, joyous memories of their wedding day, her own people present in the meadow that was supposedly a battleground.  

“So, all the hell he supposedly put me through was an illusion?”

“Yes,” Frigga admitted halfheartedly.

“Then this explains when I was on Midgard, -before I had Ember-, I found no scorched earth where we battled, no rebuilding. This is why the Avengers are so kind to us, why Thor is so gentle with Jane, why she returns his love," her own thoughts echoed around as they viewed the memory of their wedding night, how gently he carried her into the chamber.

“You remember all Loki has done for you? How kind be truly was,” Frigga spoke, the haze clearing for them to return to the chamber, sitting in the nest with Ember resting quietly. 

“Yes. But it makes me want to chew his ass for thinking he is less worthy than Thor or anyone else. It breaks my heart, I understand it, and he still has my heart, but I need to speak with him,” the warrior spoke up, a great weight lifted off of her shoulders as the dark memories where truly gone. There was still the acrid taste but thankfully she could recall none of the horrors, just good ones in their place. 

Frigga gave her a knowing smile, hugging the tired younger monarch tight for a moment. It was no secret the older woman doted over her replacement, she loved her fighting spirit, possibly loved her more so than Sigyn. “Then I will let him know you need to see him when he finishes with the dark elves.” 

Later that night, Ember resting once more after a feeding, the warrior was quick to corner Loki at the fireplace. The god fixing her with a worried glare at the fire in her eyes. It may be less than 24 hours since she gave birth, but the hybrid knew she could bring him to his knees, and he didn’t have the heart to stop her. 

“Your mother showed me Loki,” she echoed hotly trying to keep quiet to not wake Ember. Slapping the hand away the god attempted to lace into loose locks. “No. That’s how you do it. But Frigga charmed me, so you can’t anymore.”

The god pursed his lips, long coat unfolding to large wings. The meeting with the dark elf leader, Malekith, went in no way as planned. The dark elf storming out when neither hybrid would bargain. He knew she had heard, seen the ache in her bones when stepping flush to him. 

She felt his weariness at having to deal with the dark elf. Word came he had threatened the city, it’s people, her and the day-old princess for good measure as well. She knew his ache, reaching up to take his face in her hands, glad she couldn’t remember the nightmares he made her believe. 

“Please quit assuming you are a monster and that I am ruining my life by loving you. We are twin flames,” she echoed lovingly, stroking over his cheeks with calloused thumbs and tears rimming her eyes. 

“You fell into me so blindly when we first met, I just-. You left your people without looking back. You-. Norns my treasure,” he echoed laying his forehead to hers before his knees buckled and he fell before her. 

Tenderly he placed his head to soft belly, he knew she was sore, tired and now having to deal with this. This creature before him, this ulfhednar, his promised, mate, mother to his child birthed a little over 24 hours ago. 

“Can you forgive me treasure,” he echoed against soft belly, feeling her lean and lace fingers into his hair, wings folding around her. 

“Maybe-,” she hesitated, feeling him tense, leather clad arms wrapping around lightly covered legs. “We should start over.”

“We can,” he breathed, hopeful she wasn’t about to push him away. Though he gave her every right to do so. He could have ruined them both, stupid pride and self-loathing.  

She should hate him, should scream and kick him away. It was a dirty way to have done them, though, truth be told, Loki was just as messed up as she. Like she was one to know of love. Her parents were arranged, no love between them, they were married just to produce her, an heir to a throne. 

“Loki,” she breathed, soothing over the gods head and shoulders. “We both know nothing of what we are meant to be. My parents never showed any sort of affection, they were all business. And what happened during your lifetime was a travesty. I will gladly try once more; what about you?”

Slowly Loki got to his feet, reaching down to her thighs to place them around his waist. It was in no way sexual; it was to comfort as he placed an arm under her buttocks and the other around the nape of her neck. 

Gingerly the hybrid stroked over the soft flesh, “I was worried the last illusion had broken you when you weren’t at the settlement on Midgard. You were to have stayed at the shore, but you fled to the island. I thought I lost you, forgive me, I didn’t realize you were carrying until my last visit to find you gone. I’m sorry my treasure.” Gingerly he tugged her to him, nuzzling at her nose, kissing her lips tenderly. 

“Our first night together was so beautiful Loki. How could you bury it,” she whispered over his lips when the kiss broke for a moment. 

“I was foolish. I may have been called a monster my entire life, but it gave me no right,” he breathed, surprised when her lips pressed to his, arms wrapping around his shoulders while wings wrapped around her back to pull tight. 

“Take me to bed, I’m tired,” she echoed, Loki nodding in agreement. The god starting to the nest, the little bundle nestled in the furs and linens squeaking as he got his mate settled next to her. 

Slowly Loki laid at her back, a wing protectively draping over the queen and princess. Loki tenderly moved his mates loose hair to nuzzle at the nape of soft neck. “Rest mate, I will tend to her when she wakes,” his voice rasped as she leaned back into him to shut her eyes. 

A harsh jab to her ribs had her clinging to the quiet bundle in her arms. Jane hurriedly assuring she was covered as the guard entered. It still appeared as if it was night and hadn’t napped long. 

“Up,” the guard snarled from behind his mask, mind still hazed in sleep as a hand wrapped in the shackle chain to jerk her up drunkenly and still holding the infant. 

“What did he say,” Jane asked getting up as well, a guard coming to her own cell to retrieve the mortal. 

The warrior forgotten Jane didn’t possess all speak. “They want us up,” she spoke, the guards tugging them both out and down narrow walk to the entrance. 

Jane called out to her when they threw the ulfhednar out of the tent like structure to the black dirt. Protectively the warrior curled around the infant to keep her from being slung to the ground. Landing hard on her shoulder to cushion the fall with Jane falling over her to stop anyone from hitting the two. 

“As you can see, they are alive,” Malekith spoke to someone making the women look up to spot several Avengers. There was no way the leader would allow Loki or Thor close unless it was to get what he wanted. 

“You’ve beat them,” Steve spat in disgust, one of the others starting forward, it looked to be Sam, but the captain stopped him. 

“Just the one; she is a handful,” Malekith spoke with a laugh, a move of his hand and the guards were grabbing them up once more to haul back to their cages. 

Led back to their holding cells, the two guards toyed with them, mocking the women and using their strength to shove them around since it sounded as if the group had left. This was their chance. If she remembers right there was a way off Svartalfheim. 

Faining hurt, the ulfhednar fell to the dirt, cradling Ember tight the princess squeaking out. It was an excellent distraction, no one ever said a dark elf was intelligent. Creating a diversion for the two women to break free, Ember safely strapped to her mother as she wrapped the chains around the ones neck as Jane done the other. Managing to free themselves before running out the back of the tent and across the open ground. 

Thankfully they had set up camp several yards from the craggy cliffs. Spotting the cavern, she sensed held a portal, the women ran blindly into the darkness to emerge in freezing cold. Nowhere to go but forward, hurrying to seek shelter while it appeared they didn't go unnoticed, large ice dragons descending on the elves that were stupid enough to follow. 

Not looking back they continued until a large ice dragon dropped before them. Hastily she placed Ember in Jane's hands. A fire flashed in her eyes, calling seidr to muster enough strength to fight. The three of them coated in a spray of ice and blue blood as the warrior downed the dragon. Several more landing only to pause as she stood, donning a wolfish look and dazzling tattoos. 

They stopped, shifting to giants with great leather wings and kneeled to her. That wasn’t expected, turning to look at Jane and Ember before darkness crept in, collapsing in a heap of tattered flesh. 

A gentle calling of her name had her waking to look up at a leather draped ceiling. A quiet coo getting her attention to someone next to her. Looking over to find Jane, clean, covered in dark furs, and a tiny bundle strapped to her front with leather and fur. 

“Thank god,” Jane breathed moving to help her set up against more furs and cloth rolled like pillows. A quick look around revealed they were actually under a massive wing. One that moved slightly so the bearer could look at the two. 

It appeared to be a very tall, gruff looking frost giant with once curled horns, but one was broken and the other wrapped in straps of leather. With a grunt the giant got up and left the room. One that was large but at least had a fireplace with true fire radiating heat not far from them.

Moving to place more furs around the warrior, Jane finally un-tied the small infant to place in her mother's arms. “They brought milk for Ember. I’m not sure from where but she took it each time. They told me it came from another. I'm sorry, I hope I did right, she was crying so much, she was hungry and I didn't know what else to do," Jane worried as the warrior waived the brunet off, tugging the fur from around Ember's small and dipping to scent the sleeping babes lips.

"It's ok Jane, you did the right thing. It smells like what Loki and Frigga-," she paused, swallowing hard. Gods, Frigga, meeting Jane's gaze, tears burned in her eyes and a lump threatened to choke her. Cuddling the sleeping infant close, feeling the little ones full belly through the furs, they should take comfort they hadn't lost more.

"You've been out for several days," Jane spoke up, changing the subject neither women wanted brought up at the moment. "The ones that brought us here said they couldn't risk taking us through Jotunheim."

"Who are they," the warrior asked, letting the brunet help her settle. "Gods I should have known when you told me you came willing with Thor something was up." It was obvious from the queens tone she was trying to take her mind off of the pain shooting across her features before relaxing on the pillows. Dawning on the ulfhednar these were expensive furs, clean, nothing a commoner would possess.

"The guards, the healer, none of them would tell me who they answer to," Jane admitted, settling close so they could share body heat. 

"How do you feel," the warrior spoke up, hinting to the discovery from a few days ago. 

"Fine, I feel nauseous sometimes but nothing that doesn't ease."

"Good," she smiled, the two women settling in tight, or that was until the door opened to reveal a dragon winged giant decked out in gold adornment flanked by several guards.

"You slaughtered my best guard. I take it you must be Loki's queen; are you not? The Queen of the ulfhednar and Asgard," the one in gold asserted to the warrior holding to the small bundle, it appeared as though he was being gruff, but was sure to keep it quite due to the sleeping child.

"Yes, what of it," she breathed, trying to sound gruff herself, shifting to place Ember in Jane's arms as she forced herself to sore feet. 

Jane calling out to her to stop, but she didn't listen as she stepped through the nest to the giant, a fur wrapped around her shoulders, bare feet padding across the cold stone to pause before him. 

"Should have known my brother would be tethered to a brave creature such as yourself," he snarled, taking a knee to look her over more closely.

Brother? That meant he was either Helblendi or Blyster. Wearily she looked up to the massive hybrid wondering why of all in the 9 realms the Jotunar and Aesir had to be descended from dragons. Keeping calm as he smirked, flexing out massive pale blue leather wings as if to show power, but she was descended from wolves and dragon slayers. Keeping head high, she eyed the giant who seemed amused by her stubbornness to not back down.

"Fearless creature," his voice rumbled as he reached out to touch the exposed tattoo on her arm, running a calloused finger over it. Defiantly she held his gaze, knowing he was trying to provoke her. 

"Loki will not like it when he finds out his brother tried to intimidate his queen," she was quick to point out as he pulled away. 

The giant let out dark chuckle, she knew this could go one of two ways and wasn't sure which at the moment. Right now, it looked bleak, what of Ember? Her guts twisted at the thoughts of keeping the small infant protected, she didn't ask for any of this, and what of returning to Loki for the two of them to attempt to make it right?

"Defiant ulfhednar. It may keep you alive so you can return to Asgard. I want no war with the throne, our people have suffered enough at the hands of Odin; no need to repeat the same with Loki or Thor. But I'm afraid there is no way to get word to anyone at the moment. The dark elves are scouring the realm and have blocked the entrance into their own. There is another but it will take time for my messenger to reach. I sent him several days ago, but he must pass through wilderness and Utgard itself," he spoke quietly.

The giant noted the woman visibly let out a breath. "Until now you three remain here, in my chamber. You will be safe here, but I can't say much else for the outside of my encampment due to the dark elves. You, the princess and the blood dragons mate are under my protection. I will be sure the healer visits to assure you both are in good health; I don't need you three dying under my watch. I can only imagine the Hel it will bring on my head."

Giving a nod she understood, the warrior took a step back when he stood. The giant even going as far as to usher her back to the nest and assure she didn't fall. Gingerly she settled next to Jane who placed the infant in her arms and made sure they were covered well.

"I will send for your meal and better clothing," Blyster grunted out before leaving with his guard in tow.

It had been 3 months since a messenger had been sent, well now she had been told 4 had been sent with no word of what happened to the others. The movement of Jane to her left made the warrior wake, the two women having taken to keeping Ember between them when they rested. She watched as Jane sat up as if in pain, noting the look on her face, knowing what it was.

"Jane, lay back," she ordered quietly, getting to her feet to move the mortal around as she grabbed at her lower belly, holding tight to it.

"It hurts," Jane spoke, taking the warriors hand to hold.

"Let me call the healer, I have no herbs, nothing to work with," she spoke the brunet nodding and allowing her to the door, calling to the guard to fetch the healer.

In moments an elderly frost giant female ambled in, -the one ensuring they stayed healthy-, going to Jane with the warrior falling to the mortals head to keep her calm. Pushing the furs away they seen the faint stain of blood, there was nothing to be done but to soothe the panicking mortal. The healer and ulfhednar working together seamlessly to take care of the lost child. 

"I'm sorry Jane," the warrior cooed as the giantess grunted when laying her hand over the brunets lower abdomen. 

"Hand," the gruff creature snarled to the warrior who allowed it to the giantess, their kind had no bedside manner. 

Placing her smaller hand where the others was, she felt thrumming, very strong one and a flutter. Looking back up to Jane, the moment the giant uttered, "there is another. This one wasn't strong enough, but the one in your womb will survive."

The two looking at the giantess as she gathered the soiled things to leave out of the room. The brunette gripped tightly to the warrior, sobbing her heart out. 

"Then, I'm still-," Jane began, preparing to say pregnant but she couldn't at the moment.

"They must have been twins. It's not uncommon, I know that gives you little comfort but-," the warrior began as the mortal grabbed her to hug tight.

"Then we will celebrate the one I carry. Try not to dwell on the other. We have lost too much to not find joy in what we still have," Jane breathed, the warrior knew it was the scientist speaking but she sought comfort in it as well.

Quietly they heard Ember shuffle, a quiet coo and she was looking around in the dim room. The little girl smiling when she spotted the two women. 

"Would you like to hold her? Feed her," the child's mother spoke, moving to lift the growing 4-month-old from the furs. 

Jane opened her arms as she was handed the child and the ulfhednar helped to prop the mortal on pillows. Quietly she padded to the storage by the fire, it housed many things for the three of them as well as milk. It had been placed there should she be unable to feed Ember, which thankfully she could still do but was glad to allow another to share in the responsibly.

As she handed the milk to Jane the door to the room slung open and made the women pause. Blyster stormed in, looking at the two worriedly, the healer must have told.

"How is she," the giant spoke hinting to Jane who placed the bottle to Embers lips, the babe not hesitating to latch on.

"She is fine," the warrior spoke, moving protectively next to them. 

"Good. Word has reached that Malekith was defeated. The portal I sent my messengers to, was heavily guarded but the last was able to make it. I'm not sure when they will be here," he admitted, the two women visibly relaxing.

Several days later, late in the night, there was a knock on the door, Blyster having taken to laying on the opposite side of the nest to assure the three were kept safe. The pale blue hybrid going as far as to drape a wing over them. Keeping the wing in place he called out to the one who knocked.

"They are here for the women," the one on the other side spoke up. They could hear someone on the other side, and they sounded a lot like-.

"Loki," the queen breathed, the giant getting to his feet to hurry from the nest leaving the women nested close to one another. 

In a rush of leather clad wings, Loki burst in ahead of the others, Thor and Blyster not far behind with the door slamming shut. The ulfhednar scooped Ember up to rush to the god who gladly took them into his arms. Thor hurrying worriedly to Jane, the warrior looking back as Loki nuzzled at her neck. She was sure Thor was easy with Jane, the crimson winged hybrid scooping his mate up easily. 

“Thank the Norns treasure,” Loki spoke, nuzzling hard under her ear before kissing over Ember's head. 

Finally, she turned back to Loki, the god quick to seize her lips. A cool hand going to the nape of her neck while her own wrapped around his face, ebony wings draping tight around them. 

Oh, how she loved this part of him. Slowly ebony wings moved to look to Thor who nodded he had Jane. 

“Ready to go home pet,” he whispered, nuzzling at the two females in his arms. 

“Yes,” she smiled, Ember letting out a squeak herself, but only because they had woken her. 

Loki turned to Blyster, eyeing his giant brother close, “we are even then?”

“Aye,” Loki spoke cautiously holding tight to his mate. 

“Then, by all means,” Blyster spoke, stepping to the side to allow the five to leave. 

Upon arrival a healer was called to check the three, their mates worriedly waiting to assure the women and babies were healthy. A celebration called after the healer checked the women over. It was found out that Jane still carried twins. 

There was a feast called to honor the two women, to celebrate the children and the late queen. Little Ember held tight in her father's arms who refused to allow anyone to take the bundle from him, save for his mate who sat in the same chair as he.  

The entire evening Loki wouldn’t allow them from his side. Thankfully that worked in the ulfhednar's favor when Ember had taken all she could of the festivities and became cranky. The hybrid directing his mate and child down the quiet corridor to their brightly decorated room but thankful it was lit dimly. 

Getting the infant settled, Loki placed a protection over the child to keep her safe while stealing away with her mother to the baths. In seconds Loki tugged his mates legs around his waist, taking their clothes as he stepped into the warm water. 

Lovingly he nipped at her jaw, making her shiver in his arms. This was how he treated her from the beginning, never had he tortured her as she was led to believe. Loki was no monster. 

“You are far from any monster I have met thus far Loki,” she breathed over his lips as he let her to her feet. 

“I-,” Loki began to protest but he stopped, her hands lacing into his hair the water licking at her hips. 

“Please, focus on us now. Not the past, not the Hel inflicted on you. Us Loki. It’s Ember, you and myself. We were told what you done to find us, that you turned over the cask for us. That is not the actions of a monster but a loving mate and father,” she echoed, tears rimming her eyes. 

“Aye treasure,” he smiled, bowing to take her lips tenderly and holding her bare torso flush to his own. 

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[veiljumpernyssa]

Luceo non Uro - Chapter 1

Concilio et Labore (by Wisdom and Effort)

Relationships: Asra/Apprentice

Rating: Mature

| Read on Ao3 |

~

The crowds were rarely avoidable in Vesuvia during the day, especially in the central district, but they were particularly bad at this time of year. Even after sunset when the night market opened to the crowds of the Masquerade, the bustle was almost overwhelming.

Daya ducked and weaved through the throng of people, hopping to and fro across the boards placed above the canal. Her purchase she cradled close to her chest, and the smell of the hot, fresh bread made her stomach rumble. It was her luck that the market was open almost constantly during the days of the Masquerade, if only because it gave her something to do at night. The vendors always made a killing when the Count’s birthday celebrations rolled around, after all. Artisan bakers made cheaper versions of the delicacies served at the palace, tailors sold costumes of chiffon and cheap gold leaf, and winemakers offered tastings of rare imports from Atapra and Milova. A sea of fluttering costumes, glittering baubles and painted masks surrounded her, dazzling her with the colours and patterns of a hundred people. It was enough to be overwhelming. The palace had to be worse, surely…

For a moment Daya glanced wistfully at the stone stairs that wound out of sight, all the way up to the palace. What would it be like to wander the gardens in an elegant costume, she thought, perhaps dancing in a glittering ballroom and eating tiny sandwiches.

“Keep dreaming,” she said out loud, and blushed at the odd look a passing reveler threw her. As if she would ever be invited to the Masquerade--as if she would ever have enough money for fancy dress! And who cared about tiny sandwiches, anyway?

If she dawdled any more the bread would get cold, and the fortune-teller might disappear into the night--not to be seen for another year, maybe more.

The shop was open late for once, the lantern still lit with an iridescent blue flame, and when Daya glanced at the side window she could see the faint, blurred outline of her aunt striding past. But it wasn’t time to go inside. Not yet. She slipped past, shoes padding silently on the cobblestones, and around the back of the building.

To her relief the booth was still there, a hastily constructed thing of a few upturned barrels and a tent poles draped with blue and purple cloths. She’d seen him setting up just after dawn, though the window’s frosted glass turned him into little more than a sunlight-dappled figure. When she’d gone to run errands later that day there had been a line; old men and mothers and a few street urchins shoving and pushing each other. Even though it was after dark the streets were still full of people, but...nobody lingered at the tent now, and the flap was still fastened to allow entry. Daya hesitated a moment, brushed away the shyness that clutched at her chest, and ducked inside.

There was barely any room inside the tent and yet, all she could see of its occupant was a pair of shoulders and a head of fluffy white curls, both illuminated by a central light that hovered above them. Then the drapes fell back with a rustle, throwing the space into darker shadows, and the fortune-teller straightened up. She caught and held his gaze; eyes of purple with delicate white eyelashes.

God, he was young. Barely into adolescence, she realised, about the same age as she. His gaze dropped to the bread in her hands, and Daya blushed.

“Here,” she said, and hastily shoved the bundle at him. “You’ve been working here all day, and I thought you might be--this is from my favourite baker.”

He looked so surprised it was almost comical, and for a moment he just stared down at the wrapped bundle.

“It’s pumpkin bread,” Daya added. “The best in the city. Well, I think so, anyway.”

The fortune-teller unwrapped the linen cautiously. His fingers dug into the loaf, pulling it apart, and the scent of warm spices filled the tent. He closed his eyes, inhaling. A dimple flashed in his cheek.

“It smells amazing,” he said, when he opened his eyes again. “You didn’t have to do that. Thanks.”

“Nonsense,” Daya said, and sat herself on the nearest barrel. “Everyone deserves to eat. Besides, you’ve been bringing customers to the shop. My aunt should be thanking you.”

He placed the bread on the makeshift table between them and began to tear it into smaller pieces. Half of the pieces he wrapped up and tucked away into his bag. He offered her a piece from the remaining half, and began to eat the rest enthusiastically.

“This shop is your aunt’s?” he asked between bites. The bread disappeared at an alarming rate, confirming her suspicion that he hadn’t eaten all day.

Daya shook her head at another proffered piece and swung her legs idly, then started as the barrel wobbled.

“Magic ingredients, potions, spells, and divination,” she said. “She’s been teaching me a few things.”

Her lessons were supposed to have begun an hour ago, but he didn’t need to know that.

The fortune-teller looked at her curiously. “You can do magic?”

“Ah, sort of. I’m still learning.” She watched him pick crumbs off the table, and something like pity stirred in her chest. “What’s your name?”

The flash of a dimple again. “Asra. And yours?”

“Dayana. But you can call me Daya, if you want.”

“Daya,” Asra said, almost to himself.

The scarf at his shoulder rose upwards, and moments later a serpent’s head peeked out. Its tongue flicked, tasting the air, and it looked around with red eyes. Asra appeared completely unsurprised, glancing down and smiling.

“Who’s this?”

Asra lifted one finger to stroke under the snake’s chin. “This is Faust. She’s my familiar.”

“Oh,” Daya sighed, somewhat enviously. “I wish I had a familiar. She’s beautiful.”

Faust yawned widely, slithered down Asra’s shoulder and deposited herself on the table. He looked cautious for a split second as the snake brushed over Daya’s arm, cool and smooth...then visibly relaxed.

“I’m glad you’re not afraid of snakes,” he said by way of explanation. “Some people are. You said you don’t have a familiar?”

“Not yet. I wish.”

“Not every magician finds their familiar right away, but it’ll be worth it once you do.”

Asra brushed the remaining crumbs off the table, then opened his hands. A deck of cards splayed out between his fingers.

“Let me read the cards for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Daya began, pulling the barrel closer, “but if you’re offering, I’ll say yes.”

He smiled. “It’s the least I can do. Do you have a question you want answered?”

Daya shook her head and leaned forward eagerly, hands clasped on the table. She’d seen her aunt read the cards for customers before, and some of her spreads were far more complex than she could hope to create. Most people who came for fortunes, however, preferred the simple three card spreads: past, present, future.

Asra shuffled and cut the deck with practiced ease. Daya watched avidly as he laid out the cards facedown; four in a square and one in the centre.

“An archetype reading,” she noted. “The five aspects of the self. The persona, the shadow, the opposite energies, the heart’s desire.”

“That’s right.” He smiled at her, and flipped the first card. An image of a snake curled around a polished wooden stick. It reminded her of his familiar.

“The Queen of Wands.”

“Yes. A person of focus and passion, drawing others into her orbit.” He smiled. “Or their orbit, if you prefer.”

Daya shrugged. “I don’t care which.”

Asra flipped the second card.

“The Seven of Swords, reversed. The second card, the shadow. A secret shame, or a refusal to acknowledge a situation or a truth. This can represent...running away from a difficulty instead of facing it.” Asra gave her a sly look. “An example would be avoiding magic lessons and having your fortune told instead.”

There was a split second in which they looked at each other, then burst out laughing.

“You got me,” Daya said, grinning widely. “I’m avoiding my aunt right now. I should have known I couldn’t hide from the cards.”

“Not these ones, at any rate.” Asra flipped the third card. “The World. Opportunity, success, and a journey. But in this specific context…” he paused for a moment, hand hovering over the illustration. “A suggestion, to be proud of all you have accomplished thus far.”

Their eyes locked again, and Daya felt a shiver run down her spine.

She wasn’t new to the reading of the cards. Tarot and other divination techniques were part of her lessons: she read runes, bones and tea leaves also. And from time to time, Daya had spent her spare coin on happiness or success readings at some of the other fortune-teller booths found at the central market. Those were for idle curiosity, and the vendors little more than snake oil salesmen. She knew how to spot genuine skill, and Asra had it. Her eyes dropped to the fourth card, and she watched in anticipation as he turned it over.

“The Eight of Pentacles, reversed.” This time he looked up, a mischievous glint in his eye. “A struggle to maintain focus. Do you think the cards are trying to tell you something?”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” she retorted, and he laughed. Deftly he flipped the fifth card...then sat back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“The Fool,” he said after a moment.

"Wow. Rude.”

Asra glanced up at her uncertainly, his white eyebrows quirking. He relaxed when he saw her grin. “You scared me for a second.”

“I’m learning the cards, remember? I know what the Fool means. A cliff’s edge, with limitless potential for the future, if I only make the leap. Am I right?”

“Yes. You have all you need to move forward.”

Daya sat back, mirroring his pose, and watched as he gathered up the cards.

“May I?” she asked into the silence.

Asra paused in the middle of shuffling the deck, and his gaze fell upon her outstretched hand. For a second she thought he would refuse. It was somewhat of an audacious request, if she knew anything about magicians and tarot. But then he smiled and passed the deck over.

“Are you going to practice on me, Daya?” he asked, teasing.

She laughed. “I can try.”

Her fingers closed over the cards-- then a sudden rush of wind extinguished the lantern, throwing the booth into darkness.

It was magic, she realised. Pushing and pulling within her like a tide; rolling over her in a heady rush, tingling and warming under her palms. She gasped involuntarily, squeezing her eyes shut

The light returned moments later, throwing wild, swinging shadows over the booth. Daya drew in quick, ragged breaths.

“Mmhm,” Asra said. He had an air of smug satisfaction about him, as he leaned his chin on one hand. “I thought so.”

She threw him a quizzical look but he said nothing further, so with a shrug she began to shuffle.

“Past, present and future,” she said, and let the cards flow through her hands. She could almost hear her aunt’s voice.

Relax. Empty your mind and let the cards speak to you in the silence.

She’d had trouble reading the cards most days, but this deck...this deck was special. How else could it have reacted to her magic?

Daya drew three cards, face down, and chose the far left. The Five of Cups.

“You had a great loss, many years ago,” she said tentatively.

A flicker of pale eyelashes; otherwise no reaction from him.

“Someone who was important, and sometimes, it seems as if pain is all you will ever know or feel.” The words came unbidden, drawn from her mouth in a whisper. “Sometimes...it’s easier to keep hurting, because hurting is infinitely less terrifying than feeling nothing at all. Hurting means the loss meant something. It made them real, and it keeps them alive, in a way.”

Asra said nothing. Embarrassed, Daya swiped at her eyes and let go of the card. “I’m sorry. That was totally inappropriate. Um...should I continue?”

A soft, tentative reply. “Please.”

Turning the second card took more courage than she cared to admit. The Magician stared up at her in the form of a fox, a small smile playing around its mouth.

“The Magician,” she said, and Asra’s eyebrows rose. “For your present.” Daya tapped her chin with one finger and closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. “You’re...performing an act of creation, shaping something from nothing. A place of pure magic, created from and shaped by your willpower.”

Asra’s eyes widened. “Huh.”

“I know...I’m not making much sense, I’m sorry. I still have trouble with my focus, as the cards pointed out.” She turned over the third card. “The Hermit, reversed.”

This time the words were easier to hold on to.

“The Hermit implies solitude, even when upright...reversed, it represents a deliberate isolation. A withdrawal from the world.” Frowning, she glanced up at him. “If you aren’t careful, you could lose your connections to this world...or fail to form new ones.”

Asra was silent for a long moment, staring thoughtfully at the cards laid out before him. Then he smiled. There was no hint of mischief in his expression, only interest.

“I thought you might have the skill for tarot,” he said, “and I was right. You’re the real deal.”

Daya opened her mouth to reply--then the slap of feet on cobblestones made her pause. More and more footsteps; some hurried and some leisurely. The sound of flutes floated from around the corner, clear and high and melodic. Voices growing louder.

Curiosity drew her up, and she peeked outside. Asra had picked a good spot for fortune-telling, that was for sure--the booth opened up to the wider part of the street, giving them a good view of the marketplace. Her skin prickled as she felt Asra’s presence at her shoulder.

“Look,” he said, pointing. She followed his gaze to a glittering carriage making its way past, headed for the town square.

“Fancy,” Daya mused. “Do you think it’s the Count? I’ve never seen him before.”

“The Count?” Asra said. “I don’t think so..”

There was a strange note in his voice she couldn’t quite pick out, but then he brushed past her and she promptly forgot in her curiosity. She followed him out into the street and joined the crowd gathering to watch.

The carriage was close now; close enough to snatch glimpses of its passenger. A cascade of violet curls. Brown skin. A long nose and elegant fingers. Red eyes.

“She looks like a noble,” Daya murmured, and Asra hummed beside her. “I wonder who she is.”

“Dayana!”

The sharp, rich voice rang over the mutter of the crowds. Daya blushed violently as several people turned to look at her, then above--to the woman leaning over the balcony.

“Ah, it seems I’ve been caught.”

Asra laughed.

A little awkwardness settled over them as they turned back to face each other. A few moments of silence, then Daya finally spoke.

“Same time next year?”

Asra laughed again, quieter this time. “Who can say?”

“Even if I don’t see you...” she offered her hand, and he took it. “Thank you, Asra. I’ll take your advice if you do the same for me.”

“I will,” he promised.

“Dayana!”

“Coming!” Daya called, and let go of his hand. An awkward smile, one more glance and he disappeared back inside the tent. The flap unfastened and fell over the entrance, and the light went out.

She went back to the shopfront, extinguished the lantern with a snap of her fingers and turned back to watch the carriage disappear around the corner. The last thought before she crossed the threshold was of purple eyes reflecting the lantern light, and a strange feeling in her chest that could have been intuition.

It wouldn’t be the last time she saw Asra, though--she was certain of that.

[kellanved-ammanas]

Pyro/Medic Week Day One: First Meeting

For the shipping week @axis-intercept is doing.

-

“When you were doing whatever it is you do in your lab thingy there, you missed the new guy coming in,” Demoman said as Medic entered the base’s kitchen. After almost a month of working with him Medic was more used to his accent but it still took him a couple seconds to grasp his words.

Medic paused and turned to face him. “What?”

“A new guy joined, Miss Pauling says he’s a pyrotechnics guru or something when she brought him in. He’s got a flamethrower.”

“And you didn’t come get me?” A new member being added to their fledging team was important, Medic should’ve been informed right away. It was his job to keep the team alive – experimenting on them was the reward he got for doing so and would be part of it in some cases – so it was important he be made aware of such developments as soon as possible.

“Nah, didn’t think to.” Demoman shrugged and took a drink from his bottle. “You can go meet him now though, he’s uh… around somewhere doing whatever it is pyromancer people do.”

Medic rolled his eyes and held back a groan as he turned and left the kitchen again. Hopefully this new teammate would at least prove to be less infuriating than Demoman, not that that would be hard.

 -

It took almost half an hour to find the new guy, longer than it should’ve taken given the size of the base. He was outside, seemingly just wondering around. Any doubt Medic might have had about if he’d found the right guy or some random stranger was negated by the fireproof suit, complete with gas mask, he wore. The exact thing someone’s who job it was to set things on fire would be wearing.

“Hallo,” Medic greeted him with a raised hand.

The new guy turned to face him. He said something that might’ve been a ‘hello’ but it was muffled and indistinct by his mask.

“What’s with the sticks?” Medic asked with a frown, pointing to the bundle of sticks the other guy carried.

He answered enthusiastically but it was mumbling nonsense. This was off to a great start.

“Take off the mask, I can’t understand you,” Medic cut him off.

He froze before vigorously shaking his head, hard enough that it looked almost like he was trying to shake something off. Clearly he did not want to take his mask off, that would make communicating with him hard but he undoubtedly had his reasons and thus they’d just have to work with it somehow.

“Fine, but I still need to run perform a physical examination on you.” Medic needed to know what physical condition all his patients were in, both to perform his job properly and to know just what kind of experiments would be least likely to kill them. “I am the team’s medic, you can call me ‘Medic’ or ‘Doctor’.” The nicknames hadn’t been his idea but it was probably best that he minimize the number of people who knew his real name in this part of the world in case – more like when – he did something that caught the attention of the authorities. “Now come with me, I’ll even introduce you to my birds.” He’d just finished setting up their aviary last week.

But all he got in reply was another headshake accompanied by a negative grunt before his companion turned away and resumed walking to wherever he’d been going. He was talking too, maybe trying to explain where he was headed but his words were indecipherable. Annoyed but also curious, Medic followed.

It didn’t take long to reach what was obviously their destination: a large pile of neatly stacked flammable things as if he was getting ready for a large bonfire. He’d clearly been gathering this stuff for a while, there was even what looked to be the base’s entire supply of firewood added in too. He added the bundle of sticks he was carrying to the pile, placing them neatly. He then stepped back and clapped his hands before reaching down to grab a gas canister at his feet. It was full judging by the way he lifted it and the sloshing sound it made.

“I don’t think that’s a good place for a bonfire,” Medic said with a frown. “Especially one so big.” It was way too close to the base for comfort.

But he was ignored as the fellow walked around the perimeter of the soon to be bonfire, pouring liberal amounts of gasoline onto it. Once the gas can was empty, he tossed it aside and pulled out a lighter.

“Nein!” Medic stepped forward to stop him but it was already too late. The gas lit up as soon as the lighter’s flame touched it. With how much gasoline had been added everything caught on fire fast.

The heat forced Medic back. In hindsight he probably should’ve done something to stop the clearly crazed pyromaniac from starting a bonfire as soon he realized his intentions. But it was too late now.

Laughter and clapping accompanied the crackling sound of fire. The new guy was watching it all with apparent glee, silhouetted by the flames he was jumping up and down, clapping. Well, they were being hired to kill people so sanity wasn’t exactly a job requirement.

“Bloody hell.”

Medic turned his head to see that Sniper had left his caravan. Heavy, Engie, and Demoman – all their other members right now – had left the base too. They were all watching the flames, their expressions mirroring how Medic felt.”

“We uh might want to get that under control, before it spreads to the base, it ain’t exactly fireproof,” Engie said.

“Yep,” Demoman said,

 -

It took all five of them and well over an hour to contain and kill the blaze. It did spread to the base but they got it under control before it did too much damage and thankfully Demon’s explosives were all the way on the other side. It was their first time doing something as a team, minus the person who’d started the fire anyway.

“There, there, no need to be upset, we all get a little carried away sometimes,” Medic said as he led the pyromaniac to the medical area. The others had all scolded him after they’d put out the fire completely and now he walked with his head hung and shoulders slumped.

There was no point in scolding him further so Medic refrained. He’d be hypocrite if he did anyway, his own passions often drove him to get carried away and ended with at least one person’s life being endangered or sometimes ended. He’d been yelled at about that more than once for that, the latest time had even led to his medical license being wrongfully taken away. And since no one had died or been seriously injured here it didn’t really matter as far as he was concerned.

The pyromaniac mumbled something in response, still sounding down. Oh well, he’d get over it, just like the others would get over their anger with him. Sanity wasn’t a job requirement here, they all knew that, they’d just need to make sure he only set the right things and people on fire.

Once in the checkup room, Medic did as thorough of a physical examination as he could on someone wearing a fireproof suit. It wasn’t ideal but his patient’s refusal to take it off meant he just had to deal with it, he’d work on getting him to take it off later. During the whole process his patient remained dejected though so…

“Would you like a lollipop?” Medic offered once he was done. He’d found that candy was a good motivator even for adults sometimes, it was easier to get people to sit still for things when they were being offered a reward.

The pyromaniac perked up immediately and nodded, even lifting his hand for in a thumbs up. Medic reached into his desk drawer and pulled one out. He handed it over and it disappeared into a pocket, presumably to be consumed later when there was no one around to see what was under the mask.

“Now onto business,” Medic said as he tapped his pen over the notes he’d taken on his new patient. “Your name?” Miss Pauling would know – probably – but Medic wasn’t going to ask her – she probably wouldn’t give it to him anyway – he wanted it from the man himself. So, he offered a clean sheet of paper and the pen.

His patient shook his head though. Not as vigorously as he had when Medic had asked him to remove his mask but still harder than necessary.

“Fine, we all go by nicknames here anyway.” And Medic didn’t need to know his patients’ real names to work on them. “So you get one too, okay?”

His patient nodded, giving Medic another thumbs up.

Now Medic had to come up with a nickname for him. Luckily it wasn’t hard to think of one. “How about ‘Pyro’ since you like fire so much?”

He took a few seconds to think about it before nodding, saying something under his mask that might’ve been ‘I like that,’.

“Pyro, it is then.”

Before Medic could say anything else, Pyro slid off the examination table and pulled Medic into a hug which he was not at all ready for. He froze up as Pyro squeezed him a bit harder than was necessary and for longer than necessary too.

“Uh… okay then,” he said when Pyro finally stepped back.

Whatever Pyro’s response was couldn’t be made out past his mask.

“Let’s go tell everyone about your new nickname then.”

Pyro responded with obvious enthusiasm, clapping. Either he’d forgotten the others had killed his bonfire and were mad at him for almost burning the base down or he didn’t care anymore. Whatever though, he was undoubtedly going to prove to be an interesting patient, Medic couldn’t wait to experiment on him.

Day Two

[you-andthebottlemen]

46 - HP AU

The long-awaited ‘sequel’ to my first Harry Potter AU!

There were many requests for this and my first HP AU received so much love, so thank you so so much!!

Requests:

@chestinfect-me - “PLS DO ANOTHER HARRY POTTER AU”

@swimminginthesequins  - “more catfish in hogwarts pls pls pls”

And anons:

“You should definitely do a part 2 to the harry potter story I loved it!!!”

“please carry on the Harry potter story :)) x”

“Can you do more of van and the boys at Hogwarts please?”

“Please do more Harry Potter au! Please, please, please”

“Please please please can you do more Harry Potter stories?”

Still travelling and still on the move so sorry this is kinda shit. More bits and pieces rather than a dramatic story. A little more Hogwarts + Catfish fun. But better than nothing maybe?? I miss this blog and all of you so much it’s insane.  Thank you for sticking with me, I love u xxxxx

And Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it!

Evangeline x

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

“No, no...like this,” you instructed softly, wrapping your hand around Van’s and helping him with the wand motion. “Not up...down, like that.”

As always, Van’s hands were warm. Touching them felt like clutching a hot mug of tea.

“What would I do without you?” he smiled sweetly and swooped in to kiss your cheek.

As usual, your cheeks flushed soft pink and you could see Van smirking slightly out the corner of your eye. The warm, fuzzy feeling bloomed in your chest, just as it had when he kissed your cheek at the Three Broomsticks concert. Every time felt like the first time and you adored it, no matter how embarrassing it was; even Van’s teasing had started to grow on you.

Van continued to practice the charm. You sat and watched as he tried and failed, waiting for the triumph. His face contorted in concentration and flicked between confusion, frustration, and satisfaction. You suppressed a giggle and pulled your Hogwarts scarf up tighter around your neck, burying into any warmth you could. The courtyard was cold and empty besides a few students passing by. Any noise you made echoed into the wind. You and Van were huddled together in a corner, both bundled up. It was probably far too cold for you to be sat outside like this but neither of you cared. However, your hands were starting to turn blue so you pulled Van’s gloves out of his pocket and put them on in an attempt to warm your fingers. It was only November but it felt like high Winter.

“We can go inside, love,” he said, looking down at your hands before meeting your eyes.

“No, it’s fine. Keep practising,” you replied with a cheerful enthusiasm despite wanting nothing more than to go inside and have a hot chocolate to warm your insides. You were proud of him for working so hard and didn’t want him to break the habit.

You tucked your legs up underneath you and curled into a ball as much as you could, trying your best to suppress shivers.

“Y/n, let’s just go in?” Van insisted, his eyebrows raised in worry.

You tried to argue but Van wouldn’t have any of it. He rubbed your gloved hands between his own to add to the warmth and afterwards, looked at you with his sparkling eyes and a toothy smile. Always enough to make you giddy.

You still had half an hour or so before potions class so Van took you into his common room and propped you up by the fire to thaw out. The flames danced as if they too, were made of magic; all gold and orange embers that disappeared in the blink of an eye. They were mesmerizing to look at. Van continued to practice his charms on the couch across from you, as exams were the following week. Slowly, life returned to your cheeks and you could feel the tips of your fingers and toes again. The warm yellow light of the fire was reflected in Van’s eyes and you were mesmerized, even more so than you had been by the fire itself.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” he asked playfully, his mouth curling up at the sides.

“You,” you replied with a small, dazed smile.

“Are you feeling any warmer?” he questioned seriously and you nodded, giving him back his gloves.

“Right. Well, your lips look a little blue still. Think I have just the thing to fix that though,” Van winked.

He stood up and plonked himself down beside you. The couch dipped where he sat and he held your face in his hands before kissing you hard.

..........

You and Van bolted down to the dungeons hand in hand, your scarves flying behind you, and giggling like maniacs. You passed a ghost and vaguely saw him roll his eyes at you before disappearing through a stone wall. 

By the time you burst through the door to potions class, you’d broken a sweat and were out of breath. The professor gave you both a thick scowl as you scrambled to take your seats with Rhiannon and Bondy.

Bondy gave you both a knowing smirk and you focused on your textbook intensely to avoid further embarrassment. Somehow, Bondy seemed to always know. He didn’t even need to say anything, but he could give a look that just told you he knew. Whatever there was to know.

“Late again?” Rhiannon asked you with faux innocence. “Weren’t snogging again were you?” She teased, nudging you with her elbow.

Van grinned. His eyes peeked through his messy, windswept fringe and glowed with mischief, giving it all away. You bit your lip to suppress a smile. Who’d have thought you of all people would be late to class because you were too busy kissing your boyfriend? Even more shocking was the fact that your boyfriend was none other than Van McCann; the last person you ever thought you’d be interested in. But it was wonderful and you could feel yourself falling for him more and more every day.

Potions was always a mess, especially with Van in the picture. Together with Bondy, it was a disaster. They egged each other on and found the stupidest stuff hilarious; it was like watching children do dangerous science experiments. Rhiannon didn’t help either; fuelling their mischief with laughter and challenges.

“Bit o’ this and a bit o’ that...” Bondy hummed deeply as he poured ingredients into his cauldron without stopping to measure them or even check the ingredients list. The whole thing made you tense with anxiety.

“What do you think would happen if I put this in?” Van asked you all.

You looked over at him and saw that he was holding up something that looked like a small, dried scorpion though it shone a brilliant green.

“Is it on the ingredients list?” you asked and Van shook his head. “Then don’t put it in,” you warned.

Van just glanced at Bondy who gave him a devilish look, then at Rhiannon who grinned. Before you could blink, Van dropped it into the cauldron with a splash. You braced yourself, not knowing what would happen. You’d literally seen him set fire to a potion before; you had no idea how he’d not been expelled. 

“Oh,” you said, your shoulders dropped.

You were surprised there was no reaction.

“Nothing?” Rhiannon asked sceptically.

 Van shook his head and shrugged. He had a triumphant, all too pleased look on his face as he sat back down on his stool at the table.

“See y/n. It’s fine, don’t have to be such a worry wart all the time,” he chuckled smugly, playing the whole thing off cool.

“Yeah, well, don’t speak too soon.”

You peered over into Van’s cauldron cautiously and your eyes went wide.

“Um. I don’t think your potion is meant to be moving like that...on its own.”

“What?” he asked worriedly, standing and looking down into it.

Van watched as the thick brown liquid congealed into what looked like mud and began to gurgle. Then, any liquid evaporated and it slowly morphed into a small, uneven and grotesque looking mound. The potion had turned into some kind of gooey, faceless creature that bubbled and made an unpleasant noise. 

Suddenly, there was an awful smell, like rotten eggs as the thing burnt a hole in the bottom of the cauldron. It fell through the hole and squashed onto the floor. You and Rhiannon jumped back in shock and fright. You grabbed Van by his robes and almost pulled him over. Everyone began to flee from the room in a panic.

“Mr. McCann!” the professor roared angrily as he held the door open.

Van blushed a violent red but smirked anyway. You took his hand and tugged him out of the room before he could cause any more damage. The creature slid slowly along the dungeon floor and under the desk, leaving some kind of steaming acidic trail. Rhiannon stayed back and with her hand over her mouth and nose, looked down at it with curiosity.

“What is it?” she muffled, crouching down.

“Doesn’t matter just don’t touch it!” you called worryingly.

Rhiannon shrugged and followed the rest of you out the door.  

“That was cool,” Bondy smiled casually.

You could tell he was secretly impressed and you rolled your eyes. Boys. 

“Honestly...what am I going to do with you?” the professor sighed at Van, sounding exhausted.

“My sentiments exactly, Sir,” you replied shaking your head at your sweet but idiotic boyfriend.

.....

Quidditch was never your thing. Though you’d come to thoroughly enjoy attending matches with Van and the others. You’d all sit bundled up in the stands, sharing sweets and mugs of enchanted hot cocoa that never went cold. 

Today’s match was Slytherin vs Gryffindor. You felt sorry for Bondy as you knew he was going to receive an absolute onslaught of abuse from Van and Larry. You walked from the castle to the stands, hand in hand with Van. You both wore large fuzzy earmuffs and your house scarves wrapped tightly around your necks. Van clutched a little Gryffindor flag in his spare hand, ready to cheer on his team.

“Sorry in advance mate,” Van grinned at Bondy, flashing his large teeth that you found completely endearing.

“Yeah, we’re gonna destroy you. Slytherin can wave goodbye to the Quidditch cup this year!” Larry piped up.

Larry, smaller than the others, bounded along behind you, trying to keep up with Van. He was like a little puppy and very often the third wheel in your relationship. But you didn’t mind; he and Van’s friendship was utterly enviable and it filled your heart with joy to watch them interact. 

Bondy’s eyes rolled lazily and he held a cigarette to his lips not caring for Van and Larry’s competitive jabs. 

“Someone might see! Put that out!” you whispered loudly to him. 

“So?” he shrugged, taking another lug puff.

Bondy’s face was pale and his nose bright red as if he had a cold. He too wore earmuffs and his soft waves of brown hair stuck out at funny angles. He wore his dirty fingerless gloves and hadn’t bothered to put on his tie. His coat didn’t look nearly warm enough and you could tell he hadn’t washed his shirt in far too long. 

Van handed you his little flag and snatched Bondy’s cigarette. You hated it when he smoked but stayed silent. Though, to be honest, you had found it pretty adorable when Van tried to work out the muggle money at Kings Cross when he tried to buy a pack earlier in the year.

You let go of Van’s hand went to walk with Bob and Rhiannon while he finished the cigarette with Bondy. Bob’s earmuffs hardly fit over his enormous cloud of curly hair and they’d made his glasses go wonky. He looked so cute and dorky. The three of you talked about the latest Hogwarts gossip and Bob told you how glad he was that he wasn’t in potions when Van had created that thing.

“I don’t blame you, Bob,” you sighed. 

 The frosty ground crunched beneath your feet and sent a shiver up your spine. You clenched Van’s flag tightly in your gloved hand and shoved the other into the pocket of your coat. Rhiannon’s earmuffs were a bright, glittering pink to match her new hair colour. Lately, it was a different colour for every mood. You loved her creativity and expression so, so much. 

“Do you reckon the new seeker will be good?” she asked you.

Slytherin had recently acquired a new seeker and everyone was terrified that she would be even better than the one they had last year. The other houses couldn’t bear the thought of Slytherin winning the Quidditch cup for the third year in a row. 

“We’ll have to wait and see, I suppose,” you replied. 

“Glad there’s finally a girl seeker though,” Rhiannon added and you nodded in agreement. 

Once you were all in your seats in the rickety stand, Rhiannon and Larry went off to buy sweets. You were sat between Van and Bob as usual and were all huddled together like penguins. It was the last game of the season and you were worried it would snow. You always felt so bad for the players in Winter. It was bad enough being potentially gunned down by a bludger - they didn’t need the added stress of freezing cold air, rain, snow and foggy eye goggles. 

Van slid his ungloved hand into your pocket and entwined his fingers with yours. You sat in silence and didn’t even look at him. A smile crept onto your face and you warmed up instantly. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze and you squeezed back. Sometimes the sheer cheesiness of the pair of you made you feel queasy. But you adored it. 

Before Rhiannon and Bob could settle back into their seats, Gryffindor had scored. 

Van and Larry stood up and roared with such a force that they almost knocked Rhiannon clean off her feet. 

“Watch it mate,” Bondy, said to Larry sternly, not caring about the game at all. 

Rhiannon sat tucked up under his arm, smiling both at the protectiveness of her boyfriend and the goal her team had just scored.

Larry apologised and Van cheered loudly with both hands in the air, completely unaware of the situation that had just occurred. You feebly waved the Gryffindor flag about. You were happy with the goal but the cold was starting to hit you. 

“Would you like some cocoa?” Bob asked you quietly, pulling a large metal flask out from his robes. 

“Yes please,” you beamed. 

...............

The end of year feast was always spectacular. The Great Hall was decked out beyond anything you could ever imagine. The floating candles weren’t even the half of it. The atmospheric ceiling shone with stars, the tables decorated with holly, tinsel and tiny little Christmas elves wandered up and down softly singing carols. The walls were splashed with tapestries, flowers, and wreaths that glittered elegant gold and silver. The Hall was filled with loud chatter and you could feel the excitement radiating off every person in the room; even the ghosts joined in on the occasion.

You’d all decided to disregard the rules and not sit on your designated house tables. You sat with Rhiannon while you waited for the others to show up. She sat with a small elf perched on her hand and smiled as it sung to her. You looked at her in the light and watched as the colours of her hair changed like a beautiful watercolour palette. Your stomach growled. You’d been anticipating the meal you were about to consume for months now. Though for some reason, you weren’t as hungry as you should be. Your stomach felt unsettled and your chest fluttered with nerves. You sighed and Rhiannon gave you a confused look.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” you responded a little too defensively as you yourself weren’t even sure what was wrong. She shot you a disbelieving look.

You sighed again and rested your arms on the table. The little elves ran up to you and sang even louder, trying to get you to smile. Their pointed noises were so cute and the apples of their cheeks were soft red. They wore hats with tassels and bells and they had shoes that curled up at the ends.

“I think it’s Van,” you admitted.

“What about him?”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, fearing that you’d sound stupid.

“I’m worried about what’s going to happen now. You know? This is our last year at Hogwarts. We have a week or so left and then it’s over...” You could feel your eyes begin to prickle. “I just don’t know where we will go from here, if we will last or if he even wants to...”

“Oh y/n, no. Don’t think that way...” she began but was interrupted by a stream of boys cramming themselves noisily onto the benches beside you.

Van snaked an arm around your waist and leaned in for a kiss. You sat up straight, kissed him back and pretended everything was okay despite the fact that now you’d voiced your fears, it definitely was not. You made knowing eye contact with Rhiannon as Van continued to grip you but talked enthusiastically to Larry beside him, not sensing your change in behaviour. You sat quietly but smiled, feigning joy and happiness. You hoped the good feelings would return to you as the warmth in your fingers did by the fire all those weeks ago.

Van laughed as the elves danced around the table in front of him. Larry had one sat on his head and Bondy was busy plucking them off his robes in distaste. You wondered where they came from and where they’d all go once food was served.

Speeches were made, last minute house points given out and as always, the house cup was awarded. Ravenclaw had won and Benji was beside himself with joy, you thought he might start crying; it was their first win in quite a while. Everyone was beaming and even those disappointed they’d not won had massive smiles on their faces. These only went wider when the food appeared.

The sheer amount of food shocked you every time; the desserts most of all. Van sat with eyes wide, staring at the massive trifle in front of him. He and Larry glanced at each other, grinned and grabbed at the sickly sweet dessert, filling their plates and their mouths shortly after.

Van turned to you and you didn’t fight the impulse that brought your hand to his chin to wipe off the sticky remnants of trifle. The action felt bittersweet and melancholy and you couldn’t shake the thoughts in your head that floated around telling you that the next few days would be goodbye.

“Thanks, babe.”

He looked at you, waiting. Though you weren’t sure what exactly he was waiting for. Van looked at you longer and you felt your insides crumble a little bit. When you didn’t respond or say anything, his eyes flickered and he shifted in his seat. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, his big blue eyes flooding with worry.

“Yeah.”

“No you’re not,” he replied; he knew you too well. 

You shrugged. 

“Come on,” he said, swinging his legs over the bench and taking your hand. 

He led you out of the loud and bustling Great Hall and out into one of the many empty corridors. You were anxious that a professor would follow you and take away house points but Van clearly wasn’t fussed. Van sat cross-legged on the floor and motioned for you to join him. You quietly folded your legs under yourself and sighed, feeling like an idiot for ruining his feast. 

“What’s going on y/n? You’ve hardly said anything all night.”

“You’re gonna think I’m being stupid,” you replied with one of those smiles that meant you were trying not to cry. You looked at your feet.

“Babe, no I won’t,” he insisted, gently holding a hand to your cheek and bringing your gaze back to him again. 

While Van was a clumsy, boisterous mess most of the time, he had this side of pure love and softness that you couldn’t explain. You sighed and looked him in the eyes.

“What’s going to happen after all this? Where is this, where are we going, Van?”

“Whatd’ya mean?” he asked innocently. 

“Fuck. Okay, well....do you want to be with me after Hogwarts?” you questioned desperately. Van’s face contorted into something that looked like shock and confusion.

“Of course I do, y/n,” he replied without hesitation. Van leant in to kiss you but you moved your face away. He looked hurt and it pained you to see that on his face. Your eyes prickled and you took a deep breath.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” you replied, feeling bitchy but you needed more reassurance than that. 

“Y/n I’ve never wanted to be with anyone as much as I have always wanted to be with you. Don’t be daft, of course I want to stay with you after Hogwarts. We’ll make it work. Promise,” he smiled genuinely, taking your hand once again.

You sighed and nodded, keeping your eyes glued to the ground. You felt slightly better but you still had the nasty feeling of doubt swirling around in your chest like a whirlwind.

“Van, I-” you began. 

“Y/n, I’m in love with you, okay? I like really fucking love you,” he blurted out, his eyebrows creasing ever so slightly. 

Your eyes snapped up to his and your mouth dropped open. You felt your heart rate shot up to a million miles an hour and your whole body filled with a feeling you couldn’t possibly explain. You knew deep inside that you loved Van too, you were just too frozen with shock to utter the words back to him. You sat there with his hand clenched tightly in yours, not able to move a muscle. 

“Y/n...?” Van whispered, sounding more nervous than ever before. 

You shook your head as if waking yourself up and gripped his hand tighter. 

“Uh-I...sorry, shit,” you fumbled, panicking. 

Before the words found you, you grabbed Van’s face with your hands and pressed your lips to his. As you kissed him, all the fear that harboured in your chest melted away and was instead replaced with a fire that felt stronger than ever. You loved this boy with everything you had.

And that was the most real magic of all. 

[ithacamafia]

Yule Shoot Your Eye Out, III.

Another year, another holiday playlist from Matt and Kevin!  Just like seasons past, when we brought you tidings on the original “Yule Shoot Your Eye Out” -- or the cleverly-titled sequel, “Yule Shoot Your Eye Out, Part II” -- we close out 2017 with another 20-tracks of sleighbells, snow, and cool yules.  

Without further ado, I’ll let Matthew take us away: “Kevin.  I think I may have told you this before, but I've always considered the first time I saw this Corona Christmas commercial as the unofficial beginning of the Holiday Season. Don't know why - but it's true. This year marks the first time that was in the other room, here sitting at my desk, and just hearing it activated that thing within me that launches my spirit into holiday mode. That lone whistling of Oh Tannenbaum... it just triggers something in me - like when Reggie Jackson has to kill the queen in The Naked Gun. 

‘I. Must. Be. Jolly.’ ‘I. Must. Be. Jolly.’

I know that we've been down this road a few times before - and that many of the standard voices (and perhaps all of the standard songs) have been heard. On top of that, you're busy with a bi-coastal lifestyle that I'm sure is pulling you in all the different directions a guy can be pulled in. So, I propose to you a NO PRESSURE holiday music update mix. No need to be clever in your presentation - like you can help it, I know - we just make sure that each other are aware of any songs/versions we may have missed in the past iterations of this mix. 

So here: Yule Shoot Your Eye Out, A Holiday Mix: Part III. 

I've decided to start this mix with the same song that kicked off our first one. When you picked it then, I challenged that anyone not named Bing who chose to sing this song had to have some kind of chutzpah - you know, a brashness, an audacity... guts to take on a classic. You want brashness, audacity and guts? I give you Sharon Jones and The Dap-Kings and their take on White Christmas. 

Hee-haw and Merry Christmas, buddy.”

(Liner notes continued after the break...)

Matthew, 

Nothing could make my time out west go better/faster/stronger than hitting the mix links with you.  HOLIDAY mix links, at that.  Ho.  Ho!  Ho.  When I left the house at 4am this morning on the way to the airport, rest assured that the “Holiday Traditions” station on SiriusXM was playing.  And you damn well know it was probably Wayne Newton or Bing or one of the many, many, many Christmas songs that we've heard ten thousand times before (yet always enjoy that 10,001st listen when it comes on the radio).  

That's part of what makes The Holiday Song so indelible.  Whether it's an old rendition, whether it's a breathless Sharon Jones version -- or whether it's a new song that still sounds like an old song -- it feels familiar.  It feels like home.  It feels like Christmas.  All over again.

Which makes this selection hit all the harder: "Christmas All Over Again" by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.

Kev,

Sharon Jones into Tom Petty had me initially scrambling to find a song from another recently departed artist... I quickly realized though, that is not a road that we need to go down. After all, Christmas is a time to focus on more positive things. I'm not saying that we can all take December off and pretend that our country isn't going to hell. I'm just saying that Christmastime is a time where we can all say, "Man, there are so many things to feel badly about, I sure as shit am going to make sure that I appreciate the things I have to feel good about. The President might be leading us all down a dark hole, but at least I have my family... and this fireplace... and a candy cane... You know? At least I have Ms. Kelly Clarkson."

I have never made excuses for my Kelly Clarkson affection and I'm sure as hell not about to start now. She's alive and well and she's bringing all kinds of joy with this little number. Here's "Christmas Eve" by Kelly Clarkson.

Kelly Clarkson is not someone you ever need to make excuses for, Mack.  Definitely not with me.  To this day, I maintain that "Since U Been Gone" is one of the greatest pop songs ever written.  The sashaying, swaying rhythm of this tune is tops.  Solid pick.

I'm slowing down a bit and handing things off to a gentleman who I've recently come to have a much deeper appreciation of.  I always knew he was a talent, and an unrivaled humanitarian -- but aside from a few catchy tunes, I didn't listen to much of his musical catalog.  Thankfully, Spotify allowed me to remedy that situation.  So let's bundle up by the fire, turn the light low, and relax to the hopeful, heartful stylings of Harry Belafonte.  "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day."   

=====

Well bud, you know I’m fine with slowing it down a bit. I’ve long voiced an appreciation for those more pensive Yuletide moments, where only the perfect fireside song can be your soundtrack. Of course, Harry Belafonte hits all the right emotional and melodic notes. Nice pick. 

I’m going to stay in this same groove, and I’ll keep the artist classic too. Like Belafonte’s I Heard the Bells, this one doesn’t go out of its way to hit you with anything too big. Nope, we’re happy at this point to just have classic voices delivering careful interpretations of songs to light our way. 

Here’s Rosemary Clooney doing her best Charlie Brown with “Christmas Time is Here”. 

Sigh.

Being stuck out here in the west and having skies literally filled with flames instead of snowflakes (although the ash is a fairly convincing simulacrum), makes the season tough.  I know Rosemary presents a convincing case for why Christmas time is here... but, honestly? 

I just haven't been feeling it.  

Then a friend of mine reminded me that Christmas is something different to everyone.  It's this whole collection of little things all smushed together, each part forming the heart of "Christmas" for each person.  You know, like Voltron.

Am I wearing short sleeves and sweating in December, Matty?  Sure.  Am I resigned to catching those tiny little ash-flakes on my tongue, and stuck making angel shapes in the charred remains of the Los Angeles hillsides?  Yes.  

But hey, maybe that's What Christmas Means To Me now.  

Just like Stevie Wonder said. 

Phenomenal choice... that song is so great. Simple. Classic. 

And I hear what you're saying, about how a lot of little things together form what Christmas means to each of us. It's like the thing that I was saying about the Corona commercial... or how I just know that some night this month I will stay up late watching It's A Wonderful Life and end up crying unashamedly on my couch. Or how for some reason my family always has a Creme de Menthe pie on Christmas. All those little things. And each year, the things from before mean more and there are a few new things that get added. 

I don't know how many Decembers in your lifetime are going to feature ashy snowflakes, but I'm quite sure that there will be some things that stick with you after your December in LA. (Please note my refusal to reference this month as your first December in LA.) California has a lot to offer, I'm sure. And for nine months out of the year, the weather there is head and shoulders above anything we see up here. The late Fall in the northeast though? This is Christmas Country, my man. The crisp air. The occasional snowflake. A proper sweater. Ain't nothing like it. 

I'm sure you miss it. Still though... this is all part of your Christmas evolution, right? So as you continue to develop what Christmas means to you,  please (oh please), won't consider the benefits of a Holiday in LA (Band of Merrymakers).

Confession time: I miss sweaters the most.  

Here, it's all short sleeves for outside then sling on a sweatshirt for inside because the buildings are as iced cold as Frosty.  I yearn to wear a sweater soooooo badly, but a good sweater is not something you can just throw on and off willy-nilly.  Unless you’re an animal.  

So yeah, I guess you're right.  I'm just going to have to be resigned to the fact that this December -- this HOLIDAY in LA -- is an experience that I must learn to embrace.  I mean, they've got the decorations, they've got the lights, and they've even got the Santas... Hell, I'm going to a Christmas Cookie Decorating Party tomorrow -- that's how into the season everyone out here is... 

But I'll be damned if I don't miss seeing my breath.  Or sitting by a fire.

And until I can go home for the holiday proper and stick my slippered feet underneath the tree to hand out presents, I'll just have to make sure I do everything within my power to simply have a Wonderful Christmastime (The Shins).

You can do it, bud. I mean - think of how many great Christmas movies were shot right there in California. You've got Nakatomi Plaza right there! Bedford Falls is Encino! 

My pick is a song that we've heard before. I'm on the record with it being one of my faves. I'm picking it here because this version always feels very cinematic to me. It feels like the beginning of some holiday in New York, romcom. You know, the opening credits scene... the one where Tom Hanks or somebody is walking home through the city with a bunch of oversized bags and packages? There's a dusting of snow so he's bound to slip and drop something and then drop something else when he picks up the first thing. Sure the song has a few lulls in it, but that just opens up space for him to chat with the friendly newsman who will later provide him useful information on the whereabouts of the woman. You know the woman! The one who he heretofore has had a very adversarial relationship with but has just realized that she's been shielding a heart of gold behind that hard as nails exterior? It's the beginning of that movie. 

It's got two voices that, for me, are what Christmas is all about. It's got it all. Christ, this song even has some bona fide Pennsylvanians!

It's Go Tell It On The Mountain by Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby with Fred Waring and his Pannsylvanians.

I love that flick!  

Especially the part 2/3rds of the way through when he makes some sort of romantic/charming gesture that goes completely tits up, and now she's wicked angry and/or upset with him.  So there they sit -- in their respective apartments -- trying not to think about one another.  Him, curled up with a blanket and eating a pint of ice cream while losing his sorrows in a comforting Christmas flick.  Her, on a fifth bottle of beer (judging from the empties littering the floor around her), just bounding a rubber ball off the wall as her trusty dog watches with a forlorn look on that shaggy face.

A classic.  How will they ever get together?  How will they get past this seemingly insurmountable gulf between them?  They're like oil and water... and what sort of future could oil and water ever have together???

Might as well just stay in, listening to Ray Charles and Betty Carter, because Baby, It's Cold Outside.

Kev, Ray Charles sounds great. Betty Carter sounds great. The arrangement sounds great. But it's 2017, bro. And while I hate to double up on a song... I feel like a more appropriate version may be called for here. 

Let's give Lydia Liza and Josiah Lemanski's update a listen. Here's Baby It's Cold Outside.

Matty.  

Gotta come clean here: I was 50/50 on whether I should just turn the rest of this jam into a dueling "Baby It's Cold Outside" mix -- but then I couldn't stop smiling by the end of this new version and lost my train of thought.  

And then I just surfed the internet for a while, trying to figure out stuff to put on my Christmas list.  As a grown man, naturally, I have everything I could ever want in life (health, family, yadda yadda yadda)... but I've still gotta scrounge up Santa some suggestions for my stocking.  And while socks and a few little nip bottles of booze would be grand -- maybe this year I could give into one of my greater desires.  Maybe a life-long Christmas wish (I mean, Mr. Johnson already got my unrealized childhood Star Wars dream gift).  

So maybe just put it up there on the list this season.  

I mean, sure, it won’t come true.  I know that.  It can’t happen.  It’s not “realistic” or “feasible” or “legal.”  But hey... Christmas is for wishes, homie.

Gotta try.

I Want A Hippopotamus For Christmas.  As told by Lake Street Drive.

If anyone can make this dream come true for you, bud, it's Santa. That guy works miracles. Me? I don't have to make any Christmas wishes this year, because mine just came true. A Christmas carol by Lake Street Drive? That was the only thing on my list. Great pick. 

Honestly, if I had a Christmas wish, here's what it would be: everybody in the world would be happy just like me. And Taj Mahal. And The Blind Boys of Alabama. Merry Christmas!

Someday At Christmas, everyone will be happy.  

There’ll be no war.  All our dreams will come to be in a world where all men are free.  No hungry children.  No empty hands.  No tears.  No fears.  

One shining moment where all our dreams will come to be -- hate will be gone, love will prevail.  A new world, (sung by Melvin "Blue" Franklin, the incomparable bass voice of The Temptations).

Someday.

Maybe not in time for you and me, brother - but someday... at Christmastime. I mean... it's possible. Totally possible. 

I'm determined to make this a very Charlie Brown Christmas mix. My next pick makes it so. I don't know what it is about this one that appeals to me. I like the stripped down, bare vocal. I'm definitely a fan of the sweepy strings. There's also this lingering sadness in it that lends itself to any holiday where I spend time with my wife's extended family... Dammit, I'm not being authentic. These are not truthful statements... I know exactly what it is that I like about this version of this song. It's the start, the choral, "Oh my God! Here he is!" It's the musical version of the Jesus is coming, look busy joke. I mean, it still gives you all that other stuff I mentioned - but it's the prologue that touches my heart. 

Here's Hark! the Herald Angels Sing by Penny and Sparrow.   

Matt, you know darn well that the Charlie Brown Christmas album is something I could listen to on repeat 24-hours a day for the entire month of December.  And November.  And January.  I love it like no other.  

So it's saying something when I suggest that a new version like this can affect my coal-sized heart in a way that comes even anywhere close to how the Vince Guaraldi Trio does.  

So, hell, I'm gonna double-down on the CharBrowChris portion of the night, and drop a variant of Linus and Lucy by Bela Fleck and the Flecktones.

Kev,

In a world that gives us so few real honest-to-God sure things to count on, there's a part of me that really relishes the fact that I can always know - beyond the shadow of any doubt - that I am going to get tense about the end of these mixes. My worrying about the songs that will ultimately be left off is like an old friend who stops by to visit at Christmastime. You know, the one who always brings a plate of cookies to your parents' house because they started bringing plates of cookies around to their pals in 1982 and now they don't know how to stop. My concern for songs left off is like that. It's at the point now that not only do I feel it, but I think I end up writing some variation of this email every time. Fa la la la la.

There's a lot about this pick that gives me pause. The fact that their Spotify bio touts the artist as "...one of the brightest lights on the Contemporary Christian Music scene..." is enough for me to start running in the other direction. And there are other worthy songs... Songs by beloved artists... Songs that I really like... I could pick those - probably should pick those. I mean, these guys are from Florida. It's gross.

But this song... it feels right. I don't want to like it. I resent all of its wannabe Big Bad Voodoo Daddy earnest energy... But then again, I mean, look at my toes. Those little bastards are tapping like a sumbitch. I can't control it. And honestly, in my heart of hearts, the 1990s in me knows that I don't really want to control it. I want to submit and swing dance with Heather Graham while wearing a Santa hat. Go daddy-o, I guess.

Here's O Come All Ye Faithful by Tenth Avenue North. 

You've got two picks left. I've got one. Let's try not to screw this up any more than I (probably) just have. 

Cripes.  This all went waytoofast.  

No time to overthink things.  Just gotta go with the flow.  And sure, you might’ve tossed me a curveball (sending me spiraling back into a late-90′s Swingers mindset, with their retro-hip cule yules).  

That said, newsflash: I’m a pro.  I can handle it.

Everything's jake.  Nothin' around here to snap your cap at.  But mark my words, chrome dome: if we're gonna swing, then we best start cookin' with gas. 

So do yerself a favor and grab your stompers before you head out on that dance floor... because this next tune -- this actual, genuine, bonafide swing -- is the real deal.  

Time for Swingin' Them Jingle Bells with Fats Waller.

Stompers? Chrome dome? Who's Jake? I'm Jake? I don't think so. I'm Matt. 

Bud, I have no clue what you're talking about, but if you mean to imply that Swinging' With Them Jingle Bells is a likable tune that we can dance to as Christmas approaches, then I am with you. You've done well by yourself on this mix. 

I've been thinking about it and I feel that my anxiety around my previous pick was because in my heart of hearts I always knew what my final pick would be. That second to last one was the one that had question marks around it. This one, this last one, was predetermined by the stars... and this is the time for stars, pal. Now yes, this song has caused a bit of strife among my immediate family. They think it's strange. They're put off by all the talking. They don't like that nothing jingles. Me? I like the groove. I like the idea of superimposing a toast about friendship being the wine of life. This one feels to me like the end of Christmas. When everything starts to settle down but there is still that distant buzzing feeling you get after a jam-packed day of family/food/fun. 

Here it is. Here's Chasing Christmas by The Superimposers. 

Merry Christmas, all you shining stars. Merry Christmas, World.

What's... superimposed?

Definitely see how that one might unlock strife within your family (I’m sure it’ll elicit the same reaction from my own fam, too).  But I have found myself picking up what you’re putting down on this song.  There's something ethereal and odd about it, but at the same time... reassuring?  Comforting?  Like the great big "Dad" of the universe is reclining in a cosmic lay-z-boy and waxing poetic by the crackling fireside at the end of a long day.  

I'm a little worried they'll say a bit too much -- go a bit too far -- if he keeps talking, but I can't help but enjoy the sound of their voice.

And if that track was the end of Christmas, this next one is simply the retrospective.  The encore.  Once you're flipping through the photos and taking down the decorations and putting all the new toys away, melancholy begins mixing with the joy.  

Next year seems so far away, everyone will be that much older.  Honestly, how many more Christmases will we all have together?  Who can say?  So, we can't help but savor what we've had here this year.  Who we've given our hearts to.

We keep looking back at Last Christmas.

And if there's someone who gives their heart in everything they do, it's Frank Turner.

Ho ho ho, everyone.  See you next season.