#it rubs me the wrong way when quiet people are interpreted to lack a clear personality

[mantequillamcwhoremick]

"Kenny is a blank enough character for fandom to interpret and characterize him however they want" WRONG.

[ruined-my-dramatic-entrance]

Hat’s Off to You

Platonic fluff, a bit silly or OOC but not a crackfic lol, 1659 words TW: S!Janus

“What’s going on here?” Patton asked as he popped up.

 After rolling his eyes and a moment of hesitation, Virgil replied, “Princey brought up some dumb idea about Janus having some weird secret hidden under his hat and now he and Logan are debating it.”

 “Well, what’s all hat about?” the moral side inquired further with a grin.

 Though Patton had expected Virgil to at least smirk at this, the latter instead protested, “Please, just get them to stop for now or something…”

 “Okay, kiddo. Sorry about Pat — uh, I mean that,” Patton corrected himself quickly before turning his attention to the other two.

 “I still think it’s probably something weird and evil, like some devil’s horns or — or pointed ears,” Roman insisted, gesturing to the vague areas that those body parts would be placed on himself.

 “If Janus were to be hiding something underneath his hat — which I still have very significant doubts about — then it would probably be a result of his half-snake composition, such as a lack of hair on that side of his head, covered by scales,” Logan chimed in with an even tone.

 “Well, yeah, maybe, but it still could be something… much more sinister that reveals how Thomas truly visualizes Deceit in his mind,” the prince suggested with a deep curiosity.

 “Wouldn’t that be you, Roman?” Patton asked with an innocent smile.

 “Wha—? No, I’m not a liar! I’m an actor but I am not Deceit,” Roman dismissed, clearly offended.

 “No, that’s not what I meant, and I was talking about Janus, not evil,” Patton said, subtly reminding Roman to be kinder about the side in question. “I meant that the way Thomas views Deceit as a concept would be your creativity, kiddo,” he explained.

 Roman paused for a moment. “I… suppose you’re right,” he agreed.

 “That would make sense, though it would still have the influence of how Thomas feels about the concept of Deceit in genera—” Logan tried to elaborate, but was cut off by Roman.

 “By Artemis’s beautiful bow, I think I know!” the creative side exclaimed with a wide gesture.

 “You’ve… decided on a guess?” Logan prompted, frowning slightly in curiosity and pushing his glasses backwards as he scanned Roman with his eyes.

 “Oh, brother, what is it now?” Virgil groaned, pulling his hood up over his head.

 “That’s the spirit! What do you think, Roman?” Patton encouraged excitedly.

 “Wolf ears,” Roman answered simply, as if the answer was obvious.

 “Uh… might’ve misheard you there, Kiddo,” Patton fretted, leaning in a bit closer in hopes of understanding Roman’s words better.

 “That… is an interesting guess. I suppose I could see some reasoning for this,” Logan mused, placing his knuckle against his lips in thought.

 “Please tell me you’re not actually considering this, dude,” Virgil pleaded, pulling his sleeves over his hands.

 “No, no, I’m serious!” Roman persisted, holding out his hands in a “wait” gesture. “From my best understanding of how Thomas views deception, he gets consistently stuck on the phrase ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’ and sometimes he imagines liars as having certain wolf traits,” he finally explained. “Though, he usually only does that past 3am,” he added with a slight shrug before looking towards the rest of the group for approval.

 “In addition to that, Janus does seem to... work alone, if you will, with his varying goals for Thomas — a lone wolf, perhaps,” Logan elaborated, “Wolves are also regarded for their intelligence and have very complicated social dynamics, maybe tying into Janus’s ability to use charisma to his advantage. Symbolically, wolves are also regarded as confident, which he definitely exhibits.”

 “Come on, you don’t actually think Janus would have something as… as stupid as that,” Virgil disagreed, rubbing the back of his neck. Logan narrowed his eyes at the way he stumbled over his words.

 “Virgil, I expected you to be less… concerned about this matter — furthermore, to mock him for it,” the logical side deduced, tilting his head slightly in confusion. “So… either you’re embarrassed about something similar or something is wrong here,” he declared, causing the room to fall silent for a few seconds.

 “What’s wrong with Virge, Logan? Don’t just leave it all… ominous like that! It’s scary,” Patton fretted, looking at the side in question with worry.

 At that moment, Virgil showed up, shoving aside the “Virgil” that had been there before, who was pushed into the wall and reverted back into his true form.

 “Did someone say ‘scary?’” Virgil asked nonchalantly, giving Patton a quick glance before returning to glaring at Janus.

 “Deceit!!” Logan yelled, pointing at Janus.

 “Yes, yes, we’ve noticed, Logan, no need to sound the alarm, especially not so loudly,” Janus remarked.

 “Virgil!” Patton and Roman exclaimed in unison with smiles.

 “What was he doing here? What did he say?” Virgil asked, voice serious and impatient.

 “Nothing much! Since I got here, he was just denying some of Roman and Logan’s theories about what’s under his hat,” Patton recounted.

 “Yes, padre is right; that’s all the snake has done, nothing particularly evil or sinister,” Roman confirmed with a slight nod as if his valiant watch had kept Janus in check, whereas in reality he hadn’t really noticed.

 Virgil snickered. “You mean ‘cause he’s insecure about this?” he asked with a mischievous smile as he managed to snatch Janus’s hat, revealing a pair of… dark wolf ears.

 “Hah! I knew it! I called it! That was me, I was right. Got it before Logan,” Roman announced proudly before clearing his throat awkwardly and growing quiet to listen.

 “Only because it was your interpretation of symbolism,” Logan muttered under his breath, petty.

 “Aww, you’re like a teddy bear!” Patton commented with a gasp, “Or a puppy! Why would you hide this? We wouldn’t make fun of you for something so cute and nonthreatening!” He paused suddenly, realizing that he had just spoken the exact reason. “Ohh…” He grimaced slightly in guilt.

 “Yes, well, isn’t this lovely. This is exactly what I wanted, Virgil, thank you,” Janus complained in annoyance, shooting the man in question a pointed look. “It’s obvious that this is totally a part of myself that I like and wanted to share with the group.”

 “Janus, we won’t make fun of you for it, especially if you’re so insecure about it,” Patton reassured, looking around the room for agreement and receiving nods from everyone… as well as muffled snickers from Roman and Virgil.

 “Grandma, what big ears you have,” Roman murmured quietly under his breath, unable to resist the temptation.

 “What does it matter anyway? It’s clear I’m viewed as but a beast or a — a monstrous creature. Why would words make that any different?” Janus retorted to Patton, both his eyes and his phrasing giving away his hidden sadness.

 “Well, Janus, you of all sides should understand the power that words can hold,” Logan reminded tersely.

 “Regardless, Thomas could have at least chosen something scarier rather than just… an amalgamation of different animal symbols out of confusion,” Janus griped, gesturing into the air in frustration.

 “Weird is better than scary if it’s constant. Trust me on this one,” Virgil insisted, though his expression turned to one of slight… sympathy?

 “Trust isn’t exactly my strong suit,” Deceit responded, casting an unpleasant glance across the rest of the room. “I wonder why?” he added sarcastically.

 “It’s not my department either but…” Virgil trailed off, sighing. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this to you of all people,” he muttered. “But… I know what it’s like to feel different and unnecessary and — and like you’re built to just be weird, to just be the outcast,” he admitted, avoiding looking into the half-snake’s eyes. “I know what it’s like but… it’s not like that here, not with them. Not with us,” he assured, fiddling with his sleeves.

 “I think we all owe Janus an apology,” Patton pointed out. “I’m sorry for not respecting your privacy,” he said, looking at the aforementioned man with empathy.

 “I apologize for my earlier behavior. I was curious but not considerate,” Logan chimed in concisely.

 “I… suppose I’m sorry too,” Roman agreed, though he opened his mouth to say something else and closed it a moment later.

 “I guess I shouldn’t have… done that,” Virgil mumbled, handing Janus his hat back. “But you shouldn’t have impersonated me either.”

 “Very well, very well… I’m sorry for taking your place and deceiving you,” Janus replied, “though it did take them quite a while to catch on…”

 “It is indeed odd that Janus’s impersonation of you is much more accurate than of me or Patton,” Logan commented, frowning again in contemplation.

 “And that Virgil already knew about Janus’s ears,” Roman added, looking at Virgil in confusion.

 “Well, I —” Virgil began nervously.

 “— The little brat has done this before, you see,” Janus excused as he interrupted the anxious side. “It was terribly irritating,” he recalled about the false event, examining his nails through his gloves. “And yes, I’m afraid that the emo is the simplest to mimic -- it’s dreadfully easy,” he mocked, though said emo looked up at him when he realized that Janus had just… covered for him and his past as a dark side. That was not anywhere near what Virgil had expected.

 “Ah, that would make sense,” Logan accepted with a slight nod.

 “I, for one, still can’t decide whether his fluffy little ears are scary or, uh, adorable,” Roman admitted.

 Janus scoffed and examined his nails through his glove. “If you’re disturbed by this, wait until you find out what Remus hides under his mustache,” he pointed out.

 After a beat of silence, every other side in the room turned to him in a mixture of surprise, fear, and disgust, all exclaiming some variation of “hold up,” “wait,” or “what?!” Except for Patton, who simply remarked, “Well, I suppose we must-ask him later” with a chuckle.

[schrijverr]

Made for two

When they get stuck in a fox-hole Jonny gets slightly too comfortable between Bertie and Tim, who decide to tell him how much he means to them when he freaks out about letting himself get affection.

On AO3.

Ships: Tim x Bertie x Jonny

warnings: Jonnys low self esteem and mentions of war. Tell me if I missed anything or if you want me to tag something!

~~~~~~~~~

Jonny skidded into a fox-hole, Tim hot on his trail while Bertie held up the lead-sheet. This wasn’t an unusual situation to find themselves in, but what was different was that The Toy Soldier wasn’t there and that Bertie and Tim weren’t next to each other, instead sandwiching Jonny between the two of them.

This was a fact Jonny became aware of the moment the lead-sheet was lowered above them. His eyes flitted between Berties chest in front of him and the sheet above him as he cursed.

“What’s wrong?” Bertie asked concerned as he heard the swears.

Blushing Jonny said: “Nothing, nothing, just a tight fit.”

And that wasn’t a lie, the fox-hole wasn’t made for this many people and was smaller than the one they normally occupied back when TS was still with them, but it was mostly that Jonny felt awkward he had gotten between Bertie and Tim.

Bertie and Tim were always near each other and touching, it was clear how much they loved one another and now he was trapped between them in a small hot space without The Toy Soldier as barrier.

Don’t get Jonny wrong, he didn’t not want to be here, actually he would like nothing less then the comfort and closeness Bertie and Tim could give him, but he didn’t want to intrude on them or impose his own need for affection on them.

It had gotten a bit quiet after his reply, but there was a bit of shuffling, then Tim said: “I don’t think I can get backwards, this is made for two, sorry.”

“‘S alright. I don’t mind that much.” Jonny tried to backtrack, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll live.”

“Are you sure?” Bertie checked.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine.” Jonny waved his concern away.

He felt how the two others had shuffled away to press themselves into the wall as much as possible to give him as much space as possible. He was now able move a bit and the space immediately felt to big and cold, despite the cramped heat that was the reality.

Above them the alarms still blared but in the fox-hole it was silent. Jonny was well aware of how uncomfortable he had probably made the other two and was wracking his brain for something to say to make it right, but nothing came through the insults directed at himself.

With his thoughts somewhere else Jonny didn’t notice his rifle slipping of his shoulder, so when it suddenly dropped to the floor he yelped slightly and jumped, making him fall into Berties chest.

Before he could apologize Tim had a hand over his mouth and hissed: “Shush, I think I hear someone.”

The three of them froze as they listened. For a moment nothing happened, then they heard a gurgle and the sounds of someone sizzling. Berties eyes grew wide and he said: “Someone’s dying out there.”

“And we’re not helping them, love.” Tim told him with a stern look, moving his hand from Jonnys mouth to Berties shoulder as he looked him in the eye, “Whoever it is, they’re dead now, we are not risking it.”

Bertie looked up for a second, then relented. He put his hand on Tims and agreed: “Okay, we’ll stay.”

During the conversation they had all but forgotten about Jonny, who wasn’t going to point this out to them, instead focusing on how much taller the two were, a detail he hadn’t really noticed until they were literally talking over his head.

However, Bertie did notice, which in turn made Tim notice, making them both shuffle back with an apology.

Jonny missed them instantly and snapped: “For fucks sake, I don’t think you got an illness, we’re gonna be here for a while, please just stand normally, Jesus fuck.”

It was silent for a moment. Jonny was just about to start worrying if he’d said something wrong when Tim commented: “I don’t think fuck was his last name, but I never really paid attention in Sunday school.”

Bertie and Jonny laughed at that as everyone relaxed slightly as they waited for the minutes to tick by. It took a surprisingly long time to cook someone in a microwave and the Lunar Men never took chances, so microwave attacks could take a while.

So they just stood in their fox-hole and waited.

If The Toy Soldier were here, Jonny would be annoying it while Tim and Bertie held each other and whispered lowly.

Jonny missed that, missed TS cheerfully obliging him in reshaping its mustache or not minding him fiddling with the buttons on its uniform.

Now that he thought about it, he missed the others too. He might have enlisted on his own, but that was because there was nothing better to do on the stupid planet he had been dumped on as punishment.

He hoped the other were okay, he hoped Ashes was protecting Nastya like they’d promised and Brian wasn’t letting the loneliness of the cockpit get to him and that Ivy wasn’t letting herself get lost between her books. He even hoped The Toy Soldier was having fun on the other side.

All these emotions hit him when he looked up and saw Bertie staring lovingly at Tim, who was most likely behind him staring back.

Here he was, in a random solar system, on a random moon, in a tiny fox-hole all by himself keeping two people from getting a bit of comfort. He always ruined relations between people, that’s why he had been dumped there, apparently plotting against the captain was mutiny and unacceptable.

The sadness of it all was almost funny.

His knees buckled slightly beneath him and he could hear himself make a noise that could be interpreted as both a laugh and a sob.

Meeting Berties chest with his forehead, the other asked: “Jonny? Jonny, are you alright?”

Jonny leaned for a moment, then sighed: “I’m fine, I’m fucking fabulous.”

He was sure Tim was about to make a smart-ass comment about that when the alarms cut out, signaling the attack was over.

“Oh thank fuck.” Jonny released a breath as he started to climb out of the fox-hole, but before he could get far, he was tugged back down by Tim, who returned his hand over Jonnys mouth as he shushed him and whispered about a fast infantry attack right after a few days back.

Tim was about to loose a finger to Jonnys teeth when they heard footsteps and rifles firing. Bertie and Tims hearts beat in their throats as they silently waited for the footsteps and fighting to go away, so that they would be safe.

They tensed up at the footsteps directly above them and prayed the Lunar Men wouldn’t notice the slight change in sound when they hit the lead-sheet.

Unconsciously Tim had started inching closer to Bertie, taking Jonny with him. With the extra weight above them, a bit of the wall crumbled, making Tim come forward even more.

Jonny was now really pressed tightly between the two. Tims hand was still over his mouth, while his other arm was around Jonnys waist from where he had put it to keep Jonny from leaving the fox-hole. Bertie meanwhile had wrapped his left arm protectively around Tim, squishing Jonny into his chest, as his right aimed his rifle up, ready to fire.

The seconds seemed to pass like hours, but soon the footsteps walked on and after that the rest of the noises ceased as well.

Three pairs shoulders released the tension in them, well, two pairs of shoulders, Jonny was already quite relaxed. He was practically held upright by the two other and he’d gone boneless in the unfamiliar comforting warmth, beneath his ear he could hear Berties heart beating steadily and there was no place he’d rather be right now.

With the immediate danger gone Bertie and Tim now seemed to notice the limp form of Jonny in their arms. They looked down, faces full of concern that Jonny had accidentally gotten killed, but instead found him peacefully leaning against them with his eyes closed.

For a moment neither knew how to proceed. They had never seen Jonny so relaxed and it felt wrong to take that from him.

They shared a look, before they looked back down again as Jonny rubbed his face into Berties chest and sagged even further into them. Softly Bertie said: “Hey there, buddy. Are you awake?”

Jonny frowned slightly at that and mumbled: “Jus’ a littl’onger.”

So apparently Jonny was on the edge of coherency, if Bertie and Tim had to guess it was the nights of staying up to keep watch, not trusting the others to do it, catching up on him as well as a general lack of affection they had observed in him.

If it were a day off in camp when this had happened, they wouldn't hesitate to keep Jonny close and deal with the fall out later if he didn’t return their feelings, but they were in an active war zone right now.

“Jonny, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that’s not possible right now.” Bertie nudged him again, making him pout.

“Wake up, you fucking donut, we don’t have time for this right now. Can I tempt you with hugs if we survive today?” Tim shook him a bit.

That worked slightly better as Jonny frowned, then blinked blearily, before his eyes snapped open and he tumbled backwards from Berties chest into Tims. He quickly apologized: “Oh my god, I don’t know what happened there, uhm, yeah, so that’s awkward, let’s forget that ever hap-”

“Jonny.” Tim interrupted him, “It’s alright.”

“But I-”

“Just let it be, it’s fine. How about we get out of here and we’ll talk when were safe, because I don’t know about you, but I rather not get trapped in here again.” Tim said.

“Uh, I- okay?” Jonny finally agreed, cheeks bright red.

“Good.” Bertie smiled, before giving him a boost out of the fox-hole, after which he climbed out as well and pulled Tim up.

Jonny was still blushing and pointedly not looking at Bertie or Tim as they made their way back to camp, hoping to catch the Lunar Men between them and rest by surprise on the way there.

Luck was on their side and they, not swiftly but close enough, got rid of the Lunar Men that had walked over them previously. It was a short and violent battle and afterwards Jonny seemed more like himself.

They arrived in camp bloody and to the surprise of everyone, who had assumed they’d died out there with the rest.

After they had collected their rations, Jonny tried to sneak away unnoticed, but when you’re 5ft of concentrated drama that is quite hard and Tim and Bertie easily steered him to their usual hangout spot.

By the time they got there Jonny was quieter and he let himself be pushed down onto the ground, which he started to inspect in detail, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Bertie sighed, then said: “Jonny…”

Apparently that was enough for whatever had been brewing inside him to burst out: “I’m sorry about what happened back there, I don’t even know why I did that. It was weird and I didn’t mean to do it, so don’t be mad. I won’t do it again, I promise that I won’t.”

They’d gotten a bit overwhelmed by the sudden stream of words, but now they’d gathered their bearings a bit and Bertie quickly said: “Jonny stop, stop, it’s okay, just take a breath.”

Jonny did just that, falling silent for just a moment, a moment that Tim quickly took to assure him: “We didn’t mind, Jonny, I don’t know what your brain is telling you, but it was fine.”

He and Bertie sat down on either side of Jonny. Jonny was tense and poised to leave, but he didn’t seem so stressed anymore, just uncertain.

It was quiet for a moment, then he asked: “Why?”

“What?” Bertie asked.

“Why are you two not super mad at me right now? I got between you two, literally, was annoying about it and then almost fell asleep like some sort of crazy person while we were supposed to be alert and ready and I just didn’t do all that. So why aren’t you mad at me?” Jonny was sounding very confused, a few tears beginning to form.

It broke their heart to see Jonny so confused and upset about them wanting him around. Bertie started to move, but halted the action and asked: “Can I touch you right now?”

Jonnys brow furrowed in confusion, but he nodded, which was enough for Bertie who wrapped an arm around him and said: “We’re not mad at you, because we would like nothing more than to see you comfortable and relaxed for a moment. We want to do that for you.”

Beside him Tim nodded and leaned into Jonnys space as well, making him as comfortable as possible while Jonny thought about that.

He was silent, then he softly asked: “Why would you want to do that? You already have each other and I’m just annoying.”

Bertie and Tim shared a glance, a silent agreement to beat the shit out of everyone who had made Jonny feel like that, before they focused back on the task at hand.

“Because we care about you. It might seem hard to believe in your eyes, but you are so worthy of that, sweetheart.” Tim had always been one for petnames.

“Yeah, we might love each other, but we love you too.” Bertie continued Tims starting point, “You are so soft looking and cute that I just want to wrap you into a hug and never let go and kiss you and tell you it’s all gonna be alright.”

Jonnys face now resembled a neon light with how much he was blushing as he ducked into himself slightly, soaking in their embrace while he processed that all.

Then, so soft it was almost inaudible, Jonny whispered: “I’d like that even if I can’t believe it.”

Immediately they brightened up, they had known Jonny might be insecure or even not into the whole thing, so this was a good outcome all things considered. Tim wasted no time situating Jonny between his legs, so that he could lean against his chest, while Bertie sat in front of him carefully feeding him his rations.

For a moment it seemed Jonny was going to protest against it, but Tim had wrapped his arms around him, pinning his own slightly, so he had relented and by the end his eyes were almost slipping close as he calmly accepted spoonfuls of food.

When the food was gone, Bertie helped Tim and Jonny lay on their side in the tent. The day had already been long and unpleasant and here in the middle of base camp they were at least safe enough to rest peacefully.

Tim spooned Jonny from behind and Bertie embraced him from the front, peppering his face with little pecks that made Jonny giggle. Yes, honest to god giggle, it seemed like either he was too tired to fight it or high on affection, but that didn’t stop Bertie and Tim from fawning over him until he cracked open one eye and grumbled a bit, only earning him more coos.

Jonny looked like he belonged there, his face was slack, making him look more youthful, and his limbs were warm and pliant in their arms as he hummed contently at the snuggles. Tim behind him fit too as he gently kissed the top of Jonnys head and held him tightly. Like he was made for the two of them.

Bertie admired them for a moment, then he squeezed both his boys tightly and promised: “I’m gonna make sure neither of you forget how loved you are.”

A promise he never got to keep.

[thebifrostgiant]

If You Know Where to Look - Part 14

Summary: in which you don’t have to fear for your life, you have a pleasant supper, and are briefly flirted with

Part 1 / Previous

Read on Ao3

Word Count: 3,049

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: Loki/Reader

*

Chapter 14: Shadows Fall Behind

Loki lets his gaze rest on In-Hvassa, as it’s been doing so often as of late. His earlier confusion has mellowed into a temperate sort of curiosity, the uncertainty, the worry trickling away like a purulent sore that has been lanced and allowed to drain. Granted, there is still much he does not understand, so many facets to her, fickle and shifting like a reflection caught in a ripple of water. She is scared, he knows she is, but she is upright in the wake of it, trying to be brave as much as Loki himself is trying. But she is not scared of him.

He watches, unknown to her, as she sits in the chair she has established her claim on, hair tied back and up out of her face save for a few messy and loose stands, bare feet pulled up under her as she squints at the text of a book in the lamp light. He watches her hand creep up, almost unconsciously, frowning as her fingertips gently slide against her face, against the prominent scar there, feeling along the length of it. He looks away, his own hands clenching against the book he himself holds.

It isn’t the first time he’s seen her do that. Often, when she was deep in thought, distracted, or upset, her fingers would find the mar and rub at it like it was a smudge of dirt she could wipe away, or like it hurt and she was trying to soothe it, always with that frown, until she seemed to realize what she was doing and pull her hand back down like she’d been burnt. This time is no different.

Loki can’t quite swallow down the sharp taste of guilt each time she does it. And it is guilt he hasn’t earned. He realizes as much, rationally. But he cannot stop the feeling that he is to blame for it, that though he did not force her hand, he is at fault for the pain and the necessity of it. It is easier to rue the one tangible reminder than it is to reconcile an entire list of misdeeds. Cruelty is a trait as intrinsic in his very self as the blood in his veins, and while it has its place, is beneficial for some things, for his dealing with those who would harm him, would harm others, those like Einvald and Bǫlverkr, it is not something she had ever truly deserved from him. He had given it regardless.

And yet she has laid her life neither at his feet, for him to take sole responsibility for, nor firmly out of his hands, untrusting and reclusive, but at his side, steadfastly working with him to figure this out, to navigate the world they are in and balance on the line they walk. An ally. A voice to break through his thoughts and offer ideas, suggestions, things he would not have thought of on his own. A bolstering presence as dedicated to getting the fuck out of here as Loki is, relieving in the very fact that she shares this with him — not that he wants her to, not that he wants anyone to, but, he thinks privately, selfishly, it is better than being alone. More and more lately, a friend even.

She throws the book onto the windowsill with a clatter that pulls Loki from his musings, and lets out a miffed sigh, glaring at it like she could make it give her the answers she is looking by the heat of her gaze alone.

“Any luck?” he asks, just because he knows she’s had none.

She turns that glare at him, aware that he’s being a nuisance on purpose. He grins back, a bit toothily, and she relents with another huff of breath.

“No,” she says accusingly toward the useless book, and then glances at the rest of the stack she’s set aside to search through, looking weary. There are still so many, but there are fewer books in that stack than in the ‘hopelessly uninformative’ pile she’d already been through. “Please tell me you’ve found something?”

“Sorry.” Loki shrugs, because he hasn’t, in part because he’s not been paying full attention to his reading. “There just doesn’t seem much to find.”

“No. Midgard is not a very good repository for magical knowledge, is it? All I’m finding is card tricks and guides to dream interpretation, and a few of what seem to be children’s books.” She picks up another book with clear reluctance, and turns it so she can see the spine. “A Thrifty Wiccan’s Guide to Frugal and Benevolent Witchcraft,” she reads aloud, the color of distaste in her tone. “By Lyrica Nightshade. Do I even have to look at this one? I’m not even sure this is a real book.”

She rubs at her temples, looking about as miserable with the task as Loki feels.

“There’s only a few minutes until dinner time. It’s not worth it to get started on another book just yet. Let’s just get ready to go downstairs.”

Loki swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands and stretches out his back, carefully, mindful of his ribs. It still hurts when Loki moves the wrong way, when he stretches too far or makes any sudden shifts in his body, but now he can breathe in nearly all the way without choking on the pain, and he’s stopped needing to wear the bandage. It’s a relief to be rid of it, to be able to move his chest freely, without it chaffing and constricting and collecting sweat and dirt.

Oddly, though, he finds himself missing having In-Hvassa help him with it. He hadn’t thought he actually liked her fussing over him until she’d stopped needing to, and realized he’d sort of gotten used to the quiet care and concern for him. It was nice. She didn’t have to do it, but she did, and Loki is grateful, because he must have done something right to be rewarded by her genuine compassion. Somehow, somewhere along the way, she’d decided that he was worth being kind to, and much as he couldn’t wrap his head around it, couldn’t seem to fathom why, when she’d at first been so determined to lash out with icy words that stung as much as she’d meant them to, it gives him a new light to look at her in, and, he thinks, it’s a rather warm light.

He rolls the tension out of his shoulders, tips his neck side to side. Several popping noises ensue, and In-Hvassa looks up at him, brows furrowed.

“Maybe you should take the chair next time,” she offers. Then she adds, “you sound like an old man.”

Loki snorts.

“And you sound like my mother,” he returns good-naturedly. Funny, how he had demanded her respect when her flippancy is much more entertaining.

She purses her lips in a way that Loki knows means she can’t find a response to say to that, and he relishes the victory.

He makes his way to the door, where he’d set aside his boots upon entering and slides his feet into the familiar and comfortable black leather, stooping gingerly to do up his laces.

“Come get your shoes,” he calls, catching her eye over his shoulder. She still hasn’t gotten up from the chair.

“‘You sound like my mother,’” she mocks under her breath, loud enough for Loki to hear, not quite able to keep her mouth from twitching with a dawning smile. She heaves herself to her feet anyway, though.

Loki begins picking up the discarded books and placing them carefully into his shoulder bag, a sturdy thing of some stiff grey-green fabric with leather accents that Loki is actually quite fond of. The plasticky coatings on the books crackle as they shift and settle when he hefts the bag over his arm, and by the time he’s finished, In-Hvassa has done up the buckles on her own pair of boots, still new and crisp and obviously much preferable to the slippers she’d had before, if her lack of limping is any sign.

“Ready?”

She nods, and he follows her out the door and down the winding stairs, to the colorful and chaotic dinning room filled with mismatched bric-a-brac and an eclectic, changing assortment of people ever in transit.

***

You feel kind of bad for making Loki carry the whole mass of books when he is, still, injured, but he had insisted on it. The one time you’d offered to carry them for him, he’d told you no in no uncertain terms, with a stare so hard you hadn’t been particularly inclined to try again. You weren’t sure if it was pride or some misguided attempt at courtesy, the vestiges of his princeliness still in full force. But he seems to be handling it well, so you doubt the bandage will be making its return any time soon.

You sit next to Loki at the table, even though you’re among the first to arrive and there are many empty chairs. Loki has been, well, nice to you in the last few days, and being able to relax a bit in his company is something you’re glad of. You’re not adverse to all the strangers, all the people staying for various points of time and communing at the table, but you’re starting to know Loki in a way that all the changing faces don’t match up to. It’s become sort of a habit to have him around, and, well, that’s nice too.

All the food at this inn is typically served in big pots and platters filled up with an assortment of dishes, with each guest able to serve themselves what they desired from the feast. While the foods would vary from day to day, some things were staples of the evening meal, like baskets of fresh baked bread rolls, bowls of tossed greens, a mixture of vegetables cooked in butter, and some pale purple iced drink in a pitcher that seems to be a famous Primitive Raven special. You like it. It’s fruity and floral, and it has a bubbly sweetness that you can’t quite place. Loki refuses to touch it though, which you really think is his loss.

Today there are plates of some type of poultry that has been glazed and roasted, potatoes that have been mashed smooth with lots of cream and garlic, and long skinny green pods of beans in a tangy sauce. You fill your plate as the other guests start trickling in, solitary, or in groups of twos, or in one case, a family of five.

As you eat, you try to recollect anything helpful you might have read in the past few days, any trace of something that could be of aid, of transportation charms or cursed objects. There had been pitifully few even remotely helpful bits, and most of what seemed like it could have turned up something useful inevitably fell flat. You and Loki had checked his clothes for any talismans or inscribed runes that might have been drawn or stuck on there by Bǫlverkr, checked your own too, just in case, but every inch had been examined and re-examined with nothing to show for it. Which meant that it was probably a spell of some sort, and that may have been where Lyngvir came into the picture. Loki had mentioned before that Álfar magic was a tricky sort, one not understood well even by Aesir mages. Which meant that Midgard didn’t stand much chance at all, in hindsight, since there seems to be almost nothing even approaching true magic on this planet. Of all the realms you could have ended up on, it had to be the one that would be hardest to get back from. Well, at least it’s not Svartálfheim.

You push a bite of potatoes around the plate with your fork, distractedly wondering how long it would take to comb through the entire library’s worth of books, because, tempting as it is to give up and just let the assumption that the endeavor is doomed dictate your actions, to start afresh and come up with some new avenue to venture down and hope to come up with something, you can’t rule out even the slightest chance of there being some lead amongst the shelves of Midgardian literature. Even if you’d rather walk a mile in your old, terrible shoes than read another word.

Beside you, Loki sets his fork down and shifts his chair ever so slightly closer to yours, and you look up at him in question. He tips his head down so his mouth is level with your ear. It’s hardly the best approximation of privacy, but he whispers softly enough that you’re confident no one else has heard.

“The man three seats down on the other side of the table has been staring at you this entire time.” It’s a warning tone, concern and mistrust therein.

You smile, laugh a little bit, like Loki has said something delightful to you. Discreetly, you tilt your eyes to where, sure enough, a man who must be the one Loki means is in fact watching you with something that goes beyond curiosity. You’re not sure what it is, but you don’t like it one bit.

“What? I don’t have something on my face, do I?” you whisper back, trying to impart a little bit of humor to keep from letting that unsettled feeling take hold. But then the amusement falters and dies, because you remember that, yes, you do have something on your face. You very much do.

Your hand instinctively rises, intent on touching the scar, to hide it, even as useless as that would be at this point. Loki catches it in his own, fast as a blink, before you can lift it beyond chest height, stopping you from doing what would be something quite stupid indeed. Then he freezes, seems to realize that grabbing you like that, just on this side of violently, though you know that he had not meant it as such, could not possibly look good, would look, actually, quite appalling. Instead, he shifts his fingers around your own until he is simply holding your hand, a resemblance of tenderness.

You turn toward him, without letting your smile fall, because you don’t want anyone to think that he is actually hurting you when, you recognize, he is trying to do the opposite, trying, in his way, to protect you. And since you are facing him, you clearly see the impish idea light up his eyes as it fills his head, and you have but a moment to anticipate his next move, whether with dread or with eagerness, you don’t know.

Before you can decide if you should pull your hand back or not, he lifts it to his quirking mouth, the traces of a smile of his own, at his own mischief, lingering as he kisses your knuckles just like Brian had, just like you’d seen Loki do to Kathy, and Thor to Ülle. It’s almost sweet, somehow, the light brush of his lips on your skin, the little puff of air as Loki tries not to laugh, and you don’t even have to pretend to blush, just a little, and you’re sure that, to any outside perspective, you must truly look like a smitten couple quite taken with each other. And Loki must be having a bad influence on you, because you sort of enjoy the little performance, the illusion you’re creating, a bit of a lie, a bit of convivial wickedness.

Another secret glance reveals that the man is still watching you, still raptly studying the game you and Loki play, with an intensity that burns and a glare that’s even hotter.

Loki maintains his hold of your hand even as he lets it lower, lets it fall beneath the table. You don’t pull it away as you go back to eating, even though no one can see it, even though it’s not necessary for the act. His hand is cool, and surprisingly soft, in your own, and it’s... reassuring. It makes you feel less alone. You’ve got someone literally looking out for you, and you’ve seen just how formidable Loki can be. You still can recall in vivid detail — a marvel, considering your state at the time — Einvald’s face as the prince laid into him, the vicious, satiated feeling of watching the vile man stutter and cower, drained of blood and gall something that will likely stay with you all your life. You’d also been target of Loki’s rancor, though you’ve still not been able to figure out what had put you in that place to begin with, what had made you the object of his venom. But now... now he is not spitting at you or laying some web to entangle you.

Something warm presses against your palm, something smooth in parts and edgy in others, and after a moment, you recognize the feel of the little dagger, Loki’s little dagger, as he slides it into your grasp. You take it, wondering, hardly sure what to say.

Loki leans close to you again, close enough for his hair to tickle your face, for his urgency to be felt like a physical presence.

“Keep it with you, at least until that man isn’t staying here any longer.”

You nod, strangely earnest. You clutch the handle tightly as you swallow around the sudden gratitude warming your chest.

“I will,” you say out loud, because no one would know of what you spoke anyway.

“If he, or anyone, tries to hurt you,” Loki says, merciless, and you can almost feel the sharpness of his grim smile, “stick them with it.” He pauses, then, with a ghost of a laugh, adds, “In-Hvassa.”

You frown at that. You don’t like the name, don’t like not knowing what he means by it. It feels like an insult, like a reminder, and it makes shame squirm in your insides.

But he had sounded almost fond, and you finish your dinner knowing that, whatever else Loki had been in the past, you sit side by side with a friend.

Part 15 __________________________________________

*feel free to ask to tag/untag*

@steve-rogcrs @ps-ghost

[here-there-be-drag0ns]

It's A Good Kind Of Madness

The first thing Curtis saw when he when he stepped into Midnight Caffeine was her. She was leaning against the decorative bookcase in a tank top and ripped up jeans. She was shivering. Of course she was. Sandy Hollow got cold after sunset and the sun had set hours ago. He wondered why she didn’t put on the flannel shirt tied around her waist.

She looked up when the bell above the door rang and his eyes met hers. She seemed to stand straighter. He pulled out his earbuds and looked away, choosing instead to approach the tired-eyed barista behind the counter. “Small coffee, one cream, two sugars,” he requested. The barista nodded and tapped a few buttons on his screen, then silently moved away to busy himself at the coffee machine.

He spared the girl a glace out of the corner of his eye. She was staring at him. He looked away.

The barista put his coffee down on the counter. Curtis passed over the cash and took a seat on one of the plush chairs.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes. His psychology test tomorrow was going to suck. He’d been running on six hours of sleep for the past three days. Staring at the ceiling for hours was getting boring.

When he blinked his eyes open again, someone was standing in front of him. The girl he’d seen before lowered herself into a chair across from him. He startled, but she didn’t seem to take notice.

“For 10 p.m. this place is busier than I would have expected.” She said nonchalantly.

Curtis paused for a moment and looked her up and down. He realized that although she was wearing makeup, it didn’t coat her face the way most girls he saw wore their make-up. Her brown eyeliner accentuated her deep blue eyes. And her hair was dyed similarly. The end of her braid – swept loosely over her right shoulder – faded from brown to a brilliant navy blue.

He gathered himself and smirked. “You must be new in town. Welcome to Sandy Hollow, a town full of insomniacs,” he swept his hands around the shop, gesturing to the clusters of people around them.

She laughed. “I’ll fit right in, then,”

Curtis chuckled. “I’m Curtis,” he said extending a hand.

The girl tilted her head down almost imperceptibly. Looking up through her eyelashes in a way that sent shivers down his spine, she took his hand. “You can call me Ava,”

“Alright, Ava, what brings you to Sandy Hallow? We’re not quite a touristy place.” He asked, mulling over her word choice. Was her name actually Ava? Or was it just a name she gave people until she got to know them?

Ava shrugged, humming. “I’m checking out the campus for this coming semester. Switching colleges.” She waved her hands in the air. “Change of scenery and all that,”

Curtis nodded and sipped his coffee. “I can’t tell you much about the scenery, but Jordan University is pretty good.”

Ava furrowed her brow. “Are you new here too?” She asked.

“No, I’ve lived here my whole life. Why do you ask?” He said, confused.

Ava’s mouth had dropped open. The look she gave him made him shift in his seat. He dropped his eyes down to the coffee in his hand. He took a sip and met her incredulous gaze again.

“You’ve lived here your whole life and you never explored?”

Curtis shook his head.

“Why not?”

Emotions swirled in his gut, clichés he’d tried to explain before, a feeling he couldn’t put into words, an explanation that he could. “It just… doesn’t feel right to do it on my own. Exploring is something that I want to share with someone else, if that makes sense,”

Ava nodded, threading her fingers together in her lap. “It does.” She stood up and stuck out her hand. “Come on,”

Curtis blinked dully at her hand for a moment, his brain sluggishly trying to process what was happening. “What?”

“We’ll explore together,” she said.

“Together,” he said, nodding. He smiled and took her hand. She hauled him to his feet. “Let’s go then,”

The street was dark and quiet under the moon. A few houses had lights on, but most windows showed no signs of activity.

“So what do you study?” Ava asked, hands in her pockets. Curtis could see her fighting back shivers and was tempted to offer her his sweatshirt but she didn’t seem like the kind of girl to look for clichés.

“Psychology,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve also got a minor in creative writing,”

“’Colorless green ideas sleep furiously,’” Ava murmured.

“Noam Chomsky,” he said with a jolt. Eyebrows raised, he looked to her and saw her smirking back.

“Also a psychology major, but I have a minor in songwriting.”

“Written any hits yet?” He asked curiously.

Ava laughed. “I’ll get back to you on that one,”

“Okay, okay,” he snorted. “So what’s the plan here?”

Ava paused and seemed to think a bit. “You said this is a town of insomniacs, right?”

Curtis nodded. “I did, but it was a bit of a general statement-”

“I want to see how busy it is downtown. It’s…” she flicked her wrist up and tapped the screen of her smartwatch, “almost 10:30. I’m curious,”

He considered downtown Sandy Hallow for a moment. It wasn’t much, just a slightly more business-oriented couple of streets in the small town, but he could think of a few stores that were probably still open. “Okay, let’s go,” and he took off running.

He heard her shriek but she was laughing, and so was he. She caught up to him quickly with long, fluid, powerful strides and his breath caught. She was intimidating and beautiful; a lioness chasing her prey. He started to notice the lean muscles in her arms and realized they must be the power in her legs too. She was almost overtaking him and yet she didn’t seem anywhere near out of breath. Beautiful, he thought again, beautiful.

The colorful lights of downtown painted the pavement a myriad of colors. Curtis slowed and doubled over panting. She jogged back toward him, having overshot by a few steps.

“You,” he wheezed, “are fast,”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Ava said with a smirk.

Curtis gestured vaguely at the storefronts around them, varying in lights on or off. “Where to?” he asked. He was curious to see where she chose to go.

She set off on the sidewalk ahead of them, pushing past several groups of people, swinging her hips and her head held high. Despite having lived his whole life in Sandy Hollow, Curtis felt as if she were showing him around instead of him leading her. “There,” she said, pointing at the music store across the street. The light was on and he could see various instruments in the window.

He crossed the street with her, thankful for the lack of cars on the road at this hour. Most people walked after 9:30, anyway, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.

Ava was nearly pressed against the glass windows of the store. Her eyes were blown wide, a grin on her face as she examined the guitars set out for display. “They’re beautiful,” she said.

Like you, Curtis thought.

“We can go in if you’d like,” he said instead, drawing her attention to the ‘open’ sign hanging on the door. She was inside before he could even realize she’d moved. He laughed and followed her inside.

She was walking slowly between guitar models, running her finger around the edges, plucking a string and watching it vibrate before moving on to the next one. Finally, she stopped in front of a pretty acoustic guitar. It was a warm golden brown with an etching of leafy vines crawling up the front and decorating the fretboard. She picked it up and turned it in her hands so that she held it as if she were playing it. Then she put it down and checked the price, nodding.

There’s no way she’ll buy that now, Curtis thought. He was proven wrong a few moments later when Ava purchased not only the guitar, but a gig bag with backpack straps, and a notebook.

“How did you afford that?” He asked incredulously. As a college student, he could barely afford rent. He would never be able to buy a guitar.

She shrugged, adjusting the straps of the bag. “I do gigs outside of my usual job. I have some money set aside for treats like this.” She seemed to ignore his stare. “So, to the desert?”

Curtis leaned back on his elbows, smiling. Ava was playing her new guitar blissfully and her voice was just as beautiful as she was. Her eyes were closed and her lips quirked up into a smile around the words of the song and he could not look away. Even with every star in the sky visible against the darkness, he could not stop watching her.

She paused and scribbled something down in her notebook, open in front of her crossed legs. She brushed away some sand that had blown onto the pages. There wasn’t too much sand as the deserts nearest Sandy Hallow were more rocky than sandy. Currently, he and Ava sat on an overhang that looked out on the rest of the desert.

“Your song is beautiful,” he said softly.

She smiled and tucked some of her hair behind her ear, pulling it out of reach of the breeze. “Almost. There are some adjustments I need to make.” She closed the notebook slowly, leaving her pencil between the pages she had been writing on.

“What about you? You have a creative writing minor, don’t you?” She asked. “Have you written anything?”

Curtis paused. The last time he’d shown people his poems they’d thought he was crazy. Ava, though, might not. In fact, Curtis realized, she was the most likely person to give him some actual feedback. He nodded. “Some poems,” he said, pulling his phone out and opening one of his poems.

She took the phone gently and read through it. Her face remained passive as she read and he felt his heart quicken its pace. What if she didn’t like it? He shifted forward to sit in a mirror pose to her.

Finally, she handed him back the phone. “It’s very good. Provocative.” She said, tilting her head. “Your word choice is incredible. It painted a clear picture while also leaving some of it up to interpretation. All I would say is that it almost sounds like you wrote it with a Thesaurus.”

Curtis pursed his lips. He decided not to tell her that he had. She didn’t need to know that. Definitely not.

“Maybe switch out a few – not many, just a few – of the more complex words for a more common synonym.” Ava tapped her lips. “You know, you could probably make a song out of that. We could perform it,”

Curtis smiled. She’d given him useful feedback. It felt so good to hear someone actually talk to him about the poem rather than around it. He laughed. “Perform that? In Sandy Hallow? They’d think we’ve gone mad,”

She laughed and leaned toward him. “Maybe,” she admitted, “but it’s a good kind of madness.”

He hummed in response. “Maybe it is.”

Ava didn’t pick up her guitar again. Instead, she shifted to lean against him. He could almost feel her shivering. He cautiously put his arm around her, giving her time to tell him not to. She didn’t. He pulled her closer and tipped his head back to stare at the stars.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Prank gone wrong (G.D.)

Summary: You had some pretty big news to share with your boyfriend Grayson, but little did you know, he had some news too.

Warnings: angst, but i promise fluff too

Word count: 1800

You were having a really long, hard day at the university and news that you had just gotten could be interpreted as both good and bad. All that you could focus on was your boyfriend Grayson and just how much you needed to be in his arms today. Whenever he held you, the world and all its troubles seemed to fade away, bringing some peace to your incredibly loud mind. You were an over thinker, but that might be an understatement. To be honest, anxiety would be the right term and it often brought you down. Before meeting Grayson, you were constantly second guessing yourself, hating the way you talk, the way you walk and most importantly the way you look. It's not something you're proud of, but confidence has always been an issue for you. Grayson helped with his constant compliments, kisses, hugs and daily validation. You never asked for it, he just did that on his own. Almost like he knew, like he could see what's inside your mind before even you did.

Walking into your shared apartment that was located right across the hall from Ethan, you threw the keys onto the counter with a heavy sigh. You kicked your heels off, rubbing your feet to soothe the ache that had settled after a long day in uncomfortable shoes that Grayson always said you didn't need, but they were pretty and you could never resist them.

„Grayson, I'm home!“ You called out, slowly making your way to the living room. You put on a smile for him, so he wouldn't freak out before you told him what you needed to say. Furrowing your eyebrows at the lack of his response, you walked faster only to find him sitting on the couch with his head down.

„Hey there, handsome.“ You gave him a kiss on the temple and watched him finally look up. Something wasn't right, that was clear in his eyes momentarily.

„We need to talk.“ He spoke, his voice low and hoarse and it made you nervous. But you definitely needed to talk, because you had a lot to say today. It terrified you to no end, but you had faith in the relationship you shared.

„Yeah, we do.“ You took a seat next to him and waited for him to speak. „You can go first.“ You told him and he nodded. Taking a deep breath he looked up from the floor, opening his mouth a few times trying to form the words to say what he needed to. He had something big on his mind, so you thought you could soothe him with a little backrub. However, Grayson stood up and sat on the floor on his knees before you, making you more confused than before.

„I wanna break up.“ Those four words felt like a knife to the heart and you didn't know what to do. In that moment, the world stopped turning for you, the sun died and the birds were no longer singing. He wants to break up. He finally got sick of you. It was just a matter of time, you knew it, but now? Now, when you needed him the most?

„What?“ Your voice was quiet, broken and the tears were quick to follow.

„I want to break up. This isn't working for me anymore.“ Grayson continued, shattering your heart into pieces.

„Whhhat do yyou mean? This isn't working for you? You don't love me anymore, is that it?“ You were so quiet he had to lean in to hear you, but his presence made you sick to your stomach. Jumping up, you ran to the bathroom, falling to your knees as the vomit hit the back of your throat with full force. You threw up last nights pizza, the oatmeal from this morning, everything came out in churns with a pungent smell that only made you throw up more. Grayson was close behind you, holding your hair and forehead to keep you steady.

Flushing the toilet, you got up and washed your mouth to get the acid out. You looked up at the mirror, seeing Grayson behind you with a worried look on his face. He wasn't saying anything and you were barely standing as it is. Your knees were bound to buckle at any moment now and the thoughts that invaded your mind made you want to scream.

„You fell for someone else, didn't you? Someone prettier, smarter? Better than me? Just like I always knew you would.“ You choked out, wiping away the tears that fell one after the other as your chest started to physically hurt. It always sounded silly when people told you their body hurt when they cried, but it was true. Everything was in pain, like you were dying and the only cure you needed was standing before you, unattainable.

„What are you talking about?“ Grayson's face changed from sulky and worried to confused and panicked once you started to sob.

„You always said I was the prettiest girl you've ever met. So smart and funny...and perfect even when I told you I never saw what you did. You said you'd convince me, show me just how beautiful I was. I believed you. God...You have no idea how much this hurts!“ You cried out, pulling at your hair to stop the chaos that had erupted on the inside, to stop the hate you felt for yourself.

„Oh, God. Oh, my God. I'm so sorry baby. I didn't mean to take it this far. I'm so sorry.“ Grayson pulled you into his chest, his words confusing you.

„It's just a stupid prank, I promise I love you so damn much. Please, stop crying. Please!“ He repeated over and over making you angrier each time.

„What the hell are you talking about?! A PRANK?!“ You shouted and he gave you a lopsided smile with a small nod.

„Look at the cameras.“ He pointed around the bathroom and led you into the living room to point out more. You turned to glare at him, tears still running down your cheeks, but this were your angry tears. The worst kind for Grayson. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, gulping loudly as he waited for your imminent rage and destruction because as sweet as you were, when you got angry fire erupted out of you like a dragon lived inside you and you got really scary at times. Those arguments were never good for him and he’d always lose.

You closed your eyes, taking in a few deep breaths, remembering how you must control yourself and why.

„I cannot believe this is who I'm having a baby with.“ You ran a hand over your face in frustration, placing the other hand on your hip.

„Huh?“ Grayson snapped his head up, approaching you in two big steps. He had his hands on your face, lifting your chin up to look into your eyes. Your tears and nose were running like crazy, but you could care less. He really hurt you with his stupid prank, but the relief had won over and you were just more exhausted and in need of his touch. Sometimes it felt like you were with a man-child, but he made you so damn happy.

„I'm pregnant. Those were my news. Idiot.“ You muttered the last part under your breath and looked up, a little bit afraid of his reaction. What if he wasn't ready for this?

„Look at me.“ He ordered and you did. You were taken aback by tears in his eyes and that big goofy smile he had.

„You're crying.“ You said as your own eyes welled up.

„I'm going to be a dad?“ He questioned once more as you nodded in confirmation. His lips brush yours. Not innocently, like a tease but hot, fiery, passionate and demanding way. To pull away before you lose yourself seemed impossible…In this minty moment, all of your senses have been seduced and you could no longer think straight. The only thing you could focus on was him and his lips, the way he ran his hand through your hair, how the other one tightened its grasp on your hip. He pulled back and you groaned at the loss of contact. He chuckled victoriously and you glared at him in return.

„I'm gonna be a dad! Oh my God, I'm such an idiot! I feel even worse about the prank now! I promise I'll make it up to you. I will do anything! Anything!“ He rambled on making you snicker.

„What?“ He stopped and smiled as your laughter reached his ears.

„I love when you ramble.“ You explained and his smile grew wider.

„I'll take you to the shop and you pick out anything you want!“ He pulled you by the hand toward the door, eager to start making amends.

„Grayson, I'm too tired.“ You whined and he stopped.

„That's solvable!“ He picked you up bridal style as you giggled in his arms. With a quick peck he walked out the door, rambling some more.

„We can buy some baby clothes, a crib! What should we name the baby? Dolla and EDWIN?! EDWIN!“ He shouted in excitement as you shushed him.

„It's barely a blob now! We're not naming it yet.“ You spoke and he pursed his lips before kicking the door to Ethan's apartment.

„What?!“ Ethan rubbed his eyes like he had just woken up.

„I'm gonna be a dad!“ Grayson told him and Ethan's eyes widened in surprise. He pulled you both in a hug, crushing you a little as you were stuck in Grayson's arms.

„Crushing the pregnant lady over here!“ You mumbled and they separated instantly.

„What are you going to name the baby?! Jimson!“ Ethan said and you opened your mouth in horror.

„You two are banned from naming the baby!“ You stated and they looked offended. Ethan sent a suggestive wink Grayson's way and you narrowed your eyes at them once you noticed Grayson return the gesture.

„I mean it!“ You held your index finger up and they shrugged with a smile that meant this wasn't over yet.

„I wanna come with you!“ Ethan said.

„You don't know where were going!“ You pointed out and he chuckled.

„Tsk, tsk, tsk. It's obvious! The shop so you could eat stuff!“ Ethan said in a 'duh' tone and you rolled your eyes playfully.

„I can't wait for you to get big and wobble like a penguin!“ Ethan exclaimed and Grayson kicked him and he yelled out in pain.

„Thank you babe!“ You said and Grayson kissed your nose as you snuggled into his arms, feeling a wave of relaxation and peace you craved all day long wash over you.

„I got you, beautiful. Both of you.“

So sorry for the long wait, but here it is: @dolanlifeforever

Hope you like it :)

[topazshadowwolf]

And then she was mad...

I had no intent on continuing Chocolate Kiss (which I recommend you read first but it’s not required, really). Non at all. Well... at least until the game continues. But as I started to open "The Door" to work on that, my brain said, "But what if Toriel found out about the joke?" After a short fight that I lost with my brain, I wrote this. Thank you @obsessedkatie for editing this. You can also find both chapters fo this on AO3.

With his brother’s help, Sans now had the store looking operational. Though, in a quiet town like this, that hardly mattered. It was calm enough in the store that he could have slowly chipped away at the work for a week and have been done all the same. It would have given him something else to do other than sit behind the counter and try not to fall asleep; which he failed. As a consolation for this boring task, it was his store that he ran, therefore, he got to pick his own hours. That also meant he decide when his breaks were. He took advantage of that and took as many 15+ minute naps as he wanted in order to make up for the skull-numbing dullness of it all. Besides, there was one of those annoying bell/buzzer things to alert him when a customer entered the store. It woke him up enough to be present for whatever it was he needed to do, but often he was still drowsy. It wasn’t a problem with most of his customers; though, he learned the hard way that he needed to keep a closer socket on some of the kids.

They’ll pay for the stolen candy in time. He’ll be keeping a running tab for them in the meantime.

Thinking of kids, he thought about Tori’s human child who stopped by to talk to him earlier. That kid was a bit of a character. Talking to Sans as if they knew each other when Sans had just moved in. Their choice of people for him to meet seemed just as odd. What kid insists that a stranger, they just met, should become friends with their divorced mom? Not that they were wrong about the friend potential there. Tori was a friend, that’s for sure. Still, most kids he knew would be more inclined to tell him to stay away from their mom. And, he supposed there was a good reason for that. His response to the kid was proof of that.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said he befriended Tori the way he did. Granted, the kid was just asking for it when they answered him with “my mom.” Some might think his joke was rude or inappropriate, but he didn’t care. It’s not like there’s a council of comedians out there to regulate when mom jokes are permitted to be used. Still, he was sure some folks would say using one on a child who was seriously trying to help was wrong.

Eh, he wasn’t going to worry about it, it’s not like that joke was going to bite him in the coccyx later. It was just that, a dumb joke told on a whim. His further explanation after the joke smoothed things over, anyway. The kid knew he wasn’t being serious. They’ve most likely heard worse “Mom jokes” at school.

That school must be an interesting place. He couldn’t help but find that one teacher, Alphys, a bit weird. She didn’t seem like a bad person, and they could possibly become friends, like Tori’s kid suggested. It would take a while though, she definitely left a lasting impression, just not a very positive one. There has to be more there that he could learn about.

That one police officer, who all but kicked in the door earlier that day, was another character. She bought all he had in stock of sports drinks and an unhealthy amount of energy drinks; the latter he was sure she didn’t even need. Papyrus would probably like her. She was loud, active, and full of energy, just like him. She made it clear to Sans that he didn’t meet her standards for what she considers to be an upstanding citizen. Even though being caught napping on the job isn’t illegal, apparently she found it was grounds for a lecture.  (At the end of which he was informed that if he wasted her time like that again he’d be fined. It’s not like he asked for a reminder of the importance of watching out for thieves.)

Well, moving here was proving to be far more interesting than he had expected. Small towns were like this. They make up for the lack of people with a surplus of personality. He’ll have to wait and see how this all plays out. With luck, he’ll make enough positive connections to avoid getting run out of town.

At the end of the day, he flipped the sign to “closed” and locked the door before he muddled through the list of things he needed to do. It was all things that would prepare the store for the next day, which, doing so in advance would give him time to sleep in the next morning. Once done with this, he could amble on home for the night. He worked on a few things prior to closing; and, if he planned it right, Sans should be home in time for dinner as well as reading to his brother before bed.

It was all going well when he heard a knock at the door. He had heavily considered ignoring it, but money is money and the house won’t pay for itself. He could at least pull a prank on whoever this was while he was at it.

“who’s there?” He asked, hoping to get some fun out teasing this person.

"Toriel." The response was short, with a hint of annoyance in the tone. Sans found it a little odd that Tori used her full first name. Last he checked, they were on a nickname basis. Granted, his name can't really get much shorter than it already was. But when they talked, she did say that just Tori was fine.

Still, she should be able to read and see that his store was closed. So, he decided to continue his bit of fun. "toriel, who?" He asked, with a grin.

"I'll give you a tu-toriel on how to knock in a door if you don't open this one right this instant."

Ooooh boy, she sounded mad. Maybe he should have given up on the little game after all. What had upset her that much? Despite his better judgment, he unlocked the door and opened it, letting her in even though his survival instincts were telling him he should be barricading the door instead. "h-heya, tori..." She looked even angrier when he used the nickname. Welp, looked like they really are back to full names. "toriel... what's up?"

"Why did you hint that you and I did more than have a friendly chat?"

Sans looked up at her, noticing for the first time just how sharp her teeth were. The desire to make it out of this with his skull on his shoulders made him play innocent and he gave her a confused look, “uh... what?"

"Do NOT make me repeat myself, Sans the skeleton.” Oh, that hurt to hear coming from her. He never before would have thought his own name could be used against him. It fully accented just how angry she really was. “Not only did you say such a thing but you said it to my child!"

Did the kid rat on him over a joke? Didn't seem like something they would do. Granted, he didn't know Kris. This was a small town, maybe someone overheard the conversation and couldn't keep what they heard to themselves.  Not that it mattered how she found out. Either way, he now had an angry mother glaring down at him as if she was going to tear his limbs off any moment. Sans rubbed the back of his neck, thinking what he should do to smooth this over.

Alright, he just needed to stay calm and not admit guilt. Technically, he didn't say anything wrong. He did befriend Toriel, he just didn't "befriend" her. It wasn't the words, it was inflection. It was a matter of interpretation. Someone innocent minded might not even make the leap of thought his small innuendo hinted at. They just might have thought that they were close friends now or something. Now to convince her that he meant nothing by what he said.

"oh, yeah, i talked to your kid earlier. said i already befriended you because they, uh... suggested you as a possible friend," he said. It seemed like a decent start but it was clear his words weren't winning her over. She continued to glare down at him like he had gone around town telling everyone straight out that they had done the deed.

"Oh, yes, I heard about how you ‘befriended’ me last night," she said in a tone that had an underlying growl.

He was actually impressed at how spot on she mimicked the way he said that word. Though, he hardly doubted she’d want to hear that. Well, some jokes are best left unsaid. Perhaps it was time for a council of comedians to form and set the parameters for the when and where certain jokes could be told. "come on, tori- toriel, i was just telling your kid that we were already friends. you can't tell me there is harm in that."

Maybe it was time to admit guilt and beg for forgiveness because she now looked like she was ready to kill him. "There IS harm if you say it the way you did!"

Not fully ready to back out, he tried one more. At the same time, though, his resolve was failing as he took a step back and held his hands up. "i can't be responsible for how someone interprets what i say. if the kid took it the wrong way, i'm sorry. i didn't mean to suggest that.” That was a lie but, at the same time, it was true. If he had said the same words without the inflection, he could still be in the same spot if the kid took it the wrong way. The word itself could have been taken completely innocently even with the change in vocal tone. He can’t be held responsible for how others think.

It was just supposed to be a dumb joke, but even it wasn’t a complete lie. The inflection was, but he did make friends with her… right? “i mean, we just met but i really thought of you as a friend. you’re a nice lady with a great sense of humor, and..." Maybe he should stop there before his mouth got him in more trouble. After all, he wasn't completely opposed to the thought of being more than friends with her, but Sans would far prefer to get to know her first.

For a moment longer, she continued to glare at him and gave no hint to let him know if she was buying what he said. Eventually, her expression softened and she sighed. “Alright, Sans, just please don’t do that again.”

"heh, alright, tori, i promise i won't do that again," Sans said, feeling himself begin to relax, hopefully, that was over and they can go back to being friends.

Toriel got an odd look on her face though, an odd angry grin. Sans looked up at her, feeling his nervousness return. He looked around, ready to find a way to escape from this encounter. Lesson learned, next time he closed up shop he wasn’t going to answer a knock at the door. Unfortunately, when he took the step back earlier, he cornered himself with a wall behind him and shelves to his side. There was a small gap to his right side, but she was still between him and the door, leaving him at her mercy. This made her sudden change back to anger scare him, as he had no idea what caused it and how far her fury will take her.

"So,  you admit that you did do something?" She asked, sounding as if she knew she just caught him.

And she did. The feel of his vertebrae against the wall was a reminder of just how caught he was. There was no running away or talking himself out of this. She trapped him, verbally and physically.

If he had been truthful and hadn’t made that stupid joke, like he was trying to convince her, he wouldn't have felt himself start to sweat.  He hesitated, unsure if there was any way left to salvage this. A bead of magic trickled down his skull as he stammered, “w-well, uh... the thing..."

She sighed and shook her head before folding her arms. The pressure was gone and he no longer felt so trapped even though she still blocked the way. The look of anger had just simply lessened and he felt like this time it would stay that way. “Don't lie to me, or make such jokes like that to my child again."

He stood there like a scolded child and nodded, "alright, toriel."

"Tori is fine," She then said. "Don’t think I'm not still mad, but I know you didn't mean ill by your... crass joke. When we met, I had a feeling you were the prankster type.” She then moved to his candy aisle and picked up a bag of Sour Patch and Milk Duds which she then threw at him a little harder than needed, but with no intent to harm. "I figure we can work through this sour patch in our friendship. After all, I can't expect all your jokes to not be duds."

He caught the candies and chuckled as he looked at them. The fear from earlier felt unfounded now, more of something he brought upon himself. Accepting this, he then walked over and picked up an Air Heads and handed that to her. "heh, yeah, with a skull as empty as mine, you can expect some air headed pranks."

"Indeed." She said, still sounding cross, but there was now a playful side showing. She then fell silent for a moment, taking on a very sober look as she turned away from him. There was such a heavy look to her as if there was a sudden weight on her shoulders. A weight, that in truth, she had been carrying for a while. "I felt so... betrayed when I heard that. I know you didn't mean to hurt me, but it did."

Ouch. Yeah, in hindsight, he could easily see how a joke like that could have been hurtful to her. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck bones. "sorry, tori."

"I forgive you," she said with a quiet smile, but he could still see how his words really had left her wounded. He then remembered something had to cause her to break up with her husband, something that must have hurt her, left her feeling, as she said, betrayed. He will have to try harder not to break the trust he started to form. And repair what damage he had done.

"thanks, tori," he said softly. She started to put the Air Head back but he spoke up. "keep it, if you want."

She paused and looked at the candy for a moment before handing it to him. "Maybe you should keep it, as a reminder to think your jokes and pranks through."

Sans took the candy back and looked at it. He looked down at the smiling balloon on the wrapper which grinned stupidly back up at him. It was like he was staring at himself. "maybe i should. you want or need anything while you're here?"

"I don't want any gifts to beg for forgiveness if that's what you're hinting at." She, again, sounded cross, but this time he had a feeling it wasn't him that anger was directed at.

"more like a gift of friendship, but i’m not opposed to you paying if you want. i do need money to for bills, after all," He shrugged.

There was a pause before she looked at him. "I'm sorry, I'm just worn out from gifts. It doesn't feel sincere when someone makes a mistake and then tries to correct it with a gift only to repeat their actions or... never fully apologize. Forgiveness isn't meant to be bought."

"i'm guessing we're talking about your ex now?" Sans asked.

"He sent my child home with a bunch of flowers, again. Lately, he hasn't been sending as much, so I thought he was getting the hint," Toriel huffed.

"i'm sure he's just trying to make you happy, not annoy you," Sans said, hoping he could help ease her mind over this.

"But that's the thing. He is trying to do so by ignoring the problem. Sure he may say he is sorry, but it doesn't feel like the sorry you just gave. There is no reflection on what got us to this point. It feels like he is just sorry he made me upset and not what he did to upset me. I don't want him to be sorry for how I feel. I want him to be sorry for what he did." Toriel turned to Sans, and he could see the pain in her eyes. It made more sense now, why her feeling Sans betrayed her resulted in such an angry reaction. “I know people in town think I need to take him back and ‘get over myself.’ I hear their whispers and see the looks. But, do I really need to swallow my pride to return to a relationship that was just causing me emotional pain? Just because he is sad I need to ignore my feelings? I shouldn’t be put in a situation where I feel obligated to forgive someone because they gave me something… right?”

She just poured her soul out to him, laying her burdened thoughts before a skeleton she just met and yelled at. Turned out that his wounding joke ended up exposing this pain. Now he needed to respond, help her to make up for the pain he caused and aid her with healing. "well, you’re right, it's not his place to be sorry for your emotions, that's for you to deal with. but his actions he is responsible for," Sans then thought for a moment. He sighed and ran a hand down his face. "i know you already forgave me, but seriously, i'm sorry... and for lying. that was really a boneheaded thing for me to do. and, while I think eventually forgiving him too would be good for you, you shouldn’t feel forced to, or feel you need to return to a situation you were unhappy in for his sake."

Toriel looked at him for a moment, then smiled as tears formed in her eyes. She needed to hear that, to know she wasn’t being selfish. The smile she gave really started to look happy and he hoped it stayed this time. "Thank you, Sans, and again, I forgive you.

She then assisted him as he returned to preparing the shop for the next day. It was odd, really, having the company, but he liked it. They laughed and joked, which made the time go by too fast. Once done, they both left the shop together, said goodbyes, then turned to go. His house wasn’t far, but already, he was feeling lonely. To chase away that feeling, he focused on what he now had to do. There was still dinner and reading to Papyrus before going to bed. Still, he remembered how hurt she looked, and how he never wanted to cause her to look that way again. Before he opened his front door he looked back at the shop. It will be interesting to see how life in this town goes from here.

[squadron-of-damned]

1/3) The book being praised for something you don't see in it (or isn't even there) doesn't mean that it's not a good book, you know that, right? It just means that people misinterpret it, which is kinda their problem. Not the problem of the book. I don't remember TP announcing "HEY LOOK EVERYONE THIS BOOK IS HERE TO PROMOTE FEMINISM! I AM THE SAVIOUR OF FEMINISIM IN FANTASY!!!".

This is long, so I’ll split this into points, okay? Okay. Here goes:

I cannot disagree that book being misinterpreted as something that it isn’t has no impact on the quality of that book. If my previous answer made it seem that I consider Monstrous Regiment lacking quality because of its interpretation by the readers, I apologize, that came out wrong.

Unrelated to any interpretations of it, I still don’t consider Monstrous Regiment a good book. (I read it way before I came into any sort of a Discworld community, so I know that other people interpretations don’t cloud my judgement here.) The handling of the plot, the narrative construction, the characters, and the development is simply weak. Jokes sadly don’t make a good literature.

That last sentence might come as hypocritical of me and it probably is, because if you have scrounged thorough my AO3, you have probably noticed that I stuff a lot of jokes into my stories. I acknowledge that it doesn’t make the stories a better piece of literature, but I aim to please here. I’m running a sort of a research on that and if a story has a bunch of jokes (their quality doesn’t matter much), more people read it and comment it. (I am deeply convinced that my best works are Cosette Chapeau, all the It’s Quiet In Basketville stories, Rain, if. and They Hadn’t Met at the End of the World.) OK, interruption over.

Tumblr is a hellsite and the overall approach here doesn’t help anything, true. Super annoying and super unhealthy this “Be Pure Or Be Not At All” attitude. I wish I knew where it came from. (No, I don’t really. But if I knew, I might be more focus-angry about it, now I have to be only vague-angry. Does that make sense?) While completely unrelated, the original post which has brought us here, however, was made in reaction on the Discworld Discord server. Although, that doesn’t belittle your point at all. Come to think about it, a lot of those people on the Discord server came there from Tumblr, most likely.

Back to point 2, but your ask comes to it again: It’s not well written, the character develpmont isn’t worth an old slipper if it happened at all, if you measure by something so subjective as relatableness, I can tell you I can’t relate to any single person there, and if the character development is worth an old slipper, the plot is worth, like, half a sole.

The most irking of all is the combination of being praised as the UwU Pure Perfect And The Best Book and actually being the boiled wilted spinach from refrigerator (You know the one, the one they made in your school canteen? The one which didn’t classify as goo only because there were bits in it? Like, it was edible and din’t have much of a taste, but it represented everything bad with the school canteen? No? My, what school canteen had you even? Can I see it, please?).

The fact that it isn’t a good book doesn’t make it a horrible book, though. I am saying it’s bad, but I’m picky. It’s just not good.

The fact that it isn’t a good book doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it. You surely can. If you enjoy it, good for you. I’m glad you have fun.

Okay, book talk over, let’s look at the ladies.

Look at the characters of: Susan Sto Helin, Granny Weatherwax, Tiffany Aching. Just the main heroes, those show it the most. Or even Tiffany and Susan. You find out that basically all that they have different are the circumstances. Pratchett’s women are Strong Independent Ladies who take None Of Your Bullshit, and Aren’t Paid Enough To Solve Your Problems And Will Let You Know It but Will Solve It Anyway Because Someone Has To.

Their weakness is their pride and self-confidence.

It’s like those dress up games where you can change the hairstyles and clothes and that’s it. It might look a bit different, but the blueprint is the same. Once you notice this Independent Woman thing, you start seeing it everywhere. Ms. Cake, Angua, Cheery, Rosie Palm, Madam Meserole.

The characters which didn’t start as that evolve into it. In case of Cheery it was over the spawn of 1 book. Magrat took a bit longer, maybe. I mean, I haven’t really paid her much attention when I read about her when I was younger and then Lords and Ladies happened.

I give credits to Terry realizing that women aren’t just a romantic interest, but I would like to see the same amount of differences between female characters like he as among men. A Deciever like Lipwig is. someone selfishly-blind and sometimes blindly-stupid as Downey? Well meaning but quite useless as Verence? Good in theory but idiot in normal life like Stibbon? What about just simply driven by desire for material (and maybe emotional) security (that is Rincewind)?

Sybil Ramkin is quite the exception. Yes, she is also a Strong Independent woman, but she doesn’t rub it into everyone’s face just because. She shows her strength and independence only when there is no one to do it instead, or when she is asked to. But it’s not her job otherwise and she isn’t going to show off.

Okay, another exception is Nightshade in Shepherd’s Crown. Have read that book only once, but okay, this one had a lot of character development for one book.

There are surely some other exceptions, but the thing is that they are very very very very minor. You are more likely to find two basically same female characters than different ones.

(I am a bit salty about that because it gave me the wrong idea about what I was supposed to grow up into, but that’s more of a me-problem.)

If I wasn’t clear somewhere, let me know. My only problem is that I am not good at explaining things that come as obvious to me.

[pink-ink-goblin]

Mirror, Mirror Ch. 2

(I figured out that one of my huger mistakes in the first chapter was not actually stating who was being tormented. This should clear that up right quick. Also, a grand thank you to Mark for making it absolutely impossible to concentrate. There are flames everywhere and people are screaming, and I'm just staring a blank doc on my computer, watching the type line blink. Did you know it keeps perfect 4/4 time? No, this is not fine.)

Chapter 1

Chapter 3 

Chapter 2

Ethan remembered being the first to pound on Mark’s door that morning, just a few half asleep couple of knocks after Amy had commented how she hadn’t yet seen him downstairs. Strange, since he was usually the earliest riser, but not particularly concerning, so when he received no answer, he shrugged, assumed Mark was still sleeping, and made his way back down to have some instant breakfast. His stomach had been acting up since they got there and it was the most he found he could get down lately. He hoped he wasn’t coming down with anything.  

An hour later, however, found Amy pounding on the door loudly enough to be faintly heard downstairs. Ethan watched Kathryn get up and disappear first, and with a shared glance with Tyler, they both made their way up after, just in in time to see Amy let go of the handle of the still closed door.

Locked. None of them ever locked their doors.

After tugging and pulling and pounding and still receiving no kind of answer, they resolved to split up and search. Amy confirmed that she’d caught Mark sleepwalking once or twice, and it mixed awfully with his tendency to blindly flee half-asleep when his night terrors flared up badly enough, so it was easy to believe that if he wasn’t inside, he could have moved and passed out just about anywhere.

Ethan could sympathize. He was pretty sure he was tired enough to up and pass out just about anywhere too.

And after searching every nook and cranny - bathrooms, bedrooms, living room couches, pool chairs, the terrace outside, even the roof - they all slowly made their way back to the kitchen to discuss their options, only to find the man himself leaning casually against the sink, halfway into a bowl of cereal.

Chaos erupted immediately and reigned for a good minute or two, a cacophony of voices yelling irritable words of both concern and accusation before Mark himself managed to calm them down enough to speak. He had just been in his room. He had been sound asleep. He really didn’t hear a thing. Honest.

His arguments were naturally met with skepticism - after all, who could have slept through that racket? - but Mark seemed wholly convinced of his own words that it begrudgingly became accepted in the terms that they were all far too tired to argue and just wanted to let things go to get on with their respective days. It was unanimously agreed that they should take the day off to let feelings settle and tensions ease away, and Ethan found that the freedom was actually helping, if only a little.

Until now of course.

Ethan paused in the doorway, half hidden behind it as he watched Mark from where the man perched, fiddling with his guitar idly. He sat back with the large instrument resting against his chest, looking for all the world like he was simply relaxing while he practiced, but everything about it was wrong. The man’s gaze was far away, not even looking at the instrument as his fingers pulled harshly at the strings, the notes coming off in a terrible series of twanging sharp and flat sounds that sent the blue haired boy’s skin crawling.

It sent alarm bells buzzing in his mind, screaming that he should just walk away and leave him be, but Mark was his friend and if something was bothering him, surely he deserved to be heard out just as much as Mark listened to Ethan’s own problems. Even if the entire thing rubbed Ethan the wrong way.

“Mark?” Ethan called, wincing when hesitation wavered his voice as he stepped into the room fully; refusing to enter any further until prompted. Mark’s movements were lazy as he looked to Ethan, head turning just a bit too slowly as an overly calm smile spread across his features that would have certainly been welcome any other time. Now all it did was set Ethan’s teeth on edge.

“Hey Ethan,” Mark greeted, lying the guitar down in his lap. His voice was still the same at least, and Ethan took as much normalcy from that as he could. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I just…” Ethan hesitated, realizing there was no way he could casually slip into asking him about the entire thing, so he simply settled with being blunt. “Are you okay?”

This seemed to throw Mark, his eyebrows knitting in confusion as if either the concern or the meaning of the very words couldn’t be placed in his mind. He cocked his head ever so slightly, like a curious dog, and replied with an overly soft, “Of course.”

It was wrong, everything was wrong, everything FELT wrong, but why the heck did it feel so wrong? Ethan’s hands found themselves coming together against his chest, his nervous energy unable to be completely hidden anymore. Especially not when all instincts were screaming at him to leave. But he took a steadying breath and pressed on.

“Oh, it’s just that… y’know, this morning... I mean, it was so loud-”

“I told you guys, I was just sleeping.” Mark countered easily, and there was a spark of something behind his eyes that Ethan could only interpret as amusement at his concern. It sparked a small flame of irritation inside of him, especially as the man began to play again, exacerbating the feeling in those same terrible plucked notes.

“That’s the thing though,” Ethan pressed, swallowing his nervousness and embracing that little flame. “I mean, nobody could sleep through that. Nobody’s been able to sleep at all since we got here. And you never lock your door. And fucking look at you. The way you’ve been acting. You look like you’ve been possessed by a de-”

TWANG!

The loud sound echoed throughout the room, striking painfully against Ethan’s eardrums and making him jump back in fright. He watched Mark with wide eyes as the vibrating sound slowly faded back into the body of the guitar, the man’s face unnaturally neutral against Ethan’s surprise.

There was silence between them for a few moments after, long enough for Ethan to contemplate bolting, but too short for him to do so.

“Ethan,” The name came ever so gently and with such a bizarre sense of paternalism that Ethan couldn’t help but listen. As Mark set the guitar aside to stand, he spoke Ethan’s name a few more times like a parent chiding a child for being silly. His tone was strangely melodic and, for some reason, Ethan actually found himself calming a little. “What can I do to prove it to you? Would you like to see it from my side?”

Ethan blinked at this, shaking his head a little to refocus. What had they been talking about again? Oh, right. “O-oh. No. No - y’know what? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come at you like that. I think the lack of sleep is getting to me.”

“Oh no, it’s fine,” Mark replied laconically, the smile that had bothered Ethan earlier now seemed to fit just a little bit better than before. Maybe he had been worried for nothing. Maybe Mark was suffering from everything just as much as Ethan and couldn’t help being a little odd. Lord knew Ethan had been off his own game lately too.

He watched as Mark insistently moved past him, stopping in the doorway to wait for Ethan to follow. His stance was a little overly lax, but it really only added to the casual aura he was giving off. But there was still something stirring in the back of Ethan’s mind, something that had been stifled, but still managed to let out one single peep of warning.

Ethan put his hands into his pockets, looking away embarrassedly. “You really don’t have to. I didn’t mean it.”

“Of course you did,” Mark countered, but his words weren’t bitter. “Those words had to come from someplace, and honestly I’m appreciative of the concern. At least let me return the favor by assuaging yours.”

Ethan hesitated and he wasn’t sure why. What was he fighting with? He was getting the outcome he wanted, wasn’t he? His stomach was starting to hurt again.

After a moment longer, Ethan looked up at Mark just in time to see him turn away. There was that something in Mark’s eyes again that this time he found he couldn’t place, but instead of taking the time to wonder, he found himself unwittingly trotting to catch up.

The mansion was a maze of grand halls and narrow stairs that Ethan had had difficulty keeping track of since day one, but Mark was navigating with such ease it was almost like he had been living there his whole life. The man’s movements were smooth, almost like a dance and Ethan found himself getting lost in it all until, before he knew it, he was standing in front of the damning door. The same one that he was slowly finding more blame for the current situation than of Mark himself.

Mark stood off to the left of it, holding the door open in mock courtesy, making a light bowing gesture with his hand to let Ethan know to go ahead. And yet, there it was again, that little noise in the back of his brain that had him hesitating once more. Why was it getting so quiet and easy to ignore? He let out a soft breath that was almost a sigh.

“Are you sure?” Ethan asked, feeling like this was somehow a betrayal of trust more than a simple demonstration. Or something else, his brain supplied, but it went unheard.

“Ethan,” There was his name again, spoken in that playfully chiding tone, and it left a swirling, minty hole in the bottom of his stomach. “It’s just a door.”

“I know, I know, but I mean, I didn’t want to come across as like ignoring your side of the story or something, and I really didn’t mean for it to go this far and just everything is so-”

“Ethan.” The playful tone was gone, the command behind it shocking him into silence. He felt there was more to that word, like it hadn’t only been spoken by Mark, and something in the back of his mind screamed at him to run, but before he could even begin to make a decision, Mark pushed him in and tugged the heavy wooden door shut.

There was a moment where Ethan wanted to panic, his throat tightening as it geared up to start yelling, but he took a deep breath and attempted to calm himself. This was what he wanted right? If Mark was willing to give him a demonstration, he ought to accept what he should have known the outcome would be.

So he waited.

And he waited.

And he waited a little more, before finally giving a few little taps of his own. Nothing responded, neither voice nor wooden noise, and he felt a strange uneasiness starting to fill the pit in his aching stomach. Maybe Mark was right?

“Are you even knocking on the door?” Ethan called, reaching out to open the door to speak to Mark face to face only to find that the handle would only turn so far. Confused, he tried again, only to be met with the same result. Locked? Impossible, he was on the inside. He fiddled with the latch on the door and found that it twisted in a complete circle without catching.

It wasn’t locked, it was broken.

“Mark? Hey, I think…” He trailed off when it occurred to him that maybe this wasn’t just a coincidence or accident. “Mark, open the door! Mark!”

He slammed a fist against the wood and drew it back in pain. That door really was sturdy. As he was jiggling the handle some more, he heard it. A knock, or a series of.

Knock, knock, knock.

One, two, three. It was a pattern, looping in rapid threes.

Knock, knock, knock.

He stilled in confusion. He could hear that despite how gentle it sounded. Did that mean Mark hadn’t been lying? No, he listened closer, and realized with slowly dawning horror that the knocking wasn’t coming from the door in front of him.

He turned partially to look behind himself and was met with the closet door, open just a hair, and definitely the source of the noise that grew just a little bit louder when his attention shifted.

“Tyler?” He asked warily, hoping beyond hope that it was a terribly timed prank. He couldn’t see anything through that crack to tell for sure, but he got terrible, hair-raising feeling that whatever lurked in that closet definitely wasn’t one of his friends. After another series of knocks, he found himself pounding on the bedroom door with increasing urgency.

“Mark please!” He pleaded, tugging at the handle and kicking the bottom of the door in desperation.

A creak. Soft and slow, the groaning scream of hinges warning of impending doom. Ethan turned to face it, back pressed into the door as hard as he could manage, as though he could somehow phase his way through by pushing hard enough.

The door was slowly swinging open, but as it yawned wider, there was no hand on the inside that could be pushing it. Darkness licked at the edges, further out than the cast light should allow.

His breaths turned into quick and rapid hyperventilating, unable to look away as he scanned the same area over and over for the monster he knew was there. But he couldn’t see anything except the blackness inside, swirling and flowing like wind-caressed water.

He was frozen, fear paralyzing him, unable to do a thing as the lights in the room began to dim; even the sun that still gave a dull glow through the drawn curtains seeming to fade. The darkness began to seep out, spreading like spilled liquid, but it was slow and methodic.

And heading straight for him.

He had no where he could run. No where he could hide. He gave one last futile  pound on the door before, with the lightning quickness of a striking snake, the darkness grabbed his legs and pulled him down.

He screamed, calling for someone, anyone, everyone’s names in desperation, even that of the man who pushed him into this trap; but it was all for naught as the darkness, in one last act of sentient cruelty, paused in its pulling to allow for the begging, and struggling, and clawing until Ethan’s voice was hoarse from effort.

That was when, in a blink, it dragged him in, the door slamming closed behind them, leaving Ethan’s scream to fade like an echo in a cave...

Until silence settled in once more.

Three left...