#like its not technically a live reblog but at the same time i love breaking down characters and movies

[illuminatedcomics]

Today I remembered Mad Magic, and I made a LONG post about it. MM ran from November 2017 to May 2020 for a total of nearly 200 pages, my longest comic yet, not only in terms of actual continuous posting, but in development, as I have sketches and art dating back from 2011. Almost ten years of planning and drawing resulted in me having a big burnout that lasted a year and a half. It wasn’t MM fault that happened, and this post is sort of me coming to terms with what went wrong.

While the details and the higher concept shifted and changed multiple times, the heart of this comic always remained the same: there’re two girls, they’re roommates, and they live through a series of comedic horror adventures. 

Around early 2017, I combined this first draft with many newer ideas about high concept parody/deconstructions of Harry Potter: “What if a teenage Chosen one enters their adulthood and realizes they can’t top all the stuff they did as a kid?” and “What if one of those wallpaper background bullies that work as henchman for the main rival was the center of the narrative?” To be honest I was never a huge fan of Harry Potter, but still, I was in the right age group to see the movies as a kid, and read a few of the early books, so these concepts intrigued me.

Enter Mad Magic, the story of Joy Kaplan, former Demon Goat (that’s your house Slytherin), who after getting kicked out of school, ends up living a life of expedients, together with sassy Alix Peck, a punk girl that appears normal but has actually a mysterious past.

You know how they tell you “don’t make your first comic your big end all epic magnum opus”? Well, Mad Magic wasn’t technically my first attempt at a webcomic, but it nailed the too big for its own good part. When I finished planning it, it was going to be 17 chapters long (40 to 80 pgs each), with dozens of characters, twists, turns, action scenes, magic, time travel, vampires, elves, doppelgangers, lovecraftian gods, crossovers with other stories of mine, long haul plans a la Once Piece where that one character introduced in one panel in page 4 of chapter 1 was supposed to become the main villain of the story arc of chapter 12…

Considering the series ended after 4 chapters and a quarter, we know something broke down along the way. But what? Well first off MM was a ton of work. I structured the pages in a large euro-comic style, with four rows of panels, that fluctuated between 10 to 20 each, all full color. With a day job, completing a full page could take a couple of days or even a full weekend. So that was tiring, maintaining the schedule ate up a lot of free time, and whenever I missed an update or decided to take a brief hiatus I always regretted it and felt like crap about it.

But the biggest problem was a lack of general fulfillment and this absence was caused by my perceived inability to “find an audience”. There’re plenty of articles online explaining the causes of burnout, and one of the big ones is the problem with “reward”, when you don’t feel like the effort you put into something is worth what you’re getting in return.

There were people reading Mad Magic, there were people that seemed to love Mad Magic, but in my eyes, they were never enough… but what would’ve been “enough” anyway? What magic number would've made it worth it??? Ultimately, this junction between my inability to gather a larger interest, and the presence of this foggy, undescribed “number” of people that would’ve satisfied me caused the wheels to break down. I was letting things like subscriber counts, likes per page, pageviews and reblogs dictate how I perceived my own creation. If a page got fewer likes than average, I started wondering, obsessing what was wrong with it. 

The point is, after nearly three years of working on Mad Magic, doing my damnest to put out pages weekly, I was seeing absolutely no growth in reach or audience and I didn’t really know what I was doing wrong or if I was doing anything right in the first place. This stagnation led to stress, which led to losing pleasure in doing the comic in the first place, so that I was forcing myself to make pages, eventually leading to burnout and the complete loss in my desire to draw again. It took me a year and a half to get back into things, a period so nasty and bleak that even the idea of reading a comic made me queasy. The fact that this coincided with the global covid pandemic exacerbated the problems, but I think that even without that, it would’ve simply taken a bit longer to reach the same point of no return. I realize now this mentality was unfair towards the few readers I had, and to myself too.  I try not to worry about the idea of “finding an audience” anymore. I make the stuff I make because I want to, if I catch myself thinking “people won’t care about this” I nip it in the bud. I’m lucky enough that I don’t need to draw for a living, and considering artist’s spaces on the web seem to be constantly shrinking, the whole endeavor of finding a following online seems just a headache. I also try not to be bothered by the concept of schedules and updates.  I only draw when I want, when I feel like it, and it works. I look at stuff like Toxic Park, one of my current projects: in 2022, I produced around 80 pgs of story in two blocks, when the will and inspiration to do so hit me. That’s roughly the same amount of pages of Mad Magic I made in a similar period 2017/2018, by forcing myself to have at least one page ready every single week. So, the change in schedule or lack thereof, didn’t result in a change in output. Not to mention, that in both cases, I tried to develop other ideas simultaneously, and while with MM coming out that felt like crunching, at my leisure carefree pace I also made a 20 pages historical comic, Theo the Lucky, and nine more shorter comics, which are all around two to three pages worth of story (and you’ve seen posted on this blog). Simply put, I feel like I draw so much more now that I don’t cage myself in a mentality where “I must get this done before this completely imaginary deadline hits”.

I still hold the Mad Magic’s cast dear to my heart, they’re part of a ten year journey. I often try to think of ways of bringing it back, but continuing from the point where I left it off, where things were just starting to get interesting, doesn’t feel right. I may follow Osamu Tezuka’s Star System, where the same characters in personality and design are recontextualized in completely different stories. We’ll see.

Mad Magic is still up on tumblr where it was originally posted! And looking back at it, I think it still holds up relatively well. I lost all passwords and emails relative to that account so I can’t access it, but the entirety of the comic in its uncompleted state (I think some pages might’ve been weirdly flagged during the tumblr porn ban?) can still be read here:

@madmagic-comic

[writingfortoomanyfandoms]

The Only Woman

Pairing: (Henry Cavill!)Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Requested: Yep - “Hello Ma’amMay I request a Sherlock Holemes x Redaer?That when they were younger she was BSF with Sherlock and Mycroft. And all of the sudden they disappeared and never wrote to her a letter or nothing. And she got closer to Enola and when Edoria disappeared she reunites with Sherlock and Mycroft and Reader is Mad and Sad that he left without saying nothing. She always was in love with him and at the end she finds out he also was in love with her! And lots of fluffThank You so MuchAnonymous (she/her/hers)”

Summary: Basically just the request

Warnings: Probably some swearing, some 20th century misogyny, pining, fluff, angst, denial, all that fun stuff, probably ooc Sherlock but we vibe with it because he’s soft af

A/N: My first full length Sherlock fic! I should mention that my requests aren’t actually open right now, especially not for full fics but I was inspired by this request and so decided to make it into a full one! I hope you guys enjoy, please remember to reblog, comment or send an ask letting me know what you think and if you want to see me write more for Sherlock (and Henry and his other characters for that matter) in the future!

Y/N had been essentially another resident of the Holmes household her whole life, having been introduced to the family through the two boys - Sherlock and Mycroft, whom she had run into while out playing in the woods. Her family lived in the house nearest to the Holmes residence, technically making them neighbours.

Sherlock and Mycroft didn’t exactly do ‘friends’, that much had been clear even to Y/N’s young mind after meeting them. She was a year and a half younger than Sherlock and yet she still knew more about interacting with other people than he did. Not that either of the Holmes boys had ever seemed interested in other people, they had their brains to keep them occupied, and when they failed to find entertainment in learning, they had each other.

Despite this, they took a shine to Y/N when they found her playing make-believe on her own in the woods and insisted that she come over to have dinner with them and their family.

Mr and Mrs Holmes had gone out of their way, following that initial visit, to make Y/N feel as welcome as possible at Ferndell Hall. At first this was simply because they were astounded that their sons had actually made a friend and seemed interested in maintaining this friendship, but then it was partially as a result of the somewhat turbulent relationship that it became clear Y/N had with her family.

Eudoria in particular had ensured that Y/N knew she could always come and visit, that there was a spare bedroom that could be set up should she require it, which Y/N only began to take advantage of as she grew up and the rows with her parents over her future became more frequent.

However, it was always Sherlock that she was closest to. While she considered Mycroft a friend, and he had grudgingly returned the sentiment, they had never clicked in the same way that Y/N had with Sherlock. Occasionally Mycroft would storm off midway through a game, frustrated by Sherlock’s intelligence which so trumped his and Y/N’s, or he would simply decide that he was ‘above’ having friends.

Sherlock never much minded Y/N hanging around though. Truthfully, now that she was grown, Y/N looked back at their years of friendship and couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps his reason for tolerating her company was because she gave him the awed reactions that he secretly desired from his intelligence.

She had fond memories of her childhood with the Holmes. At Ferndell she never felt the need to pretend to be a young lady ready to be married that her parents so desperately wanted her to be, even as a child. Mr Holmes encouraged her to continue her studies beyond what her Governess would teach her, and Eudoria actively tried to teach her all that she could, going so far as to teach her alongside her sons on occasion - Mycroft wasn’t exactly fond of that, though Sherlock appeared to enjoy her company.

And then there was Enola, a surprisingly timid child considering the family that she had been born into - though Eudoria was convinced that her shyness was a trait that she would soon grow out of. Enola adored Y/N.

While Sherlock and Mycroft paid their little sister no mind, too caught up in their own lives to acknowledge their baby sister’s, Y/N was fond of Enola. Having grown up in a male-dominated household with only brothers for company, she had always wanted a younger sister.

It was Mr Holmes’ death that changed everything.

Not long after his death, Y/N was saying goodbye to her two closest friends as they left for Boarding School. Y/N had promised to write to them and had been encouraged to do so by Sherlock, who seemed thrilled by the prospect of their continued communication and Mycroft had also seemed somewhat in favour of the idea.

Y/N wrote to the brothers for a year after they left. Her letters to Sherlock in particular were long and full of detail about both her life, her parents continued attempts to interest her in marriage and her attempts to further her education, as well as the lives of Eudoria and Enola.

After a year of these letters, however, Y/N had yet to receive word from either brother and thus, with a heavy heart, she had halted her letter writing and turned her mind away from the Holmes brothers. 

Eudoria had ensured that Y/N still knew that she was welcome whenever she wanted to come over, however, and so Y/N’s life at Ferndell continued even with the absence of the boys she had considered to be her closest friends.

Y/N had been the first to be informed that Eudoria had disappeared, Enola having ran over to her house the day of her sixteenth birthday in a state of distress, imploring the older woman to help her. They had agreed that it was best for Sherlock and Mycroft to be contacted at once, with Sherlock’s career, Enola had been certain that her brother would make himself indispensable.

Y/N had been less keen on writing to the Holmes brothers, dreading having to see her old friends again, still far more hurt than she could care to admit about their silence following their departure. Every time in the past week that Enola had brought up the topic of her brothers, Y/N had been quick to change the subject.

A decision that she was coming to regret now that she approached Ferndell to find an automobile parked outside of it. Y/N bit back a groan, aware that its presence more than likely meant that Sherlock and Mycroft would be waiting inside.

Y/N didn’t knock before she entered, she never had as she had basically been a part of the family over the past few years.

She could hear the low mumble of voices coming from the drawing room, which were becoming steadily louder and Y/N’s expression dropped into a deep frown as she stepped towards the room, recognising Enola’s voice, breaking with emotion, even through the closed doors.

Before she could place her hand on the knob, however, the door was flung open and Enola rushed out, crashing into Y/N, who almost dropped the bags she was holding.

“Enola?” Y/N breathed, her hands gripping onto the young girl’s shoulders, steadying her. 

“Y/N!” Enola embraced her tightly, though not before Y/N caught sight of her face, flushed red and eyes shining with tears, her expression the picture of distress.

“What’s happened? What’s wrong? Why are you… in your undergarments?” Y/N asked in a rush as Enola pulled away. The teenager wiped fiercely at her face, clenching her jaw.

“My brothers are here…” Enola seemed to struggle with herself for a moment before shaking her head. “I wish to be alone.”

With that, Enola pushed past her and shortly after Y/N heard footsteps on the stairs. Y/N looked back to the door to the drawing room and caught a glimpse of a man holding a book, chestnut curls falling over his forehead, his brown eyes just visible, his brow furrowed as though he were frowning.

Sherlock was recognisable immediately. His eyes moved over to the door, away from the chair Y/N knew to be facing him in the room which she assumed seated Mycroft, and his book lowered, his head raising and his lips parting in slight surprise - an expression that Y/N had never seen on him in the entire duration of their friendship.

Before he could say anything, however, Y/N turned on her heel and walked towards the kitchen.

“Good morning, Miss Y/L/N,” Mrs Lane said from where she was kneading bread dough on the kitchen counter.

“Morning, Mrs Lane - I see that Enola’s brothers have arrived.”

“Yes, they got here yesterday,” Mrs Lane confirmed as Y/N placed down the bags of food she had bought and began to unpack them into the pantry. Knowing how overworked Mrs Lane had been, staffing the house alone, particularly since Eudoria’s absence, Y/N had taken to doing the food shopping for them.

“Enola seemed very upset,” Y/N said, unable to conceal her worry.

“Yes - Mr Mycroft has been less than impressed by both the state of the house and Enola herself.”

“Why?” Y/N demanded, her frown deepening, the beginnings of anger festering in her stomach.

“He doesn’t think Mrs Holmes did a good job of raising her,” Mrs Lane looked equally disgusted by the words even as she spoke them. “He wishes to send her to a finishing school to turn her into a proper lady.”

“But can’t he see that she’s happy here?”

“I don’t think Mr Holmes much cares,” Mrs Lane admitted.

“What does Sherlock think of all of it?”

“He has been rather silent on the matter, Miss Y/L/N,” Mrs Lane said, shaking her head and sighing. “I fear Enola has been rather disappointed by the brother she so idolised.”

“She said she wished to be alone for a while,” Y/N said, leaning on the counter and rubbing her forehead, wanting to ease out the deep concern she was feeling for the girl she had come to think of as a sister. “I’ll try and talk to her in a little bit,” she decided and Mrs Lane nodded her approval.

Y/N ventured out into the garden half an hour later, figuring that that was ample time for Enola to think it over for herself. Y/N knew exactly where the Holmes daughter would be, she knew that Enola had a favourite tree in the garden where she would go, should she want to get away from the house for a little bit.

What she wasn’t expecting was to find Sherlock walking back from the direction of the very tree Y/N knew Enola to be hiding in. He looked deep in thought, but there was no denying the very slight smile that lifted the corners of his lips.

Y/N allowed her head to fall, her eyes on the ground, hoping against hope that there was even the smallest chance that Sherlock may not notice her.

“Y/N - it was you I saw,” there was an edge of something like delight in his voice as he spoke and Y/N wanted to look up, to see his expression, to confirm that he was smiling as he acknowledged her.

Instead, she chose to ignore him and attempted to continue walking.

“Y/N!” Sherlock called, and reached out a hand to gently take hold of her arm, pulling her ever-so carefully back to stand in front of her.

“Mr Holmes,” Y/N returned his greeting, lifting her head to watch his features fall into a slight frown.

“I wasn’t aware that you would be here,” Sherlock said, his eyes searching hers.

“I was always welcome at Ferndell,” Y/N responded stiffly. “Now I must go and speak with Enola,” she said, turning ready to leave him.

“Y-” Sherlock cut himself off from saying her name. “Miss Y/L/N,” he corrected, and Y/N risked a glance at her old friend over her shoulder, seeing his brow crinkled in confusion, an expression that she had rarely seen during their childhood.

“Yes, Mr Holmes?”

“How have you been?” Sherlock was floundering, that much was obvious. All the articles about him that Y/N and Enola had read, all her memories of him from her younger years had always portrayed him as being calm, collected, ready with his words. Seeing him now, in this state of uncertainty, caused by seeing her for the first time after so many years, it brought her a sense of satisfaction.

“Fine thank you, now if you’ll excuse me,” she didn’t give Sherlock a chance to respond, walking away from him as quickly as possible, though she could feel his eyes burning into her back as she left him behind.

Enola was sitting on the grass at the base of the tree, her back pressed up against it, her sketchbook balanced on her lap but her eyes were glazed over and looking at the scenery rather than at the pages.

“Can I join you?”

The teenager started, her eyes widening in slight shock but then she relaxed as her eyes landed on Y/N, who she offered a small, tired smile and nodded her head. Once Y/N had seated herself on the ground, Enola scooted over to rest her head on her shoulder and let out a long sigh.

“I’m glad to see you’ve put on clothes now,” Y/N finally broke the silence and the younger girl laughed a little.

“Apparently my proportions are incorrect,” Enola informed her.

“Yes, I often find myself thinking that,” Y/N teased and Enola giggled again, playfully elbowing Y/N in the side. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to go to Miss Harrison’s Finishing School for Young Girls.”

“Finishing school is the worst,” Y/N agreed. 

“I remember when you went,” Enola murmured. “Mother said you hated it.”

“I did,” Y/N confirmed. “I begged my parents every holiday to not send me back, I think I even asked your mother at one point to adopt me so that I wouldn’t have to go,” Y/N chuckled at the memory, shaking her head. “It was a source of great amusement for my brothers.”

“Mine too,” Enola said darkly. “Mycroft is an utter pig, you know.” 

Y/N laughed again at the choice of words.

“Family reunion didn’t go quite as planned, I take it?”

“I didn’t have a hat or gloves,” Enola sighed. 

“So off to finishing school?”

“The only logical course of action,” Enola agreed, her tone biting. “You were friends with them, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, wary of where this conversation was going. “But I stand no chance of changing their minds. Mycroft was always stubborn, even when we were children, and I haven’t seen them since they went to boarding school.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry, I wish I could help,” Y/N said, her heart aching for the young woman.

“It’s okay,” Enola murmured. “I was just wondering, though… Sherlock was talking about me as a child - you must have known me at the same time as him, yes?” Y/N nodded her confirmation. “I think I have more memories of you than him or Mycroft.”

“I spent a lot of time with you,” Y/N shrugged.

“He said that I used to drag a pinecone around with me.”

Y/N couldn’t help herself from laughing as the memory struck her.

“Oh yes - a little pinecone, wrapped in wool that you dragged around on a string because of Queen Victoria’s spaniel. Called… Dash? I think?”

“That’s what Sherlock said, yes,” Enola straightened up, a slight grin on her face. “So it’s true?”

“Yes, you were rather obsessed with the thing,” Y/N confirmed, still chuckling a little. Silence fell between them, comfortable and thoughtful.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“What were my brothers like growing up?”

Y/N thought hard before answering, her mind going back to her childhood.

“They were fun,” Y/N said at last. “They both knew that they were smarter than me, and I think that that was at least part of the reason they kept me around. Sherlock would teach me things - things that my Governess wouldn’t have thought I ought to know…” Y/N trailed off. “They were kind,” she admitted at last. “Albeit a little aloof at times, a little arrogant, they were always kind to me. I think Sherlock could tell immediately that I was unhappy with my family, and that was why they brought me to Ferndell,” Y/N confided.

“Mycroft was kind to you?” Enola asked, staring at her wide-eyed. 

“He didn’t know any better until he went out into the world,” Y/N replied, smiling a little.

“I won’t let him send me to Miss Harrison’s Finishing School For Girls,” Enola stated defiantly.

“No,” Y/N agreed. “I don’t think that you should.”

///

Y/N was reading outside when the maid came to see her.

“Miss Y/L/N, there’s a Mr Holmes here to see you,” Freya spoke, her eyebrows raised just a tad in a teasing way, indicating that she thought it was a romantic house-call. Y/N frowned in return.

“Mr Holmes?” She repeated. “Not Enola?”

“If it’s Enola then she’s certainly changed a lot since I last saw her,” Freya said. “Mr Holmes is in the drawing room.”

Y/N closed her book and stood, following the maid inside, through the house and into the drawing room. She pushed the door open, still confused as to why either of the Holmes brothers would feel the need to make a house call to see her.

Sherlock was standing in the drawing room, his back to her as he stared at the painting hanging above the fireplace. She closed the door as quietly as she could, but the soft sound caught the attention of the detective anyway. Sherlock turned and offered her an unsure, gentle smile.

“Good morning, Mr Holmes,” Y/N said, bowing her head just slightly towards him. She thought she saw Sherlock’s smile falter just a tad before he returned her greeting. “What can I help you with?”

“I’m afraid I bring some bad news,” Sherlock said, walking away from the fireplace. Y/N stepped further into the room and indicated a chair. “Thank you,” he said as he sat down, Y/N seating herself in the armchair across from him. “Enola has run away.”

“Is that really all that surprising?” Y/N sighed, though his words did immediately cause her to worry for the young girl.

“Were you aware of what she was planning?” Sherlock asked.

“No. It just doesn’t surprise me.”

Sherlock looked at her for a long moment, seemingly analyzing her expression and finally he gave a slow nod of his head.

“So I take it that she hasn’t contacted you at all?” He asked.

“I haven’t heard from her since yesterday when I left Ferndell,” Y/N confirmed, attempting to keep her features as neutral as possible.

Sherlock frowned at her, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Even if she had, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?”

“No,” Y/N admitted, shrugging her shoulders. “But you can’t blame me for that. We both know that Finishing School is not where Enola’s time would be best spent. Besides, from what she told me Miss Harrison seems a foul woman.”

She thought she saw Sherlock’s lips twitch as though he wanted to smile, but then he schooled his expression into one of neutrality again.

“You know, there was a time when you would tell me everything,” he reminded her.

“And there was a time that you found me utterly insufferable for that,” Y/N countered, her words sounding like she was spitting venom at him.

“I never found you insufferable,” Sherlock said, a chuckle in his voice. 

“Is that so?” Y/N mused, quirking her eyebrow at him.

“Perhaps a little slow at times, but I wouldn’t take that personally,” she hated how teasing he sounded, as though nothing had changed since he left. Sherlock clearly picked up on the anger festering in the pit of her stomach and spoke again before she had time to lash out. “But I never found you insufferable.”

Y/N made a noise conveying how unconvinced she was by his words and she stood from the chair.

“If that’s all…”

Sherlock’s eyes flashed with something similar to disappointment before he, too, stood and adjusted his suit jacket slightly.

“Yes… that’s all,” he said. “I thank you for your time.”

Y/N nodded and watched as Sherlock crossed the room to stand in front of the door, reaching out a hand towards the doorknob. Before he could turn it, though, Y/N was hit by a sudden wave of concern.

“Mr Holmes?”

The man paused and looked back at her over his shoulder at her.

“You… if you find her, or here anything… could you let me know? She’s only young… I worry about her.”

Sherlock bowed his head in a sign of consent.

“I will keep you updated, I promise.”

“Thank you… Sherlock.”

Just as Sherlock had promised, he kept her updated on the situation with Enola as best as he could and she received letters from him every other day, even if he had found no new leads.

On the days that he had nothing new to report, his letters were filled with updates about his own life, general musings, his theories about both Enola’s whereabouts and other, unofficial cases that had caught his eye. 

In short, they were the most un-Sherlock-like letters that Y/N could have ever imagined receiving and every time the post came she felt her heart lift in hope that there would be another one for her.

The only letter that Y/N had replied to, however, was one dated about a week and a half after Enola’s disappearance, in which Sherlock told her that he had asked Mycroft to pass over his duties and to make Enola his ward, filing Y/N in on the details about what had happened with Enola and the case of the missing Maquis. Sherlock had also let her know that he had attempted to make contact with his sister via newspaper and that she had indeed come to the meeting spot but had been disguised.

From the tone of that letter, it had been clear to Y/N that Sherlock truly cared for his younger sister, and that he knew that she would be capable of taking care of herself despite the worry that he so clearly felt over her.

After having received a response from Y/N after that letter, Sherlock had implored her to keep replying, but Y/N had not. She was afraid of falling into the same trap that she had when they were kids - of allowing herself to get too close to him, to feel something for him, when it was never going to go anywhere.

Y/N had allowed her heart to be broken by Sherlock Holmes once before, when she was too young to truly understand matters of the heart. She wasn’t going to do it again.

About a week after receiving the letter recounting the tale of Enola and Tewkesbury, however, Y/N got another surprise in the post. A letter from Enola herself, detailing Y/N with much of the same information that had already been given to her by Sherlock, though with more detail and far more reassurance that she truly was safe and secure and comfortable in her newfound lodgings in London.

In the final paragraph of the letter, there was a plea from Enola, imploring Y/N to go and visit her in London - she had attached a date for the following week and the address of a cafe that she said she thought Y/N would appreciate.

And so Y/N found herself boarding a train the next week, ready to meet Enola in London, agreeing to stay with her for a couple of days so that they could properly catch up.

Just as she was settling into the carriage, the train about to leave the station, the door slid open again and a familiar face appeared.

“May I join you?” Sherlock asked, a somewhat nervous smile on his face. Y/N returned it and nodded her head.

“Of course,” Sherlock entered into the compartment, closing the door behind him and placing his bag onto the overhead luggage rack and taking the seat opposite her. “I wasn’t aware that you were back here?” 

“Only for a night - Mycroft demanded my help,” Sherlock explained. “I thought about visiting you, but I was unsure of how much it would be appreciated,” he added. Y/N bowed her head a little, finding herself unable to maintain eye contact with him. “You didn’t reply to my letters.”

“Yes I did.”

Y/N risked a glance up and saw Sherlock’s lips quirk a little, holding back a smile.

“I apologise - you replied to only one of my letters.”

“That’s one more than you replied to of mine,” Y/N pointed out, raising her eyebrows challengingly. Sherlock didn’t even attempt to keep his smile at bay, grinning at her in the familiar cheeky way that Y/N remembered from their childhood.

“I wasn’t aware of how good you were at bearing grudges,” he mused, leaning back in his seat.

“Well perhaps if you’d come to visit you would have realised,” Y/N muttered, opening her bag that rested on the chair beside her and pulled out the book she was reading.

Before she could open it, though, Sherlock’s hand pressed down on the cover, preventing her from doing so.

“I'm sorry, Y/N,” he whispered and when Y/N met his eyes again they were so filled with genuine apology and concern.

“I wasn’t aware that you knew what an apology was,” but she smiled a little, seeing how Sherlock’s eyes brightened 

“Well I’ve been attempting to catch up on them as of late.”

“Enola?”

“I have yet to find her to give her one,” Sherlock confessed, leaning back at last. “You’re going down to see her, aren’t you?”

Y/N knew there was no point in denying it, Sherlock was always capable of telling when people were lying. He had always been particularly quick at picking up on Y/N’s lies as well when they were children.

“Yes - she wrote inviting me down last week,” Sherlock nodded slowly.

“Would you… would you let me know that she’s safe - that her lodgings are comfortable?”

“I’ll let her know you asked,” Y/N said instead, her voice quiet and full of understanding.

“Thank you,” Sherlock swallowed hard.

Silence fell between them. The most comfortable silence that had existed between them since their reunion.

“I did miss you, you know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“When I left home - I did miss you. I know you think I didn’t, and it’s understandable, but I did,” Sherlock confessed.

“Why didn’t you reply?” Y/N asked and she hated the desperation in her voice, the plea to understand why so many years had passed in silence. “Why didn’t you come and visit?”

“I don’t have a good reason for why I did - or didn’t - do any of it. And I’m so sorry,” Sherlock sighed but Y/N frowned at him, noticing how his gaze briefly dropped her own as he spoke, how his fingers fidgeted slightly on his lap.

“I know you’re the detective of the two of us, but I know when you lie, Sherlock Holmes,” Y/N didn’t know what made her do it, but she lent forwards and grabbed one of his hands between her own. “Tell me the truth, Sherlock.”

Sherlock studied her hard for a long minute, his eyes sweeping across her face, taking in every inch of her features and there was an emotion that Y/N couldn’t quite place lingering in his eyes.

“Mycroft used to… make fun of me, when we were children. Because he knew how I… how I felt about you. I’ve never quite… understood why he did, he always liked you, even if he never admitted it, but I hated it. I hated Mycroft making fun of me, it made me feel like he was smarter than me…” Sherlock’s cheeks reddened. “I did not mean for that to sound as conceited as it did.”

���To be fair, you were quite a conceited child,” Y/N teased, squeezing his hand and Sherlock chuckled. “But… what do you mean, how you felt about me?”

“You really want me to spell it out for you?” Sherlock asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You said it yourself, I always was a little slow,” she grinned, “at least compared to you.”

Her heart was pounding out of her chest, she could barely breathe from the excitement at the idea that Sherlock was hinting at what she thought he was.

“You have to know by now that you are the only woman who I have ever held a place for in my heart.” He paused, shrugging his shoulders bashfully. “Or you were.”

“Enola?”

“Of course,” he confirmed. He lifted her hand tentatively up, pressing his lips gently against the back of it, keeping his gaze lowered. “I just hope that you know you never left it.”

The rest of the journey passed in a blur, the two of them having the final catch up that had been missing for so many years, everything feeling as though it was falling back into place, just like everything had been when they were kids.

By the time the train pulled into the station at London, Y/N had no desire to say goodbye to Sherlock Holmes, and by the way he loitered with her on the platform, it appeared that the sentiment was returned.

“Where are you headed?” Sherlock inquired. “I know Enola wouldn’t want you to tell me her address, but…”

“I’m actually meeting her at a cafe,” Y/N told him, adjusting her grip on her bag and smiling at him.

“In that case… would you allow me to escort you? London can be rather confusing at times, especially for those used to the country lifestyle,” he suggested and if Y/N didn’t know any better, she would have thought he was blushing a little in embarrassment.

“I would appreciate that yes, thank you Sherlock,” she agreed and Sherlock offered her his arm.

Enola did not seem overly surprised at Sherlock’s presence beside Y/N. There was a slight raise of her eyebrows, a knowing smile on her face and a gleam of amusement in her eyes as she walked over to them, her arms laden with a bunch of yellow roses.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again,” she said, completely bypassing her brother and embracing Y/N as carefully as she could with the flowers in her hands.

“I was so happy to hear from you, I was so worried about you,” Y/N told her, pulling away and examining her surrogate sister for any trace of hurt.

“I promise I’m fine,” Enola laughed, holding out the flowers for her. “I bought these for you, though.”

“They’re beautiful, thank you.” 

Enola’s eyes slid over to Sherlock at last, who was standing awkwardly to the side. Y/N could sense how his own gaze was flicking continuously between herself and his sister, clearly overjoyed at seeing her again but also wanting to continue the conversation he and Y/N had been holding on the train.

“It’s more of an apology, actually,” Enola mused. “I’m afraid that something has come up and my assistance is required… elsewhere. Perhaps Sherlock would take my place?” She raised her eyebrows at her brother.

“I-uh-”

“Fantastic!” Enola cheered, hugging Y/N once more and giving a nod to her brother before rushing away.

“Did your sister just set us up?” Y/N asked, turning to face the younger Holmes brother.

“I think so,” Sherlock confirmed. “For what it’s worth, she hasn’t gone far, I believe she has every intention of snooping on us.”

Y/N laughed at that piece of knowledge, rolling her eyes affectionately at Enola’s antics before placing her hand once more in Sherlock’s arm. He reached across her to take her bag to allow her to hold the flowers.

“Well we wouldn’t want to disappoint her, now would we?” Y/N said, nodding towards the door to the cafe, not missing the affectionate smile it brought to Sherlock’s face.

As he held the door open for her, Y/N reached up onto her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

[fill-me-with-your-memes-daddy]

Watching the Rise of the Titans movie and I'll be documenting all of my thoughts/reactions here. [Spoiler Warning]

So instead of reblogging every new update, I'm just going to have this post up on my phone as I watch and type my reactions in a bullet list format.

Nari's human disguise is so cute. As someone who does have a cottagecore aesthetic, I want to cosplay her so bad

Are Skrael and/or Belroc non-binary coded? Regardless, I'm also obsessed and I want to fuck Skrael and be Belroc.

STEVE CARING ABOUT JIM BEING HURT YESSSS!!! My god his redemption has probably been one of the greatest there is because he doesn't just suddenly go from being a bully to a completely good person. You can see the gradual shift in learning better throughout the shows which is awesome.

IN NEW YOOOOOOORRRRRRRK!!!!!! CONCRETE JUNGLE WHERE DREAMS ARE MADE OFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!

The mugshot montage reminded me of season 1 of trollhunters when toby and Jim were arrested at the museum.

STRICKLER PUT A RING ON IT??? HE'S THE ONLY DILF IVE EVER ACTUALLY AGREED WAS HOT WYM I CAN'T HAVE HIM??? well I'm still really happy about his arc over the series probably one of my favorite character growths.

Eli my guy got his growth spurt!!! As an 18 year old who is still 5'0", I'm happy but envious for him

So I went into this movie without watching any trailers or promo, but I doubt anything could have prepared me for the existence of mpreg. In fact, I wasn't going to document my reactions until I saw that.

NAMURA!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!! I CAN STILL THIRST FOR YOU WITHOUT GUILT

The coach teacher just called the kids zoomers so I have to dock one point from my final rating just because of that. Unforgivable

Those husky animation models suck lmao

Oh fuck the titans got power ranger zords!!

God why did they include the mpreg??? This movie would have been perfect without it.... After that plot point being revisited only one time I'm already beyond done with it

Like it's bringing me back to the v*ltron days where they're was a suspiciously high amount of klance omegaverse and mpreg fics and art created and it physically hurts because Steve and Keith's voice actor is the same person meaning this is especially cursed to me since I was unfortunately in the v*ltron fandom and remember all of that

But like on another note, how old are these characters again??? I haven't checked any wikis because of spoilers but is Steve an adult??? I know aja might be technically a lot older than 18 because alien but is whatever age she is equivalent to an adult as far as emotionally and physically in Akaridion development??? IS THIS A TEEN (M)PREGNANCY IN A KIDS SHOW????

Like bruh I saw a singular post on here before going into the movie that was like "rott spoilers without context" and there was a pregnant belly but I was absolutely not expecting the actual context of it. I'll find the post after I finish and edit this post to tag the creator right here: @makoden

This entire post is just gonna be me ranting about mpreg huh

Anyway I love the whole roundtable allusion to the legends of king arthur (not the toa version but the one he's based off)

THERE'S 3 TO 5 BABIES????? I need to take a break bruh this is just too much

Alright I've taken a 30 minute break got some food and did some things i love (decompressed by tactile stimming with some owl plushies and watched some videos on my favorite owl, Garu. He lives in Japan with his owner and is a domesticated eagle owl who basically just acts like a sky cat. If anyone else needs some eye bleach, here is their YouTube channel)

Blinky and ARRRGHHH!!! saying their "if one of us doesn't make it" talk my god one of them is going to die I can see it and I will be utterly crushed. Jim can't lose another father figure and Toby can't lose his wingman again I will riot if this happens

On a similar but unrelated to the movie note, can we just talk about how toa started with Jim having 0 dads and (if strickler and blinky live to the end) will end with 2 dads? Like I just really feel happy for him that he has two dads who actually figured out how to put the past behind them to not have any infighting between them so that both of them are healthy father figures. Jim has already been through literal hell and back losing his actual humanity in the process so if he loses one of them, I'm going to be really pissed because at this point, this is just Jim torture porn. Y'all know how as SpongeBob SquarePants went on, the show just became Squidward torture porn? It's starting to feel that way for toa and I really hope they cut the shit by the ending

Jlaire is such a good ship but like I feel like it's too perfect they never disagree with each other

YESSSSSSS Someone finally doesn't treat toby like a fat waste of space who messes stuff up!!! I think out of all the characters that would have been most deserving of a rewrite, it's Toby. Sometimes I just feel he's only comic relief and any heartfelt moments he's had in the series was also born of stupidity (ie his flour baby project being unharmed was seen by him as divine intervention from his parents but was actually just Eli and Steve behind the scenes).

Ohhhhh yesssssss Archie's father!!! I was hoping I'd see him again because we got so little of him last

Ooooooooooh Asian trollmarket!!!!!

Oh never mind slavery trollmarket

Bruh titanic camelot

I feel like we're not seeing enough of the villains because I completely forgot about the power ranger zord things

NAMORA NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MY LAST CRUSHHHH

STRICKLER NO NOT YOU TOO PLEASE

WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THE ONLY TWO CHARACTERS I SIMP FOR ON THIS SHOW DIED WITHIN FIVE MINUTES OF EACH OTHER

THAT WHOLE ASS RANT I WROTE IS COMING TRUE FUCK THIS MOVIE THIS SERIES IS JUST JIM TORTURE PORN

WAIT JIM'S SPERM DONOR INFO?

Oh thank God I don't want to know anything about that person

For the record, I call that man Jim's sperm donor because he has no business being called a father to him. All he did was donate some swimmers to the creation of him and give him abandonment issues

Oh another blind troll elder???? This fucker is just if vendel was a bad guy

Bruh I was grieving

PACIFIC RIM WITH GUN ROBOT VEX AND THE BELROCZORD? I've never seen that movie but I know the reference

Bruh Blinky doesn't read horoscopes? Does he realize conspiracy theories are just the manly version of horoscopes?

NO DON'T KILL VEX STOP KO-ING FOUND FAMILY MEMBERS

Oh thank God he's okay

NO NOT ARCHIE AND CHARLEMAGNE OH MY GOD

oh never mind they're just gonna coup de tat I believe in them :))

But I want to see him again

But I'm glad to see vex

Yay they're in arcadia!

But yeah I wondered why the trolls and Merlin didn't keep the whole "daylight doesn't hurt trolls" feature from the eternal night but now Guillermo del Toro I see you were playing the long con in that just to kill my girl Namora :(((

Oooooh I love the animation of the Narizord over Chihuahua!! It looks very good and realistic (if only they could have put some of that into those huskies from before smh)

Bruh the character designs of the arcane order are so good I want to be them

Nari making sure the Skraelzord doesn't crush the bus

DAMN DOUBLE HOMICIDE

Bruh I'm just glad we finally have an answer on why arcadia had everything going on as opposed to literally anywhere else!! I always found that as a weird coincidence for plot convince.

BRUH WERE BACK TO THE MPREG IM SO JEALOUS I FORGOT ABOUT THAT EVEN THOUGH IT WAS BECAUSE I WAS GRIEVING THE LOSS OF MY LOVELIES.

Oh that's real convenient that the ninth configuration meant all of them. Way to not decide which character gets more attention. Though it probably was a smart way to not have any infighting in the fandom between each character's stan group.

Bruh I just realized where is Barbera did they just ditch her on the Camelot ship???

And where are the other trolls that migrated at the end of trollhunters s3? They said something about new jersey but obviously Jim and the other main characters got on Camelot instead.... This feels like a plot hole

And we never learned the process of how changelings are made and bonded to humans and stuff. We just know it's super painful but I'm curious ffs!!!!

THE DONT THINK BECOME HERO SPEECH ALL SAID TOGETHER!!!

BRUH THEY REALLY HAD TO SHOW HIM GIVING BIRTH??????? WAS THAT AN ABSOLUTE MUST??????

Plus the main audience for this series is little children (the rating for the movie is literally TV-Y7) so even though my adult ass is not in the target audience, I STILL DONT UNDERSTAND WHY WOULD MPREG AND ANAL BIRTH WOULD BE AN IMPORTANT THING TO 7 YEAR OLDS???? THIS IS A LITERAL FETISH HIDDEN IN KIDS CONTENT ITS ELSAGATE ALL OVER AGAIN Y'ALL 😭😭😭😭😭

Though it's probably hypocritical of me to think fetishes don't belong in kids tv when I've openly admitted to thirsting for strickler and namora

HUZZAH

NEW AMULET WAZ GOOD????

STAB THAT BITCH JIM

WAIT NO I SAID STAB NOT GET STABBED

Alright good job just missed the directions at first but you fixed it

SEVEN KIDS?????????

T O B Y ????????????

W A I T NO

N O

IS HE ACTUALLY

OH MY GOD THERE'S HOPE

NO THERE ISN'T

F U C K THIS SHIT THEY REALLY JUST HAD HIM TO BE BULLIED THEN KILLED

Y'ALL IM ACTUALLY CRYING THIS NEVER HAPPENS

I NEVER ACTUALLY GET SO EMOTIONAL OVER MEDIA THAT I CRY IT ONLY HAPPENED ONCE AT THE END OF VOLTRON BUT AHHHHHHHH

W A I T

HE'S GONNA BE BROUGHT BACK?????

HOLD UP THEY'RE JUST GONNA BRING ALL THOSE DEAD PEOPLE BACK??????

WAIT IS HE

BLINKY CALLED HIM A SON

HOLD ON IS THIS GOING TO BE A CLIFFHANGER???????????

BRUH THEY REALLY JUST CAN'T END THE SERIES WITHOUT CLIFFHANGERS like there's always an open ending

TROLLHUNTER TOBY????? You know what forget the whole rants I had on how toby was written they just redeemed it all

And that's all! I'd rate it a 6.5/10 because it's definitely the weakest of all the sequels but still had amazing animation and some good plot points. It's just really hard to look over the bad stuff enough to rate it any higher.

[hyperesthesias]

Falling for Dogma

SUMMARY: You are a chief psychiatrist at a Kaminoan reconditioning facility. Dogma has been brought in as your patient as a result of the events on Umbara. Something doesn't sit quite right with you about his case -- or your job. How far will you go to do what's right?

CONTENT: Angst ; Amnesia ; Brainwashing ; Action violence ; Mutual pining ; SFW.

NOTES: This got away from me, but honestly? I love it. Enjoy, loves -- like, reblog, and comment what you think! 💕

He meets you after he's been reconditioned. He doesn't really remember what happened on Umbara, but all he knows is that there's something lurking in his memory he'd rather not uncover.

You help him through the difficult days. When things seem blurred and uneven. His brain has been through a lot and sometimes it can be overwhelming for him to handle. The absences in his memory can make him agitated, especially towards people who don't understand. But you do. You've seen many clones who've been reconditioned, it's not pretty -- and nothing about it is ethical.

If you're honest with yourself -- which you try not to be, except when you're alone, in the middle of the night -- you'll find there are pieces of your life you don't remember, either. It's unsettling, and you try not to think about it often.

But there's something about Dogma's case, about Dogma himself that's eerily familiar.

The two of you become closer as time edges onward, you're helping him get a handle on military life again, on what his duties are, making sure he's mentally sound enough to continue his life mission. It's been three weeks since the events on Umbara, and you don't believe that's been enough time to fully facilitate his recovery. But the pressure's on as the war mounts up, and you're being asked to sign off on his release.

He feels comfortable around you. Out of all the other staff, you're compassionate, you see him -- as a person. You understand his plight. He confides in you that things are starting to come back to him in dreams -- dark dreams. He's plagued with regret, with feeling a fool, and he tells you if he could turn back time and change it all, he would.

You put a hand on his face -- it's weathered and rough. What he's seen, what he's been through, is more than any person should have to bear. You tell him you know he was doing what he thought was right. That no one can blame him for what he'd done.

'Do you?' he asks. You shake your head, and caress his cheek with your thumb. He holds your hand there and nestles his face into your palm. Everything he's feeling -- from the love to the regret -- is against everything he's been taught, everything he's supposed to symbolize and stand for. He's supposed to be cold, unattached, unyielding. But when he's with you, when he's in your deft and capable hands, he feels soft and malleable. Like clay. You could break him, easily, and he knows it. But he also knows you won't. You would never.

Everything comes back to him one night, and he's in terrible distress. You're the only one he'll talk to, he's been getting violent with anyone else who comes near him. You're immediately called to his room and you help him calm down. He says he remembers everything -- Umbara, Krell, the reconditioning itself. 'It feels like hell,' he says, his head in his hands. 'Like they take you apart and put you back together. Under their machines, under their microscopes --'

And your face goes cold, and your throat tightens -- because you know that feeling. You know it...well. Lights in your eyes, pain in your head, you've been under that same microscope -- twice you think, that you can remember. What do you remember? Is what you remember yours? You remember arguing, heated words, being unable to leave the lab as a threat to the reconditioning operation. You were told you'd be helping the clones with their psychiatric needs, but you'd been terribly misled. By the time you understood, by the time you spoke up, protested, it was too late.

You hold Dogma as he sobs. He's been deceived once again, and he thinks he'll never be more than a fool. Blinded by duty. You feel the same.

You tell him. You tell him everything you remember: the lies, the deception by the Kaminoans, and Dogma is close to despairing.

But you have an idea.

Under the cover of night, and the pretense of shuffling him back into the reconditioning chambers, you are able to smuggle Dogma out of the facility. You steal a ship and make it to a defunct Kaminoan safe house off world. It gives you time to regroup, reassess, and check to make sure he's alright.

His head is is spinning, but he's cogent of the situation you're both in. Technically now, you're both deserters. Something he never thought he'd become. But he looks at the ship, looks at a reflection of himself, the scars on his face, the tattoo that once set him apart from his brothers, and he looks at you -- and he realizes there is no other choice. There is no going back. Not with what he knows, not with what he's seen. The Republic has already fallen, he decides -- too washed up in its own blood to discover it's already become the enemy. He no longer serves a just democracy, but a nightmare factory.

You decide the same.

'They'll be looking for us,' you say. 'We'd better move out quickly, they'll look at their own properties first.' You gather supplies that had been abandoned, medical, financial, and otherwise. 'Then it's good they taught me every trick in the book,' he's trying to remain positive. But both of you know your chances are bleak. 'You'll have a better chance of escaping without me,' you say. You're a chief technician, a head psychiatrist, you're valuable. Dogma they would take dead or alive, his capture would only serve to fulfill military standards. But you -- with you, your fate won't be so merciful. 'I'm not abandoning you,' he says, staunchly. He's as stubborn now as he was on Umbara -- but this time, he knows he's making the right decision, 'I've abandoned enough already. I'm not leaving you behind.'

There's something in his voice, something more than fealty, loyalty. It's emotive and passionate. He cares about you, and it's plain for you to see. But he's good at hiding it. He's good at not holding onto attachments, and he'll pretend he's not attached to you. You pretend not to notice.

You ditch the ship and wander into the small city nearby, barter weapons you found at the safehouse for another, smaller ship. Dogma is a far better pilot, and knows how to cloak the signal of the ship to keep anyone within a small proximity from tracking you. 'I didn't take you for the devious type,' you grin. 'Yeah, you learn a few things serving under Skywalker,' he grins back. 'You're full of surprises,' you lean back and notice he's hiding a blush.

After a run in with a bounty hunter sent by the Kaminoans, the two of you go underground and disappear. Dogma and the ship and badly injured in the fight. When the ship crashed on Ryloth, Dogma engaged the hunter hand to hand. With a few untrained blaster bolts from you, Dogma was able to get an upper hand and snap the hunter's neck in two.

You're able to help him limp to safety in a nearby, shelled out house, another victim of the war. You patch him up, and wave off his insistence on leaving him behind. 'This isn't the GAR,' you tell him, firmly, and look him in the eye. 'You're not expendable to me. I'm not leaving you behind.' His eyes water and his heart is thumping fast inside his chest. There are so many things he wants to say, and so many reasons why he knows he shouldn't say them. But he loves you -- that much he's certain of.

When he's able to walk, the two of you scour for a place to claim as your own. To hide and lie low. A mountain dwelling carved out of the sandstone, tucked away in a pasture sprawling before the mountain face.

It's a strange life for you both -- full of unspoken words, and routines that keep the body and mind busy. The hope that maybe one day he'll tell you, maybe one day you'll tell him, keeps him going. He owes you his life, and he knows his life isn't worth much. So he does everything he can to live up to what you deserve.

He's made a lot of mistakes, but loving you, being with you, protecting you with life and limb, he knows isn't one of them.

[littlemisslipbalm]

“You get me” Pt. 2 -- aka “I got you” (famous!y/n x harry)

Harry x famous!y/n - FLUFF pretty much 

ahh you all are so kind and literally you all mean so much for liking, reblogging, and commenting! Means the world to me! NOT PROOFREAD

also if anyone wants to let me know how to properly do a tag list ?? as of now I have a couple people on the tag list so yah but if it grows i might need some tips 

 Taglist: @marauderswhisperer​, @morgannope​, @daddystevee​

Now for Pt. 2 - feedback super welcome, maybe we’ll have a part 3 and please no stealing of the work :)

Dedicated to all the peeps out there who find themselves constantly in line with Harry and his vibes but feel weird agreeing with him constantly because people think you’re only that way because you’re in love with him

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: kissin’ and stuff, nothing graphic

Pt. 1

-

“Am I right? I- I could be wrong” you rushed.

“No, no, I got you, don’t worry...I got you” his eyes outshown his smiling lips but nonetheless he reassured you.

--

It’s seldom that one person meets someone so perfectly matched to themselves. So similar yet not annoyingly so. Two pieces of clothing from the same custom collection, perhaps. You couldn’t believe you’d spent almost seven hours just talking with Harry. Your conversations ranged from silly situations to music inspiration to any dreams you had unfulfilled. Your answers always lined up - not the same, but exceptionally similar and the other was always quick to say “wait, me too” and jump into their own story.

It was the next morning after hanging out at Harry’s and you’d had trouble sleeping, worrying about not having your phone with you. Luckily, that meant your body was quick to wake you up in the morning even without your usual alarm. When you woke up, you quickly dressed in sweats and a tank top, shuffled some shoes on, and freshened yourself up with some quick hygiene care - teethbrushing, facewashing, and the likes. Then, you jogged to your car, anxious to reunite with your phone and the prospect of seeing Harry again so soon moved your legs far quicker than normal. You had figured you wouldn’t see him very often, despite the amazing friendship the two of you had already cultivated, he lived in England mainly and you lived in the United States - California specifically, the furthest you could get from the Harry within the continental United States, sadly. This mistake gave you the chance to see him much sooner than expected and you were very grateful for it.

As you drove out to Malibu, you kept the windows down and your sun roof open. It was a lovely day and you could never get enough of the warm wind whipping around you as you belted out the lyrics to the old rock radio songs. When you sensed you were getting closer to Harry’s you felt yourself begin to tingle, your nerves were gone this time, only excitement filled you as you took in the now familiar surroundings. Harry’s home was set further back from the street so that random pedestrians and street noises never reached the house. You noticed more and appreciated the total beauty of the grounds while you walked up to the house this time, the daytime sun and the lack of nerves both allowing you to soak it all it.

Your actions mirrored those of the previous night, just in a slight fast forward - everything moving faster. You had began to worry slightly though, ‘what if he is upset that I woke him up, what if he is out and I can’t get my phone, what if he has early morning company?’. Still you proceeded to knock and hoped to hear Harry’s footsteps any moment. Thankfully, your ears were greeted with the sound of rustling and soft, slow steps behind the door. You then heard the deadbolt turn and again Harry was before you. His hair fell into his sleepy spectacle-clad eyes, barely open, but he had raised a hand to rub out the sleep from one of them as he opened the door, skewing his glasses. You took in his disheveled appearance, you had obviously woken him, his sweatpants hung low on his hips and he had a hoodie on that was askew, showing a hint of his tanned olive skin - a corner of one of his laurels if you were being honest but you forced yourself to believe it was just a shadow. His feet were bare and you noticed his toenails were painted electric purple and a deep green.

“Hi,” you squeaked, biting your lip. Harry blinked hard and opened his eyes and raised his brows, just trying to wake himself up, but also slightly confused to see you at his doorstep. He had texted you last night, asking if you’d made it home safely, but had never heard back. He hadn’t worried, just assumed you weren’t always on your phone. His was a light sleeper and had heard the knock on the door echo through the house, so he slipped on a hoodie and went to see who it was, when it was you it was definitely surprising. Your presence was shining through his stupor, a small smile graced your face, but it radiated light as strong as the sun.

“Y/N... s’lovely t’see you again, but why’re you ‘ere, love?” He almost whispered your name, his voice catching in his throat due to the lack of use during his slumber. He quickly cleared his throat to get rid of the rasp and groggy sound he heard emit from his own voice. Your smile grew at the sound of his melodic voice, how he pronounced your name - like it was something fragile and needed great care, how it was rough from sleep, but it mostly grew from his use of love, so common for him, yet it felt so special for you. “I left my phone here last night, actually. Sorry for barging in, and, uh, waking you up, I’m assuming,” you said as you took in his appearance once again. He nodded and mustered enough strength to chuckle.

“When’d you realize you’d left it?” Harry asked as he let you in, as he swung the door open, he hung onto it, to keep him upright. “Oh! Right when I got home, of course!” you started as you began to talk with your hands again. You walked ahead of the slower Harry, through the house, back to the sitting room where the two of you had entertained yourselves last night with each other’s company. “Barely could sleep at all, was so worried you’d have jetted off again already and I’d have to figure out how to break in and heist it out of here.” More laughter. Being around you like this was like a shot of espresso straight to Harry’s veins. He perked up at the sound of your sweet voice and your accompanying hands. He noticed they were void of your rings this morning, he guessed you took them off to sleep and forgotten them this morning, due to the rush.

He pushed his hair out of his face with both hands and huffed out a breath as you looked around the room. “Where could it be?” you asked slightly desperate, more to yourself than to Harry. He suggested the couch, walked over, and began to take the leather cushions off. You sighed and began to help Harry with his search of the couch. The last cushion to be removed from the couch uncovered your abandoned phone. “Finally!” you both exclaimed. Then, you looked around, “We made a mess...shit, I’m so sorry, Harry.” “Don’t, don’t be silly, its an easy fix, and y’needed your phone, c’mon Y/N.” He was quick to discourage your apology, despite your surroundings looking like someone had ransacked his room. All the cushions were discarded haphazardly, some blankets had fallen to the ground, and magazines were strewn across the coffee table and the floor.

“Well I’m not leaving you here to clean up a mess I caused,” you stated matter of factly, quickly beginning to repiece the room. Harry threw on a couple of the cushions then said, “S’alright, really, but if y’insist...I’ll start a pot of coffee. Do you?..” he trailed off, but you understood his question. It was kind of him to offer, but you assumed it was more for himself than you. “Nah, I don’t love coffee, sorry, now tea, that’s another story, but I’m fine really.” Harry glanced over to you and there was that smile again. It’s like it lived full time on your face, Harry thought, no wonder you’d already seen such success, not only were you technically a good musician, you were also a good person. He quickly nodded with a breathy laugh. You two went about your self-given tasks, cleaning and “cooking”. Neither of you spoke much as you worked, but you glanced up when you heard Harry begin to play some song from his phone after he had set up the coffee pot. The moment was domestic and tranquil, like the two of you tidy the house and make coffee every morning together.

A whistling sound cut through the soft moment just as you were grabbing the final magazines from the ground. “I thought you said--” Harry cut you off before you could finish, “I made both, love. Any preference for your tea?” You moved into the kitchen and leaned against the bar top, amazed by the man before you. He’d gotten down two mugs, gotten out an assortment of tea, put on the kettle and the coffee pot, making you what you preferred despite your claim to be fine with nothing. He held the two mugs out to you, “Which?” he questioned moving them back and forth from his chest encouraging you to choose, raising his brows for added effect. One was a wide and short ceramic speckled mug with a line painted fish. The other was a taller cream ceramic mug with a shiny red interior with a colorful scene of a town around the outside, the sun was shining in the little town. You crossed the kitchen to him and placed both hands on the red town mug, encircling the little people and houses smiling up at the two of you.

“Good choice, very treat people with kindness of you.” Harry smiled down at you. Whenever you were in closer proximity to him, his body so obviously towered compared to yours. It would seem intimidating, but really just felt comforting, safe. This moment far tenser than any previous moments that morning. He stared into your eyes and you returned the gaze. His hands still holding the mug you had chosen, you felt the heat radiating off of him and warming up your cheeks. There and then it was gone,  you turned from him and went to the stove where the kettle sat. You filled your mug with the boiling water and fished a packet of some pink floral Parisian tea you saw and dropped it in the mug. Again you turned and leaned on the counter. Harry had poured his coffee and was opposite you, leant against the counter as well. Like a silent conversation had gone on between the two of you, Harry said, “Creamer’s in the fridge.” You nodded and went and grabbed it. You scurried back to your place against the counter. Harry set his mug down and crossed the short distance between you. His movement was so sudden and disturbed the peacefulness occurring in the kitchen, the synchronous movements between you two. You tensed and your heart began to race when he didn’t stop moving closer. His body was almost against yours when his left arm reached above and past your shoulder, opening th cupboard, and taking out a box of brown sugar cubes. Slowly, he moved the package between the two of you, either side resting on parts of both of your bodies. His warm coffee saturated breath fanned your face.The smell was warm and all consuming when it mixed with the scent of just Harry, probably a combination of shampoo, laundry detergent, and sweat. “Sugar’s right ‘ere,” he spoke just for you, lingering in the bubble your proximity had created. He couldn’t pull away and neither could you. But you had to. You nodded and took the box of sugar cubes, plopping a few in your tea. With that, Harry huffed an inaudible sigh and grabbed his coffee.

Happy witht the taste of your drink, Harry and you journeyed back to the couch where you been last night. Careful to set your phone in eyeline, you got comfortable, tucking your legs under you on the couch, leaning back and gazing at Harry. Comfortable silence fell between you, but again it was like the two of you were communicating in someway that didn’t require words. You noticed you were situated closer to Harry on the couch than you had been last night. Maybe you were less careful or maybe Harry had chosen to scoot closer to you as well. “So, I’ve been thinking, I know we like literally just met, but I’m just so in awe of how well we get along, Harry. Honestly, when I was little I was a huge fan and when you said you wanted to meet to discuss my work I was on a new level of existence, seriously,” you stated, “Hey! Don’t laugh, I’m being for real,” you feigned hurt when Harry giggled from your word choice. “Anyways,” you emphasized and playfully gave a pointed look towards Harry’s shaking body.  “You’re like image in my head that I never thought was attainable and now...feels like we’ve been friends for ages,” you finish softly. You weren’t exactly sure why you were sharing this thought with Harry, but the moment in the kitchen had set your heart beating. You had to say something to try and explain how you were feeling. Harry had grown silent again as you had pressed forward. His brows had slightly furrowed as he had watched you speak. You sensed you’d messed everything up, you believed the silence was a sign of your overstep. You both seemed always to be on the same page and now you’d jumped chapters and Harry was still behind. Learning a spoiler can always be upsetting, sometimes even ruinous.

Shit, you thought. “Am I right? I- I could be wrong” you rushed to add, hoping to salvage any work relationship possible after crashing and burning so hard with this presumptuous statement. “No, no, I got you, don’t worry...I got you” his eyes outshown his smiling lips, but, nonetheless, he reassured you. He reached out and cradled your exposed shoulder, his thumb brushing up and down. “I feel it too…s’a bit weird, innit?” Harry kept smiling and you had to smile too. His lips were perfect, you noticed, shape and color. Every feature of him was like that, perfect shape, perfect composition. In your heart, you felt the words of a song beginning to piece itself together just from his face. You wanted to explore its every nook and cranny, the slope of his nose, the peaks of his cheeks, the sleek lines of his jaw, the depressions under his eyes, all of it. You didn’t want to leave a single piece of flesh untouched. It stayed silent and you noticed Harry had leaned in to hold your shoulder and you shifted comfortably towards him in return. And you were about to reach out and touch want you wanted so badly, your faces closer than ever before, when a doorbell rang throughout the home.

Harry twitched his hand away from your shoulder and pulled back from your face exploration activity, throwing his head back on his neck in some sort of disappointment. You were in disbelief, pulled from the trance that was Harry’s beautiful skin, ‘I didn’t know there was even a fucking doorbell here’. “‘S one momen’,” Harry grumbled, running through the house to the front door. You took a deep breath, trying to cool yourself off from what you were pretty sure was just about to happen. You grabbed your mug and took a sip. You strained your ear to hear anything at the front door, but it was all completely muffled, but the conversation seemed to be coming to an end after a couple minutes. You looked inquisitively at Harry when he returned, he waved you off. “Unimportant...what were we doing?” Harry said as he regained his position beside you. “You were about to kiss me,” you replied, taking the arm underneath your resting head and grabbing at his hand. You intertwined your hands as you had last night, when you first noticed that Harry was being vulnerable with you and getting to actually know you. Harry was caught off guard at your forwardness in the moment, but melted at the sight of this confident and caring woman in front of him. You had been so true to yourself on your album he realized after your first conversation last night. You were beautiful inside and out. He looked down at your hand in his, “No rings today…” “I forgot them...had to get over here.” “Were you excited t’see me again?” Harry questioned somewhat out of the blue. “Of course. What about when I showed up at your doorstep?” It was fine Harry hadn’t really addressed your kiss comment, you were so comfortable with him, it didn’t bother you. “I’d ‘ave thrown anyone else out after they’d found their phone if they’d been the one t’wake me up this morning.” He raised his free hand up to your hair now and ran it through until he cupped your ear, then he ran his hand down your jaw and up onto your cheek, his hand cradling your delicate face. “Can I?” He looked into your eyes intently.You bit your lip and leaned forward into Harry. Your lips connected and the kiss was so tender and filled with mutual respect and care, passion just below that surface of soft kindheartedness. Your plush lips pushed against Harry’s and the two of you moved in unison. Soft touches and faint whispers.

The chaste kiss began to turn when you pushed Harry further into the couch and crawled into his lap, your legs seated on either side of his sweatpant clad leg. One of your hands held his jaw in a strong yet loving grasp, while the other was tangled in his hair massaging his scalp. You arched your back as Harry ran his fingers down the back of your spine to land on the side of your hip, his other hand on your neck. His tongue pushed into your open mouth and you made a noise of appreciation and your tongues danced in each other’s mouths. His touch was liquid fire on your skin, seemingly harmless yet burning you everywhere he felt. His hands traveled to the bottom of your ass, slowly sliding over its entirety and squeezing at the bottom. You squealed and Harry grinned, “Easy.” You couldn’t help it, your clothed core was pressed against his toned thigh, his hands were on your ass pushing you down and to top it all off, he was an amazing kisser. He kissed your lips one more time before moving to the corner of them, then your jaw, and finally your neck. He left open mouth kisses on your neck, soft and tender. He was slowing down, taking more time to run his tongue over your neck, massaging it in a way. This was just as amazing as the rougher makeout session that had just occurred. You resumed massaging his scalp and brushing through his curls. Then, you ran your hands down to his broad shoulds beneath his sweatshirt. You drew patterns over his skin and he hummed. “Mm I’like tha,” he whispered into your skin and looked up at you.

You both wore matching smiles, basking in the warmth the two of you had just created. You dropped your head into the crook of Harry’s collarbone beneath his neck, “We should do that again.” “We should definitely do that again, Y/N,” Harry responded emphatically, giving your bum a final squeeze before moving his hands to encircle your waist. You two sat there silently for awhile and then changed to a better cuddling position where you could both still drink from your mugs. You discussed your upcoming schedule, press, time off, and upcoming tour dates. Harry would be in town for a couple more weeks, but was going back to London afterwards. “You should come visit me when you’re on break before tour. We can go out and do somethin’. Tha’d be fun.” You agreed that it sounded fun and that you two should schedule something when it was closer. Harry was largely free during the time that you were on tour. “I dont wan’t to be presumptuous, but… if you wanted, you could come visit me while I’m on tour, we could explore when I’m on my Europe leg?” you said hesitantly. It was Harry’s turn to agree, “Sounds like a great idea, love,” he ran his fingertips up and down your arm idly. You continued to plan the future, nothing had to be defined, it was clear the two of you loved to spend time together, everything just seemed to flow when you were together. Everyone and everything else could fade into the background, as long as you had each other, you were pretty sure you’d be alright.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, breaking some silence that had settled over your cuddled figures. “What for?” Harry looked down at you in his arms. “For getting me,” you smiled for the thousandth time that day. You were sure you’d grow extra smile lines if you continued seeing Harry so constantly like this. Harry returned it and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, “I got you.”

-

Pt.3 🥺

[trashmouth--breather]

IT Chapter One: After the Flood (1957), Parts 1-4

oh boy, here we go...

-Though it shouldn't surprise me, I was still a bit startled by the fact that Bill was only ten when George died.

-The first chapter also introduces the first Derry flooding in 1931--exactly 27 years before the current flood in 1957, so of course there's some reference to It here. I felt as though this devastating flooding was Pennywise and his warm welcome to the town, the ode to It's torment, if you will. Even if the water damage was extensive and it cost them billions to repair, the people of Derry only trudge forward to "get through [the flooding]...and to then forget it." Just get over it. Much like how they handle their demon clown in the sewers, and the mass child killings, huh?

-The contrasting tone between Georgie's boots making a "jolly jingling as [he] ran toward his strange death" was especially pretty. Jingling made me think of bells, and of course, bells usually signify the coming of something, or even a jovial tune or occasion. Quite eerie.

-"Bill was good at reading and writing...[but that] wasn't the only reason why Bill got all A's on his report cards. Telling was only part of it. Bill was good at seeing." I don't wanna grasp at nonexistent straws here (or maybe I do) but the "seeing" bit could be a reference to Bill's mnemonic device from his speech therapy. He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts. Earlier in the quote, George knows his big brother is a good writer, and also recognizes his ability to "see" and have a perceptive outlook in his literature. This kinda tied into why Bill becoming an author and his mnemonic device being one of the braver things to defeat Pennywise was so important. Bill didn't just want to tell the same old story, he wanted people to see it how he did, to see the "ghosts" that no one else could. Which was exactly why overcoming his stutter was him breaking off that fear, he was the only one who suffered with the stutter, maybe that's his "ghost." I'm going on a tangent this is for a later post I'll stop talking.

-This is completely irrelevant, but I have "his left arm curled around the doorjamb in a deathgrip" underlined in my copy, and the following written underneath: enjoy your arm while you still have it Georgie.

-"The smell of the monster, the apotheosis of all monsters." Just beautiful. We're seven pages in and already King is being poetic.

-The visual of George imagining something in the darkness of their basement while looking for wax was so spot on. The quote in the previous bullet point was the stage setter for It, how the children envision their fears. Georgie introducing his fear of the dark as a monster "crouched and lurking" who could "eat anything," but in George's fear-induced lack of rationale, knew It wanted "boymeat." This whole passage was just, eek. The only state of relief for him was the sound of his mother playing the piano in the living room, with King comparing it to "music from another world." Since I've read this before, and I hate to break it to anyone who hasn't read IT, George's mother abruptly stopped the piano playing once he died, so that was a punch to the fandom gut.

-On that note ^ I found this sort of grief in reverse. George fears for things in which he cannot see in the darkness (Pennywise) and the only relief was the soothing sound of the piano played by his mother. At the end of the chapter (or chapter two, technically) we find out that Mrs. Denbrough was faced with the most crippling fear of all: losing one of her sons, which was sort of like It in a way. Then that soothing act of playing the piano ceases, much like the fear that George alternately faced.

-I'll mention this analogy in further posts but It is likened to that of a snake many, many times. George's embodiment of his fear of the darkness was like a snake, with him knowing it "would simply slither part of its rotted self up." The slithering serpent of whatever he imagined was in the basement was "rotted," which also plays on another commonality in the novel of It's overall smell being decaying, rotting, and musty (as all of the Losers minus Richie have noted). Sorry, I'm all over the place but I also love this book aha-

-Once George loses his precious paper boat, and meets Pennywise in the sewer, we are (as I'll repeat this word, forgive me) introduced to It's mind games on the children It feeds on. To George, Pennywise's voice is "perfectly reasonable, and rather pleasant." This rhetoric, if you will, is reinforced further (because, excluding Eddie, Pennywise only feeds on children) when George realizes he only truly believes this clown in the sewers is real because he wasn't ten years older. Children have a different state of mind than adults, and will believe just about anything if it's keyed to the right kid.

-More mind game stuff. The balloons that Pennywise brings forth are "like gorgeous ripe fruit in one hand." This isn't just a somewhat pleasant simlie so Georgie feels secure, it's also a play on temptation. Forbidden fruit? Serpent? Am I getting too far into this?

-Something I thought was kinda interesting was that Pennywise says to George that, "...you're no stranger to me." Which I interpreted as this: earlier, It changes his appearance so his eyes resemble George's mothers (so it's something familiar, "no stranger") or he isn't a stranger to fear? Everyone's a victim of something or other?

-The end of the chapter (part 4) shifts into first person. Which I found annoying, and a bit confusing, but I'm pretty sure it's just Mike, since he is the only other narrator in the whole book to use first person. Don't quote me on that.  

Thanks for taking the time to read this!! Please feel free to comment on my analysis (whether you think I'm right, or full of horse shit) and reblog if you have any ideas!

[maysbanks]

she moves in her own way. (jj maybank)

due to the ASTOUNDING response to my first jj fic which i have to say a huuuge thank you to everyone that liked, commented & reblogged, it honestly means the absolute world !! i couldn't wait much longer to start writing for my boy again, i have so many fic ideas and cannot wait to get them out to y'all. this one is shorter than the last, & the title is inspired from the song 'she moves in her own way' by the kooks (lol) but isn't necessarily based off of it, it's just something that i wrote up quickly bc i was in my feels™️ . also i feel very unoriginal with the whole plot and aspect of this but im gonna post it anyway bc i love jj lmao. anyway hope u enjoy !

warnings: swearing, underage drinking, drug use, violence, jj with a gun™️

summary: reader walks the fine line between either pogue or kook, though technically a kook, she ignores all social standings of the obx and jj maybank cannot stop himself from getting caught up in her whirlwind.

( gif isn’t mine! please let me know if it’s yours so i can credit you. )

Everyone seemed to have a different perspective of you, unsurprisingly. You weren't really much of a social butterfly, you kept yourself to yourself, really. Nobody in the Outer Banks knew much about you at all, other than what they had come up with in their heads. And while you tried your best to stay in the shadows, that only seemed to make you stand out more.

You were known for being the best of both worlds - not really a Pogue, but not really a Kook either. While your social status and family wealth suggested you to be a Kook, your free spirit and reckless behaviour fitted you better towards the Pogue style. If anyone were to ask you, you told them you were neither.

Why should a name define you anyway? You thought it was all bullshit, the stupid territorial arguments and the snide comments from both sides. You thought it was ridiculous, you weren't living in The Outsiders, for fuck sake.

You moved in your own way, simple as that. You wouldn't let anyone tell you what to do, where you can't or shouldn't be, it was a free country you'd say, middle finger salute ready to aim towards anyone who dared cross you. You were an enigma, wild and careless, unforgiving and unforgettable. You didn't necessarily like the attention, but you got it. And you knew it, and you played on it, too.

You had used your irresistible charm more than enough times to bail JJ Maybank out of trouble, despite your parents' protest. They didn't have a problem with the Pogues, persay, how could they when your dad been one half of his life before meeting your mom and marrying into the rich lifestyle; they just had a problem with JJ, as many of the parents on the island did. He was an unstoppable force to be reckoned with, weed smoking, knuckles constantly torn, skin bruised, quick wit, sarcastic humour, daddy issues, you know the type. Kids loved him, parents hated him.

You were friends with JJ, you supposed. You spent your time with him talking about your days and smoking a joint, meaningful conversations turning into joking and general tomfoolery within seconds. With JJ, you were simply unapologetically you, and JJ never judged you. He never made you choose a side, seemingly content with the fact that you were a little bit of everything, though there was times when he teased you relentlessly about the Kook life, but that was just JJ.

And despite the social differences, him being a Pogue through and through, you technically a Kook, you were drawn to each other pretty easily. Not that you hung out all the time, but you loved every second when you did, usually joined by his group of best friends - John B, Pope, and Kiara. With Kiara a Kook herself but drawn more to the lifestyle of the Pogue's, she understood you more than anyone. You'd bonded a lot, and with each of them too.

JJ loved that you fitted in with them, like a missing puzzle piece. So perfectly, it shook him to its core. The pair of you were close, but he had no idea where he stood with you, like most people never when it came to you. You were like a rollercoaster, taking people for the most exciting ride of their lives that lasted a full three or so minutes before they returned back to solid ground. You'd given JJ a ride a number of times on your non-existent metaphorical rollercoaster, and he'd returned for another ride time and time again. You couldn't say no to that damned boy.

It was a blessing and a curse, the unspoken relationship you shared. A blessing because JJ was the best thing that happened to you, and a curse because that was your downfall. You never got attached to people, never given yourself the chance. But then JJ Maybank had come along, blonde hair and blue eyes, split lip and sharpened teeth, words cunning. You saw him as a challenge at first, the name Kook Princess haunting you as he spoke them, stood in front of you at the keg upon your first real meeting. He'd held a drink out towards you, smirk perfect on his pink lips.

You'd attended over a hundred kegger's in your lifetime, the Pogue parties more inviting than those of the Kook's. You danced and talked to anyone that came across your path, whether it be unknowing Tourons, unjudging Pogues, or unforgiving Kooks, you drew them all in. You didn't fit in with any of them, JJ had realised. You really did move in your own way, he thought. He liked that, he'd decided. And hey, you were pretty cute too.

On that particular night, he'd spoken to you directly for the first time in a long time. "Would the Kook Princess like a drink?" He'd asked, holding the red cup out towards you. You'd eyed the offended object, and subsequently him, too. He smirked at the attention. You had rolled your eyes.

"Don't call me that," you'd said simply, but taking the cup from his hands regardless. You took a sip, relieved to discover that he hadn't tampered with it in any way. You were still considered a Kook to most people, after all. You could never be too careful. "Thanks, Maybank."

And he'd blinked at you, lips suddenly raising to a sly smile as he shrugged, dimples winking at you as they appeared in his cheeks. "Anytime," and he'd spoken your name back to you and you couldn't get enough of the way it sounded coming from his mouth, and you realised hey, this guy is pretty cute, and the rest, as they, is history.

You were in the midst of another infamous Pogue kegger at the current, months after your first introduction to JJ Maybank and his friends, and you stood off to the side, listening to JJ intently as he ranted about the events of the day he'd endured. Starting from finding a Grady White sunken in the marsh, "A fucking Grady Marsh, they're like 500 G's man!", to discovering that the boat belonged to Scooter Grubbs, who had coincidentally been found dead that same day, to getting chased by two guys with a gun, to the finding of the motel key from the wreck and breaking in that same motel room, finding a safe full of money and a gun of all things, to their best attempt at laying low which, unsurprisingly, resulted in the kegger in the first place.

JJ was wild in his recite of the events, hands gesturing every which way as you watched him with your lips curled into your mouth, resisting a smile at his antics. When he finished he retelling, you raised an eyebrow and chuckled dryly. "So, complete and utter boring day for you, huh?"

JJ chuckled along with you, shaking his head as if he was still in disbelief from everything that had happened in the past twenty four hours. "Man, it was crazy," he muttered. He looked at you then, eyes sincere. "I wish you were there with us. It was like something straight from a movie, I'm telling you. I feel like such a badass with that gun."

Your secret joy at his confession of that he wished you were was short lived, as the last of his words sunk in and you felt dread build in the pit of your stomach. You stared at him, him so excited that he hadn't even realised your face had dropped, before you reached out and grabbed his arm, effectively halting his movements and stopping the hurried flow of words that were leaving his mouth.

"JJ," you said carefully, eyes trained on his as he stared, clueless. "Please tell me you did not take that gun from the safe."

Your heart dropped as you saw him falter, his lips helplessly moving but no words coming out. He held a hand up, as if to hush you, though you hadn't started to speak again, and then his hand had dropped just as quick as it was raised, his teeth biting down on his chapped lip as the realisation dawned on you.

"JJ Fucking Maybank," you spat, hands slapping gently at his arms, because you could never really hurt him, you just wanted him to know you were pissed. "Do you realise how fucking careless that is? How much trouble you could get into, if anyone knew you had a gun-" your voice trailed off, your eyes closing as you exhaled. "JJ, please tell me you don't have it on you right now."

His lack of reply was the only answer you needed, and your stomach churned as you stepped back from his figure, suddenly feeling sick. He followed you, though, not letting you get too far as he took your arms in his hands and tried to drag you closer to him once more. You shook your head, arms slipping from his hold as you glared at him fiercely.

"That's so fucking stupid, JJ. You could get into serious trouble with this, trouble I won't be able to get you out of." You warned, because you knew it was true. Your charm and looks could get him out of some trouble to its extent, but it was more so your parents wealth and status that got the both of you out of shit when you managed to get into it, and you also knew your parents would literally throw a fit if you got involved in something like this - carrying a gun was no joking matter. You stepped back once more, hand finding its way to your forehead. "And from a crime scene, no less. Fucking hell."

JJ licked his lips, standing back roughly as you watched, his jaw clenching. "Well I'm not asking for your help here, Princess," he taunted, the nickname sending a wave of annoyance through you. JJ knew it would. "It's not like I ask you to help me, you're just there. Thinking I need help, like I'm some fucking charity case, a fucking doll you picked up from the thrift store that was gonna be thrown out the next day."

You tried to protest, but JJ didn't give you the chance. "I don't need your help all the fucking time. I don't need your pity. I get that you won't understand because why would you? You're a Kook, you get everything you want handed to you on a silver platter. And you can argue and fight me about it all you want, but I know you know it's true."

He sighed heavily, hands running down his face in a sign of defeat. You watched him all the while, thankful that you had ventured off the outskirts of the party so that hopefully nobody had heard JJ shouting at you, your heart wrenching as his blue eyes settled on you. "I'm sorry, JJ," you said finally. You refused to cry, though the desire to at the sight of him being so mad at you tore you apart. "I'm just trying to look out for you. With the gun thing, with everything that I help you with. And I know I'm a Kook, and I know that my parents could afford to buy half of this fucking island if they pleased, but that doesn't define me. I care, okay? And I know I care a lot more than a lot of people in your life."

It was probably a low blow, and you knew it. But JJ took it in, let the words sink into his brain where they stayed there, his fists clenching at his sides. You crossed your arms over your chest, defeated.

"I'm gonna go back to the party," you whispered. "I'll see you around, I guess." You eyed his pockets, unsure of where exactly he held the gun. "Be careful, okay."

And even when you were angry with him, you still tried to make sure he was okay, that he stayed safe. There was multiple occasions you'd showed up unannounced, simply asking how his day was, if he okay, if he had eaten that day, stayed hydrated. At first the attention startled him, he'd never really had anyone look out for him in that aspect, and yet there you were, like an angel sent from the gods themselves, smiling down at him.

You cared, he realised. You cared so much that sometimes he couldn't take it, because he didn't know how. The most family he'd ever gotten close to having in his life was the Pogues, after losing his mother and subsequently losing his father too as he turned into the monster that he was, cold and distant, fists always poised ready for an imaginary fight, and he knew that someday the Pogues would even slip through his fingers. He couldn't let that happen with you. He wouldn't.

He'd started off in your direction, truly, he had. But then John B was grabbing him and averting his attention to him, and he focused on his friend, promising only a minute of his time. You were in his sights, stood a bit away, and he recognised the couple you were talking to as Sarah Cameron and Topper Thorton, Kooks through and through. He held his distaste back, and even held a drink out to offer to Sarah as she and Topper made their way past where he and John B were standing. Big fucking mistake, he realised quickly.

It had all happened in a blur of events, each little bit leading to big finale - as he watched his best friend being held down in the water, powerless to Topper who kneeled over him, hands forcing John B to stay put in the sea. Sarah was screaming at Topper, Pope was holding JJ back with all his might, Kie beside them as she screamed along with Sarah to let John B go. And there you were, suddenly beside JJ, gripping his arm tightly as you took in the sight with a horrified glare. JJ didn't even hesitate; the gun had been pulled from his shorts and was directed at Topper's head in the blink of an eye.

The fury in his veins was red hot and ugly, tearing through every part of him like a vice. This was the Pogues land, their side of the island, and yet the Kooks still thought they could get away with anything and everything - including, apparently, attempting to drown his best friend.

"Your move, broski," JJ uttered through clenched teeth. He could hear the screams of the crowd behind him, and he pulled the gun away from Topper's head and into the direction of the sky, firing two shots towards it as the crowd of people quickly dispersed, screeches sounding from all over. "Now everybody needs to get the fuck off our side of the island!"

He was shoved to the side as Sarah rushed to her boyfriend, telling him he was fucking crazy or something like that, he wasn't really listening. The shots rang in his ears, and the adrenaline of the moment soured through him. Kie and Pope were screaming at him, he could hear their voices distantly. His blue eyes were unfocused for a second, before they looked up, and there you were.

Sent from the gods themselves, once again. You looked vibrant, so insanely alive, lips red and cheeks flushed, eyes bright. You let out a shaky breath as you watched him. JJ clenched his jaw.

"He was going to drown John B," he thought he'd said, but he wasn't sure. He didn't really know what to keep track of at that moment, Kie and Pope's obvious disapproval at him literally doing the one thing they swore not to do, Sarah and Topper stumbling away from the scene in the distance, John B getting up and muttering something along the lines of he wasn't going to drown me, or you, simply staring at him.

Before he knew what he was doing, JJ had made his way towards you. The gun was still held in his hands, and you swallowed thickly as you eyed it. "You should put that away," you muttered. JJ seemed confused, before he caught on to what you meant and he shoved the gun back to the spot of in between his shorts and his hip. "You literally did the one thing I said not to, you tool."

JJ cracked a smile, small and uncertain as he gazed at you. You stepped closer to him, eyes glancing over his shoulder. "You really pissed them off," you said, meaning his friends.

JJ shrugged, because he didn't care about their opinion, he cared about yours. And if you hated him now, hated the fact that he was just some dirty Pogue who held guns against people's heads now, apparently. "I don't care about what they think," he spoke softly. You looked at him confused. "I care about what you think."

You smiled softly, shrugging one shoulder. "Topper was going to drown John B," you replied, matter of fact. "If you hadn't stepped in when you did, who knew what could have happened. Nothing could have stopped him." You bit your lip, hand reaching out and touching his face gently, thumb soothing over the worried line between his brows. "You did the right thing, J. A fucking crazy and stupid thing, potientally dangerous, but the right thing nonetheless."

"Yeah, that's kind of my go-to, if you haven't already noticed," JJ smiled, tongue running over his bottom lip. You rolled your eyes, though playful. "Look, I'm sorry about before, okay. I was a dick. I know you care, but sometimes that's what scares me."

Your eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression on your face as your hand dropped from his face to intertwine with his own hand, his gaze suddenly becoming fixed on your linked hands, his other absentmindedly playing with your fingers that held his hand.

"It's like, you're this untouchable thing. I mean, you don't belong to anyone, you refuse to go by anything other than your name, and you're like this perfect mix between Pogue and Kook even if you do hate it and everyone knows who are you and they make these stories up about you, like that's how popular you are," JJ chuckled. "And then you hang out with me, you look past all the dirty Pogue shit, see me for who I am, and you care. And you care so god dammed much that it fucking terrifies me because nobody's ever cared that much before about me, so why should you?"

His hand left yours to remove the hat from sitting atop his hair and then run his hand through the blonde locks. You could see his tongue running along the outsides of his bottom teeth, the action causing a bump beneath his skin. He looked nervous than you had ever seen him before, and you'd both gotten into enough nerve-wracking situations together to compare. You sighed as your hands reached for his face, gripping his cheeks and forcing his eyes to gaze down at yours.

"JJ Maybank," you started, grinning softly. "You listen to me while I tell you that you deserve the fucking world and more. All this shit that you're going through, all the crap you deal with on a daily basis, you carry it so well that nobody would even know. You fight through each day and I don't even know how you manage it half the time. I admire you so much, J. And I can't help but care about you, even if you don't want me to. I care about you so much, that you wanna know a secret? It scares me too."

JJ gazed down at you lovingly, his forehead moving to rest against yours. You welcomed the embrace, his arms wrapping around your waist and squeezing you gently, as if reassuring himself that you were actually there.

"JJ," you whispered as you were stood in silence for a precise minute, neither of you daring to break the silence until you had. His blue eyes stared into yours, awaiting the next part of your speech. You swallowed your nerves down, figuring fuck it. "I'm so in love with you."

He grinned, his head swooping down before you knew it and his lips pressing against yours in a heated embrace that sent a sensation of butterflies to fly wildly in your stomach, bashing against your ribcage and taking your breath away. Shivers flew up your spine, and every hair on your body stood on edge as the kiss grew heavier, tongues brushing and teeth clattering, bodies pressed against each other as much as they could manage.

When JJ's lips left yours, you almost whined. JJ grinned cheekily, hands digging into your hips. "I love you," he breathed against the skin of your neck as he buried his head there, lips tickling the flesh. "I can't believe you just macked on me while I have a gun in my pocket."

You rolled your eyes and tugged gently on his hair, spurring a laugh from him as you shoved him away and grinned despite yourself. "Do not remind me, please," you warned him, allowing him to pull you into his side as you made your way down the beach. "I still can't believe you took that thing."

"I knew it'd come in handy though," he grinned, pulling you closer with the arm thrown over your shoulder. You wrapped yours around his waist, face squished in his chest as you shook your head.

"You're an idiot, Maybank."

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher of the Night (Chapter 16.1)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

UPDATES FOR WITCHER OF THE NIGHT WILL BE PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY NOW IN MY TIME (GMT +8) (GUESS WHAT? IT AIN’T SATURDAY TODAY! LMAO)

CHAPTER 16

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: The best part has finally come to an end, life aren’t all smiles and rainbows. Now, here comes the negativity that will surely eat you whole with the life you have with the witcher. 

Warnings: Fluff! Kinda’ Dad! Geralt? Slight. Cirilla being such a sweetheart? Jaskier being Jaskier. Mention of blood. Insecure and overthinking reader. Mention of Yennefer and Renfri. 

Words: 8k+

A/N: This should’ve been posted last saturday. But, life happened so here it is. I should’ve been taking a break but I think I’ll have my break next saturday instead. Think of this as if I just gotten late to post this chapter for you, bb’s! Though, there will be no update on June 27 instead! 

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW. It was the day where Geralt was back on his wild hunt. He'd procrastinated more than he can ever plead for; taking him days with his family was better than having none as the lone witcher would leave with nothing but his horse and sword like the good ol' days.

Other times, he'd have Jaskier in his trips when the bard was too restless to stay and guard Cirilla---it has been two years for doing so---and he would complain about how tedious Geralt would tell his stories about slaughtering such a specific beast. The toubadour wanted to experience and see everything happen before his eyes regardless of his fear for such. 

Which leaves Cuthbert and his family for taking care of the princess. Besides, Geralt thought it would be better that people wouldn't see Cirilla living in their home from time to time, as it can also complicate how she would be found because she didn't need to be.

But, with you around; there has to be somebody that was needed to guard and take care of his child of surprise; leading the preferable options down to you because you knew how a girl works and how their mind moves rather than with Jaskier who always welcomes him home with arguments about nonsense things together with his child of surprise. Complaining how she'd intentionally stomped on his foot because of how she was confined in their home all the darn times till how his cooking was abnormally awful rather than Geralt's.

No matter how uneasy Geralt was with leaving everyone alone, he needed to sacrifice the worries away for his family and choose the safety for the people. Even if it would take him days to bask in his solitude with Roach whom he would have as his silent companion.

The witcher was getting ready for his hunt today. He was checking on stuffs that were utterly important not to forget. Elixirs. Herbs. Equipment. Weapons. Geralt continued to place his things inside his bag before a soft piece of parchment has brushed off his fingertips, making him stop from rummaging inside his bag to snatch it out.

It was the drawing he retrieved from the gallants he'd fought. The broken sketch of you and him together, taken from being scoured by the royal guards because he was needed for a favor that could help the kingdom and its heir.

Fucking people who kept on needing him all the damn time. He silently spewed blasphemy over and over inside his head for making his life more complex than it ever was with Destiny laughing on his side.

Especially that he was finally accepting what it brings to him. You.

He'd taken one last look on the paper before tucking it inside his bag; in a safe place where it wouldn't be destroyed before he'd heard familiar stealthy footsteps padding closer to where he stood beside his horse.

"Geralt,"

Jaskier has taken what the witcher has fetched him to, showing the contents of what laid on his palms before his brooding friend has taken it with a begrudging look that says he woke up on the bad side of the bed today.

Though, the bard was sure he did because of the perception that he needed to leave you alone in his chambers.

Geralt has given him a sharp look which has taken aback Jaskier who seemed to be surprised in such the break of dawn, ceasing his yawn when he'd received such surprising antagonism. He saw the blank stare he'd given him, thoroughly stupefied from whatever sauciness he was trying to give.

Jaskier could even notice how he was more quiet and grumpier than usual first thing in the morning. An unusual state of the witcher when you came along because he was finally talking more after getting some sleep.

"What’s going on, Geralt? Did something happened? I thought friends trust each other! You know you can trust me on this---anything! Is Roach dying? do you need another horse?"

The monster-slayer raised a sassy brow at his friend, looking away as he went on to obtain the items that laid on Jaskier's hands. His hands abnormally heavy as their hands grazed each other; letting the bard know that there was something more to it other than the idea that you would be away from him.

"Should I ask you the same thing?" he deeply grumbled, sounding like a snarl that has caught Jaskier off guard.

His talkative friend appeared to be wounded from his silent grudges that he held out for him. Jaskier couldn't help but scrunch his face in utmost perplexity, feeling aggravated for what attitude Geralt has been giving him when all he had been doing was help him in such a crazy, early hour of the morning.

He won't be taking his attitude when he was still heavy-eyed from trying to get his sleep last night. Reasons why he couldn't was because his room was beside yours and the insatiable witcher. Technically, his suggestions that have been approved sometimes hit him in the head like a boomerang; he didn't think it through that his advice can bring him results where he would suffer.

Geralt and his shitty, overly developed libido.

"But, I don’t have a horse! Why are you---Oh! Ohohoho. You were being sarcastic! I know you---know the differences of those monotones of your verbose timbres. Everybody should applaud me for it," Jaskier scornfully laughed, annoyed by how the witcher has been acting. He held onto his hips, shoulders rolled as his head fell back while he sarcastically laughed, feeling the swift breeze of the morning fog giving him a whiplash as Geralt walked pass him to fix Roach's reigns. The toubadour has turned on his heels to see the subtle swerving of topic by staying silent and minding his own business.

"---I'm utterly not in the mood for your grouchy attitude, Witcher! You sound like you are accusing me of something I shouldn’t have done!"

Roach gave a nicker as she heard two friends share their squabbles; being immature over not sharing what one has a problem over the other.

"You sound guilt-ridden." Geralt bluntly stated, ignoring the bard who has sauntered in front of him with an offended face. His friend seem to be lost at words from where ever his hostility is coming from. 

Jaskier tried thinking it through, cocking his head to the side as he stood before the brooding witcher. He hadn't been too intrusive the past few days nor did he try and get his patience boiling. In all honesty, the bard has set a good amount of space around Geralt when you came in their lives. Reaching to the point that Geralt spends his time with you and Cirilla a lot more than him.

Though, there were the times where Jaskier gets to spend more time with you than Geralt when he was being the complicated mutant he is, sharing banters with you that ends up in a wrestling match because of how he kept on spitting jests that rattles the kindness you ought to have.

The witcher knew Jaskier blushed when he’d accidentally tackled you to the ground from choking him with all your might as you used your arms. The bard’s weight bringing you down when he tried battling with your physical blitz of ripostes. Geralt couldn’t help but purse his lips at that as he watched you wrestle with his annoying bard who had a palpitating heart from being flustered over you. 

Jaskier likes you and he was sure about that.

"W-What---Oh! what a fuckin’ crass you are! What do you even mean?!" he bellowed and stammered, sounding and looking utterly lost. Pretty ocean blue eyes demanding for answers over what grudges he was holding; dramatically raising a hand for thespian gestures.

"Does she look like Booker? No. I suppose not. The cavalier you were fond with was horrible," Geralt sounded too straightforward, never known to sprinkle his words with flowery vernacular that would consider him kind and nice. He gave out a loud, audible sigh; giving him a nonplussed look.

No matter how rude he sounded, his eyes had a look of defiance and understanding. The witcher wasn't mad at the fact that Jaskier has taken a liking towards his midget. No. Geralt knew better than to be enraged over feelings he couldn't control; much so to himself despite of hating the strong feelings he was having over you.

Besides that, Jaskier was his friend. He respected you and Geralt because he knew what was coming forth between the both of you. Like a masochist, even to the point of helping you and the white wolf build the relationship that was bound to happen sooner or later.

Julian Alfred Pankratz just knew you were both endgame from the moment Geralt of Rivia have saved you from those scoundrels. What stated his facts correct was the subtle glimpses that the witcher has been giving you whenever you were around or near their presence; staring when you least expect him to and caring when you needed to be fostered.

Your existence had Geralt thoroughly interested for what and who you were and his friend could visibly see that.

Hence, right at this moment; it was his time to look obvious towards the ivory haired witcher over his one-sided attraction he had for you.

"I should've known, Jaskier. Your gestures aren't exactly subtle."

Geralt shook his head when he lately realized that, clasping a hand over Jaskier's shoulder to give a firm pat; respecting whatever he felt for you. If he wanted to continue those unrequited feelings, it was fine. But, the gesture from him was a silent discussion that he won't be backing down nor stepping away to give the him the opportunity to become what Geralt is already to you.

"I beg your pardon---? Shouldn't you be attacking me with your little tricks already?---I mean, right! Yeah." Jaskier started and stammered at the same time, but was cut off by a terse statement.

"Never leave her side as much as I would."

Geralt gave another light pat to his shoulder before he walked around him, treading over the front door to retrieve two flasks of water and your special Ale that he somehow needed to bring because it reminded of you. The bard trailed behind him, following his footsteps till he was hunched over to get them.

"Geralt, if I may ask---but I hope you wouldn't punch me in the gut after this. The Djinn, obviously was a snake in the lake. What will happen to her now?"

Jaskier just couldn't help but shut his mouth now, does he? he thought at the back of his mind, silently cursing for even bringing it up for him to remember.

The witcher stood up with a long drag of his breath; sounding surfeited by how his mind worked. He was in deep ponder over knowing that his friend had taken the hots for you too, yet he appeared to sound like he was pushing you away soon that he knew Geralt was thoroughly enamored.

"Now, you want her to go." he deadpanned, nettled by what he was suggesting. His eyebrows tightly crossed together from how cretinous it sounded, "---I've been told by a daft of a bard to keep the rat when I was finding a shitty Djinn,"

Geralt couldn't accept what he was hearing. He didn't need to hear this question especially when he was leaving for a hunt. The latter was finally trying to accept what destiny holds out for him, testing what would happen with you around; thinking if it was even a smart decision for him to not challenge fate for the second time around.

It was probably for the better before any sacrifices can happen. Though, why was he even being questioned when he's finally having momentous moments with you?

Geralt gravelly hummed in displeasure, walking away from his friend as he said out loud with a brooding demeanor, moon over by what questioned he received when he'd only done what everybody wanted from him.

"You smell of heartache, rejection and bewilderment, bard."

Jaskier looked utterly wounded from receiving such spiteful words.

"O-Oh! You just didn't quote me that, witcher! You are beyond frank and hilarious when you are being verbally challenged!"

He heavily marched towards Geralt, stopping in front of him with his arms dramatically wide open; indignant of how petty he sounded for being asked over a question that was bound to be inquired soon enough because you were a person who came from another dimension that truly exists.

"I was simply asking what you would do when the rat finally needs to come home from where she rightfully belongs! What will happen to her?!----especially, to you, huh?!"

Geralt's eyes were heavy as it landed on him. Brooding. Crestfallen. Enough to say that the concept of it made him even more dejected and disgruntled. The witcher kept his mouth tightly shut, snapping his eyes away to mule over what he said.

You were already a part of his home besides his original family and Geralt didn't know what to do when one person leaves. Again. He was already done with leaving people and it wasn't surprising when karma hits him back as it'll use you as a pawn.

But, he does not opt for it to happen.

Jaskier brought his arms down to his sides. Baby blue eyes narrowed and his eyebrows pushed together to elicit his worry for his friend despite of the real deal that he also had with you.

"----Because apparently, you are in the risk of heartache when the time comes for her to leave. Isn't that right, Geralt?"

The break of dawn is nigh; dark and light colliding to meet the sun as they were finally reaching daybreak from all the fusses that was happening. He should've left before you even woke up, knowing you would be slightly upset as you weren't used to what life he had nor did you exactly have the vivid idea of everything.

You knew nothing at all and soon enough, Geralt was sure it'll kick him in the butt for not saying anything more about their world and for what it holds.

"You aren't just fond of her anymore. It's beginning to grow more than that," Jaskier honestly convinced his theories and observations, pausing to look at Geralt who has given him a tiny quirk of his brow for what he wanted to say, "---Before you tell me that it's because of something the Djinn has cast upon you both, it must be wrong."

Geralt went completely silent; letting Jaskier share his opinions laid out for him to understand, "You risked to appear in front of that wandering vampire that the queen has kept around---" pause. "---risked everything we had, trying to lay low from everyone because our lives are at stake here,"

Jaskier's weight fell on one foot to the other, raising a hand to point at himself as he continued to conclude, "You can fool anyone but me, Geralt. I can see who she is for you,"

"What do you want me to say, Bard?"

He brought a finger up to the witcher, ceasing his temper from bursting out of nowhere, "All I'm saying is that you shouldn't let her go." pause. "---Keep her, because I know you'll think of the greater good and try to fix everything according to your treacherous and foolish plans. Don't let her leave you---don't make her leave us,"

Geralt cocked his head to the side, forehead creased in confusion for the sudden contrast of his advice. His friend was technically not sounding forthright after asking him what his decision was with the involvement of you.

The latter started again, "Choose---" Brusque and impatient. His harsh, clipped tones cut him off. Geralt stated as a matter of fact, "---the lesser evil. So, I've been told."

He rounded up and dragged his feet away from the bard, walking the path back to his horse with a vexed Jaskier who angrily marched to where he was.

"No, you fool!" he ungraciously exclaimed, standing beside Geralt who took Roach's reigns, tugging at it as he motioned for her that it was time for her to gait, taking heavy steps away from their home while Jaskier followed close.

"---choose the greater good; even if the decision makes you selfish, Geralt."

The witcher looked up at the sky, seeing the beautiful sunny color paving its way to greet them a good morning. It wasn't a good morning to him based on how irritating the start of his day began. He stopped his mosey with an evident sigh, letting Jaskier continue to talk.

"---Stop challenging fate before it's too late---you deserve to be happy---surprising isn't it? From a bard who keeps on blabbing horse shite all the bloody time---well, I'm tired of being with a brooding witcher! If it means to be with a rat forever just for you to stop being cantankerous then I'm accepting the sacrifice!"

The bard's voice echoed across the meadow, combining along with the chirping of birds and the strong breeze of the morning wind. Roach was sniffing Geralt when he'd heard that soft padded footsteps jumping down their stairs in a hurried manner. He'd given Jaskier a disappointed look of his golden peepers; his plan now ruined that he would leave without bidding goodbye because of one bard that could always get under his skin for no reason.

"You were saying, bard?"

You were out of the threshold in no time. Hair in a tangled mess from your previous nightly adventures; along with your painted skin that had witcher bites, looking gauche from wearing Geralt's large tunic that ended on your knees with nothing under and a pout drawn to your face as you ran barefoot along the meadow, wildly screaming his name.

"Geralt-of-fucking-Rivia!" you panted and whined, never believing that he was leaving without any form of goodbyes, "---Don’t you dare step a foot! I swear to God, I will cut your majestic white hair when you walk away and I’ll never make you my special ale anymore!"

The threat was loud enough for him to cease his footsteps; plans of irritating you further would never be a good idea especially that he was leaving for a hunt. 

Palms upon your knee, you stood in front of the frowning witcher wearing his black, leather full gear armor; heaving deep pathetic breaths as your hauled over yourself, raising a hand to stop him from leaving.

When you've finally caught your breath, you promptly straightened your back; letting him see your swollen eyes due to sleeping late with probably morning dew slipping a few off the ends of your eyes. He affectionately caught sight of your upset ones; displeased from his sudden flee.

"How dare you leave when you know I don't wake up early like this?---and leaving without a hug!? Seriously, Geralt?!" you declared, obviously unsettled from being fucked the night after without waking you up to say that he was about to leave you for days in a world you hardly know about?

"---What if I don't get to see you again?"

Questions after questions, you demanded answers from Geralt in which it shall never be received based on how he simply watched you raved, feeling the discomfort and worry of leaving his family alone, "What if you never come back?" it sounded like you were thoroughly agonizing over the idea. You started to fret, toes feeling the moist pasture land over the soles of your feet; bringing you more concern.

"---What if I've been kidnapped or something?!"

Geraly shook his head, mouth in a tight thin line as he interrupted, "You're never leaving the house, midget. You need to take care of Cirilla," he let go of Roach's reigns to place his arms on either side of him, his tone more passive than yours, the words he told held more meaning as if he was giving a lot more trust than he can ever do by letting you handle the responsibility for his child of surprise even just for days.

The point simply tells you that he wasn't treating like you were his possession after admitting his feelings. Geralt was acting like a father and a husband for making you feel that way over supporting what he does for a living.

Just the act itself made you reach out for Geralt's hand, tightly clutching it in both of yours like you didn't want him to leave because you were feeling a little agitated for no reason. Overthinking always does take a toll on you. But often times, these female intuitions you have were correct for whatever bad feelings you were having.

Geralt closed his fist to subtly caress the back of your hand as Jaskier tried to convince and pour ice to your anxiety filled head, "Small rat, those are only predictions. He won't die yet. You're talking to a 100 year old witcher and you're frightened that he wouldn't come back alive?"

You face suddenly morphed into confusion, giving Jaskier a look of puzzlement. 100 years old? Geralt never looked that old to you, maybe his face was pretty much mature than yours but his features tells that he was around 30'ish and above, a lot more older than you nevertheless.

Geralt was still quiet as he continued to brush his thumb over the back of your hand. No objection was received and so, you believed Jaskier's words were true. Yet, his age never made you uneasy nor made you want to run for the hills. He was still Geralt. Your mean looking, soft-hearted witcher. More human than any other man can ever be.

He was yours. Only yours; and you needed to bite your tongue from saying words that would taser your heart from being unanswered.

"Wait---what--- you're a 100 years old?!?!----anyway, Geralt---!!" Geralt only hummed in dissatisfaction for Jaskier's existence in their world.

You peered up at the witcher with a fretful beam, your nose scrunching from feeling too worried for him when he goes out to hunt for his monsters; remembering what stories he told and the scars you've seen on his body. It was making your heart feel heavy, and Geralt wasn't a simpleton to not know nor feel how concerned you were for him.

It's been a long time since he's ever had someone making him feel all sorts of things and the doubled up emotions was making it more uncontrollable for the feelings he had for you.

"In our world, when a person leaves, they always bid their goodbyes!" Geralt drowsily blinked back at you, an utter soft flicker in his eyes that made your heart turn to mush.

Your eyes were hopeful as you asked, "---now, where's mine?"

You've let go of his hand, timidly standing before him with your frail arms on either side; wiggling your bare toes on the grass as you shyly waited for his reaction. Was it too much to ask even just a kiss before he goes?

"Goodbye, midget." the white wolf gravelly rasped, insincerity dripping in his tone because he didn't like bidding goodbyes to people he would still get to see again. The words seemed to be bitter for his taste, his farewell totally feigned because he was never going to leave for good. You've seen a tiny slip of his fangs as he talked and tried to regret what he said.

"---though, I doubt I meant that because I am not leaving for good,"

His reaction made you want to jump in a hole and just talk to yourself instead. Your face fell at that and Jaskier was found silently wincing from what the witcher has interpreted. He would rather bask in his own laughter and silence by himself than be punched by Geralt. So, he did; snorting a chuckle as he continued to eavesdrop and watched you both in a conversation.

Though, the bard's laughter was momentarily ceased when Geralt sent him a scowl.

"Why am I---why are witchers idiots? why are you an idiot sometimes?!"

Jaskier was known to be brave for even deciding to be Geralt's travel companion before; having the freedom to annoy him and never gotten the chance to end up beheaded or served as a meal for monsters. He was the only person who Geralt could handle no matter how he brings problems and for how annoying he can become.

However, at some point; they've gotten into a huge fight and it was intense. Luckily, they were on good terms right now after being separated.

"I second the notion, small rat!" the toubadour jested with a grin; Geralt's lack of knowledge about romantic gestures entertaining him.

You palmed your face in fluster and from the frustration; seeming more difficult to say what you truly wanted because Jaskier was close enough to hear what you could ask. A frown etched your face, grouching before the witcher like a kid that has never been given a big swirling rainbow lollipop.

"I didn't meant that! I meant---I meant---!"

You were stammering as you stood rooted on the ground, glancing up at Geralt while subtly pointing to your pouted lips. He calmly breathed out his frustrations from not understanding you prior before. But, the way his golden eyes lit up, sparkling beneath the sun's rays made you see that he knew what you meant.

His eyes were like diamonds twinkling under the sun and it always leaves you bewitched.

He has given Jaskier another grimace before humming back at you in comprehension, "A buss." His mouth curled in a small smile before you've seen him give you a gesture with his hand; urging you to come closer.

"Come ere'. You should've been more specific, midget."

Geralt slung an arm around your hips, his armor hitting your skin with soft clungs; pulling you closer to him as he leaned down to your height, catching your ajar lips in between his as he puckered to give you the most tender kiss you've received, taking you breath away like how he always does.

He'd kissed the tips of your vermillion, feeling like the other piece of your heart has been put together; making you feel complete. Satisfied. With the sudden life that was given to you when you woke up in the middle of the forest, having no idea how you've been transported.

But, experiencing no obstacles in their world from the time being was making you feel jittery because you knew life didn't work that way. It always leads you into an ocean, making you drown in impediments that can assuredly take the happiness away from you in just a flash.

You knew something was about to happen because fate always leads you in that position. It was like it wanted you to taste what contentment in life would be before snatching it out of your hands.

What would your fate bring you in their world?

Geralt has pulled away in the slightest amount. The tips of your vermillion brushing against his as your heart felt heavier to feel his warmth around you; not liking the concept of your witcher away because of certain reasons you couldn't explain. Faint voices has woken you up from your slumber, forewarning about him leaving you; urging for Geralt not to go which took you to run out of the door in your disheveled state.

He lightly gave you a kiss on the tips of your nose; your mouth frowned at that no matter how your heart slightly fluttered from the soft gesture. Geralt straightened his back as he has given Jaskier a knowing look. Jaskier unconsciously has given him a subtle roll of his eyes, feeling that he was being cocky for showing that he had the freedom to kiss you like that. It was how Geralt could define his repartee and Jaskier swore that he got one point of having the upper hand from the surprising physical display of affection.

"Difficult...to be lovers with a 100 year old witcher, won't you say?" he sent the message to you and sounded like he wanted to sulk but he covered the tone with a feigned cough.

Light hurried footfall came falling behind. The Ashen haired child announced her appearance with a look of nausea; her nose twisted in distaste for what she saw because she had already been watching you three in a distance.

"Ugh, gross." she joked, quickly replacing her abhorrence with a genuine smile, "---Is this how disgusting it is to see a child's parents kiss?"

Everybody turned to look at her, the arm that has snaked around you was now gone as you also looked at the princess with a bewildered expression for what she'd said. Nobody dared to object nor concur to what they've heard, only reticence.

But, not for Jaskier. He'd called Cirilla out for saying those words unexpectedly.

"So, you're calling them your parents now? Mother? Father?---and me?"

The lion cub of Cintra raised a sardonic brow as she tightly crossed her arms over her chest, tone all jest and playful as she commented, "---Which leads to you, bard." she abruptly paused to make it sound more intriguing as she spat, "---a dust mite in the household."

Cirilla took several steps closer to Geralt, making you fall back to give them time together. You've given them both a loving smile to indicate that you loved seeing them interact all the time because of how compassionate he was over his child, such a fatherly thing he appeared to be like, with the princess finding comfort and protection in his arms as she stepped closer to give the witcher a big, bear hug that he certainly didn't think twice to accept.

"Take care, Geralt. More than ever--please do come back,”

You eyed Geralt who was hugging Cirilla, your smile turning wider than ever as you lively jested among the affectionate scene you were seeing from a father and daughter.

"Is this the part where we should give you a group hug?---Okay! Okay! I'm joining!" Cirilla wholly accepted the idea of that and pulled your arm to surround beside her and Geralt; his hand immediately falling on your side, grabbing you closer once you were pulled by the pretty child.

The giggles that he heard from you both has lifted a smile on his brooding, sharp features. He lowly hummed in content before lifting his eyes off his girls in his arms to glance at Jaskier who seemed to suddenly be out of humor.

"Bard." he gruffly called out, amused from how the troubadour was despondent from the whole thing happening. Geralt gave an audible huff, alarming Jaskier because he knew what he was thinking. The witcher was thinking how pathetic he was looking to be so withdrawn over the abrupt embraces under the newly emerging morning sun.

"A dust mite mustn't interfere with a family group hug---oof! This is harassment!"

Jaskier was strongly pulled by Geralt who took no complaints over the embosom he was in, puffing out a frustrated breath as he tried to pull back from the embrace but had no choice when the witcher was using his strength, his hand behind the poet. His slight struggle painless for him. He gave the bard a strong pat on the back that made him cough out on how his lungs hurt from the sudden attack.

His grapples were cut short when you've placed your palm just below Geralt's; giving Jaskier a hug as well. Your touch felt unexpected as the white wolf heard his sudden heart palpitations over the subtle brush of your fingers on his friend.

Geralt knew, but not you.

Jaskier will be fine. If this was the only affectionate gesture that he could get you in, so be it. His unrequited affection will go away slowly, he hoped.

The white wolf's departure haven't lasted for a day till you were low spirited enough to stare out onto the windows, sitting on the stoned sill of the windows. Your viewpoint giving such reverence over how immeasurable their world could offer. From trees to the core of their land certainly looked earthy to you. A facsimile of what your world has been. Do they have oceans too? Noodles? Oh, you definitely wanted noodles for thinking about it.

Kaedwen. It was what their kingdom is called. You've also heard about Nilfgaard. Novigrad. But, you have no idea as to what it looks like rather than the kingdom of Kaedwen that looks no good like how you imagined Switzerland to be if you were talking about how the government treats their people.

Humans were treated poorly and even to the point of selling themselves as slaves; remembering what you have heard and saw while walking around the marketplace back then. They were living in dirt and striving to live with the ones who were abundant, seeing like they could never surpass to be cared for like they were humans.

Their government are treating them like garbage. The medieval movies you've watched were real because you also remember how you were close to being sold by a nobleman because no one knew who you were; having no name or a bloodline that could save you from being abjected.

Except for Geralt who needed to create a bloodbath just for you to live. The act alone has probably given him a violation against their law because of how he'd killed knights or people. Or was it legal for it happen?

You were staring far too long out in the open; waiting for your witcher to come back. What if he was away to probably find the sorceress that could bring you back home? Or better yet, what if he did find Yennefer and comes back choosing her instead because you're too dependent over him. His tiny mortal who always needed saving?

What if he gets tired of you? will he throw you away just like how people treat their lovers in earth when they're bored of each other?

What if you've just existed in their dimension because you were needed to fill the empty gap of Geralt's heart until he finds the sorceress?

You've asked Jaskier about it the past few days ago which has left your heart in a disgruntled mess when you've had answers over his relationships he never tells about.

"So, Yennefer, huh?" you've followed Jaskier out of the house. Nightfall was about to come by soon and Geralt wasn't around as he left with no words. The bard jogged through the end of the meadow till he'd reach the edge of the vast forest, twigs and branches breaking apart from every step when you've trailed behind him with a bothered heart.

"What?---Oh! You're asking me who she is?" Jaskier crouched to pick up blocks of wood that will cover up the whole night full of brisk as darkness was bound to visit soon. You hugged yourself to calm down the goosebumps that rose your skin when the cold hits you,"---Would you want a simplified explanation or a detailed one?"

You thought for a moment before feeling your heart beat ringing in your ears. It was that loud for the anticipation running in your veins for how curious you were about Geralt and a vision of his past, "The simplified one,"

Jaskier continued his rummaging, picking up woods after woods as he nonchalantly tittle-tattled, "She's a strong, fierce sorceress. Nice too because she's helped me out of a curse but also kind of rude to me---I am not biased just because of the whole crow’s feet ordeal---they've shared quests and I've been there to witness how they connect with each other. However, their relationship has lots of ups and downs. They've somehow find each other no matter what happens back in the decades except for now."

Your throat felt like there was some phantom hands trying to choke you; constantly bickering back to tell how strong and powerful she was that they've shared tales and adventures. It was downing over your head about how much of a burden you have been to Geralt, the constant feeling of your relationship with him being the cause of the responsibility he had for taking you because he had no other choice that he was the first person you've encountered.

You were definitely the most useless amongst his prior lovers.

He shrieked when a large bug has flew over his face, flicking them away with his hands as he threw his arms around; trying to hit the bug with a block of wood as he continued to talk, "---Move away, you shite of a bug!---Geralt stopped finding her due to reasons I have no clue about and because he needed to avoid people at all costs---but---oh, gods. It’s quite difficult to explain,"

Jaskier has gathered all the wood he needed. You've reach out to help him carry the blocks but before you could even touch them, he'd stepped away and walked around you as he continue to speak, "Oh, and about Renfri; don't bother nor think about it."

He heard your footfalls following him back to the meadow and even heard you exclaim, "Why?"

"She's reached her demise. Explains why Geralt has a moniker named the 'butcher of Blaviken'. Ended up killing her to save an ignoble child named Masha---Martha---Marilka?! Oh, whatever! He chose that to save the innocent lives of people instead. He never told you that?"

Your felt the needles poking through your chest because of how naive it felt to know nothing about it, also feeling sad about her early demise. You've remembered how Geralt ceased his stories when he'd reach the part where he went to a town named Blaviken; not even bothering to tell you that he has met a woman named Renfri and somehow had such hapless fate between them both.

You felt foolish. Ignorant over a story that was never told. Hence, it was enough to turn that smile upside down as you quietly muttered, "No."

Jaskier stopped walking, waiting for you to catch up as you stood beside him with a frown. He'd given you the twinkle of his pretty baby blue eyes with a sympathetic smile as he uttered, "That's never new, though. It's understandable. I've experienced it too, don't worry. Geralt has always been Geralt. He rarely becomes loquacious,"

You've crossed your arms behind your back, your fingers fidgeting; nails scratching your palm from how you were feeling the tiny prickle of your nerves telling that you weren't in the best part of your brain. The dragging feeling on your chest adding more weight from the start that Jaskier has opened his mouth to chat.

"He does that for anyone, huh? Saving people, I mean."

Jaskier was oblivious about how you've turned your head away to anxiously nibble on your lower lip. He was incognizant over your disappointed mental breakdown of your own self because he went on to simply tell, "No matter how he says that he doesn't want to be involved nor desires for anyone needing him. He still saves them because---"

You immediately cut him off, swallowing the tight knot in your throat, looking at him in the eye with a disheartened gaze, "He doesn't want people needing him?"

"Geralt never liked it. But, guess what brought you here! You! Even had the chance of needing Geralt because you were lost and vulnerable. Was it out of pity? I---I---No. No. Definitely not out...of...pity?"

When the moment he'd seen your eyes, Jaskier was quick to know that he made the wrong choice of words and even the topic to tell. He gave an awkward grin, instantly regretting what he said when you've shifted those eyes to look away.

"Why did they never see each other again?"

The bard has cursed himself repeatedly inside his mind, praying to the gods that you won't be mad at Geralt when he comes home because him and Cirilla didn't need another chance of being surrounded by the silence eating them up when you both are having misunderstandings or issues about each other.

"The witcher has made mistakes. He let her slip away. They've parted after a pretty intense fight."

He'd pretty much simplified everything, sounding like he told it to you in bullet form and left you alone in the middle of the field as he ran back inside. Though, it was too late. You've heard what is needed to know and the discomfort that dropped inside your stomach felt like these feelings you had for Geralt was already serious.

It was definitely too late because you've lately realized that liking him wasn't the correct term. Love felt better and deeper.

Soft knocking has pulled you off your reverie which has made you blink as you swiftly turned your head to see a child whom you also have a soft heart for. This child that has no idea why she was being persecuted---or maybe you were the person who had no thought again as to what reason and purpose does Nilfgaard want from her because honestly, all you could see from her was a child who had nobody left behind for her to console. If it wasn't for Geralt, she probably would have been taken by the people who want her.

You narrowed your gaze and gave her a bit of your scrutiny, angling your head in a way that tells the child you were trying to look through her. Did she have some sort of magic too? Was she a mutant too?

"Mum'?---will it be alright for me to call you that? I--I---I don't want to call you rat or midget," she tried to call you for the third time. Her bright cobalt eyes buoyant as she wend one's way, ceasing before you with a tight-lipped smile.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" you softly pardoned with a sweet smile.

The princess couldn't help but bashfully give a beam, conscious if you've said that because you didn't want to be called that way. But, she gave no second doubts and repeated her questions again; anxiously and hopeful to undertake.

"Can I call you Mum'? Everybody has a nickname for you and also considering how you've started taking care of me---with---with Geralt now deeming as your beloved..." she trailed off in the middle of her sentence and you waited for her to continue but it was intentionally left to be dithered.

Heat traveled towards your cheeks. The princess wanted to call you 'Mum'? you silently questioned yourself. Your heart beat was racing from being accepted by his child of surprise, sounding like she wanted you to be her mother and seeing her fret before you made you think that she would gladly be your daughter as long as you were comfortable.

"Beloved? Right! Right! You can call me anything you want, Ciri."

The affirmation made her give you a toothy grin. Cirilla didn't think twice and merrily cajoled with a small hop of her feet that were close against each other, "Great, Mum'! Can you teach me how to bake?---maybe a cake---oh! Or a very scrumptious bread!?"

Your sullen features have been promptly lifted on the spot. You've grasped onto what she wanted, a distraction from how apprehensive she seemed to be like from the way her heels tap on the stone floor and to the way her forehead was slightly creased like she was on pins and needles. The princess was even worried because Geralt wasn't around to guard anyone in the household.

Her wrist was quickly snatched by you, pulling her out of your chambers and running through the hallway, towards down the stairs with heavy, excited thumps.

"Of course! would you like me to teach you how I'd baked blueberry muffins from the other night?"

The lion cub of Cintra hummed in mirth, nodding behind despite of knowing you couldn't see her as you pulled her around. Your eyes scanned the first floor of the house to see Kolby snuffling the front door with Jaskier no where to be seen.

You passed by the newly fixed table; knowing that Geralt ended up fastening back what was ruined. Trying to whisk your head away, you did you best not to feel the warmth spread over your face. Toes were lifted up to the highest as you reached for the door of the cupboards to see the bowls all gone when the last time you remembered; the white wolf has changed the position of plates in a much lower level for your sake.

Jaskier was just intentionally doing it right now and it made your blood boil for his constant teasing.

"I'm going to strangle that bard. I swear to Thor; I hope he hits Jaskier with a lightning---where did he even place all the bowls again?!" you complained more so to yourself as Cirilla was left standing on your side, waiting for your next command.

You've gestured with your hand, making her stay inside the kitchen while you walked away. The Hirikka suddenly howling out of the blue when you jogged towards the front door, stepping out of the threshold as Kolby followed suit.

"Jaskier?!" a loud yell echoed as you called at the top of your voice; seeing no bard anywhere.

Kolby unexpectedly sprinted, running off your side as he turned along the path around the house where the back door lead to.

You groaned out loud, strolling to where the Hirikka went, "Jaskier! Will you please tell me where---Jaskier!"

An ear-piercing shriek left your lips. Heart stopped from beating, your blood running cold as you were filled with panic and fear from seeing Jaskier hunkered down in the middle of chevaliers circling him like he was being tyrannized.

Armored gallants sat on their horses, their helmets taken off their faces which has given you images of what they looked like. A mixture of different ethnicity that you were well aware of back in earth. But, they've shared gazes in their eyes that placed you in a horrified position that tells everything was about to go down and it wasn't just Jaskier hunched on the ground.

When he heard your footsteps, he was pleading that you wouldn't actually visit the back part of the house but seeing Kolby safeguarding as he stood in front of you; thoroughly feral and livid for visitors that weren't invited at all, Jaskier knew all hell was about to break lose.

"A liar, bard." you've heard that voice back in the marketplace, a timbre you didn't wish to hear ever again as it haunts you with memories that he was a mystical being and the person who has stabbed you to bleed.

"The witcher didn't bring his little woman all along," Tybalt's breath fanned your ears, making you hastily step away from the vampire with your eyes all wide from the spine-chilling memory that gets you shunning away. Kolby was rapid enough to slip in between the uncomfortable space that Tybalt has locked you in, all predatory and wild as the movement made you stumble down beside Jaskier.

You've coughed out from being accidentally pushed to the ground, the knights of Kaedwen stepping back to include you in the tyranny of hopeless pleading. The bard's lip was wounded. Broken. Bleeding. Claret colored liquid painting his teeth which tells that they've been bashing him for quite some painful minutes. His doublet untidy and disordered from their constant forceful pulling.

"Rat," he weakly groused, holding onto his battered stomach. Jaskier tightly blinked the dirt out of his eyes as he spitefully spat the blood, wiping the blood off his busted lip with the back of his hand. His golden dagger tightly on his palm as he ceaselessly jested. The words coming out of his lips sounding familiar as you remembered you've said it to him before in the middle of being taken.

"---You had one job."

NO UPDATE FOR THIS UPCOMING JUNE 27, BB’S! I’mma take a break! (Or not because I always end up opening my drafts and try to write lmao) I’ll probably write the future chapters for everyone and so, I won’t get stuck on procrastinating before school starts in about after 2 months. LMAO. I get anxious when I think about this fic being unfinished due to random reasons because I don’t want that. FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! (Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag you)

Taglist for WOTN: @alyxkbrl @himarisolace @barkingbullfrog @ayamenimthiriel @hellodevilslittlesister @vania-marie @spookypeachx @grungelovebug @fangirl-inthe-us @nympeth @amirahiddleston @gabethelobster @dreaming-about-starfleet @uncoolcloudyhead @melaninstylezz @psychosupernaturalhero @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer @marvelousell @kingniazx @angelias134 @tapismyforte @chook007 @covid-donotenter @winter-moons @cheesecakeisapie @silverkitten547 @angelofthor @carrieannewaywardson, @plantingmum, @stuckupstucky, @shesthelastjedi, @a--1--1--3, @gutfucks​, @raynosaurus-rex

Overall witcher taglist: @pizza-eater-i-ate-the-pizza​

General taglist: @agniavateira​, @iloveyouyen​, @rahdaleigh​,

[ickle-ronniekins]

jealous

request from anon: Hi! I’d like to request jealous George, maybe even a bit of anger in there.....he gets upset when another boy asks his pretty friend out on a date who he’s been crushing on for a while, and they’re basically dating because they flirt all the time and its so obvious but he hasn’t technically asked her out yet??

word count: 659

A/N: yo i fucking live for jealous george weasley i love this

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @perksofbeingawf @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans | message me if you’d like to be added babes 😘

“What the bloody hell was that about?”

You turned and glanced at a very flustered George Weasley, surprised to hear the disdain in his voice. You merely peered at him quizzically.

“What’re you on about?”

“That Ravenclaw bloke,” George replied, running a hand through his hair angrily and walking closer to you as you placed your quill down on top of your parchment. Thank goodness the common room was empty— “why did you agree to a date with him?”

You blinked. “I dunno, George.. I’m a single woman and he asked me out, so I figured I could take a chance and say yes—unless you know someone else—” his laugh had a twinge of annoyance to it, “who was planning on doing the same?” You had him now.

He threw himself into the chair next to you and scoffed, “You know full well I don’t need to answer that.”

“Don’t you, though?”

If anything, the flirting had been consistent. So much so, in fact, it seemed as though everyone in the entire bloody school seemed to think you two were dating. Except, you weren’t.

Not technically, anyway.

George softened a bit. “I thought—what is this?”

“What d’you mean?” you asked sweetly, looking back down at your parchment, hellbent on teasing him into oblivion.

He sucked in a breath. “You know what I mean, Y/N—”

“I dunno,” you replied, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, “does what we do together really count as a relationship?”

You watched as his jaw tightened. He was getting more and more frustrated, which was exactly where you wanted him. He unclenched his fist and retreated. He was a mess. Running a hand through his hair again, he told you, “You know I want you—you’ve always known it. And unless I’m barking mad, I know you want me, too.”

You swallowed over a lump in your throat. Ugh. You were doing so well—so well at keeping him flustered, frustrated, finally having the upper hand in your conversation, but now, here you were—a puddle on the floor in front of him, taking in that annoying half smirk he always did to get your attention.

You shook your hand in defiance when he said, “You can deny it all you want, Y/N,”

“Would you please stop rolling up your shirt sleeves?” you asked him, becoming just as flustered as he had been when he walked in. You felt your cheeks go rosy as he continued to push them up to his elbows, “it’s terribly distracting.”

You turned back towards your parchment and dipped your quill in your ink, and George’s lingering eyes must’ve been burning holes straight through your robes. Your face was surely bright red now.

“Don’t go out with that prat,”

You turned back towards him and saw a sparkle in his eye. You watched him and slowly raised an eyebrow. You were going to get him to do it—the proper way. “Why not?”

“Go out with me instead.”

You put down your quill, doing your best to force down a smile. Finally. But, maybe making him work a little extra could be fun. “What makes you think—”

And he took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours in a searing kiss, not waiting for you to finish whatever you were about to say. And truthfully, you’d forgotten, because all you could focus on was the way his thumb felt brushing your cheek, the way his soft hair felt beneath your fingertips—

“Well, you’re definitely barking mad,” you said breathlessly, breaking from him, “but I guess I’ll give it to you—you were right about one thing.”

He smirked again. “What’s that?”

That poor Ravenclaw boy. You grabbed the collar of George’s shirt and pulled him close, nearly knocking everything off of the desk in front of you. His lips formed into a smile against yours when you told him, truthfully this time, “That I want you, Weasley.”

reblogs & feedback are always appreciated, thanks lovelies ☺️

[symphonyofthewrite]

If These Walls Could Talk (Ch1)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too.

The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Chapter Summary: “My mother’s name was Lisa, and she was mortal…She actually showed up at his front door. She found the castle and banged the door with the pommel of her knife…She was remarkable. She beat on the door until my father let her in, and then demanded he teach her how to be a doctor.”

Notes: 

This is a fic I’ve had up for a while, that people seem to really like!! Not sure why I took this long to post it over here XD I’ll post the next chapters I have over the next few days or so, but if you can’t wait they’re over on my fanfiction blog @antihero-writings, as well as in my fic masterlist over there!! (And technically in my masterlist here, but it's messed up right now XD)

I was writing a different Castlevania fic--(”Such Fragile Things”, if you’re curious)--when I started describing things as if from the castle’s perspective...and I thought that was a very interesting idea, so this happened. The idea was also inspired by Sypha’s “it’s fighting me!" I thought that was really interesting because she was speaking almost as if the castle were a living thing. I was originally planning on posting this as one long thing (and I may still do so after I finish), because the sections are very much connected and meant to flow into each other, and I think it’ll be easy to miss things if they’re separate. But I realized it would be easier, both for me to post, and for people to read, in bite size-pieces. Plus it has very clear-cut sections that are easy to split into chapters. So... here you go!!

If you enjoyed this, I’d really appreciate if you could leave me a comment and/or reblog!!

If you are a fan artist who is interested in making cover art for this fic PLEASE don’t hesitate to message me!! I have a very specific idea for cover art for the chapters but it would cost too much to commission so many pieces...So yeah, if you’re interested, I’d love it if you could reach out!!

Chapter 1: "Lisa"

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

The castle doesn’t like children.

Well, maybe that’s too strong to say. It simply isn’t the place for them. Its existence is a signpost: leave me alone. It is not used to having company—much less a family—inside it, nor is it ready to welcome for a crying, puking, giggling thing into the world. It does not intend to be a cozy place to coddle him into adulthood.

The castle itself pierces the sky, its turrets and towers the dripping stain of the sun’s blood across the moon.

The bare walls hold no colorful tapestries for a child to enjoy, no paintings of its many inhabitants to tell of—for there was only ever one (and maybe that ought not change. It is safe to say the castle doesn’t like change). The royal red and gold carpets are more suited to kings; not designed for spit-up, mud, and scuffing. ‘Don’t play with that’ would be a motto around here; so many contraptions either easy to break, or which could break the child. The fireplaces, while almost always lit, only ever coughed warmth onto the floor before them—they provided no snug space to curl up on a winter’s day. Even the mirrors here are empty, holding nothing but a reflection of the bare walls they sit upon.

There are certain people who were seemingly born as they are; they never owned toys, never crawled on the floor, never walked with clumsy steps—their footfalls were always this calculated count—never burped on their mother’s nice shirts, and surely never had anything so dull as a childhood. They were always just…here, on the world. There was no innocence, and no losing it. So it was with Dracula.

The very thought of Dracula ever owning toys, even in some nice cottage far away from here, with a doting mother and an absent father, with a funny last name like Cronqvist, defied sense to the castle. So no, no toys here, nor any simple charts for learning; the books divulged their secrets to more mature minds. Just blood and books, gold and gears, forgotten magic means, mirrors that reflect nothing, and a pile of prayers to a good God they used to justify their ungood, and ungodly deeds.

All these things—or their absence—do not make for the picture of a baby-proof home.

The castle has grown accustomed to being cold and dark, and listening to one master alone. It’s not a quaint place lovers look on and think we’ll raise our kids here someday.

Its master isn’t the ideal father either—after all, the castle only reflected its king. Its master knows only of blood and nails, fangs and wails, words too big for a child’s mouth, and worlds too dark for a child’s heart.

Can he be soft? Can he be gentle? Can he keep those claws, which have ripped out better men’s hearts, from piercing a child’s—his child’s…how could one who killed so many have a child?—skin? He knows many spells, but is there one that can turn those screams into laughter?

He has been soft before. Once. And that is with this woman.

Many women have walked the castle’s halls: shivering, shrieking damsels at his feet; cold and calculating queens; fragile bodies on the floor, that he broke with the same regard a child does a vase that matters to someone else.

Those ordinary people who do come often have pitchforks in their mouths, and fiery words in their closed fists. Curses stacked on the end of stakes, banging like the castle is the church bell signifying their own funerals.

It is for this reason that the castle does not like outsiders, does not open its doors easily. But it cannot deny anyone entry. Unlike the humans’ doors, which find his master guilty until proven innocent.

They always came at night. At night, when the loudest sound is your own breathing. At night, when their fires echoed loudest, and their shouts burned brightest.

They came when the flowers were closed, when only the most eerie and vicious of animals played with the skins of their prey, and the moon waxed the world in cold, drunk shine. The sun could not watch them, could not show their blood-struck hands in their full glory.

She came at sunset. When the sun still glazed her deeds in sanguine auburn, but was just deciding to turn its gaze and let the kids have their fun. Not quite day, when the sun would kill things like Dracula, but not quite night, when the hours are named after witches, and lust is strongest—be it for the body, or the blood within it. Somewhere in between death and life, violence and peace.

This woman came with a knife in her hand, yes. But a knife, at least, was not a sword. It was not a pitchfork, a spear, a whip, or a stake; all weapons that signify, if the fight wasn’t there, you were bringing it with you. Not a war-starved weapon, pointing with mal-in—and -con—tent towards the castle doors and all the things inside it. Not a thirsty thing. Something that by default faced the other direction. Something that can start a fight if it wants to, but doesn’t crave it.

The golden woman came at sunset, with a knife in her hand, and looked upon this thing, this castle that others called ‘ugly’, and ‘monstrous,’ and ‘grotesque,’ looked upon it with awe, and gasped in wonder.

She knocked. She didn’t bang her fists upon the stone, didn’t ram pitchforks and assorted insults against the innocent doors, like how-dare-they protect their master.

She knocked, and the doors opened before she could raise her fist a second time. Maybe, just this once, not because they didn’t have any other choice.

The doors—foreboding, menacing, and all the other spooky -ings one can think of—opened to a world strewn in light; the demon’s castle looked brighter, more beautiful, more alive, than half the churches she’d been to.

Her footsteps were gentle against the castle’s floors. Not a slow, forced gentleness, but also not a piercing, purposeful march. There was no apprehension to her footsteps; her feet carried her as if anxious to take her to as many rooms as they could.

At first her steps were the only sound, enough to fool some into thinking they’re alone.

And it became clear both that she was not alone, and not a fool.

But when she saw the demon, she put the knife away, and used her words.

She used her words to repeat those she herself had heard: stories. But not the kind that make monstrous men run at the doors with naughts and crosses, the kind pious people buried along with all evidence that the world wasn’t made of black and white.

Not all the stories told that this place was cold and dark and full of death.

Amongst all the stories about death, there were others that said Vlad Tepes brought this castle to life with science, forbidden knowledge, and a little bit of lightning. Stories that say there is life here.

And, in exchange for proof that these life-stories true, Dracula asked for a trade, a trade that would prove the other stories true too. He gave up the killing a while ago—(the castle has been in one place a very long time)—but he was still not used to giving for free, and definitely not used to getting for free. Vampires trade in blood and names, not diamonds and declarations. Vampires trade in things they can swallow. This castle, too, had been a gaping hole set to swallow the world and everything that entered. Never once had it given.

And she dared to say, that this place, its master, should learn to give, when the humans have done nothing but take from them—or try their best to. He ought to be the one to invite her in, to ask what she would like, to dispense pleasant words and kind actions, when the humans forgot they invented hospitality, and showed no invitation for him to even enter their homes.

But she didn’t come with a mouth full of garlic, and hands full of superstition. Her feet did not drill holes in the floor with their sharp toll, they wandered the scenic route.

She was used to being cheated. Dracula and his castle were too. But that was not why she was there. She was not there for cheap tricks, or death. She wanted something real. A little bit of the life the castle has to offer.

Her defiance wasn’t that of a terrified citizen, or angry queen, either; rather the calm resolve of someone who is asking for something they know in their heart is good, and knows they will get it. The kind of person who believes there is good in everyone, and that this good will ultimately always win, and who won’t leave until they convince this good to show its face.

The castle has watched countless men and women cower at foot of count Dracula. Some, do have a measure of god-sanctioned defiance; they come with whips and scourges to defeat him. The castle and the king are bound together in their resolve against them.

Except one. Except this woman. One human whom both master and castle found themselves reluctant to deny, cast away, or kill, maybe even…taken with.

She may be human, but she was not like the rest; she did not light the night on fire with her thirst for blood.

So maybe, just maybe, they could let one ray of sunlight slip through the cracks.

She was also not devoid of life, and maybe that was the key.

‘Devoid of life’ was an accurate portrayal of the castle. Bats flying out of blackness is a good description of a cave, and caves don’t usually come with the brochure ‘teeming with life’, or ‘great place to take your kids!’. The castle had a soul-sucking quality to it; those who entered often found themselves leaving less alive than they arrived. It took after its vampire master. Those who didn’t actually lose their lives within its walls, often remarked upon leaving that the flowers bloomed brighter, the birds sang louder, the grass was greener, and that they missed the sunlight.

Sunlight. Such a base thing; vampires don’t need the light or warmth to be happy.

Sunlight. Such a base way to die; wanting to get out of the cold and the dark.

“Is this how the castle felt to you before my mother first arrived at your door?”

Castlevania was alive once. Once Dracula set the pumps, and its heart began to beat. He turned the gears, and its lungs inhaled. He forged the lightning, and it began to think. Once the books, full of unknown knowledge, jumped off the shelves to get the vampire king’s attention. He filled the bottles and beakers, and they bubbled, as if laughing at a joke only they shared.

They were both alive, once.

That waned, with time. The gears got arthritis, the books caught pneumonia, the experiments atrophied. The castle ached before she came.

And Dracula, alone in the halls, picking up books and putting them down again without so much as a polite glance through them, because he read them all before. Dracula looking into fractured mirrors that could take him anywhere, but deciding there wasn’t anywhere he wanted to go. Dracula, looking into old mirrors that don’t reflect him—like there was never anything to reflect, nothing alive here to begin with, and there isn’t a master for this castle after all. Nothing but a grave. Dracula sitting alone in his study, staring into the fire. No one to talk to. No sound but flipping pages and crackling fires—nothing alive. Alive but dead. This castle. Its master. Undead is the proper term.

The other women who came through here reflected the castle, or else the castle took the life out of them the moment they entered. Queens with malice-stained past, and cracked, icy future in their eyes. Just as cold as the walls. Subjects, humans throwing gruesome insults, silky flattery, or fluttering pleas at his feet. Just as empty as the mirrors.

Only one refused the castle’s bite. Only one walked in looking for life, rather than death. Looking for a thing no one thought existed here. Already presumed dead. Put six feet beneath the ground. But maybe it was here all along; maybe the light hid in the castle’s corners while the dark came out to play, and she just had to coax it out of its hiding places. Maybe the bell was ringing all this time, she was the only one who came close enough to hear it; the only one who came to put flowers on the grave.

Maybe when she felt the machinery pumping she knew the rhythm was a heartbeat. Maybe when she heard the gears clanking she knew it was the sound of inhaling and exhaling. Maybe when she saw the lightning, she wondered what it was thinking. Maybe she looked at these books, these instruments, and saw what the vampire king saw once; something alive. They weren’t dead yet—un- or otherwise. Just sick, and in need of proper treatment. She was a doctor after all. Maybe her first subject was the very books she learned from.

Lisa, who looked at this blotch on the sky, with Death in its towers, and darkness splattered on its walls, and thought that’s where I’ll learn to heal people. Lisa, who gaped in amazement at the beast of a building. Lisa, who didn’t shudder upon entering. Lisa, who didn’t scream when its master touched her, but turned to him with calm resolve, and told him she’d teach him to be more human. Lisa, who’s life eclipsed the undeath in this place.

And there was a trade that occurred that day. For Dracula’s immortal knowledge, Lisa would teach him how to live a mortal life. To travel the world as a man, to walks as a man, to eat and drink, laugh and cry, as a man. Immortality for mortality. They gave each other the world, as so many lovers promise to do. Vlad would make her immortal, and Lisa would make him mortal, with no exchange blood.

(Except to create a thing with both their blood running through it.)

So maybe, after all this talk of life, it is fitting that she wants to create life inside this castle.

Fitting, maybe. Fitting for her. But the castle is not mortal yet, and wishes it could protest that it isn’t the right size, refuse to try on the idea.

Dracula is apprehensive as well, for the castle and he are used to each other, they take after each other, because the cold, and the dark, and the death, and the alone does something to you after a while; you start talking to the walls. After the cold queens and quaking colleens leave, or leave their bloodstains the floor. After the beasts and their silver-stained bullets turn back into righteous men in the sun. After he simply outlives everyone else. When all the living things hate, fear, or else betray you, when all the living things can die, and you, who are undead, cannot, it’s the lifeless things that stand firm by your side. When the day ends and the shadows come out to play, when you’re the only one left, in the end you still have the walls. And then…the walls are all you have. And if you talk to them long enough you make a sort of pact, spoken or silent, with those speechless stones: ‘you’re the only one I can trust.’

Dracula speaks to them one day, says he wonders if he can do this, be a father at all, not to mention a good one. The castle cannot reply. But something deep inside the walls wonders if it might be nice to hear Dracula laugh. It might be nice to put on some different clothes. It might be nice for someone new to listen to from time to time. It might be nice to live again.

The castle is concerned. Used to doing things one way, being one way, and only hearing one voice. But that doesn’t mean it is unwilling, that it intends to kill the child.

It never kills anything—Dracula does that. It cannot do anything on its own, and that includes change.

The castle doesn’t like change.

…But that doesn’t mean it won’t.

And if its going to change, its master must change first. They must change together.

Vampires do not have reflections. But Dracula has a castle, and that castle will be damned if it isn’t his mirror.

Reflections are simple to change; put on some makeup, some war paint, a new change of clothes, get a piercing somewhere. Simple, yes, but not easy, to change completely, because that doesn’t mean anything’s changed inside.

The castle did not come equipped for child-rearing; there are no rooms full of toys and cradles and school supplies.

So if this is to be, they must build their son’s world themselves.

Together they set aside a room for the child’s arrival. Just one, single room. And the castle too knows, from the start, this room will be different from all the rest. They will put paintings on the walls, and banners in the halls; things to interest him, to tell him of his parents, at least, even if there are few other relatives to spend Christmas with. The carpets will be darker, instead of the stringent red, and they will make their words smaller, the books easier to understand. The rest of the castle is warm in color, but cool in atmosphere. This room will be cool in color, but warm in atmosphere. The fire will always be set in its place, and they will try their best to make sure the warmth reaches him; if the fire fails, they will knit blankets; if the blankets fail they will make him tea, or warm milk with honey; and when everything else fails they will hold him. If there are tears here, scornful stares will not greet them, instead, kisses and lullabies will be behind door number three. If this room lives, it will be because of something much softer than pounding metal and lighting.

If a child is to live here, they must change that reflection. Everything Dracula’s castle appears to be, this room will be the reverse. Separate. Something… other than the castle.

This room will bottle all the laughter had in this castle. This room will be made of and for living, not the death the rest of the place is steeped in. So much so that this room will not stand for bloodshed.

Lisa brings in supplies from her town; color and cloth, boards and brushes, needle, and thread, and paper; all the things one needs to build a universe.

It is Dracula who takes the paint, who changes the color to something other than the blacks and reds of the rest of the Vampire’s world, cementing on the walls themselves You will not be dark here, my castle. You will be kind to him, Castlevania. The castle doesn’t know its master to work with his hands like a human, but Vlad is not the same within this room either—this room is part of the trade. He doesn’t use magic, or science, as if he is telling himself with every hammer that they are going to change together, the way one does when talking to the mirror.

Lisa sits in a chair and stiches together cloth and fur to make little creatures, toys for the boy to play with. Soft things, not sharp. They are reflections too, littler, simpler ones, of the creatures howling and prowling outside the castle’s walls, or scurrying within them.

But it is the ceiling that is the crowning jewel of the room. Something they paint together—splashing it onto each other’s clothes and noses.

His parents love the stars. They often walk outside the castle walls, fingers knit into each other’s, to gaze at them. They are scholars at soul, and have charted the constellations. They want their child to be able to do the same, to watch the stars, even if he’s not outside. At the end of every day they want him to be sung to sleep by the symphony of the night.

For them, maybe, but to the castle, one of the most interesting things about this room, is the mirror. This is strange, as, while there are other mirrors in this house, they are nothing more than a silver decoration; they have no purpose here, unless they float in shards and possibility. This is an ordinary mirror. It does hold something now, however, and that’s Lisa—only giving more credence to the idea that she is the only living thing in this castle. The castle wonders if they think it will reflect the child, as if they are hoping he will take after his mother and the room.

The mirror, and the windows. In the rest of the castle, the windows are always closed, curtained, or too small to let any real light in. But here they are big, and inviting to all the wiles of the day. Dracula protested—fearing he would burn. Lisa insisted—hoping he would shine.

The mirror, the room, are empty now. The windows closed. The books and charts dormant as the rest. It is not dead, but it’s not alive either. Not even undead. Just a question. An almost.

The room lays on Frankenstein’s table; just one lightning strike—(or one child’s laugh)—away from breathing.

[zeldahime]

Prompt (list linked in a reblog): You live across from me in our apartments and we smile when we see each other but we don’t really know each other and oh you’re the stripper at my friend’s stag do/hen night fuck this is really uncomfortable

Sapphic!XiYao, 1900 words.

***

Lan Xichen's across-the-hall neighbor, a small, delicate girl named Meng Yao, left her apartment for work at the same time Xichen arrived home most days; her days off were Tuesday and Wednesday, and Xichen's were Saturday and Sunday, but they still managed to see each other nearly every day.

They saw each other and talked often, little tidbits of their lives, but they'd never truly spoken.

Meng Yao knew, for example, nearly every detail of Xichen's sister's love drama, that she was getting married in two weeks, that her and her fiancée's bachelorette parties were being organized so that each bride could have a party they actually enjoyed. Meng Yao did not know, for example, that Xichen was being teased by her sister's fiancée for her own inability to ask her cute neighbor out on a date.

As Xichen left her apartment on Saturday night, ready for a night on the town with Wei Wuxian and company, Meng Yao was locking her own door, in her regular commuting wear.

("You wear jeans to work?" Xichen had once asked her, curious.

"Oh, I change when I get there. Dancing in these would be so impractical." Her laughter was beautiful.)

As Meng Yao had turned around, she looked ready to say something, lips slightly parted. Whatever words she had been about to say stayed hidden behind them, however, as she slowly gave Xichen a once-over and, finally, looked up at her through her eyelashes and smiled. Lan Xichen had never worn anything less casual than a full suit in front of Meng Yao before; standing before her in a tank top that said "...so we're getting DRUNK" and light wash jeans felt almost more revealing than if she were standing in the hall naked.

"It must be your sister's bachelorette party tonight?" she asked, and Xichen blushed to the tips of her ears.

"Her fiancée's," she managed to say in a conversational tone of voice. "Wangji's was last night. We just had dinner, but a-Sang organized a-Xian's, and I am given to understand it will be considerably more exciting."

"I hope you have fun," Meng Yao said with another dimpled smile. Before Xichen could gather her thoughts enough to answer, Meng Yao was already gone, her wave of black silk hair flowing behind her.

***

At first, Lan Xichen thought that Wei Wuxian's solution to the problem of her and Wangji having all the same friends was perfectly fine. One bachelorette party for Wangji on Friday, which would be planned by Lan Xichen; another for Wei Wuxian on Saturday, which would be planned by Nie Huaisang.

Wangji's bachelorette party had gone swimmingly; a nice dinner, with wine for the guests and sparkling cider for the family, understated and quiet and over by eight.

Wei Wuxian's was also going well, if her and Huaisang's smiling faces were anything to judge by. Lan Xichen sipped her virgin margarita and smiled, watching her soon-to-be sister go from a sober friendliness to unmitigated, unguarded, freely-given affection as she cultivated her happiness at her upcoming wedding into a golden glow of love, pulling everyone around her into her orbit. Even Mingjue-jie and Jiang Wanyin, whose perpetual scowls were being ground down into fond smiles, were not immune.

They were entering their fourth club of the night when Huaisang, flushed pink, announced that the party had officially begun, and drug them into what had been listed on the itinerary as "dancing ;)".

There was, indeed, dancing. They were not the ones dancing.

"Wow, SangSang, do you think I could do that?" Wei Wuxian slurred out, attempting a high-kick as the girl on stage began what looked to Xichen like a arabesque penché, before wrapping her working leg around the pole and lifting the rest of her body into the air. Wei Wuxian stumbled into Jiang Wanyin, who rolled their eyes as they caught her.

Lan Xichen did not hear what a-Sang thought, but she was reasonably sure that Wei Wuxian could not, in fact, do that.

They were herded by an enthusiastic Huaisang and a member of the staff into "the bachelorette suite," which Xichen was reasonably sure by the expression on the face of the.... maître'd? was actually more commonly reserved for groups of cisgender straight men than groups of queers with four genders between them.

The decorations in the room were clearly chosen by Huaisang, consistent with the rest of the night's theming: black and scarlet and gold, with penis-shaped balloons even though neither of the brides had those, and a banner hung behind the stage with "Last Fling Before The Ring" printed in the same cursive font as their matching shirts.

A maypole with white and gold ribbons stood alone on the stage as they sat in the chairs, arranged in a U, with Wei Wuxian at the center and a-Sang and Jiang Wanyin on either side of her. Mingjue-jie and Jiang Yanli sat on either side of their siblings. Xichen thought that sitting between Mingjue, who was clearly confused, and Wen Ning, who looked as awkward as Xichen felt, would be the best way to hopefully avoid the largest part of the attention.

As the music began, their dancer walked out onto the stage, wearing a long, sleek silk robe with a flower motif, her hair held in place above her head with a matching lobster clip. She approached the center of the stage, face pointed down, and body held still.

The music began, and four counts in, she snapped her head up, and began to move.

Meng Yao.

With a snap and a flourish, her robe fell to the floor and heat rose in Xichen's face at her neighbor in skin-tight leather, twirling one of the maypole ribbons around her finger. Xichen definitely should not be seeing this. If Meng Yao wanted her to know that she worked in such a place, she would have told her. But to get up and leave in the middle of a performance, especially in such a small audience, would be the height of rudeness. If someone she knew left while she was performing a recital, it would shake her.

So she stayed and tried not to be aroused as Meng Yao drew the ribbons off the pole, delivering the first to Wei Wuxian with a teasing kiss on the cheek, to the rest of them -- finally, to her, with the barest touch of her fingers against Xichen's jaw, tilting her face up as though for a kiss and then pulling away, leaving a trail of electricity in her wake. Xichen crossed her legs and recited all 3000 rules of the Lan Academy for Girls, the periodic table of elements, all mutliples of 12. She was, unfortunately, completely unsuccessful in thinking of anything distracting once Meng Yao began to dance on the now-ribbonless maypole. Which, in retrospect, was clearly not a maypole at all.

Very fortunately for Xichen's sanity, even while drunk Wei Wuxian had no desire to do anything that might in her mind count as cheating on Wangji, and she finally connected the dots.

"SangSang," she whispered very loudly, "this is a strip club, isn't it? We should go home, SangSang-- a-Cheng! Hi! We should go home before Lan Zhan catches us, a-Cheng, we're breaking the rules and I care about this rule, a-Cheng."

Jiang Yanli, bless her heart, was on her feet and helping her giggling sister out of the club immediately, and gradually everyone else cleared out as well, until it Xichen was the only one left. She wasn't sure her legs would work when she stood up.

"I'm sorry about.... this." Xichen said to Meng Yao, as she sat primly on the edge of the stage. "I understand tipping is customary but I'm not sure...."

"Usually small bills as I dance," Meng Yao said quietly. "Don't worry about it, SangSang will make sure I get what I would have earned. We have a standing deal."

"Ah."

Awkward silence settled over them as they continued to sit in a room filled with dick-balloons.

"I am a dancer," Meng Yao said suddenly. "I didn't lie to you. I did ballet until I was 16, and I still --"

"This is dancing," Xichen said. She met Meng Yao's eyes, disregarding the blush she felt renewing itself under her skin. "Just because it isn't ballet doesn't mean it's somehow not dance." Meng Yao's eyes went wide, almost perfectly round, before she looks at the ground again.

"Would you like to see? Your friends had me for the next hour and a half, and I don't need to go out on the floor tonight. With events like this we get the rest of the night off."

Xichen nodded. "If you want to show me. I'd like that."

Meng Yao smiled slowly, and put her discarded robe on one of the chairs. She didn't turn the music back on. Instead, she stood on the stage, counted to eight, and simply moved.

She went slowly, her mastery of every muscle in her body evident as she held positions that should overbalance her, sensuously tracing over every curve and line with a delicate hand. She bent her body in ways that Xichen didn't know were possible, with the grace of an angel and a sweetly seductive smile on her face. She spun herself around the pole using only one hand to support herself.

Xichen's legs were crossed very tightly at the ankle as she reminded herself to appreciate the dance's artistic merit. It was not difficult to do so -- it was a beautiful and physically demanding thing, executed with technical precision. It was also extraordinarily sexy. Which, she supposed, added to its merit further.

Then, coming off the pole, Meng Yao smirked, and Lan Xichen's breath caught in her throat as she curtseyed, skin shiny with sweat and hair slightly mussed in its clip. As Xichen sat stunned, Meng Yao's smirk faded, and she suddenly grabbed her robe and hurriedly put it on, reaching for the door.

"Well, I hope that was a good demonstration, Lan Xichen," Meng Yao said. "I suppose I'll see you... eventually. At home."

"Wait," Xichen said, before Meng Yao could leave without somehow knowing that this didn't have to change anything, didn't have to cast them back into strangers. "I'm going to call a rideshare. You take the bus home, don't you? You can ride with me. We're going to the same place."

Meng Yao's hand paused over the doorknob. "I still have to change back into street clothes."

It wasn't a no.

"I'll wait," Xichen promised. "I'll wait for you to be ready."

They traveled in electric silence. Lan Xichen's throat was dry, and she understood now why people called this feeling "thirst," and her crush on Meng Yao seemed so heavy in the air between them that it truly was a wonder she had agreed. When they reached their apartments, Xichen could barely stand to say goodbye.

So, when she opened her mouth, goodbye was not what came out, but "Would you like some tea?"

Meng Yao smiled one of her fragile, genuine smiles and said yes.

[eryiss]

Summary: 'Freed The Dark, God of Death and ruler of the Netherworld. Followed by a reputation as rotten and stinking as the corpses he gives a home; he had been ostracized by gods and angels alike. And as the war between gods got closer, and those he cared for are dragged into the fight, his seclusion begins to twist his mind against him. But as his darkest day approached, he was forced to choose where his morals lie.' - Levy McGarden: A Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods. [Fraxus One Shot]

Event: Fairy Tail Reverse Bang (Hosted by @ftguildevents​)

This was made in partnership with the great @fairiesherefairiesthere​, who made the beautiful artwork that made this fic possible. You should show them and their work a lot of love, and reblog it from here.

You can read it on Fanfiction, Archive of Our Own, or under the cut. Hope you enjoy.

Once Dead, Now Judged

The God of Death. The God of Judgment.

His is a story many people believe that they know, one that has been spoken of many times. In the telling and retelling of this story, many aspects of what made it so important have been lost. The Gods have been diluted into a single trait, and their significance in the tale is often misunderstood or disregarded entirely. The story has been condensed into a point where it can be explained in a single statement.

'The God of Death wanted the war to end, so he ended it.'

Of course this is not the truth of the matter. This mindset disregards both the personal and the political motivations which led to these decisions. It disregards the humanity behind the Gods, the fact that they were people and had flaws and loves, all of which led to that famous moment. The moment where corpses walked upon water, where souls were ready to kill souls. Where a disrespected God had the world at his feet, and chose to save it rather than destroy it as it perhaps deserved.

The moment where Freed Justine, God of both Death and Judgment, shaped the future.

Artists have often tried to capture the moment in their work. Countless renditions of the battlefield have been painted, each depicting the shadow of the death God looming over the fight to put an end to it. These depictions of the moment, while both beautiful and important, often hide away the humanity behind the story. This moment wasn't the God of Death's. It was Freed Justine's.

One such painting that recognises this is called the 'Knight of Judgment'.

Knight Of Judgement. Artist Unknown. Date Unknown.

Though its artist is uncredited, it is clear that they see the story in the same personal light that I do. It shows the moment that shapes our reality, but not from the perspective of the battlefield. From the perspective of the man who made it happen. That is the story that I will be telling you all today.

The untold story of the man behind the God.

Of the human behind the revolution.

Of Freed the Dark, God of Death, and ruler of the Netherworld. Followed by a reputation as rotten and stinking as the corpses he gave sanctuary; he had been ostracized by Gods and angels alike. And as the war between Gods got closer, and those he cared for are dragged into the fight, his seclusion began to twist his mind against him. But as his darkest day approached, he was forced to choose where his morals lie.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

"Bastards!"

Freed's words echoed throughout the chamber as he stormed through it. Darkness covered almost everything, with light filtering in through the stained-glass windows that circled his throne room. His footsteps reverberated through the room as an accompaniment to his anger, the heels of his boots slamming against the black marble flooring.

On his face sneered a scowl, his fists were clenched at his sides, and he made a sharp gesture towards the large wooden doors before him. They opened with speed, slamming into the walls, and cracking slightly, sending a gust of wind towards the God which lifted his hair and the long black robe that hung behind him.

"Sanctimonious ego driven bastards!" He roared into the nothingness of his castle.

How dare they? How dare they!

He shouldn't have expected anything more. He should have gotten used to his treatment at that fucking table. He should have long since forgone any hope of being treated as an equal before them all, because they didn't see him as such. To them he was nothing but a utility, the person who cleaned up the messed that their ridiculous infighting was responsible for. That was the only reason why he had been called to service, and it was the only reason would ever be called to service, because people were going to die, and they needed him accommodate them.

The Netherworld was nothing but their dumping ground. They saw it as justification for allowing their stupidity to interfere with people. A way out of feeling guilt for the people their fancies killed. They delude themselves into thinking the Netherworld was just another part of life for humans, and refused to listen to anything that would break that illusion.

And Freed: he was nothing to them. He was just the person who kept the gates closed, stopping the corpses and the souls from returning to life with the anger of being wronged by the Gods.

"Bastards!" He yelled for a third time.

With a snarl, he slammed his hand on the wall at his side. The impact created an almost soft cracking sound, and a fissure-like tear ripped apart the wall of the corridor he was walking down. Bricks split apart, and windows shattered into shards on the floor.

The sensation of destruction was cathartic, but only slightly.

A moment later, he heard footsteps behind him, running to catch up with him. It was Evergreen, who he had placed outside of his throne room while he communed with the other Gods. Communication was though the mind, leaving his body essentially empty, so it needed to be guarded. Once, a man had made the mistake of attacking him in that state; now, the attacker endured the sensation of acid being secreted directly into his skin as penance.

Freed always made sure someone was on guard now, predominantly because changing someone's genetic makeup in such a way was a tedious process.

Though at that moment, it sounded delightful.

Everyone seemed to understand that Freed was not a man to target. Though, most people didn't have the opinion of him to do so. So long as you didn't break his trust, he would show a level of decency towards you. Most understood that his decency was a kindness, and they wouldn't risk losing it.

He didn't slow his place, and took a small amount of pleasure from the glass cracking under his feet as he walked. Pushing his arm forward, he slammed another set of doors open, the hinges cracking with the strain of such fast movement. By the time he had reached the threshold and walked into lobby of his castle, Evergreen had caught up to him.

"Freed," She said, and he glanced to his side to see Evergreen had sprouted wings and was hovering slightly to increase her speed. The wings had an odd look to them, and Evergreen had once stated they resembled fairy wings. Freed enjoyed her eccentricities, as odd as they were. It made her more human.

Something the bastards at the 'Table of the Gods' would do good to understand.

"They see us as nothing but a way to distance themselves from responsibility," Freed snapped at her, uncaring for the lack of context. He slowed down a little so Evergreen didn't have to fly to keep up with him, though.

Evergreen was a demon, technically. Freed disliked the term, as there was nothing separating his demons with any other God's angels, other than the fact she lived in the Netherworld rather than in the skies. It was another way that the so-called Higher Gods separated themselves from Freed. They were Gods of the world and they had their angels. He was a God of the Netherworld who had his demons. Ridiculous political bullshit.

She was one of the highest-ranking demons in the Netherworld. Freed had placed her in control of the corpses, or fairies as she called them. Her particular magic allowed her to revitalise the bodies of the dead, as their own genetics failed to do so. Rather than having limbs fall off, she kept them healthy and functional. For those who wanted it, she would change what they looked like slightly to the persons ideal form of beauty. Freed never particularly understood why people cared that much for what they looked like, but it seemed to make his subjects happy so he wouldn't intervene.

Evergreen made up one third of the triad named Raijinshuu. Freed and Bickslow completed it.

"What happened exactly?" Evergreen probed, dropping to the floor and letting her wings flitter away.

"What always happens," Freed growled. "They politely informed me that there would be an influx of dead coming and I'm to accept it without argument nor question. And of course they tried to imbue their politics into the situation, claiming certain dead should be treated better than others."

"Ah," Evergreen said in recognition before echoing Freed's own statement. "What always happens."

She placed a hand on the Gods back in a soft touch. Given his situation, Freed didn't have the chance to get close to people on a human level; an issue faced by all Gods no doubt. But his two top demons were what he considered friends, and he had made a great effort to show that he didn't see himself above them. That couldn't work with all demons, of course, as he needed to keep a level of authority over his land. But the two of them were allowed to see him without any of his facades or defences.

Some of the other Gods who knew this looked down on him for this. But he had spoken to more humans than they knew existed, and each of them had stated the importance of connections with other people. They were more knowledgeable than any God about what made life worth living.

That was why Freed wished to be involved in conversations about dead. He knew humans as more than just a premise. They weren't just hypothetically alive. They had thoughts just as much as any God, they were simply more breakable than them. As the thought struck him, another wave of anger creeped over him.

He leant his back against Evergreen's hand. Physical contact with other people grounded him.

"Come on," Evergreen said, apparently noticing Freed's return to rigid posture. "We thought this might happen."

Eventually, after walking through many of the hallways in his home, he was guided towards one of the many sitting rooms. It was his favourite, given its large fireplace, the fact it was at the back of the castle, and the view overlooking the garden. It was the most secluded place in the building, and therefore the most comfortable for him.

When they walked in, Bickslow was waiting for him. The fire was roaring and crackling, the wooden shutters had been closed to keep the light inside, and a china teapot was steaming out of the funnel with three teacups resting beside it.

It was nice to have connections with people. People did kind things for you.

"There's the big scary God of Death," Bickslow said with a taunt in his voice. "Did someone get angry and demolish a corridor again?"

"Do you really think it's wise to antagonise me, Bickslow?" Freed said, the amusement almost unnoticeably seeping into his tone. "I control this realm entirely; I can force you to eat a human heart and drown on the blood, should the mood take me."

"I prefer a liver, really. Less messy," Bickslow said with a cackle.

Freed smiled a little at that, relaxing into the easy-going environment Bickslow always projected. Making up the final part of Raijinshuu – or the tribe of hell – he was of equal power to Evergreen, and equally important to Freed.

Whereas Evergreen looked after the bodies of the deceased, Bickslow looked after the souls. This was an equally important job, as both the soul and the body made life. Just like an uncared-for body would fall apart and crumble without care, the soul would spiral into darkness and insanity, becoming self-destructive and dying out like a star. Bickslow both used his magic and his personality – so he claimed – to keep the souls both sane and content.

The two demons worked together well. They needed to. Death was the process of splitting up a soul from one's body. For an afterlife to begin, the soul and the body needed to be brought back together. Evergreen and Bickslow were responsible for merging them both when possible.

They were quite affective at their work.

The process was often a tedious one, it must be said. Bodies and souls could appear anywhere in the Netherworld, and could often go unfound for centuries. Sometimes a body would be destroyed to the point where Evergreen couldn't save it, sometimes a soul had gone mad before anyone could even find it. Thankfully, this usually only happened to those who were truly evil, perhaps as some form of karmic punishment, but both Evergreen and Bickslow were still respectful in how they dealt with those cases.

Evergreen had created a forest, fertilised with what remained of the corpses. Bickslow had created a spell where the remnants of souls could be merged together, making an entirely new soul. It had happened thousands of times, and Bickslow had crafted only five souls out of these remnants. They had been assigned to little dolls, which followed the man around constantly.

"Since I knew you'd be all icy," Bickslow continued, picking up a teacup and proffering it to Freed. "I thought you'd enjoy this. Masala tea, nice and hot."

Freed took the cup with a word of thanks. He tried to keep the culture of the living at arm's length for most of the time, but he had once drunk tea and found it rather spectacular, and decided he would allow certain parts of humanity into his own life. He was allowed to have a weakness, and a warm drink was a good one to have.

"What happened then?" Evergreen asked, sitting at one of the red sofas opposite the God. "Specifically."

"There's a war coming, so they think," Freed sighed, placing the teacup down. "Apparently they don't intend to be subtle if it does happen, and humans will be killed in thousands. We have been instructed to make plans to accommodate the dead."

"Instructed huh?" Bickslow said with a small grunt.

"Indeed," Freed nodded. "Apparently the ridiculous feud between Makarov and his idiot son has boiled over. They expect the first casualty within months. And once one person is killed, either man will willingly do anything in return to prove their point."

"And they have to drag the people into it?" Evergreen sighed.

"I doubt that they have to, but they will," Freed mused. "They don't see the people as being alive any more than an ocean, or a mountain. They're just little creatures to them, barely thinking in comparison to a God. Why would the bother with the effort of keeping them alive?"

"They didn't listen to ya when you told them that, huh?" Bickslow asked.

"Ivan's exact words to me were 'Keep your corpse fucker mouth shut,'" Freed shrugged.

"He hasn't gotten any smarter, then, if that's the best insult he could think of," Evergreen muttered, and Freed laughed. It was a clipped, cynical laugh, but better than nothing.

"If he ever ends up down here, I shall need one of your souls to possess that ridiculous suit of armour he insists on wearing," Freed said, looking to Bickslow. "It would be a nice level of irony that the thing he wears to protect him ends up ripping his bowels out and crushes them as he watches. I'd find that pleasant."

"I'll get em trained up ready," Bickslow said with a grin. "But you don't think they can be cooled off. Makarov and Ivan I mean. They've never gotten along, you said, but they've never gone to war."

"Laxus is trying to calm them both down, but I doubt he'll be of any help. He fights with Ivan as much as his grandfather does," Freed lifted the teacup to his lips again, sipping at the spicy liquid and allowing it to warm his cold blood. "And it seems like their millenniums worth of grievances has come to return all at once. Laxus would have to be a saint as well as a God to get them to even consider being diplomatic."

"So we gotta play clean-up because their pissing contest is gonna get violent," Bickslow surmised, and Freed nodded. "And they don't even have the fucking courtesy to talk to you like an equal."

"They consider themselves to be the most important beings in existence. Annoyingly, existence seems to agree," Freed said with a tired expression. "Why would they care about the ants they're crushing? Or the people who try to help them?"

"Should we be expecting Laxus here anytime soon?" Evergreen asked.

"Perhaps, though not in the next few days. Calming them both will be his priority," Freed stood up, placing his tea in its saucer again. "I suppose they're right, though. We need to prepare if half the world is going to be slaughtered."

Bickslow and Evergreen shared a look.

"Tomorrow," Bickslow said firmly. "We start tomorrow."

"There's hardly any reason to prolong-"

"Tomorrow," The demons said in unison, and Evergreen continued talking. "You've not slept in days, if nothing else allow yourself a night's rest."

"A few hours ain't gonna affect anything," Bickslow added. "And we both know that anything you do while pissed off ain't gonna be as good as if you're calm. So take the night off and sleep."

Freed took a moment to think, then sighed and nodded. He returned to the chair like they so clearly wanted and allowed Bickslow to pour him another cup of tea. He brought it to his lips and watched as his friends smiled in contentment of their actions. It was important that he had these people in his life, and he was glad that they were there.

As tedious as they may be.

~~~

Often disregarded in the story of Freed the Dark is the people close to him. His relationships with both his friends and those he ruled were imperative to his overall decision to enter the war. As leader of the Netherworld, he was shaped more by humanity than any other God, and without this influence it is unclear as to whether or not he would have walked into the fight or not.

The closeness he held to those not of his blood was anomalous for a God, and was part of the reason as to why he was disrespected and looked down upon by some of his fellow Gods. They saw him as impure, tainted by the lesser beings of the land.

It is important to state that not every God looked down upon him. He was not the victim of complete ostracization, and certain Gods looked to him as an ally, friend and, in the case of Laxus Dreyar, a lover.

Laxus was the youngest son of the Higher God's, known colloquially as the Dreyar's. The grandfather and patriarch of the family, Makarov, was known to be God of Expansion and Family. He sat at the head of the God's Table, and was seen by all as the ruler of the Gods. Makarov's son Ivan, the God of Persona, and later the God of Tricksters, showed great levels of jealousy towards his father and tried on many occasions to usurp him, both through manipulations and violence.

The family of Gods were all-powerful and volatile.

However, Laxus showed himself to be different. After being manipulated against Makarov, Laxus chose to leave the skies. It is stated that he was unsure where Ivan's manipulations ended, and his own personality began. His exile was so he could become his own man.

It was during this exile he found himself in the Netherworld, walking through the garden of the castle.

Meeting the God of death, they quickly found solace in each other's company. Laxus understood better than most the hardships of being a God, particularly one involved in the politics of others. They could relate to each other on a level nobody else could, and what started as a mutual fondness quickly developed into love.

Their relationship was kept secret from most, with only those closest to the men knowing in the days before the war. Despite the secretive nature of the romance, both men adored each other. It cannot be overstated how important this relationship was in proceeds that ended the war.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

Having loved the man for so long, Freed knew what to look for when Laxus was approaching.

Being the God of both Thunder and Lightning, when Laxus was around there was a certain feeling in the air. The slight presence of static, a partial increase of humidity, and a tiny chill to the air. Freed would compare it to the feeling of standing in a cloud that was just about to bear lightning. Most people either didn't notice the feeling, or saw it as an imposition. Freed rather liked the sensation, it was as if he was being wrapped up in the long fur lined cloak that Laxus wore.

The feeling arrived before the man himself. Laxus' abilities allowed him to become one with the clouds and lightning, and to form a cloud wherever he saw fit. So when he wished to visit Freed, he would summon a cloud into the castle, and bring his consciousness into it, his body following soon after.

In the first few instances of his arrival, the cloud had struck lightning and Laxus had formed out of that. Laxus later revealed it was an unnecessary level of showmanship, and he was showing off.

Freed looked back on that confession with fondness.

When the smoke coming from the fireplace started to pool in the air, followed by the sensation of static, humidity and a chill, Freed knew that his lover would soon be with him. The God placed his wine glass at the table beside him with a soft smile, waiting patiently for the cloud to dissipate and for his lover to be by his side.

"Mr Dreyar," Freed said pleasantly, watching as the cloud burst and left Laxus in its place. "A pleasure to see you again."

Laxus didn't say anything at first, but instead stalked over towards Freed and wrapped his arms around the man tightly. Freed couldn't be sure what had spurred the action on, but hugged his lover back with an equally strong grasp. They stayed like this for a moment, tightly embracing one another as the fire crackled beside them.

"Sorry it took so long to get here," Laxus muttered into Freed's shoulder.

"You needn't be," Freed replied almost automatically. "They're your family, and you have a responsibility to them."

It had been just shy of a week since the meeting of the Gods, and where Freed had yet again been dismissed by the leaders. Laxus had been in attendance at the meeting, of course, and Freed hadn't seen him since he had walked out.

The time since then had been mainly spent preparing the Netherworld for the inevitable influx of dead. His demons had been told to be vigilant for new souls and corpses, as when they would come was unknown. The dead had been told to begin preparing buildings and homes for the newly dead, as Freed would not allow for overpopulation. And everyone had been informed that their ancestors and relatives might die soon, and they would need their families to help them adjust, so to prepare themselves for that. It had all been busywork for Freed, and partly because he wanted to distract himself from his lover's absence.

"I should have come to you sooner," Laxus said, burying his face into the crook of Freed's neck.

"You're here now," Freed whispered. "And that's enough. And anyway, Bickslow and Evergreen have been keeping me sane. As has the work."

"I'll thank 'em later," Laxus mumbled, pressing his lips into Freed's neck in a kiss. "You sure you're okay?"

"I believe I've calmed down," Freed said with a nod.

"Can't believe you stormed out like that," Laxus said, removing himself from Freed's arms. "Don't think either of the bastards ever had someone do anything like that to them before, you should have seen their faces after you left."

"I doubt it'll change anything," Freed shrugged, picking up his wine again.

"You pissed 'em both off, that's something," Laxus said with a hint of a laugh in his voice. "You know when they realise we've been together for centuries, they're gonna think that you're the reason I rebelled against them."

"Finally I'll be credited for something worthwhile," Freed chuckled a little at that.

Freed was unaware of it, but Laxus looked towards him with a hint of sadness in his eyes. He had long since been aware of the disrespect Freed faced from both the Dreyar's and many of the other Gods. He had tried what he could to change that, so far as to defend him both before and after Freed had left the meeting a week prior. But the Gods were stubborn, and set in their prejudices. Laxus just hoped that one day they would change their ways.

"I'm sorry they don't treat you right," Laxus apologised, speaking softly.

"Don't be," Freed instructed, standing up and walking to the window. He was in a study overlooking the Netherworld, and looked out over the dead before him. "I should have gotten over it by now."

"You shouldn't have to," Laxus insisted, standing up.

"Maybe it's for the best," Freed sighed, tapping his fingers against the windowsill. "I'm sure if they paid more attention to me then they'd look upon this world with distain. No doubt they'd have hundreds of issues with how I treat my subjects. With their logic they'd want me to torture the good and kneel before the bad."

"And they'd be wrong," Laxus assured him, wrapping his arms around the man. "You're a good man, Freed, and a damn good God, too."

"There's a certain level of irony in calling me a 'damn' good God," Freed chuckled, turning around in his lover's arms, grinning.

He pressed their lips together, Laxus leaning into the kiss softly. They had not kissed in a month and, even with their seemingly endless lives, that was far too long a time to go without it. Freed adored his Lightning God, the beautiful man who split open the skies with a wave of his hand, and created the most spectacular tapestries of light on the canvas of a cloudy night. He was a poet in actions, even if he refused the claim, and Freed was enamoured with the man and wished to show it with his kiss.

Love was something the humans had taught him. He liked it.

When they pulled apart, they stood in each other's arms with content expressions. Laxus looked spectacular like this, with a soft smile and no falseness on his face. He had once confessed that he truly only felt himself when with Freed. Though the sadness of the statement was not lost on him, Freed was thankful that he and his kingdom could offer the man sanctuary.

"You chose to come here through smoke, rather than your own cloud," Freed eventually spoke, and Laxus looked down on him with a quirk in his eyebrow. "May I assume that was so you could hide how you felt."

Laxus sighed. His ability to control the weather was slightly tethered to his emotions. The more emotional he felt, the stronger the impact of his abilities. If he was emotional, the lighting would be more ferocious, the thunder would echo louder, and the rain would be heavier. It also affected the clouds, and the darker his mood, the darker the clouds. Had he not used the smoke from Freed's fireplace, the cloud he summoned would have been blacker than the nights sky.

"I needed to prioritise you without you worrying," Laxus sighed. "You were upset, I wanted to make you feel better."

"I appreciate that," Freed nodded, bringing his hands up to stroke Laxus' cheeks. "But you need comfort too. So would you like to discuss what's wrong?"

Laxus took a moment, before deflating slightly.

"They're gonna fight, Freed," He whispered, almost not believing his own words. "I couldn't talk 'em down from it. I thought I could; Makarov at least would have listed to reason I thought. But neither of them even looked at me, they didn't care. Gramps said that Ivan would turn the world to darkness if left to his own devices, and Ivan said he should have killed him a millennia ago. There was nothing I could do."

"It wasn't your responsibility to stop them," Freed spoke softly. "Don't you dare start blaming this on yourself."

"They're both getting troops together. And nobody else can stop them because they're scared of 'em, so they're just gonna keep dragging everybody into the fight. I don't even think it's gonna be a fight, it's just gonna be the two of them pissed off and sending people to slaughter."

"It's unfortunate," Freed sighed. "But I'll do good by the dead, if that's any consolation."

"It ain't your job to clean up after them. And it shouldn't be the people's job to fight for them," Laxus argued with a growl. "They should just fucking fight between themselves if they need to. Why do they have to drag people into it?"

Freed didn't have an answer to that, so instead took his lovers hand in his own and held it. The man was shaking, and Freed felt that it wasn't entirely because of anger. He looked at the man's face and his heart almost broke. Laxus was portraying anger, but Freed had looked at enough humans faces to know fear when he saw it. He pressed their foreheads together in a gesture that hopefully calmed the man, before he spoke.

"I won't let them take you if you don't want to fight," He promised softly.

"You can't stop them," Laxus sighed, leaning against Freed. "They'll invade this place and rip apart everything you've done if they want to."

"Perhaps they won't want to."

"He called me a strategic advantage," Laxus sighed. "Ivan, my own father, said having me on his side would be a strategic advantage. I command the sky, so having me fight for them would ensue a victory. And gramps didn't say it, but he knows that it's true. They ain't gonna let me hide away. And I'm not gonna let them bring their fight here because of me."

Freed wanted to argue the point, but couldn't. The fight would take place in the skies. Having someone bring lightning down on any oncoming army would be invaluable. But Laxus didn't need to hear that.

"You can stay with me for as long as you please," Freed promised. "But you're right. You probably will be brought into the fight, so I want you to make me a promise."

"Anything," Laxus nodded.

"Pick the right side," Freed said firmly. "There is cruelty in them both, but we both know who the better leader will be. And so long as you have the choice in who you fight for, you must promise me that you pick the right one."

"I will," Laxus promised, and brought both of Freed's hands to his mouth to kiss, as if sealing the promise.

"How long do you expect we have until the war begins?" Freed asked.

"Months, at most," Laxus sighed. "I don't know when exactly, but everyone seems to know this is gonna be important, and neither side is gonna want to make a mistake early on. So they'll take time to build up their support and make their armies stronger. But they both wanna make the first hit, so they can't be building forever. In a year's time we'll be in deep."

"Perhaps we could do something," Freed offered. "Sabotage them in some way."

"They'll have more defences than we can imagine," Laxus rebutted. "Right now, I just wanna sleep."

"My bed chamber is always open for use for you," Freed assured him, unwrapping himself from his lover's arms. "Take all the time you need."

"Only if you join me," Laxus said, voice firm. "Ever and Bix already told me that you've been working yourself hard, and that you've been delaying sleep when you can get away with it. So if I sleep, then you have to too."

"If you insist," Freed said with a smile. "And I suppose it's appropriate."

"What d'you mean?"

"Well, given that we're in the Netherworld, sleeping seems appropriate," He looked to Laxus with a mischievous grin. "Where else is there to rest in peace?"

Laxus barked out a disbelieving laugh. "You've the most fucking morbid sense of humour, it's fucking great."

And, in spite of the situation, both men smiled as they retired to bed.

~~~

I believe that the 'Knight of Judgment' is a unique painting as it shows what was important to Freed in the days of the war.

Located in the lower regions of the painting, you can see both Laxus and the Raijinshuu. They are shown to be sitting at a table, which multiple artists and historians agree signifies how they influenced Freed in his actions. In many ways, this is a representation of Freed's own Table of the Gods, with those he held close holding his council.

The location of them in the painting is also significant. They are placed in his stomach: they are a part of him that he carried with him throughout the darkest days of his life.

It is a great sorrow that he needed to be secluded from them for the war to end.

The affect that the war had on the Netherworld was unique. Although the realm was secluded and the battle never neared the doors to the Netherworld, the impact of the fighting was said to have been felt in different ways. An overall atmosphere of unease is said to have filled the land, and there was an obvious influx of the dead. Both humans and angels were being slayed at an alarming rate.

The horrors of the war were unseen, but not unknown.

It is said that Freed often found himself at the doors of the Netherworld, contemplating seeing the fray first hand. He stopped himself each time, instead putting his focus on the new wave of deaths that came with each day. At this time, he relied on his friends and lover for support. As often told, this reliance could only last for so long.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

"I'm glad that you're here again," Freed said softly.

The God was lying on his large bed, arm in arm with his lover. Draped in velvet sheets, Freed couldn't help the look of fondness that adorned his features, nor did he care to try. It had been months since he had last had Laxus in his arms, and the loss of his lover's presence was starting to take effect. When he had felt the familiar static, humidity, and chill, he had worn a smile that could almost be described as giddy.

He had needed something to make him happy. The war had brought wave after wave of dead, meaning Freed and his demons were worked to the bone in accommodating them. Every day, hundreds of scared people were brought to his door, traumatised from their murder.

Every day, his anger at the fighting Gods increased.

Freed had worked himself harder than he'd ever needed to. Not only did he go about his usual roles as leader, but he also tried to assist his demons. Sometimes he would search the plains of the Netherworld to find lost souls. Sometimes he would work with The Raijinshuu to merge a body with its owner. Sometimes he would go to the city and build homes for the newly deceased. Ivan and Makarov had already taken their lives away, Freed should do whatever he could to keep them safe in his domain.

He and Laxus had spoken often, but not once in person. Laxus had been doing whatever he could to calm the fighting, even in the smallest of ways. He worked mainly with his grandfather, trying to veer him away from more destructive ways of attack. He had been successful for a while, but Ivan's power was growing and apparently it was getting harder for Laxus to keep Makarov's destructive plans at bay.

The longer the war lasted, the harder it was for Laxus to do anything really.

It was why he had come to Freed's castle. They both knew it.

"Sorry it ain't with better news," Laxus sighed, placing a hand on Freed's cheek with adoration in his eyes. "They're not gonna stop until someone wins. And I think they're just gonna get worse."

"So there's no point in trying to mediate anymore," Freed concluded.

"I think I have to join in first hand," Laxus said in a defeated tone, and Freed stroked his cheek with his knuckle. "I'm not doing anything on the side-lines anymore, they're both too focused on the fight to listen anymore. At least if I join in now, I get to choose which side I'm on rather than being dragged into it against my will."

"And, for full clarity, who's side will you be fighting for?" Freed asked, cautiously.

He was almost certain as to who Laxus would side with, but couldn't be sure. Ivan was a master manipulator and had unfortunately groomed Laxus into being his ideal child before Laxus had left him. It was always a lingering worry of Freed's that Laxus might be manipulated again.

He trusted the man, though. He had to.

"Gramps," Laxus said, nodding slightly to affirm his choice. "The way he's fighting is fucking awful, and he's not acting like he used to. But he's definitely the better of two evils right now. If Ivan wins control, everything he wants is so twisted and cruel. And if we can't get them in a room to talk it out, or stop it some other way, then we have to stop him with force. And, like he said, whatever side has me on it has an advantage. Might as well use it for some good, I guess."

"It's not right that they use you as a weapon," Freed sighed, pressing their foreheads together.

"I'd rather be a weapon for good, than nothing," Laxus mumbled, but there was a level of defeat in his tone.

Freed hated hearing his lover in such a state. His relationship with his father had always been strained, but Laxus had looked up to his grandfather and loved the man dearly. But the way he spoke of Makarov as of late made Freed think he was a shell of his former self. His defence of his values had made him cruel. Makarov preached love and family more than most Gods, and yet he sent people to die to keep these values. He had become a hypocrite of the worst kind, and it seemed to be hurting Laxus more than he would admit.

Placing a hand on Laxus' cheek, Freed looked at him with a soft expression. Laxus closed his eyes and leant into his hand, and it was clear how much strain the man was putting on himself. Freed let his face turn sad for a moment.

"He's not as he used to be, is he?" He eventually asked, speaking about Makarov.

"He's so focused on winning the fight, he's not paying attention to what he's doing," Laxus admitted. "Sometimes, I worry what he'll be like when the war's over."

"You need to make sure he keeps his humanity then," Freed said as he nuzzled further into his lover's grasp. "If you're going to be fighting with him, then you can at least try and keep him sane and kind."

"I'll do what I can, but I might have lost him already."

Before Freed could try to argue the point, Laxus shifted so he was sitting up in the bed. He made a gesture with his hand, and a dark cloud crackled to life in front of them, with lighting shimmering all over it. Freed recognised it as the same spell they had been using to talk when away from each other. It was essentially a looking glass into another location; Laxus was showing him part of the war, something Freed hadn't yet been privy too.

It was abhorrent.

The fighting was taking place over the ocean, and it looked near cataclysmic. Huge waves were sloshing and forming, higher than any wave should be. They crashed into oncoming soldiers with thoughtless ferocity, and Ivan's fighters looked practically ant-like against the attacks from the sea. They were washed away, most probably drowning. Despite knowing what the world would be like if Ivan's troops won, Freed felt something like sympathy for them.

In the centre of the spyglass stood Juvia, Goddess of the Sea, who was clearly controlling the ocean. Her expression was stern and face without regret. Standing either side of her were Natsu, God of Fire, and Lucy, Goddess of the Stars.

Lucy's eyes glowed and she raised a hand into the air. Suddenly the nights sky was plunged into darkness, as if all of the stars had been extinguished within a moment. Even knowing that behind the darkness was a hellish fighting, it was almost a moment of calm. Just the darkness and the sound of the ocean.

And then there was screaming. Fire spread through the enemy forces, illuminating their pain and nothing else. The removal of light had been a distraction that allowed Natsu to climb aboard the ships of the opposing troops. Some of them jumped over the edge of the boats, and found themselves churned up in a whirlpool of Juvia's creation. It was only when he saw the angels battered against the rocks did Freed realise how close they were to the coast.

How close they were to the humans, who had nothing to do with the fight.

It was sickening to watch, made worse by the fact Freed knew the three Gods responsible. Natsu and Lucy were some of the most optimistic people he had met, and had never judged him. And although he didn't know Juvia well, she had always been kind to him. Everything he watched contrasted with what he knew of these people.

"Gramps orchestrated this," Laxus sighed, flicking his wrist, and removing the spyglass.

"Yes," Freed agreed, voice quiet. "I expect it isn't easy to see."

"I told him not to do it," Laxus said with a growl. "I told him that he shouldn't do it near the coast, that people are gonna die because of it. And not just because they get dragged into the whirlpool, but because it's gonna affect the landscape. Juvia can't make water, so she's getting it from the clouds. It won't rain for months so crops are gonna die. And the fish ain't gonna be where they should be, so who fucking knows when they're gonna eat."

"Don't hold yourself accountable for that," Freed said firmly.

"But when I join the fight, it'll be my fucking fault," Laxus exclaimed with equal parts annoyance and exasperation. "But I can't let that stop me, because if I stay out of the fight then I'll either be complacent in it or I'll be dragged into it and forced to do the same crap against my own will. It's just… it's just shit."

Rather than speaking – there was nothing he could say to make it better – Freed kissed his lover slowly. Laxus moved his lips with Freed's, and it was almost in a desperate way. It was awful to see Laxus with such fear in his soul. Freed wished he could do more.

"Even in this war, you are still your own man, Laxus," Freed said softly, pulling apart. "You have your own mind, your own opinions, and your own morality. If you don't want to change, then you don't have to. Hold onto yourself, that's all you can do."

"What if I can't?" Laxus asked weakly.

"You can," Freed assured him. "You have fought against the influences of your family constantly, and you have become the best of them because of it. It will be difficult from time to time, I'm sure, but I know you Laxus. I know you well enough to be sure you will never change your values for anyone, let alone your father and grandfather."

Laxus took a moment to think, and Freed pressed their foreheads together. It was a silent reminder that he was there for him.

"Thanks," Laxus eventually said. "For being here, and for saying all of that."

"I mean it," Freed reaffirmed, stroking Laxus' cheek again. "You have a stubborn side like no other, it's rather an attractive quality for me."

Laxus laughed slightly, appreciating Freed's attempt at lifting the mood slightly. He pressed their lips together in a soft and chaste kiss, wrapping his arm around Freed's waist and pulling their bodies closer to each other. Laxus often felt more comfortable under the protection of Freed's sheets than he did in his own home. Freed's castle felt so far detached from the reality of what was happening, it was like a safe haven for him. The irony wasn't lost on Laxus.

"I'll talk to Gramps about what I can do to help," Laxus eventually said. "While I still can. And like ya said, maybe if I'm fighting on his side then I can try and keep him kind."

"It's probably for the best," Freed agreed, but the worlds felt like acid.

Of course he didn't want Laxus in the fight, but he knew his personal opinion wasn't needed now. If he could have his way, Laxus would happily reside in his castle for the entirety of the war. But that wasn't possible, and Laxus would make a difference. Freed just had to hope that Laxus' inclusion could shorten the length of the war and stop the deaths.

It was an unlikely hope, but all Freed had.

"Can I stay here before I do it," Laxus asked softly, almost weakly. "I need to be with you."

"For as long as you need," Freed promised.

When they fell asleep, they both felt sick with what was to come.

~~~

Many people begin telling the story of how the war ended long after Laxus had become involved. As Freed and Laxus' relationship is often disregarded and forgotten, many people don't see the significance of Laxus' choice to join the fight and leave the Death God in his realm. Most people just see this as another God being forced to take a side and fight, but it was much more.

Laxus leaving to fight was a further hit to Freed. The added work and general disrespect from other God's had already taken affect, and to have these Gods take his lover from him, and to hurt his lover in the way they did, was something of a breaking point.

In retrospect, this is possibly the moment Freed's descent began.

Of course we can only conclude this with the advantage of history. The story of how Freed the Dark got his title is one often untold, and therefore unexplored. But there is a general consensus that it was due to the seclusion he enforced on himself after those he loved were dragged into the fight. This was the first example of this happening for the God, and is seen as the first real hit the man's sanity took.

The change was gradual, and often his own tendencies were the most self-destructive. In the ensuing days and weeks, Freed's temperament got worse and his actions became more thoughtless. It is said that this wasn't clear to most at the time, but with the benefit of hindsight those close to him could see the affect his lover's absence had on him.

To truly explore how Freed became the man who stopped the war, we must explain his descent into solitude. The next step in that process came on the day he sent away the Raijinshuu, and left his castle empty.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

Humans could be quite antagonising, Freed was finding.

He had always done this. As part of being the lord of the Netherworld, he tried his best to make the realm as pleasant for his subjects as he could. Being in complete control of everything meant he had abilities beyond the regular king, and therefore could be a better server to his kingdom. Because of this, he had always allowed his subjects to talk to him, make requests of him in ways that could improve their afterlife.

Today was one such a day. When the dawn had arisen, a queue of the dead had spiralled around the walls of the castle. The majority of them were recently deceased, and Freed knew the moment he laid eyes on them that they didn't want anything of importance, but rather childish requests that Freed had no interest in granting.

He was in a foul mood before he saw the first person. It did not get better.

The requests were ridiculous. Two ex-lovers had their homes in the same street and spent five minutes arguing that the other should be moved to the far end of the city. An adult man had asked for the water in his home to be turned into wine, and claimed it was because of religious beliefs and denying him would be an affront to his faith; it would be an affront to his alcoholism if anything.

And now he was forced to endure an elderly woman ranting at him, claiming her neighbours had been stealing her food provisions and should be punished for it. Her suggestion was that he and his family be starved for a week and to have his food supplies lessened permanently. It was absurd. He was a God, not a mediator for ridiculous arguments. It was tempting to starve her out of spite.

Still, at least he could let his mind wonder and drown out the obsessive whining of the humans for a little while.

With the hordes of the dead coming to his world because of the war, he hadn't had time to relax. Even when he did have a few moments to himself, his mind usually went to Laxus and whatever he might be doing. That was never for good.

It had been months since they had even spoken to one another. After Laxus decided to join the fight, they had spent a few days together before the blonde had returned to the skies to take his grandfather's side and join the battle. After that, they hadn't so much as seen one another. Freed had no idea what his lover was doing, if he was safe, or if he was in danger. The absence of the man he loved was starting to affect him.

In the past, even on the long stretches where they couldn't see each other in person, they could at least talk. But not this time, and Freed missed him. Now he just had idiot humans to distract him.

The amusement was wearing thin.

Because these ridiculous creatures were not treating him like a God. They were not treating him as something to be feared or looked up to. They were treating him as some odd wish granter who is supposed to care about their damn stupid problems!

"May I interrupt you, ma'am," Freed snapped suddenly, hands gripping the side of the throne.

Apparently the woman was the breaking point for him. She stopped, and looked to him almost affronted.

"Because if I'm completely honest with you ma'am, I couldn't give less of a damn about your problems, ma'am. In fact, ma'am, you're such a tedious person that I'm considering granting your neighbour twice the food than he gets now out of spite of you. So, ma'am, I feel as though it's in your best interest to shut your damned mouth right now before my spite becomes something more sour."

The woman looked at him with a gape. Freed glared at her. Did she not understand that he was a God?

"I allow you my council because I wish to make this place good for you all," Freed continued. He stood up from his throne and started to pace. Those in the room all looked towards him. "I make changes to accommodate you all. And this is what you want from me? To act as a ridiculous mediator for all your petty bullshit."

"Petty?" The woman had the arrogance to actually scoff as if offended.

"Quiet!" He yelled, and the glass in the room cracked at the echoing sound. His jaw clenched and he glared at the woman. "I am a God. I am above you, yet nobody seems to understand that. I am not a fucking serviceman; I am your better!"

Freed's tempered flared, and his eyes pulsated with darkness. From the corner of the room, Bickslow winced a little at the rise in anger. He went to speak but Freed interrupted.

"All of you leave," He roared at the congregated humans in his throne room. "Get out. Now!"

"But we've been waiting since sunset last night," One of the men in the line protested, and Freed turned his glare to him.

"Then you'll learn that next time you should get here earlier, won't you," He spat, acid dripping into his tone and he stalked towards the man. He cowered below Freed, and the God would be lying if he said it wasn't satisfying. When he next spoke, his voice was a calm, threatening tone. "If you have any further objections, I would be delighted to hear them. But be warned of the consequences if I disagree with you."

Bickslow opened the door to the throne room and ushered the humans out before anybody could speak further, shutting the door when it was just him and the God. Freed stormed towards his throne and collapsed onto it, eyes still a shadowy purple glow.

Rather than speaking, the demon simply waited for the God to calm down. Freed was typically a calm man, only reserving his anger for when he had met with other Gods, so to see him acting in such a way as a result of speaking with humans was unusual and concerning. Bickslow knew, when Freed's rage had gotten the best of him, that it was best to allow the man to decompress and let his anger dissipate without interrupting him.

The silence lasted a short while, and was only interrupted when the door to the throne room opened. Bickslow let out a held breath when he saw that it was Evergreen, rather than someone who didn't know Freed and might further his anger. She, too, didn't say anything and waited for Freed to calm, giving him a concerned expression; she must have seen the humans retreating.

"Mindless cretins," Freed eventually said, his voice quieter now. "I am a God, for fucks sake. Does nobody understand that?"

"What actually happened?" Evergreen asked, walking towards Freed and speaking softly.

"The same thing that always happens," Freed growled, though it was aimed more at his lap than at the demon. "I attempt to show an ounce of kindness to people and they see it as weakness. I am their God and they disrespect me, treat me like one of their own. Perhaps the idiots at that intolerable table were correct and I should treat my subjects with cruelty. At least then I wouldn't be forced to endure their mindless whining about their ridiculous problems."

"You know you don't mean that," Bickslow sighed, placing a hand on Freed's shoulder. "She was fucking stupid. You know some people are just up their own asses. There're thousands of people who respect you because you ain't some dictator."

"Perhaps," Freed said, though his voice didn't portray confidence.

"He's right Freed," Evergreen encouraged, sitting on the arm of the throne, and smiling at the God. "Remember what you told Laxus before he left. He has to make sure he doesn't change who he is. You have to do the same thing, keep yourself kind."

Freed didn't say anything, and deflated at the sound of his lover's name. Bickslow and Evergreen shared a look at that.

Though the two of them had known Laxus was important to Freed, they hadn't known just how much the God cared for him until recently. Freed's mood had changed slightly, and he was both more forlorn and had a shorter temper. It was clear that Laxus had been some kind of a light in Freed's life, in some sense, and to have him ripped away from him and into a warzone was harming Freed more than he let on.

The influx of work probably wasn't helping either and the God was facing more stress than he probably ever had before. They did their best to keep him happy, of course, but Freed insisted on keeping himself busy and making more work for himself than needed.

"He'll come back eventually," Bickslow said, in a voice almost soft. He patted the man's shoulder gently.

"He hasn't yet," Freed snapped, looking up with a glare.

"We know he hasn't, Freed," Evergreen sighed, placing a hand on his thigh comfortingly. "But you had to know that it'd take a while for anything to give."

"I suppose," Freed let his gaze fall again.

"You just gotta make sure you're still the man he loves when he comes back," Bickslow grinned. "And that's why you've got the two of us, right? So we can keep you on the straight and narrow for your man. That way, when he comes back covered in scars and even hotter than he was before, the two of you can pick up where you left off and start kissing each other. And you won't have to do it with Ivan Fuckface in charge."

"I suppose not," Freed chuckled, and it was only slightly bitter. "I do understand that what he's doing is important. I just miss him."

"Of course you do," Evergreen smiled. "I don't know what it's like, but the way you smile at him shows how much you care. But you just need to be patient."

Freed agreed with the statement, but didn't say anything. Selfishly he would have rather Laxus not go to the war. He would have offered the man safe haven in his castle and fought off the forces who tried to take him, and he would do so with both tooth and claw. But his demons were right; Laxus needed to fight for the more moral side and Freed couldn't stop him. If Freed were any other God, he too would probably be fighting on Makarov's side at that moment. But he had to look after his people, and doing that meant he had to allow his lover some trust.

"Thank you for putting up with me," Freed eventually spoke again. "I understand that it might get annoying listening to me complain about not being treated well, I'm sorry."

"We agree with you, idiot," Bickslow laughed. "The Gods are dicks to you and some of the new guys down here don't know a good thing when they see it, and they complain about it. You're allowed to rant at us whenever you want."

"Whenever we meet another God's angel and they talk about how they're treated, we realise just how good we get it with you," Evergreen laughed. "And that's quite a claim, because you can be quite annoying when you want to be."

"Oh," Freed raised an eyebrow. He knew Evergreen was baiting him to another, more cheerful topic, and he allowed it to happen. "Give me an example."

"I know," Bickslow grinned, voice loud again to lift the mood. The demons were doing what they always did to get Freed out of a bad mood, wait until he was willing to talk and then be optimistic and loud. "When you saw her looking at the Strauss brother with moony eyes so got him to work in the castle and then you made the climate warmer, so he'd take his shirt off to make Ever implode."

"Yes," Ever muttered. "That was annoying."

Freed chuckled, and his shoulders relaxed, and jaw unclenched. He relaxed in his throne and glanced to the window that had shattered at his shout. He waved a hand towards it and it slowly started to melt back into place.

Just like Laxus' magic was connected to the weather; Freed's was connected to the structure of the Netherworld. He managed to keep his destructive tendencies to the castle, and when he was calm he would fix anything he had broken in his anger. He didn't miss the shared smile of his demons when the window was fixed. They clearly knew that, to an extent, his mental wellbeing was reflected by the structure of his home. Laxus had storm clouds, Freed had crumbling stone.

"The two of you are far too good for me," Freed claimed, cricking his neck.

"You're only saying that because you haven't seen how obedient some of the other angels are," Bickslow chuckled.

Obedience was much less appealing than having friends. Freed wasn't going to say that, though.

"You're fine as you are," Freed assured them.

"That's good. I doubt we'll change anytime soon," Evergreen chuckled, smiling. "But, you do know that if there's anything we can do for you, you just have to ask. We know that this isn't easy for you."

Freed thought for a moment. There was, of course, one thing that he wanted to ask of his demons, but he couldn't. It was a purely selfish request and could endanger their wellbeing. He dismissed the thought almost as it came to him, but apparently his demons had seen the momentary flicker of an idea strike him. They looked at him expectantly, and that didn't stop when he made a passive motion with his hand.

"You needn't do this if you don't want to," Freed began. "In fact it's probably better if you don't. It's a fanciful idea at best."

"Tell us," Evergreen requested.

"Laxus. I need to know that he's alive, and safe," Freed admitted, weakly. "It's killing me not knowing what's happening with him."

"You want us to find him and make sure he ain't injured?" Bickslow concluded, raising an eyebrow towards Freed.

The God nodded, though had no expectations that his demons would indulge his ideas. Bickslow and Evergreen looked to one another and seemed to have a silent conversation between themselves; Freed had often wondered if his demons could actually speak without their voice and they just hadn't told him. After a few seconds of silent communication, they looked back to Freed with a concerning amount of determination in their expressions.

"Will you be okay without us?" Evergreen asked, and her voice was serious.

"You're considering it?" Freed asked. They both nodded, and Freed felt a mixture of sickness and relief. "I-I can merge souls on my own. That's most of your responsibilities as of late."

"We meant if you could look after yourself while we're gone, Freed," Bickslow sighed.

"If I can look after a realm of millions, I can look after myself," Freed spoke with offence shaping his tone. He knew of their reason for asking though.

"We'll leave in the morning," Bickslow stated, and Evergreen nodded.

Freed looked at his demons with shock. He knew they had respect and fondness for him, but hadn't expected this. He was asking his friends to walk into the most vicious battlefield in history, and all because he couldn't bear to not know what was happening with his lover. It was an almost pathetic request and yet they were happy to risk their lives for it.

"Thank you," He whispered, bowing his head to them.

They both smiled, and it made Freed's stomach ache. He loved them both, and they were too good to him, despite their protests. Anyone willing to walk through hell for him was worth more than Freed could give them.

And tomorrow, they would be gone…

He would be alone in his castle.

And he would have to deal with that.

~~~

It is unclear as to how long Freed expected his demons to be gone from The Netherworld, looking for his lover. Many of the records claim it was only meant to be days, but that is heavily contested and criticised. But no matter what the expectations, the time taken to gather any information on Laxus' state was long enough to have a great effect on Freed.

Again, this is something reflected in the 'Knight of Judgement' art piece. The flowers located in both the death Gods eye and heart are reflective of his emotional state.

Art historians claim that the flower located in Freed's eye is reflective of the beauty he saw in the world, and the people. The encroaching purple effect is a show of how, without those he loved to influence his actions, that optimism and beauty he saw in existence was slowly being taken away in his solitude.

The flower in his chest is said to be orange and red as his heart is stained with blood. It acts as a mirror for the more violent side of the man after his loved ones left, something that gets more and more prominent as his seclusion continues.

This can be seen in his interaction with the angel known as Jackal.

Jackal is known to be a cursed angel, a criminal of the war and part of Ivan's Tartaros Nine. He is responsible for some of the most brutal deaths during the war, many of which were humans who he saw collateral damage. He is said to be one of the most sadistically cruel of the angels on Ivan's side, and has often been shown as the man who encouraged Ivan into his most aggressive and twisted attacks.

The death of the angel was seen as a large victory for Makarov's side, and the strike of lightning that sank his ship and led to his drowning is sometimes accredited for a shift in the war. Many people think Jackal's story ends there, but this is untrue.

Jackal's story truly ends in the afterlife, with Freed. And for those with a sensitive disposition, I advise caution into reading the details of this meeting.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

At the back left of Freed's castle was a tower.

Inside the tower was a room that often went unused. A torture chamber of sorts.

Often, those who might have justifiably occupied such a room were never given an afterlife. Luck seemed determined to spawn their souls and bodies in places where they couldn't be found, meaning the truly cruel people usually had their bodies composted and their souls fizzled by insanity before they could even near an afterlife. Fate must determine that death being permanent a larger punishment than anything Freed could have done to them.

That apparently wasn't seen as true with a certain person. Both the body and the soul of Jackal had formed at the foot of Freed's door. It was practically an offering, and Freed understood what he had to do.

An angel's death was similar to a human's, in the Netherworld. Although they were considerably rarer, the process was the same. Death ripped apart the soul and the body, and if they were brought back then they would be indistinguishable from humans. Other than the demons and Freed himself, nobody in the underworld was different from the other. That meant, whereas previously an angel would have a higher tolerance for pain, they were now as breakable and damageable than any human would be.

This was convenient, given what Freed was going to do.

He knew who Jackal was. The murderer of countless, the angel who bathed in the ashes of his victims, the Demigod of destruction. The titles he gained were overly dramatic, but were not exaggerated. Jackal was a murderer, and even the presence of his soul and body had seemingly sent a shiver down the Netherworld.

And he had been given straight to Freed. As a gift almost. The idea that the leader of the Netherworld would punish sinners was something greatly exaggerated, but Freed felt he could conform to the stereotype for now. It might be rather therapeutic.

Fun, even.

A welcome distraction too. After sending his closest demons into the warzone, he had been alone in the castle. The only interactions he'd had were with the people whose souls and bodies he had merged together, and he had dismissed them without a word. Being alone in his castle was something he hadn't experiences in millennia's, and he wasn't dealing with the situation. He was allowing his anger to permeate, with nobody to use as an outlet.

But now he had someone. His anger at how cruel the war had become, and how it affected those he loved, could now be directed at someone who has responsible for it.

Maybe that was why Jackal had been delivered to him where no cruel man had been before. Freed was now a fate worse than death.

The doors to the tower creaked and groaned as they slowly opened, and the light flittering into the room from behind Freed illuminated the dusty chamber dimly. Cobwebs cluttered the room, the stonework lacked the usual polish of the rest of the castle, and the only things that had any level of care attributed to them were the shackles, manacles and chains that were keeping the man contained.

Jackal couldn't move. Metal bands wrapped around his wrists, ankles, biceps, thighs, stomach, neck, and chest. A large metal plate blocked his mouth and, although it couldn't be seen, Freed knew that there was a rusted shaft of metal holding down the man's tongue and resting in his throat.

Freed looked at the man with no sympathy. He knew what he had done.

"Typically, the devil is meant to confront a person with their sins in a situation like this," Freed began, and Jackal looked at him. His expression was hidden by his bounds. "But I expect you lack the morality to feel guilt."

Jackal made a choking, raspy sound. He was laughing.

Freed's didn't show any reaction other than a slight tensing of his posture. He had heard stories about how Jackal worked. His sadistic nature was prevalent in everything he did, and one way he entertained himself was by toying with people. Many of the dead had been forced to beg for mercy by the man, only to have him kill them a moment later. It would be in keeping with his reputation for him to try and antagonise Freed, and he wasn't going to give the man the satisfaction of getting under his skin.

"No," Freed continued. "You much prefer the hands-on approach, I expect."

Clenching his fist, he slammed it forward in a sharp punch to the man's gut. It was a simple enough movement, but the God's strength mixed with the angel's newfound vulnerability forced out a small choking sound. Jackal quickly manipulated it into another throaty laugh, but the pain the action had caused was obvious. Freed looked at him with almost curiosity.

He punched the man three more times, in quick succession, hitting the same part of his stomach each time. His only partially restored body bruised easier than a living person would, and a purple mound spread from where Freed had punched. Jackal was still laughing.

The reaction was interesting to Freed. That was perhaps not what Jackal wanted from it.

"I'm curious to see what your intention is, with the laughter," Freed said, stepping back and looking at the man plainly. "Because even if you succeed in antagonising me, I won't let you out. You'll be here for as long as I want, and I'll hurt you in whatever way I see fit no matter how much you laugh, or how angry you make me."

He just kept laughing.

"Furthermore, if this is some form of manipulation to make me do something I might regret, then I must inform you that my mortality is not as rigid and clear cut as you might think. And with a man such as yourself, regret is unlikely to take effect."

He was still laughing.

And Freed didn't find himself annoyed by it, for the moment. He knew what a manipulator looked like; he had met Ivan after all. All men like that were clearly after a certain reaction and the worst outcome for them was to be denied it. So Freed turned to the side, looked at the large wheel that was attached to the chains containing Jackal, and began to turn it. The shackles tightened around the man, the chains started to stretch him, and the skin bruised beneath the metal.

"I expect you thought yourself above death, so you probably didn't bother to learn the rules of the Netherworld," Freed continued, removing his hands from the crank and looking back to his capture, who was wincing with his eyes. "Your body won't heal, at all. We have people with the ability to heal it, but they work for me, and they will not help you. So anything I do to you, will be a permanent fixture."

Freed absently ran a sharp nail down the man's leg. It split open as if cut by a knife, and Freed noticed the slight widening of the man's eyes.

Good.

"Of course I might heal you eventually. The definition of your muscles, and the lack of any blemishes, shows you keep pride in what you look like," Freed mused aloud, looking him up and down as one might assess their prey. "Ruining it multiple times in multiple ways might be interesting."

Jackal didn't react to that, but Freed had a feeling he would have a comment if he could speak. He thought only for a moment before placing his hand on the large metal gag, pulling it forward and taking the man's head with it. The leather straps flicked open at the pressure, and Freed pulled the rusted iron out of his prisoners' mouth. He didn't miss the raspy cough that Jackal allowed, nor did he miss his dried lips.

He was more affected than he was letting on. Freed almost felt some sympathy.

But he knew what this man had done. The purposeful attacks on the shorelines just to kill humans and hurt them. The joyous laughter he had projected as the skies lit up with death and anguish. The disregard for anything other than his own twisted amusement. This man had lost his chance at sympathy more times than it was possible to count.

"So you're the corpse fucker Ivan's always talkin' about," Jackal rasped.

"He's yet to come up with a more creative insult, it seems," Freed brushed the comment off. "A pity."

Before Jackal could say anything again, he grabbed the man by his neck and lifted him up. The chains fought against it, and strained their grip on Jackal. Freed's claw like nails dug into the man's neck and a slight trail of blood slithered down one of Freed's fingers. Now without the obtrusive gag, Freed could see more how the man was shaking and gritting his teeth to stop some kind of exhalation of pain. Freed's grasp tightened just a little.

"I'm conflicted on how to treat you, Jackal," Freed stated, forcing eye contact with the bound man. "Given this is a form of punishment, it seems only right there to be some kind of irony involved. Perhaps for everyone you've made cry, I should make you cry. For everyone you've left to burn, I burn you. Perhaps I could invite your victims here, use you as a form of entertainment for them. Have them flog you and laugh as you weep, which you will. Although, selfishly, it might be more fun if I were to make you my personal… plaything."

Jackal laughed hoarsely. "Heard that you were a pacifist. This is a surprise."

"Who told you that," Freed chuckled, pushing his claws further into the man's neck. Something popped under the pressure; he didn't know what, but there was more blood now.

"Everyone," Jackal said, and he gargled. Blood was coming from his mouth. "They say you got corrupted by those fucking half-life's you let in here and those little bitch demons. Say that they made ya weak."

"Perhaps they did," Freed mused. "But do you know what else they did?" He leant close to Jackal, grinning. "They left me. And now it's just you and me."

Freed pushed the man forward, as if throwing him to the side, but the chains kept him where he was. Blood slid out of some of the wounds Freed gave him, but he was still laughing weakly. Freed looked at him with intrigue, but didn't say anything. He let the man laugh for a little while before he tired himself out, then he spoke again.

"You see, I've had a lot of time to think as of late," Freed mused, looking at the man as the amusement was settled. "And I've decided, the war doesn't make me sad. It doesn't make me feel bad. It makes me feel angry. Because an imbecilic man and his equally idiotic father decided to take out their anger on the world. Just to destroy it. Not because they need to fight, nor because anything needs to change. Because they're ridiculous little people with so much arrogance that they think they're problems are the world's problems.

"And then there's people like you. The enablers. The puppet masters, perhaps. The people whispering in their ears, telling them they need to act larger. Get angrier and more destructive. To go bigger and stronger because that's what power demands and that's what happens in wars. And all just to feed your evil wank fantasies. You saw an opportunity and you took it, and expected no consequences."

Freed slammed his fist forward and punched the man in his gut again, and Jackal visibly deflated at the action, coughing up blood. The bruise on the man's stomach got larger, and Jackal's laughter was weaker this time.

"Interesting," Jackal commented, voice gravely and quiet now.

"Speak up," Freed demanded with a sharp tone.

"I said it's interesting. Which of the Dreyar's you chose to mention," Jackal cackled, looking up at Freed with a manic grin. Freed's posture tightened at the statement. "You talk about Ivan and the decrepit bastard. But not little Laxus."

"The point being?" Freed demanded, the sound of Laxus' name on the angel's tongue sounding wrong. Evil.

"We all fucking know about what the two of you fuckers do when he's down here," Jackal laughed manically, and Freed tensed. "And daddy Ivan isn't happy. And when he wins he's gonna come down here and get ya. And I've heard what he's gonna do to ya. And you're not gonna like it. And he's gonna make little Laxus watch as he rips open his demonic little secret."

"Don't assume you have the right to say his name."

"What are ya gonna do to stop me," Jackal giggled, allowing himself to go limp in the chains. "Lock me up. Torture me. It ain't working yet. And that'd be ironic – since ya like irony – that you'd be hurting me because little Laxus is away. Because that's why you're acting like this, and not just letting me die. Because you miss him. Ain't that just fucking sweet."

"Don't say his name."

"Or maybe you just miss him shoving his dick in your ass," Jackal cackled again, eyes wide and unhinged as he looked at his torturer. "You'll might have to get used to it. Because if Ivan has his way, there won't be much left of your fuck toy when the war is done."

Freed paused at that, then his gaze sharpened.

"What do you mean?" He asked, voice cutting. "What does he intend to do."

"Oh, I don't think I want to tell you yet," Jackal laughed. "I just heard that Ivan needs a nice little powerhouse for the rest of the fight and has his eyes on little Laxus. But once he's won, he doesn't need him anymore. And he had a lot of plans for traitors, and your Lightning God is the most traitorous little fucker of all. I won't tell you all of what he'll go through. But I think that it will be spectacular, I just wished I could see it."

There was a moment of silence. Then Freed saw red.

Everything that had happened since the war began flashed into his mind. The endless slaughter of innocent people. The forced involvement of his lover. The decisions made to force his friends into the fray. The slow but persistent chipping away at his kindness. The cruelty shown by all who were involved. Everything was twisted and wrong.

And here, before him, was Jackal. An orchestrator of this hellish existence. A manipulator and abuser.

Someone who deserved agony.

He slammed his hand forward again, eyes glowing. Darkness swirled up his arm and manipulated his flesh, replacing his skin with fur and talons and his hand with a claw. He reached out with a snarl, his drumming heartbeat drowning out the sound of Jackal's laughter. His claw dug into the man's chest, ripping open his flesh as if it were nothing. He dug in further, cutting through the flesh, muscle, and bone before finding his target, and he grabbed it.

The man's heart.

He pulled.

Jackal screamed.

Blood dripped from both the wound and the organ, before Jackal slumped. The removed of a heart was a way of killing the undead. It would ensure that the body and soul were split apart again, and couldn't be returned. The rest of the soul's partial existence would be agony. An infinite hell preserved by the last flickers of consciousness.

Freed dropped the organ, letting it fall to the ground. He spun on his heel and allowed the body to slump and bruise in chains, not sparing the angel another glance.

After leaving the room, his boots clicked on the marble as he walked down a corridor. Either side was a stained-glass depiction of both Evergreen and Bickslow, decorations that hadn't been there before. The castle was trying to tell him something, apparently. Either a warning or a judgment on his morality. Freed spared them a glance but stormed through it without much care for his friend's depictions.

At the end of the corridor, he slammed the door shut. The corridor crumbled to nothing behind him, destroying the glass visages of his friends as it did. It was just wreckage in his wake.

~~~

The hand with which Freed removed Jackal's heart was his right. The 'Knight of Judgement' art piece portrays his right hand as being overtaken by thorn like chains, showing the affect the darkness had on him. It acts as judgment for what he did, and when he allowed his cruelty to overtake him and taint his actions.

After that day, Freed was changed. This art piece shows it.

Although it is argued as to whether Freed's actions were justified or not, it is almost unanimous that this was the only time Freed acted solely out of blind rage and anger. This was the only time in the war where he lost himself entirely to his emotions.

Also often disputed is why Freed had destroyed the corridor leading to the torture tower. Some claim he did so because he wished the block his path from the room off so that he could move on from what he had done and not repeat it. Others claim it was a clear objection to the judgment of Bickslow and Evergreen through their stained-glass visages. Either way, the corridor was one room that was never fixed after its destruction.

Despite the fact Freed never acted out of blind anger again, his mind did not heal immediately. The following weeks, he secluded himself in his castle. No demons nor humans were allowed in. The doors were replaced by walls, the windows bricked up, and moat surrounding it filled with melted stones and magma. He had finalised his own prison.

His self-destruction and seclusion continued for a while longer, the precise time is unknown. What is known is that the next time Freed would see any other creature is the return of his demons to the Netherworld, which is often where the story of the end of the war is said to begin.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

There was something wrong in the Netherworld.

It was the first thing that Bickslow and Evergreen noticed when they returned. There was a certain edge to the atmosphere that hadn't been present before. Whereas previously the Netherworld had been welcoming by design – death was jarring enough, why make the new environment hostile to the deceased – now it was darker and sharper almost. It was no longer the bustling city it had once been, but instead was a shell of itself, an endless expanse of buildings.

Two demons glanced at each other with concern. The people who should have populated the streets were nowhere to be seen, the ever-present sound of talking that came with humans had been lost, and the feeling of loneliness was practically palpable.

Their immediate concern was for their God.

As they flew through the streets, they could see the dead were in their homes. Some people were working the farms needed to keep food, but only the bare minimum. The Netherworld was a skeleton of what it once was, and everything the two demons saw were making them more worried for their friend. Freed had done whatever he could to make the place better than this, so to see what had happened in their absence was more than concerning.

"Maybe we should have stayed with him," Bickslow sighed. "At least one of us."

"There's no point in dwelling on that," Evergreen said, looking at the abandoned streets with a frown. "We should just get to him as soon as we can and try and help him."

"Guess we should."

The demons sped up their flight through the city, both wearing expressions of concern as they got nearer and nearer to the castle where their God resided. As the building became more than just a silhouette, they both looked at it with wide eyes.

Whereas previously it had been somewhat welcoming, it now stood both secluded and crumbling. The windows had been replaced by bricks, the moat had been expanded to the point where the castle was on its own island, and the drawbridge was lifted and bolted upright. The brickwork was cracked, and it was clear some of the more vulnerable pieces of stone had fallen to the ground below. Doors were removed and any form of entrance seemed blocked up or destroyed. It was entirely closed off, no doubt with Freed inside.

After flitting around the top of the castle in hopes of finding an entrance, their concern grew. Freed was secluding himself. Completely.

Of course, they couldn't allow this. Freed was a man more emotional than he would openly admit, and clearly the toll of the war was affecting him greatly. Worse, he was a powerful man, and it would be entirely possible that Freed's seclusion could lead to something more destructive. It would only take the wrong thing to happen before Freed's emotions contorted into anger, and he use it against his subjects.

It took a little while, but after flying around the walls of the castle, they managed to find a single unblocked door. It was at the back of the castle, and only allowed access to the private garden. The place where Freed and Laxus had met.

When they entered, they saw the state of disrepair was worse inside. Carpets were muddied, dusty and torn, curtains clumped on the floor having fallen form the walls, paintings were either destroyed or removed, light had been eradicated entirely and shards of brick and stone populated the ground. It was a wreck, and the fact that Freed seemed either unaware of it or simply didn't care sent a surge of fear through the demons.

The castle was a reflection of Freed. If he didn't care about the castle, he didn't care about his own wellbeing.

Guided by the light of Bickslow's glowing souls, they quietly navigated the silent castle. They checked Freed's chambers and the study that he preferred, but saw they were both unoccupied and equally as run down as the rest of the building. They then searched more of the rooms Freed could often be found in, before walking towards the throne room. They had hoped they wouldn't need to go there, that Freed would be elsewhere, but all signs pointed that this was where he was.

Freed was never in the throne room for a good reason. It was normally the source of his anger.

When they pushed open the door, they were greeted with the sight of their God. The room itself was more ruined than any other, with streams of light flitting in through the cracks in the walls, hitting Freed in various places. Every decoration was in tatters, burned away or non-existent. The only thing still in its former glory was the throne itself, and that made Evergreen and Bickslow look on in worry. Freed hated that throne, only used it when needed, and yet now it was the only thing he was bothering to keep immaculate.

Why he was doing that they didn't know, but it wasn't going to be for a good reason.

Freed himself looked different too. His face was emotionless, his right hand replaced with an obviously demonic claw, his clothing ripped and in the same state as the castle, and his right eye was pulsating in a dark purple glow.

"You've returned," He commented, looking at his demons enigmatically.

"What the hell happened here?" Bickslow demanded, looking around in almost disbelief.

"Progress," Freed shrugged, not moving from his throne. "I had something of a realisation. Call is an epiphany if you want to romanticise it."

"Okay," Evergreen said slowly, approaching Freed with something akin to caution. Freed raised an eyebrow at that. "And what did you realise."

"That humans brought this upon themselves," Freed said plainly. "They worship these Gods without care for the consequences. They build up their dammed egos to the point where they believe that their Gods can do no wrong, and the Gods believe them right back. They're complicit in their own destruction. They have a hunger for mistreatment, whether they're aware of it or not, and I have granted them their wish. I expect they're thrilled at what they've got."

"Freed, that ain't-" Bickslow began, but Evergreen put a hand on his arm to stop him. They needed the full story before they could help.

"Why did you let the castle get like this?" She asked.

"I didn't see the point in maintaining it," Freed stated, looking at his demons with almost curiosity. "Nobody but me is going to see it, and I don't particularly care for the frivolities of it all. Why waste the effort in making it look respectable if there's nobody to appreciate it?"

"And the moat?" Bickslow prompted.

"There were complaints about the way I was changing things, and people thought it wise to try and change my mind," Freed sighed, in annoyance most likely. "The moat acts as a deterrent. There's no way to approach me, and those who try will have their bodies boiled. It proved quite effective, after the first few attempts were unsuccessfully made."

"And why remove the windows?"

"Predominantly to further keep out anyone who wished to try their luck in speaking with me," Freed glanced at where a window had once been, then back to his demons. "And partly because the light seeping in was a bother. I can see without it; it was simply a functionality for the human's ease. Unneeded now."

The two demons shared a look. They had perhaps expected a blind rage from their God, but this calm, detached nature was a lot more concerning. It was as if all the emotion had been sapped out of him.

"What made you do this Freed?" Evergreen asked, stepping closer again. Bickslow did the same.

"I told you, I came to a greater understanding of the world," Freed shrugged. "Humans are addicted to pain and turmoil. They bring it upon themselves so it makes their short existences seem worthwhile; they force agony on themselves so that they can feel better when they get rid of it. I have been a crutch to them, and they haven't earned my help, so I have removed it from them. I have also removed their influence from me."

While Evergreen looked at their God with concern, Bickslow's eyes widened and he felt a rush of guilt wash over him. He had seen emotions of all type in humans, both repressed and volatile, and he knew what Freed was doing. He was a man of pride and duty, and he wouldn't allow his true feelings to be known to anyone. But it was plain to see that he was lonely.

Bickslow and Evergreen had left him alone when he was struggling. He was more alone than he had ever been, and he had closed himself off.

Perhaps he thought that emotions were the reason he was hurting so much on his own, and was trying to remove their influence from him. Perhaps he just wasn't thinking straight, and his self-inflicted seclusion from the world had led him to make stupid decisions. But it was very clear what was happening; Freed was angry and lonely and didn't know how to deal with it, so was lashing out at the world.

Walking up to Freed, he was met with an inquisitive eyebrow raise and nothing more. Before Freed could stop him, the demon wrapped his arms tightly around the man, pulling him into a tight hug.

Freed went rigid against Bickslow's chest and for a moment he was unmoving.

"I'm sorry we left you," Bickslow stated softly, and his voice quivered. "And I'm sorry you're having to go through all this shit with nobody to understand how hard it is for you. And I'm sorry that people constantly undermine you. I'm sorry we haven't been here for you and I promise we won't do that to you again. But we are here for you, and we love you."

A sob slipped through Freed's lips.

He wrapped his arms tightly around Bickslow, clinging to him as if he might disappear. Bickslow tightened his own grip, and allowed Freed to press his face into his torso for as long as he needed. He was probably crying, and most likely wouldn't end the hug until he stopped. That was fine, he could deal with that.

Evergreen had walked over and was gently stroking Freed's back, and the two demons shared a sympathetic look. They knew now that one of them should have stayed behind to look after him, they knew that Freed wasn't as in control as he liked to think and should have anticipated he might need help.

But like Evergreen had said earlier, they couldn't focus on that.

Eventually Freed did remove himself from the hug, and the dampness around his eyes told Bickslow that he had indeed cried. They didn't comment on anything as Freed rubbed the back of his left hand against his face, cleaning it slightly and making himself look more presentable. The glowing in his right eye diminished now, but the effect of his time alone was still obvious in both the castle and in his demonic right arm.

"I shouldn't need to rely on you," Freed whispered. "And I'm sorry that I do."

"Everyone needs people, Freed," Evergreen said softly. "And the people who think otherwise are the people who start wars and bring cruelty for no reason. You are not one of those people."

"But what I've done over the last-"

"Anything you've done can be fixed, Freed," Bickslow firmly stated, leaving no room for argument. "You're allowed mistakes, more than anyone. People can forgive you and move on, they're good at that."

Freed thought for a moment, before ducking his head in defeat. Evergreen patted his shoulder while Bickslow ruffled the top of his already messy head. Freed chuckled slightly at the action, though his heart was barely in it. The demons wished that they could do more to help their friend, but he could only heal himself. And, unfortunately, part of that healing process would involve the God's lover, something which Freed would soon find out about.

"We found Laxus," Evergreen said after Freed looked up again. The man's head snapped towards her. "And I'm going to need you to promise to keep calm."

"If he okay?" Freed demanded, regret replaced by a small mixture of fear and anger.

"He's alive," Bickslow said calmly, and the lack of affirmation of anything better made Freed tense. "A couple of weeks ago, he was captured by Ivan's forces. They're using him against Makarov, we're not exactly sure how, but they're managed to draw his lightning out of him against his will."

Freed's eyes went hollow as he thought back to what Jackal had said. If captured, they would use Laxus for as long as needed, before killing him.

"Are they hurting him?"

"Yes," Evergreen sighed, placing a hand on Freed in the hope of calming him. "We're not sure, but we think they're using some kind of torture to get him to use his lightning."

"We couldn't save him on our own, he's heavily guarded," Bickslow confessed, looking at the floor with an angered expression. "We did what we could, but we had to leave. We came here immediately because you needed to know. I'm sorry we couldn't save him."

"What exactly are they doing to him?" Freed said, standing up.

"They've got him in chains, and when we were there they were constantly beating him," Evergreen explained softly, watching as Freed moved. "There's these things, they look like crystals, which looked like they were coming from his back and his chest. Every time he was hit, and a spark of lighting came across him, the crystals picked it up and sent it into a metal structure. We think it's a weapon, a lightning canon of some kind."

"They're beating him," Freed echoed quietly. "They're torturing him."

Many things happened next.

The castle seemed to shift around them, stone cracking against stone, shards of glass and rubble lifting from the air and floating towards the walls, ruined tapestries and curtains reforming and returning to their previous places around the room. Light streamed into the room where the windows now reformed. The room was just as it once had been, in its perfected glory, and both demons felt the rumble of movement through the castle that told them the entire building was the same.

Freed himself changed too. Any signs of him being haggard or exhausted were removed, and replaced with perfection. He stood upright, tall, and proud. He was more regal and God-like in that moment than he had ever been.

Two sharp, curved horns twisted out of his head, parting his hair. His eye glowed bright as he looked back to his demons, an expression of barely restrained fury on his face. Air seemed to twist around him and darken, as if magically inclined to support his rage and passion. He was not just a God, at that moment. He was a warrior.

"I will speak to my people," Freed proclaimed, turning on his heal and started to move through his castle.

"And say what?" Evergreen asked, sprouting wings to keep up with him.

"To announce that we will no longer be passive in this war," Freed stated, motioning to the drawbridge which fell with a dramatic shutter, lava sloshing around it. "They have captured the man I love and are using his gifts to slaughter innocent people. His own father is responsible and will show no guilt nor compassion. This war has been happening for years and has twisted those who have been dragged into it. It is a blight on anyone who has seen it yet was born of the whim of two egotists. But it will continue no more."

"What are you gonna do?" Bickslow questioned as Freed walked out of his castle for the first time in months.

"I will bring hell to them," Freed proclaimed. "And anyone who dares try and stop me will do battle with the devil himself."

~~~

The day the doors to the Netherworld opened was the day the war ended. The day Freed ended it.

It was a momentous occasion, one which will forever be recognised in history. The day that the God of Death saw the war for the first time, and decided that he would end it. The day where the dead fought for the living. The day the leading Gods were shown for what they were; weak and uncaring to those below them.

On that day, Freed became a fighter. The horns he grew symbolised that, both as a reflection of the helmets worn by warriors as well as a clear declaration of his strength. The God was a weapon, something dangerous and to be feared. He had no weaknesses, no vulnerabilities. He was something that could not be destroyed by lesser beings, not could be looked down upon. Freed was often assumed to be an incompetent leader of the Netherworld by other Gods, but in that moment he was more devilish than any God could hope to be.

That day, everything Freed did struck fear into the hearts of Gods.

The day the doors to the Netherworld opened was often feared. In prophecy it claimed to be the day the dead rose to overtake the living, angered by their treatment and mortality. Even Gods were taught to fear the opening of hell.

And when it happened, a shiver went through the world.

And even a God as twisted as Ivan Dreyar felt fear.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

Ivan was a bastard.

Laxus had always thought this, ever since he had realised just how much of his life had been manipulated by his father. The man was a cruel and vindictive person, doing whatever he wanted and hurting anyone he could just to get his own way. The only thing that he had ever thought of was the best way to achieve his own goals, all of which were only designed to increase his power and influence. He had never been a good person.

But now, he was more than just cruel. He was more than just a bastard. He was evil. There was no other term for what he was doing, no other way to describe him.

He had captured Laxus himself. He's set up a diversion, starting a battle on the land and murdering an entire town of humans just for the sake of it. Laxus had taken to the skies to stop the forces, but had apparently left himself open for attack, and Ivan had taken the chance. One of his angels had put Laxus to sleep, and the thunder God had awoken in his father's clutches.

When he had woken up, he was in chains. The room was small and filled with smoke, something of an engine room Laxus guessed. He didn't have time to dwell on that, as when he looked down to see a large, jagged blue crystal had been sewed into his skin. He had panicked instantly, lightning crackling across his skin. It flickered towards the crystal and was absorbed by it, skittering up a large metal column that he was wired up to. It wasn't hard to understand what was happening, this was some way for his father to steal his lighting and use it for whatever he pleased.

Bastard.

Over the next few days, Laxus had been forced to endure a lot. Ivan knew that his lightning was an instinctive thing, and that the easiest way to get it from him was to hurt him. Well, perhaps not the easiest, but Ivan didn't seem to care.

Beatings and threats came thick and fast, the intensity of them depending on how much lightning he needed. For one particularly large fight where the Lighting Dragon – the name he had given the weapon – was needed, Ivan had decided to take a knife to Laxus' face. No doubt a jagged scar would be there when Laxus next saw his reflection.

He tried not to think about it. He tried not to think much about anything that was happening, instead he was just focusing on trying not to show how his father was affecting him.

If nothing else, he would keep his damned dignity.

It was getting harder to do that, though.

Mostly, one of Ivan's angels had been beating Laxus, but Ivan himself sometimes did it. Today was one such day. The old man had rid himself of the metal armour he had constantly been wearing since the start of the war, and was holding something that Laxus had become all too familiar with. A two-pronged weapon that Ivan would have rested against an open flame. It was simple, vicious, and effective. So Ivan either wanted a lot of electricity today, or just wanted to hurt him.

"It really is a shame I have to do this," Ivan commented as he walked forward. "It would have been much easier if you had just followed logic and chosen to fight my side without objection. I wouldn't have had to kill you that way."

Laxus didn't speak. He wouldn't speak.

"Well, perhaps kill isn't the correct term," Ivan continued, gently running the sharp tool against Laxus' torso. "Because if I killed you, you'd go into the arms of that little harlot of yours. Rather, I'll force you into something akin to death."

Gritting his teeth, Laxus glared at his father. He didn't know how the man knew about his relationship with Freed, but it was now one of Ivan's favourite ways to torment him.

"I've a few ways in which I could do that," Ivan mused aloud. "There's burying you alive, of course. Drowning you then resuscitating you only to drown you again. I could do some experimentation on the ways in which a God can replenish their body after grievous injury. Or I could just keep you here and make an example out of you in case anybody had any thoughts about trying to usurp me. The possibilities are endless."

"Fuck yourself," Laxus growled, voice hoarse from lack of water.

"Oh, you're speaking today are you?" Ivan asked almost conversationally, pushing the prong against Laxus' new face scar. "What's got you so chatty?"

"You won't win," Laxus grunted.

"Oh I think that I will," Ivan chuckled, pushing the device further against Laxus' injury. "In fact, I think I'll win rather soon. My father is far too reliant on those angels of his. But I think by the end of the week, they'll be here with you. Think of it as a present, some company for you."

"He'll stop you."

"No. No I don't think he will," Ivan chuckled. "He's struggling already. It's why he hasn't tried to save you yet. Did you know that? There's not even been an attempt. Not even a single angel has been sent for you. Not one."

Laxus growled, and lightning flickered across his skin. The crystals hummed as they absorbed it, and Laxus winced at the fizzing sensation that he was forced to endure. Ivan laughed at the reaction, pushing the hot poker further against his sensitive skin. Laxus grit his teeth and did what he could to force back the shout of pain that was trying to fight its way out of him. His entire body was tensed up, but his father clearly saw the pain Laxus was in. He was almost revelling in it.

The sessions could last days. And with the sadistic glee that the man seemed to be taking in his pain told Laxus that today would be such a session.

He had a plethora of devices that he took delight in using. He had brought them all with him and looked through them, settling on one and raising it up.

Throughout his weeks in his father's clutches, Laxus had done whatever he could to distract himself from his pain. He focused on happier memories; those of his grandfather before he had started his war. His time in the underworld, laughing and relaxing with the Raijinshuu and his lover. It didn't stop Ivan's torture from hurting any more, but at least it was something of a distraction, as well as a comfort.

Even thinking about Freed was calming. Laxus could picture him perfectly. His sharp features, his long silky hair, his strong arms, his beautiful laughter, his ardent passion. Everything about him was perfect, and Laxus missed seeing him so damn much.

They should have spoken after Laxus had left for the war.

He might never see him again.

Shutting his eyes, he tried to let memories of his lover overtake him. The first time they had seen each other, in Freed's garden, where they had spoken about the difficulties of being a God that nobody seemed to talk about. The meals they shared together, where Freed was slowly introducing Laxus to more of the human's culture. Just lying in bed with him, side by side while relishing in the man's beauty. His everything.

He had such an overwhelming presence. When he walked into a room, Laxus could feel him there. Freed had once said that Laxus had an aura to him; something about humidity and a chill. Laxus thought Freed had one too; a level of coolness, like the feeling of running your hand through moss. There was also a smell of damp stone, which was slight and barely noticeable to anyone but Laxus.

It was almost like he could feel it now.

Then, after a moment, he realised he could feel it.

He opened his eyes to see that Ivan had stopped his torment, and was looking around with confusion. Laxus suddenly felt a familiar feeling of comfort overtaking him. The feeling he got whenever he had entered the Netherworld. It was like he was there, with Freed beside him. With his moss like coolness and his stone scent. It was as if the Netherworld was bleeding into the world of the land of the living.

Then, Laxus realised what was happening.

He couldn't help it. He laughed.

"What?" Ivan snapped, glaring at his bound son. "What is this?"

"You can feel it too," Laxus laughed again. "You wanna know what it is, huh? I don't think you'll like the answer."

"Tell me!" Ivan shouted, backhanding Laxus. The blonde kept laughing despite the hit.

"Guess you wouldn't recognise it, since you've not been down there. But that's what I feel like whenever I go down to the underworld," Laxus laughed at the look of panic that flicked onto Ivan's face. "And if we can both feel it all the way out here, I think you can guess what's happening."

"No," Ivan growled.

"The devil's coming out to claim the world," Laxus quoted from one of many prophesies about the Netherworld opening its doors. "I wonder how happy he'll be when he finds out what you've been doing to me."

Laxus continued laughing while Ivan slowly looked towards him, before flicking on his heel and walking out of Laxus' chamber. Laxus allowed his limbs to fall limp in his bounds, closing his eyes and allowing the sensation of Freed to overtake him. Even in the situation, with the residual pain from Ivan's attacks, this was the most comfortable he had felt in months.

Freed was coming. And, at least for Laxus, that meant hope.

~~~

Often, this is where people being telling the story of how the war ends.

The gates to the Netherworld open, the God of Darkness walks out of his domain and lays judgment on those who have caused slaughter. The suffering ends and the war is finished. In the retelling of the God's of Fiore, this is one of the most famous and important moments of history. This is reflected in poems, songs, artwork, and stories told about it.

Again, the 'Knight of Judgement' reflects this.

The dagger laden with an all-seeing eye is a reflection of the strength that he showed in these moments. It is often referred to as the Blade of Judgement. Both the way Freed saw the injustices in the world, and how he punished them. It encapsulates how, in that moment, he was both Judge, Jury and Executioner.

A role which ended the war and gifted him the title 'God of Judgement'.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

The opening of the Netherworld was near apocalyptic.

From the depths of the ocean walked forward an endless army of corpses. They were all unkillable, without fear nor regret, and brandishing weapons that could kill angels and humans alike. Above them floated their souls, warping and swirling through the air as dark purple fire. The fire of a soul cannot touch a living creature, and thus acted further as weapons against the oncoming fight.

Waves sloshed and churned as the water was toyed with, the armada of bodies waling atop the surface. The boats of the already fighting fleets were taken on the whim of the seas, losing all control, and becoming useless. They creaked and moaned in protest, but the sound fell to nothing.

Instead, there was silence.

The shadow of the God of Death loomed over the entire battlefield. His size was monolithic, and he looked down upon the living with an expression of calm, quelling rage. He towered over both men and mountains alike, and the ferocious wind of battle hit him and flung back the endless green hair that seemed to merge with the cloak he wore. It plastered against the surface of the sea, and the Death God slowly walked forward, creating waves of tidal size with each movement.

The waves gained a purple sheen to them, both by the shade of the God and the aura he exuded. The sensation of death and the Netherworld was slowly tainting the land of the living.

In that moment, eclipsed by the sun behind him and looking on the living with a sneer, he was more of a God than he had ever been. And it seemed everyone who saw him wouldn't dare deny the fact, as they looked upon the man with fear.

With every step, the fighting stopped.

The Death God looked at the congregation before him. At Gods and angels and humans fighting a war that should have never happened. How they had been twisted by pointless agendas and how many of them had been turned to savages. How once good people now saw the removal of life as an everyday occurrence, or even pleasure, rather than the travesty that it was.

Life ending should not be seen as a possibility. It should not be seen as something required for the future. It should be seen as something that only nature and time should control. These Gods had removed fate's hand in death, and for that they must be punished.

"Stand before me, Gods," The Death God demanded, voice echoing through the ocean.

He waited a moment. Nobody came, it felt like nobody moved.

Lifting his hand, the Death God allowed swirls of magic to form around him. Runic lettering fluttered through the air, a language of the Gods often thought to be lost or dead, at his control. They shot off in two directions, hunting down the Gods responsible for the war. A moment later they returned to him, this time carrying two men in their grasps, who struggled against them. The bounds were tight around the ruling Gods, and the Death God looked to them with indignation.

The last time he had seen them in person was when he had stormed form their meeting. He had forgotten just how human they looked. How pathetic they looked. But they had caused such destruction and heartbreak, and all for nothing.

They were ants compared to him.

"Look upon your creation," Freed demanded, making a gesture which turned the two men around.

They were forced to look over the battlefield that they had made. A battlefield Freed had no doubt that neither man had stepped onto themselves. They saw the hordes of corpses Freed had at his disposal, the ocean of souls that had been ripped from their bodies because of the whims of the two men, the angels and Gods that would soon be dead as well, the blood that had stained both the hands of the fighters and the water itself.

"Do you deem your actions good?" He asked, voice loud enough for everyone fighting to hear.

"Not damn near enough," Ivan snarled struggling against the runes keeping him in place.

With a quick hand gesture, Ivan was flung forward. He was tiny in comparison to the Death God, and struggled under the intense gaze of the man who controlled him. He sent a defiant glare to the other man, who looked at him without pity nor fear. He showed no emotion at all.

"Repeat yourself," The Death God demanded.

"I said it ain't near enough," Ivan growled, and the runes tightened around him slightly. "This world needs to change, or it'll die, and I'm the man who's going to change it. And no corpse fucking Demi-God is going to stop me."

"Still with the same insult. You're a tiresome man, Ivan Dreyar," The Death God chuckled, but his face showed no humour.

"I will slaughter you like I have anyone who has gotten in my way," Ivan spat, wincing as the runic bounds got tighter still.

"Like you would your own son?" Makarov spoke up, voice gravely and a growl. "You're disgusting."

"You raised a deviant, old man," Ivan growled to his father. "How you can be proud of him is astonishing to me. You should have killed him at birth, for all the good he's done to either of us. I am proud I have done what is required of me, and once this imposition is dealt with I will finish my work and end his disrespect."

With closed eyes, the Death God sent another flurry of runes to find Laxus. It might take longer, Ivan no doubt kept him hidden, but they would find him.

"He is the only good thing you've done," Makarov continued. "And when I found out whatever you've done to him you will be beaten for each scratch you're responsible for; you can be sure of that."

"It's a shame that you will not live to see that opportunity," Ivan retorted.

"Silence!" The Death God yelled. "You are both unimportant, inconsequential in this war from this point on. Neither of you will make an order, demand, or bring further death. You are both to be silent. Unless you wish to fight me, your war is over."

"You couldn't begin to fight me," Ivan spat, looking to the Death God again.

"Yes, I could," The God snarled back, and Ivan flinched at the sudden emotion. "You, Ivan Dreyar, are nothing but a bug that I could crush beneath me. I have an infinite army of souls and corpses, all rotten by your manipulation. They feel rage and anger towards you that is unrivalled, and that fury will drive them to be more vicious and cruel than your most twisted of dreams.

"My soldiers are unkillable, and immovable. They cannot be reasons with nor can they be stopped. And with every life my soldiers take, we recruit another. And endless spiral of people who can and will put an end to your power, Mr Dreyar."

As the Death God spoke, the bounds around both Makarov and Ivan got tighter. The latter seemed to struggle with breathing now.

"I am more a God than you could ever wish to be, and I will do whatever is needed to end your tyranny on this land," The death God growled, lowing his gaze on the man with sadistic calm. "So help me I will bring rule on it myself if that is what's required of me."

And it would be easy, oh so easy to do it.

He could shape the world in his image, remove those who would cause harm and destruction onto it in the same way that Ivan had to him. He would remove the judgement and prejudices that had plagued his own life, and preach better ideals to his subjects. He could be both the king of the Netherworld and the living.

A flutter of runes suddenly appeared before him, and there stood Laxus.

The God was naked, revealing the extent of his injuries. Scars and bruises and cuts and burns populated his skin where previously there had been none. Marks that connoted restraints were still visible around his arms and legs, and his exhaustion told the Death God that Laxus had not slept nor rested since his capture. He looked more vulnerable than he had ever been, and something inside the God of Death's heart broke at the sight.

He couldn't be the ruler of the living.

Because wanting that might twist him into someone who could hurt another in the way Ivan had hurt Laxus.

All he could be was himself.

Freed made a motion with his hand, his body twisting to its normal size as he stepped through the air. He brought Laxus into his arms and grasped him tight, the two Gods holding one another as if their lives depended on it. They buried their faces into the other's neck, not speaking nor sobbing. But they both felt a rush of exhaustion, relief, and joy flood through them as they were brought together again.

Laxus shook in his arms slightly, and Freed made a quiet promise to him that he would do whatever he could to help the God. Laxus nodded into Freed's neck and pressed his lips against it, feeling a sense of safety that he hadn't in months. A sense of home.

"Fucking disgusting," Ivan rasped.

Pulling away, Freed removed his cloak and wrapped it around Laxus, who took in the warmth of the clothing readily. Freed looked towards the two elder Dreyar's with anger on his face again. Ivan had a sneer which he was trying to maintain despite losing his breath, and Makarov was looking at the display between Laxus and Freed with an expression of confusion and disbelief. Freed ignored it as best he could as he walked towards the two bound men.

"Ivan Dreyar," He began, walking to the struggling man first. Ivan stared directly at him in some ridiculous display of ego. "You are made of cruelty and nothing more. Your actions are done without repent nor regret. Your goals are selfish and the way you attempt to realise them are evil. You have shown no guilt nor understanding of what you have done. What do you say to this?"

"Fuck you," Ivan grunted, the bounds getting tighter and tighter.

"Very well," Freed sighed, raising his left hand. "You cannot be changed. You cannot be fixed. You cannot be trusted. Therefore, you will be killed."

"You can't kill a God," Ivan laughed, and Freed shook his head.

"No. You can't kill a God," He took a step forward. "I can."

The runes around the God started to glow, burning into him. They spiralled around him, their lettering blurring into purple bands that tore into his skin. The sound of their humming could only do so much as to mute out his screaming as his flesh was torn open and scolded. The process was soon covered by a blurring purple halo of runes, which died away a moment later and left Ivan's body desecrated, cut apart and scolding. His soul started to rise from his body, but Freed ripped it open with a flick of his wrist, dismissing it entirely. He would get no afterlife, nor did he deserve one.

Freed turned slowly towards Makarov, who was looking on the body of his son with a look more disappointed than grieving. He looked towards Freed and his expression seemed to be one of acceptance. At least he had some morality left.

"Makarov Dreyar," Freed continued. "In this war, you chose to fight for the freedom of the people you govern. But by doing so, you forgot the value of life. It became unimportant, and people just tools for your victory. Furthermore, you dragged other Gods into this fight and infected them with your violent mindset. You were both complicit and responsible for the deaths of many, and you will be punished accordingly."

"I understand," Makarov hung his head.

"Wait," Laxus said, voice slightly hoarse. "You don't need t'–"

"Let me finish," Freed put a gentle hand up to quell his lover, still looking at Makarov. "This world needs a ruler, and you were once a good one. Throughout the war you have been changed from who you once were, and you need to become that man again. You must relearn the value of a human life, and how important kindness and respect are. Furthermore, you must learn that you are not above the humans, rather their servant and protector. Do you agree?"

"I do."

"Then your punishment will be this," Freed continued. "You will walk this land, and see every inch of it. You will see every human that walks upon it. You will see heartbreak and joy and birth and death and understand it as every human does. No living creature will see you, and you will walk alone. You will use this time to reflect on your actions, and how better you will serve these people. Once you have seen every corner of the land, we will meet again, and I will determine if you're ready to rule. In the time before that happens, your grandson will take the place as Leader of the Gods temporarily, and I will act as his advisor."

Makarov nodded with his head bowed. He seemed to understand that this was a kindness. A mercy. Nothing more.

"Before you leave, I'm sure that your grandson will wish to speak with you. Take the opportunity while you still have it."

He released the runes that were holding Makarov in place, and the two Dreyar's walked through the air and towards one another. Freed watched as they pulled each other into their arms and hugged, Makarov whispering what Freed could only assume was an apology. Laxus seemed to have forgiven him, so long as he accepted what Freed was suggesting was the right thing to do. When Makarov assured him that he would come back a better man, Freed felt a sense of relief. He had mainly offered Makarov the chance at redemption for Laxus' sake.

After the two men had said their goodbyes, Freed made a gesture with his hand and the older God was swirled in runes, taken somewhere on the land that hadn't been completely destroyed by the war, so his punishment could begin.

Laxus and Freed walked towards each other, and rested their foreheads together. They stood in silence for a moment, relishing in each other's presence in such a way that they hadn't been able to do for months. To be together again, in one another's arms, was such a strong relief neither had expected, but both needed so damn much. Neither man was willing to let go, and Freed slowly leant up and pressed his lips against Laxus', uncaring of who saw it.

Kissing his lover was euphoria.

Evergreen and Bickslow, who had watched Freed's proclamations from the side-lines, slowly flew towards both men. When they broke their kiss and pulled the other close, both demons were dragged into the embrace with them. Freed felt tears prickle at his eyes because of it.

The three people he loved more than anything were here with him again. At his side.

"I love you all," He whispered into someone's head. "So much."

They stayed in each other's arms for a time, before eventually pulling apart and looking at the battlefield before them. The fighting had stopped – it felt like the world itself had stopped – and everyone was looking at them. Looking at Freed in particular.

He took a step forward from his loved ones, and made the proclamation to everyone involved in the fight.

The war, finally, was over.

~~~

It was in those moments that Freed gained the title of the God of Judgment. Where he looked at the actions of the two Gods and sentenced them for their crimes. He looked into their souls and saw darkness in one, and potential for good in the other. He used this judgment to change the course of history for the better, and for that the world should be thankful.

His judgment did not end there. In the ensuing days he had every major fighter of the war take council with him, from both sides of the fight. He judged them both on their ability to be good and the possibility for reformation. He devised punishments suited for them all.

Thus, he became the God of Judgement. This is reflected in the 'Knight of Judgment' art piece by the reflection of the scales of justice. The two skulls represent the value someone puts on a life, something pivotal for Freed's own judgment.

This is where some might end the story.

However, this is not an appropriate stopping point for the life of Freed Justine. As established, his actions were heavily influenced by those he loved. It is, in my view, important to explore how these relationships evolved and changed after he had ended the war. Thus, the story continues and ends more happier than some historians may tell you.

Levy McGarden; An Examination and Retelling of the Fiorean Gods

~~~

"At last, you're here!"

At Evergreen's exclamation, Freed chuckled. He walked into the garden of his castle, where a small table had been set up on the patio beside the pond. Both of his demons were already sitting there, and most likely had been waiting for a little while for both him and his lover to leave the castle to meet with them.

They did this once a week. They put aside an afternoon to meet up, talk, and share a drink.

Freed had been the one to suggest it. His time alone in the castle had made him realise a lot of things, and one was just how important his loved ones were. His castle was large, and felt larger when he was alone. He had relied on their support more often that he would have previously admitted, and wanted to treat them better than he had in the past. This was his solution.

There were rules for the meetings. No talking about their various duties. They couldn't bring a bad attitude with them. They had to try something new from human culture each time.

The reason both Freed and Laxus were late was, as the God's in charge of a post-war earth, they always had a lot of work to do. Today was no exception; they had spoken to two of Makarov's high-ranking angels about what they had done during the war and what they should do next to become better. It had taken longer than they had expected, but thankfully for no other reason than one of the angel's had arrived late. Laxus and Freed had done their job and walked from the throne room to the garden quickly, side by side.

"Apologies for the lateness," Freed spoke. "Apparently timekeeping isn't something Mr Fullbuster excels at."

"You know the rules. No work talk," Bickslow chastised, though he grinned.

"Yeah Freed," Laxus chuckled into Freed's ear. "You know the rules."

Freed shook his head, half tempted to point out their short walk to the patio had been dominated by Laxus muttering about the angel in question not arriving on time. Instead, he took his seat close to the pond and absent flicked his eyes over the table. It had been Bickslow's job to decide what part of living culture they would be exploring today, and he usually went for something that could be eaten. Today was no different.

Seemingly picking up on Freed curiosity, Bickslow handed him an empty glass and plate. He poured fresh lemonade into the glass from a pitcher, and then cut a slice of chocolate cake and placed it on the plate. Freed quirked an eyebrow at the cake.

"We're meant to try something new, with the intention of expanding our knowledge of their culture," Freed commented. "The last three times you've been in charge, we've had cake."

"Different recipes," Bickslow grinned. "And if you say it doesn't count, then you're disregarding the time and effort put into this recipe in particular. Which is a real dick mood if you ask me."

"You really are intolerable sometimes, aren't you," Freed chuckled, shaking his head.

After that, they fell into the normal routine of these meetings. They talked, joked, teased fun at each other and enjoyed an afternoon without responsibility. It was a welcome break for them all, and each of them were glad when Freed had proposed they do it. Particularly Evergreen and Bickslow, who had been taking on the slack that Freed's occasional absences had left in the Netherworld.

Although there was no setting sun in Freed's realm, it was clear that the evening was turning to night by the gradual quieting of the world outside the castle. People were returning to their homes to sleep, as their bodies demanded.

Returning the netherworld to its old state had been a large undertaking after the war had ended. First, Freed had been forced to merge the souls back together with their bodies after they had been split for his army, which had taken weeks of literal endless work. Then he had to get back to bringing the culture of the Netherworld to its lively state. The first thing he had done was to make a general apology to everyone for his angered and dismissive behaviour as of late. He then made personal apologies to those in particular he had wronged.

He did so reluctantly to the woman who complained about her neighbour stealing her food.

It was slow and somewhat arduous, but it was working. Slowly he was regaining their respect and improving the Netherworld from what it had once been. There were now more decorations lining the streets, as well as more placed to gather and be social. The open-air marketplace and cafés were particularly popular, and had been very helpful in making the Netherworld feel more human. They had been Laxus' idea.

"Okay," Laxus said, stretching his arms as he stood up. "It's getting late, and we all know that if we don't leave soon Bix'll start teasing Ever about the big guy she likes, and I don't wanna pull them apart again. So I think I'm gonna call it a night."

"I do not like him," Evergreen exclaimed.

"And teasing her about him is my favourite part of the evening!" Bickslow whined.

"Well, perhaps we'll allow you to do it when you don't decide to get us a chocolate cake for us to eat again," Freed said with a smirk, and Bickslow pouted at him. "I think I might be done for the night too."

The Death God stood up also, and moved beside Laxus. The Thunder God grinned and wrapped an arm around his lover, giving a curt wave to Freed's demons after they bid the two Gods farewell. Freed also wished them both a pleasant night as a pure white cloud appeared above the perfect garden, a stream of lighting slamming down and hitting them both, absorbing them inside of it and transporting them to Laxus' own home.

A moment later, they walked through to Laxus' bedroom. The entire place was open and airy, modelled after the architecture of the buildings from the Greek islands. It was a pleasant place, and Freed wouldn't deny he enjoyed the view from above the clouds.

Glancing down, Freed's eyes landed on a large map of the earth placed upon a plinth. It was partly coloured black, signifying where Makarov had walked as part of his punishment. He was making his way across the land, slowly but certainly. When he caught him looking at it, Laxus wrapped an arm around Freed's waist from behind.

"How long d'you think it'll take?" The Thunder God asked.

"About a year, at this rate," Freed said, turning in Laxus' arms and resting against his lover. "Do you miss him?"

"A bit, but he's gonna be better for doing it," Laxus shrugged.

"I hope so," Freed smiled, leaning up and placing his lips against Laxus' in a chaste kiss.

Both smiling with expressions bordering on lovesick, they pulled apart, slid out of their outfits, and climbed into the sun-warmed sheets of Laxus' bed. Laxus pulled Freed into his arms softly, pressing their lips together in another soft kiss before they both closed their eyes. Freed shifted closer to him, letting out a quiet yawn and allowed sleep to overtake him.

And, in the arms of his lover, filled with the warm love of his friends, the God of Death and Judgement found rest.

Again, the amazing artwork in this was made by @fairiesherefairiesthere​ and you should reblog it and show them so much love.

[xsteriism]

Too Good to be Bad

Chapter One: Trouble is Cooking

by celestial-irondad 

1, 225 words 

1/?

based on @funkylittlebidiot’s chat post about ironstrange

edit: click on the chapter title to read it on ao3!!!

----

There are two sides to Dr Stephen Vincent Strange. On one hand, he can be holed up in the Sanctum Sanctorum for weeks on end, just reading book after book after book. He’ll have a bitter cup of tea, no sugar, right beside him as he reads in his rocking chair, with the polluted air of New York City penetrating into his living quarters. 

On the other hand, sometimes all he wants to do is to bring chaos to the lovely New York City. He usually has a plan ready whenever these episodes happen, something to spice up the petty lives of the Avengers. For example, Stephen’s currently in the Avengers’ quinjet, tied up like some rope bunny, on his way to the Avengers’ Compound. It may not seem like it, but everything is falling into place. Stephen’s capture was planned, his trip to the Compound was planned. He’s going to destroy the Compound from the inside and these measly superheroes won’t even see it coming. 

Of course, Stephen made it slightly difficult for the Avengers to capture him. He’s not a complete idiot. He fought with whoever was present for about an hour, only showing off the simple spells he had learnt. Nothing more was needed with these superheroes. He could have gone on, too, if it weren’t for the fact that he had a time schedule to keep. 

The moment the Compound comes into view, Stephen is momentarily winded from the sheer beauty of it. The architecture is breathtaking and whoever designed it deserves a golden, gleaming medal. But before he can make a comment on it, he’s carried into the building by one very strong Captain America, who doesn’t seem to break a sweat. 

‘Did I not gain weight?’ Stephen questions himself internally. ‘All I had been doing this past month was eat, sleep and shit. Surely, I had gained some weight?’

He doesn’t dwell much on it because he’s forced out of his thoughts when he’s unceremoniously dumped into a very hard wooden chair. He groans at the ache growing at his rear end, cursing at the existence of magic binding ropes. He sighs soon after, his mood quickly turning sour. This was supposed to be a fun little excursion, a break from being cooped up in the Sanctum Sanctorum for the past two months. Why did the Avengers have to ruin everything? What kind of sick joy did they obtain from this? All Stephen wanted, was a little explosion, a small firework celebration as the Compound burned.

“Is the interrogation part going to begin?” The sorcerer drawls, looking utterly disinterested, even yawning to prove his point. The Black Widow steps forward threateningly, with her knives gleaming in the light before she’s promptly stopped by Captain America. 

The doctor smirks. Is it this easy to rile these heroes up? 

The Black Widow stabs her knife into the armrest of Stephen’s wooden chair, looking dangerous. “Here’s how it’s going to go. We’re going to ask some questions and you’re going to answer them.”

Stephen raises his eyebrows and closes his eyes as he nods. These superheroes are cute if they think he’ll spill all his secrets just because they asked him to.

“What are the sorcerer’s plans?” Captain America asks arms crossed over his chest, trying to look more intimidating, obviously to no avail. Stephen just looks even more unimpressed, if possible. 

“Oh, mine?” He asks back, looking around as if deep in thought. “Hmm… I don’t really know. I was planning to make myself a nice cup of tea after this, but I think that may have to be postponed.”

The Black Widow drags her knife along the length of the armrest. The doctor glances at the action, not bothered in the slightest. It would take much, much more to successfully instil fear into him. Her little tricks may work on the normal people she usually interrogates, but not Stephen. Really, is this the best she could do? Stephen is the Sorcerer Supreme and he feels slightly offended that the Black Widow thinks she can scare him by just using mere knives. 

Please, he’s seen scarier in his dreams.

“What is the—” before Captain America can finish repeating the same question, the door to the interrogation room slides open. And the sorcerer finds himself out of breath for the second time that day. 

Stephen is absolutely sure that the man who walked into the room is not of this world. He’s wearing the tightest black shirt that clings to his body in the most delicious of ways, complementing his muscles beautifully. His sweats are too loose for Stephen’s liking, but well, he can’t win everything, now can he? The man has an oil stain on his perfectly sculpted face, smudged right below his eye, right on his cheekbone, highlighting it. His lips are quirked into a stunning smile, his hair a lovely shade of brown. Stephen isn’t quite close enough to see the colour of his eyes, but he’s sure they are also as enchanting as the rest of him. 

“Hey,” the ethereal man says, pausing at the sight of Stephen tied up. He pauses a little too long, eyeing the villain up and down, clearly liking what he sees. “Oh, hello to you, too. Anyway, stop by the lab if you want your suit patched up, Nat. I have some upgrades in mind, too.”

Oh, his voice. Such an angelic sound. The sorcerer thinks he can listen to it forever. Forget being cooped up in the Sanctum Sanctorum reading his ancient books, Stephen wants to be cooped up in this man’s room. 

The doctor kicks Captain America in the shin, uncaring that he doesn’t get a dramatic reaction. “Wait, what? This is your boss?”

The man in red, white and blue frowns, unfolding his arms. “What? No? Tony’s not our—”

Right at this moment, a golden portal appears, blazing as Wong steps through it. The assistant falters at the sight of the people gathered, but quickly casts a spell that shields him from the rest and casually starts to untie Stephen. The Avengers are in a state of shock, but before they can move, Wong seizes the opportunity to momentarily paralyse them. Their faces are varying degrees of shock and fury when they realise what happened, but before they can shout, Stephen speaks.

“Why have we been wasting our time with these idiots,” Stephen cries, pointing to everyone in the room, besides his angel, “when this being has been roaming around the halls of this building? Oh, Vishanti! This has been a colossal waste of my time!”

Wong mumbles an incoherent reply, before speaking up. “So… I’m guessing we won’t be blowing the building up today?”

Stephen looks at Wong incredulously, rubbing his sore arms before using a little spell to knock the occupants in the room unconscious. He catches Tony right before he hits the ground, cradling the body close to his chest as if Tony was a delicate piece of china. The rest of the Avengers drop to the floor like sacks of potatoes, creating ‘thunking’ sounds that make Stephen smile.

“Of course not, Wong,” Stephen rolls his eyes, hoisting Tony into his arms, carrying him bridal style. “Let’s go back to the Sanctum. We’ll blow this place up another time. I have important things to do, now.”

----

hello! i hope you enjoyed this little fic! maybe i’ll write a second part to this, who knows? anyway, please reblog if you liked it, give me some comments? 

*this is my first time writing ironstrange and i dont usually write romantic ish relationships (im hermit crab irondad, not hermit crab ironeveryone), but i hope its good enough..? 

thank you @technically-a-little-dragon for beta-ing this fic and for getting me to write for the marvel fandom again i dont really know who to tag, but since i always tag you... @officialtonystarkprotectionsquad @jaijaiwriter @hollandrecs 

[seapandora]

Illusion, Part 4/?

Illusion｜Part 4/?

Bucky x oc!Lori

Warnings: Angst, betrayal, swearing, torture, (suicide is mentioned once), violence

A/N: Part 4, wow. Ehum, Its this part and one more before I take a sort of break from this fic for a bit. There might be a one-shot here or there, but for now I´m just tired of writing this. I still live the story though so I´m not leaving it just yet, but I have so much in my head right now. Thanks for coming by! Please comment, reblog, like and share this if you enjoyed it! I appreciate it! As always, gif-credit to the owner! Oh and send me a message or so to get added to the taglist!

Summary: Reader is a supersoldier, one of a number, one of nine. Hydra´s backup for the asset. The group was started in 1974 and has been working under the radar, training for the day when the asset no longer exists. Lori is the only one left. Left in a cryo, she wasn’t discovered until 2023 when a certain captain and his buddy found her.

Words: 9k+ (I´m so sorry, this chapter, as a full thing, was a bit of a bitch)

Taglist: @selfsun​

2024

Lori walked back to Wanda and immediately began to tell her what had just happened. She wanted to solidify it in her memory, it was one of the best things that had ever happened to her. Wanda was happy for her but made sure that she was okay before she asked for any details. They finished up the decorating while joking around before they walked to the kitchen. Wanda had to finish up her gifts for everyone, which happened to be cookies for everyone. Lori was not a baker and Wanda didn´t want help anyways, but Lori stayed as company.

The kitchen was also one of Lori´s favorite rooms to be in. It looked similar in almost every house and so did the compounds kitchen. Lori had a good memory from her life before Hydra and from before her mother started to hate her, and it had been in their kitchen, baking a cake together. She couldn´t remember why they were baking a cake, and she couldn´t remember what type of cake it was. All she could remember was that it was something she made with her mom.

Wanda talked away, as if she could feel the unrest and thinking Lori was doing. As if she was trying to distract Lori from her own mind. Wanda made sure to keep Lori busy with questions about the cookies for the other members. Like flavor, color and shapes. For Thor, they had decided on hammers and lightning bolts. His flavor of choice was always oranges and Wanda had made him orange-infused cookies. Loki would get cookies in the shape of reindeers with a mix of chocolate and vanilla flavor. Sam was getting bird-shaped chocolate-chip cookies. Wanda put a little more love into Sams cookies. They had gotten close over the past few years, but neither felt like it was the right time to pursue their feelings. Wanda was still in therapy after the loss of Vision. Loosing him twice had been a heavy blow to her and for a while she had let herself go which had led to her safety being in danger several times. Sam was always there for her but he had his own issues of course, suffering from more PTSD than he previosly had. The inifinity war and then endgame had brought back a lot of bad memories, and then having Steve leave had just been the icing on the cake.

Lori was quietly rooting for them to get together, and her christmas gift for Sam was part of that. Wanda was working quickly and using her powers to clean up while she was baking. Lori was sitting on the countertop and dangled her legs a bit. It was really nice to just hang out with Wanda and not have to think too hard on anything in particular. Peter eventually joined them and tried to snatch a few cookies which Wanda wouldn´t tolerate and Lori had to pull Peter away, into the livingroom, to stop the fighting.

A movie would surely distract Peter from the cookies and Lori could always use some Peter time. He was like a little brother to her and she loved him dearly. She loved spending time with him and watching their favorite movies. Currently they were knee-deep in Supernatural, the series, and they could fit in one of the christmas episodes before Sam would take charge of the tv and force them all to watch Die Hard, or some other bad christmas movie, he had been ranting about the past few weeks. Peter wasn´t brave enough to watch Supernatural on his own, so he came over two or three nights a week to watch a couple of episodes with Lori.

Once the episode was done Sam put on Die Hard to everyones groans and complaints. He didn´t care though and blabbered on about it being tradition. Despite the complaints everyone watched it, even the gods… although both Loki and Thor had questions about the plot. Sam did his best to explain or make sure they had patience for the plot to evolve and show itself. The 2 hour movie left them all exhausted on the couches. Lori and Peter had all but fallen asleep. Peter was laying on Lori who was laying on Bucky. The couch wasn´t very big, at least not for two supersoldiers and a boy who was still growing.

Bucky let out a soft cough and gently poked Lori to get her to sit up. “Come on sleepy head. Let´s get you to bed, the couch is comfortable but not as good as your bed, plus I might provide cuddles if you come with me,” he whispered and kissed Lori´s temple. She hummed and nodded before she slowly began to sit up. She gently nudged Peter and let him wake up fully before she pushed him off her. Lori was exhausted and she groaned as her back cracked when she stretched. The others looked over to her and she raised her eyebrows. “What? I´m almost 70, technically. Leave me alone,” she joked and that was the first time anyone had heard her joke about her age.

Age had been a very sensitive subject according to the therapist Lori had been paired with, but they had worked on it a lot. Lori clearly wasn´t 70 something years. She had been frozen for at least 30 of those years. Considering the serum and all her training the doctors had first aged her around 30 when she came to the compound. Technically she would have turned 30 the year she was put in cryo. It didn´t do her well to dwell on her age though. That was why she had started to joke about it. It took the bad vibes away from it.

Peter yawned but got up. They all helped clean up the livingroom before they made their way to their own rooms. Lori, Sam and Bucky all had rooms on the same floor. They took the elevator because they were all too tired for the stairs. Lori was the most tired and Bucky eventually picked her up as she seemed to be falling asleep standing.

Sam smirked as he saw the two of his best friends together. He was really happy for them. Of course he had noticed the change in their behavior towards each other during the afternoon. He may be a bit dull, but he wasn´t stupid. They went their separate ways from the elevator. Bucky carried Lori to her room and gently tucked her into bed where she would be the most comfortable. He got her a water-bottle as well to have on her nightstand. Once she was in bed he went to his own room and put on some news to fall asleep too. The quiet wasn´t something he enjoyed anymore, and he needed some sound around him to be able to fall asleep.

He slept well for a few hours. At 3.30 in the morning he woke up to something warm pressing against his right arm. He opened one eye and chuckled as he noticed Lori trying to slip in unnoticed. “Bad dreams or just cold?” He asked quietly and got comfortable on his back before opening his arms to let Lori curl up close. “A bit of both. This time of year brings out some bad memories. Plus I forgot to turn the heat up in my room and I´ve lost my extra blanket,” she mumbled and buried her face in Buckys neck. He was so warm, even his metal arm was at an ambient temperature.

Lori was soon asleep again, before Bucky had the chance to answer her, but he let her sleep. He wanted her to have all the energy possible for Christmas Eve, and if that meant sleeping in his bed, enveloped by his warmth, then he wouldn´t complain. He was also a little pissed that they didn´t have the time to cuddle during the evening before, but again, he wouldn´t complain. The past few days had been more than Bucky could have ever hoped for. He got to spend time with his family, and he had gotten together with a girl he had learned to know as a sweet and warm person, over the past few months. This Christmas definitely wouldn´t be so bad.  

They slept through Buckys alarm. It had been set for 6 am, but neither of them heard it. They stayed cuddled up together until Friday made them aware of the other avengers waiting for them for breakfast. Bucky turned around to look at his phone, Lori seemed to be asleep still and he didn´t want to wake her up. They had no reason to get up early, The Donald Duck showing was available online and Lori had spoken on her wish to see it at around 3 pm local time. She claimed it felt right to watch it at 3 pm local time instead of Swedish time. That was all good with Bucky. He mumbled out a command for Friday to let them sleep in a bit more. He turned back to Lori who curled up to his side and pressed her lips against Buckys neck. “What´s going on? What time is it?” She asked softly, but she didn´t make any effort to wake up. “It´s just after 8, we can go back to sleep for a little bit,” he replied quietly and kissed her forehead.

While Bucky hadn´t expected himself to fall asleep again, he was glad he did when he woke up two hours later. He felt very relaxed and well-rested. Bucky turned his head and smiled as he found himself staring into the bright eyes of Lori. “Morning,” he mumbled and turned onto his side to look at Lori. “Merry Christmas Buck,” she said softly and leaned over, pecking his cheek quickly. Neither of them were much for laying in bed after having woken up and they decided to get up to get some breakfast.

Sam had made pancakes for everyone and once Bucky and Lori arrived in the kitchen he reheated four of the pancakes for the two supersoldiers. “We chose to bring out the whole deal so toppings are on the table,” he said and nodded to the big table to urge the two to sit down. “It started snowing late last night and it´s still going so we probably won´t be able to go anywhere. Wanda and I were thinking of going down to the river and pay our respects to Natasha, Vision and Tony. Pepper is going tomorrow with Morgan and we were thinking we could leave something nice at the memorial.” Sam continued and plated the pancakes for Bucky and Lori.

The two sat down by the table and smiled as Sam served them the pancakes. Lori decided to put jelly on her pancakes. She had never really liked Nutella, well she liked it, but only in croissants. She got the raspberry jam and put some on her pancakes before she poured herself some mango-juice. “I would really like to come with you to the memorial. If that´s alright?” Lori asked softly before she dug into her pancakes. They were delicious of course. Sam and Wanda nodded eagerly and smiled. They both looked to Bucky who shook his head a bit. He had never been able to ask for forgivness from Tony, and he felt unworthy of paying respect to people he had once fought. It didn´t matter how much Wanda and Sam encouraged him to go, or how much Morgan had begged him to go. It felt wrong.  

“You guys go, and I´ll clean up and prep lunch for us, okay?” Bucky asked and smiled softly. The three in front of him smiled and nodded in agreement. None of them wanted to force Bucky into a situation where he would feel uncomfortable. Lori gulped dopwn her juice and pancakes happily. “These are so good Sam, what do we have to do to get you to make these every day?” She asked and looked at Sam. He chuckled and shook his head. “Nothing in the world can make me get up early enough to make breakfast for y´all,” he said and looked back at Lori.

She finished eating after fifteen minutes or so and leaned back in her seat groaning softly. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back hearing a familiar crack in her neck. Wanda made a sound of disgust and shuddered. “I really wish you would stop doing that,” she said and poked Lori´s arm. “Hey, don´t judge my bones, or get me new ones,” she teased Wanda back and slapped her hand away gently.

Sam, Wanda, and Lori left the kitchen once they had put the dishes in the dishwasher. Sam and Lori went to their floor while Wanda went to her own, or rather the one she sometimes shared with Peter and they all got dressed for the snowy, and chilly december day. Lori went for some sweatpants and a hoodie, sure it wasn´t super-conventional to go to a memorial site in such clothing, but she would stand back, she was there for her friends, not those the memorial was for.  

Sam had gone for jeans and a nicer shirt and jacket while Wanda had put on a dark red dress and her coat. Sure Lori felt a bit underdressed but it was okay. Peter, Pepper and Morgan were all going the next day so she didn´t have to impress anyone. They left Bucky to prepare lunch. He had promised not to go overboard with it but they all knew he would anyways. Bucky always went all in with a task. He was planning on making meatballs, baked potatoes, and cooked salmon for them all.

The three avengers didn´t stay long at the meorial. Sam and Wanda left their gifts for Vision and Natasha and they all wished the three former avnegers a merry christmas and a happy new year. Lori stuffed her hands in her pockets and pulled her shoulders up towards her ears. It was getting windy out and if this continued they would get snowed in over the new years. She looked up to the sky and took a deep breath. She jumped a bit when she felt a heavy hand land on her shoulder. it was warms o she figured it was Thor, and she was correct.

Thor had decided to join them in silence. While he wasn´t close with all of the avengers he still had serious respect for them all, and he for sure missed Tony a lot. Tony had helped him get past a rough patch, and Thor didn´t believe he had repaid that debt. He therefore saw it as his duty to keep a check on the universe and the new avengers in Tony´s stead. Lori gave him a soft smile and patted his hand. “Are you and your brother staying til tomorrow?” She asked quietly. Thor seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts before he replied. “Yes, we also know swedish people traditionally celebrate tonight so we thought we´d dance around the tree with you tonight. And it might bring you joy that Loki has agreed, although quite unwillingly,” he said with a bright smile.

“Wow, that´s huge coming from Loki,” Lori chuckled and stepped closer to Thor who wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She felt really happy around the gods. Thor was like the teddy bear brother she had always wanted, while Loki was the kind of brother who made sure she was educated and always had books to read. Loki had helped Lori with a lot of the history in the past 30 years. She had missed a lot. Espeially when it came to freedom and technology. While the technology hadn´t been hard to grasp, it had been ahrd to grasp that Europe was no longer as segregated as it had once been. The soviet was no more, and neither was Yugoslavia. Sweden had joined the European Uninion, and the world looked slightly different. A few wars had been fought, a few were still ongoing. Old conflicts had been exchanged for new ones.

Lori was really confused by the new world. She couldn´t understand why peace wasn´t an option or why people couldn´t get along. She had also found that social media added a whole other problem, and that more fights were breaking out because of it. It was all very strange and Lori did her best to stay out of conflicts. She had an instagram, but she barely used it, and it was run by HR anyways. She never read comments, she didn´t read news about herself or the team.

She was unsure where her thoughts came from, but she guessed it was because of the current season and the holiday in front of them. Lori had always learned that Christams was for thanking God for everything in her life. Sweden of course didn´t have thanksgiving and very few other holidays were they would be thankful. It was weird. It was strange to have gone from Europe to USA. The culture was very different. It had been a schock to Lori in the beginning. Now, while she wouldn´t say it didn´t bother her, she could handle the different culture and how different people were.

Sam and Wanda came over to the god and the supersoldier and Lori held her hand out for Wanda. Anyone with a sense, knew Wanda needed some comforting. Vision had been a very important person to her. A role no one could really fill, even though some had tried. Wanda smiled at Lori and stayed close to her as they made their way back to the compound. The snow was coming down hard now and eventually they found themselves running to the compound, rather than walking. They made it inside just in the for the wind to pick up as well, and they all let out a sigh of relief.

Wanda seemed cold and Lori made sure to get her to the couch and wrap her up in a few blankets. “Do you want some tea?” Lori asked and gently stroke Wandas hair. They were so close now, like sisters. Wanda nodded and Lori walked to the kitchen to get her a cup of hot tea. Bucky was all up in the cooking and Lori chuckled a bit as she watched him. “Hey there Ace, want some help?” She asked as she filled the ketle with water. She flipped the little switch and turned around to watch Bucky while she crossed her arms.

“Only if you´d like too sweetie. You dont have to,” he said and shrugged. “I´ll happily help,” Lori replied quickly and smiled at him. “I just need to get the tea to Wanda,” she added and walked over to Bucky wrapping an arm around his waist. She leaned up and pressed her lips to his cheek. “I´m awful when it comes to cooking but I can for sure roll the meatballs,” she chuckled and hummed as she leaned her head on Buckys flesh arm. The water was done within seconds, much thanks to Stark tech, which Lori had learned fairly quickly.

Everything was fast, there was no need to wait for anything really. It had been a strange thing to get accostumed too. Speed with any kind of technology in the late 60s and early 70s wasn´t something that existed. Television was a very good example. During the 60s Sweden only had one channel. It wasn´t until 69 that sweden got its second tv-channel. Lori´s family recieved a tv in 1965, but Lori wasn´t allowed to watch a whole lot of it. She wasn´t allowed to watch tv everyday until she was 18, in 1970. 1970 was also the year they officially got colored television. Losing all that when she was pulled into Hydra and then getting it all back multiplied by a million was a weird and unsettling experience.

Technology had been, as one would imagine a tough learning curve. Hydra had techonolgy, and “modern” one at that, but Lori had still gone into the ice in the late 80s or early 90s. Everything was different back then. She had still to fully grasp the wastness of television and cellphones. Her phone wasn´t used a lot and charged maybe once a week because she used it so little. Had she been given a choice she would have skipped the phone completely.

Bucky kissed her forehead before he helped her get a cup, and some of the better tea that was stored higher up. Lori prepared the cup quickly and brought it out to Wanda, who had been joined by Sam on the couch. Lori handed her the cup before she made her way back to the kitchen. The big windows showed the snow coming down harder than Lori had ever seen before. “Would you mind if I put on some music?” She asked Bucky who shrugged as a reply. He wasn´t much for music, but he realized Lori would feel better with it on in the background.

Lori was aware that Bucky didn´t care much for music, so normally she wouldn´t put on music. There was enough noice going on around them anyways, but now the compound was silent, and nature made no sound. Birds weren´t chirping, and the snow falling on the windows and roof wasn´t audible. “Friday, please play my Christmas list, low volume,” Lori said out into the blue, before she washed her hands to be able to roll some meatballs. Bucky had heard part of her christmas list earlier and he actually liked it. It was mostly older songs, and even better, older versions of the songs, none of the Mariah Carey-shit. He couldn´t handle the newer versions, it was too much pop, or whatever the kids called it.

A lot of the songs were also in swedish, and Bucky wasn´t too mad about that. As an american in the 1920s his geography lessons had been less than detailed. Hell, not all states had been formed when Bucky was born, and not when he was in school either. Bucky had been good in school. He had always been an overachiever, but he had also had an academic interest which he would have pursued had he not inlisted. He chuckled to himself at the thought. It was always strange to imagine the life he would have, was it not for the war. For one, he would be dead, probably by a few years margin. Second he would have most likely found himself a good girl to marry. Maybe that girl would have been Dolores.

He tended not to dwell on what could have been. That had been every therapists recommendation, and so he didn´t. But sometimes, like with the music that was clearly from the 60s, 70s, and 80s, thoughts came wandering. He felt lucky to be a part of the avengers though, because it meant he was isolated. He didn´t have to change too much to fit in with the outside world if he didn´t want to. He didn´t have to listen to modern music because that´s what others did, he could stick with his 20s and 30s jazz.

Bucky looked over to Lori who was humming along to one of the swedish songs that was playing. He wasn´t in any rush to finish his tasks, as it would be better to have the meatballs done first. Almost everything else was already prepared. He decided to help Lori, it would go a bit quicker that way even if she seemed fairly sure with the rolling. He washed his hands before he took his place besides Lori and grabbed some of the meat. He had gone for beef raher than pork, neither Lori, Sam or Wanda liked pork.

They had all of the meat rolled up and lined on a sheet in just a few minutes, Lori had already done a big part of it. Bucky put the tray in the oven and set a timer for 20 minutes. He had a bit of a different approach to meatballs than many others. He always threw them in the oven and then fried them up in some crushed tomatoes. It wasn´t traditionally how meatballs were made in Sweden, because of course he had looked that up.

Lori hummed to herself before she began to sing along with the song that was playing. She was no singer, that was for sure, but she didnt sing for others. Her therapist had asked what her hobbies had been before she was kidnapped and Lori had answered singing so here she was singing, trying to take back what she had liked. Her mother had always sung Christmas songs with her when they were driving during the winter. That had been some of the best times of Lori´s life.

Wanda and Sam came into the kitchen together. They both seemed happy and calm, and Wanda seemed to be a lot warmer. “Hey, lunch should be done in about half an hour or so,” Bucky said and smiled at the two. Sam nodded and patted Wandas shoulder. “I´ll get a fire started in the diningroom, maybe you could set the table Wan?” Sam asked and smiled at them all. Wanda nodded and Lori offered to help her, but Wanda declined, reasoning that Lori had helped Bucky cook. Lori huffed and crossed her arms, ready to argue but Wanda just turned her around and pushed her into Bucky. “Dance with her and make sure she stays out of my way while I set the table,” Wanda told Bucky and left the two in the kitchen.

Bucky managed to catch Lori by the waist and kept her close. “Well, my lady, would you care to dance with me?” He asked and held out his hand for her to take. She took his hand gently and squealed as he pulled her closer and placed his other hand on her waist. Lori had never danced. She had learnt a bit during her time in Hydra, but only enough for one mission. Bucky asked Friday to raise the volume slightly and the two began to dance to the tunes of `Have yourself a merry little christmas`. The Sinatra version. If it was one thing that Bucky had learnt it was that Lori really liked Sinatras voice and found it soothing enough that she often fell asleep with his music playing.

It was very noticable that neither of them were used to dancing or had done it in a long while, but that was alright. They managed to avoid each others toes at least, which they were both happy with. Dancing with Bucky was fun. Lori had never had that much fun. She felt seen for the first time. The timer for the oven went off behind them and they both sighed. Bucky leaned down and pressed a quick, and soft, kiss to Loris´ lips before he released her to take out the meatballs. Lori stood frozen for a second before she decided to move so she was out of the way.

Bucky got the meatballs and immediatly tossed them into a pot he had prepared with tomato-sauce. He wasn´t sure what spices to toss in so he had gone for paprika, garlic, black pepper, and oregano. He had also shredded some mozzarella beforehand. Again it wasn´t a very traditional thing to have on Christmas, but it was meatballs at least. He turned the pot, which contained water and potatoes, on. Lori stayed out of the way as this was Buckys field now. She jumped up on an empty counter and swung her legs a bit as she watched Bucky work.

The food was prepared to perfection, everyone thought so, apart from Bucky. He was happy with most of it, but he was nervous. He wanted Lori to approve of it so badly. He had done it all for her after all. He wanted her to be able to hold on to some traditions, and if that meant them all eating together for two whole days then so be it. He would also sit through an hour of Donald Duck for Lori if it made her happy.

They all helped each other fix up the last of the lunch and took it out into the dining room. Bucky called out to everyone through Friday and they all gathered in the dining room. Aunt May had arrived just in time for lunch, and Peter had brought Ned as well. Scott and Hope was there, like Bruce and the gods. Lori sat down between Loki and Bucky. She poured herself and Bucky some water and asked wether Loki wanted some or if he was drinking mead. He accepted the water quietly and the whole team began to dig into the food on the table. There was definitely enough for them all.

Conversations were started and ended, but no one was arguing, as if it was a quiet rule. Not even Bruce and Thor argued about what was magic and what was science. Loki was quiet in general apart from when Wanda asked him a few questions abut his powers and how they differed from hers. They hadn´t always seen eye to eye and they hadn´t had a lot of time together to just talk. Lori smiled her way through the lunch. She felt happy, and safe. Safe was the most important, but feeling happy was an amazing experince.

The food was all eaten by half past two. Sam was complaining about how full he was and Wanda was teasing him for it. Bucky was quiet but he looked satisfied and happy. Thor was wondering if there was more food while Loki had picked up his book. Lori sighed happily before she began to clear the table. It was getting close to tv-time but it was always nice to have some stuff cleared up. She grabbed all the plates and got them all to the dishwasher. Bucky helped her of course and they cleared off the table quickly, and then moved to the livingroom with the rest of the team.

Bucky took the two-seat couch and patted the seat besides him to invite Lori, who made her way over to him happily. Sam and Wanda took the other two-seater while the others sprawled out on the third couch or the bean-bags on the floor. Bucky wrapped a blanket around them and pulled Lori into his arms before he asked Friday to play the Donald Duck showing from the swedish television with english subtitles.

Lori curled up to his side and laid her head on his shoulder as the hour-long segment started. She was quite invested in it in general and laughed a bit as the music was all in swedish. She could definitely recognize a lot of it from her childhood but there was also some new parts she didn´t know off. even when she was a kid there would always be new parts to the show, seeing as Disney were growing. Some of the original scenes had been shortened and some were completely new, from recent movies.

She was close to falling asleep by the end of the hour, as a mix of the food and just the calmness she was experiencing. She was happy. No other word could describe what she was feeling. Content maybe, but in general it was a positive experience and she was very glad she got to share this moment with the people that had saved her and helped her. She was especially happy that Bucky felt like spending the time with her, and her crazy traditions. He truly had done a lot for her in her months at the compound, and part of her regretted how she had treated him in the beginning. Especially when she broke his nose.

Bucky stroke her arm lazily. She was warm and soft under his touch, but he was cautious. He knew her strength, and part of him felt responsible. But he wasn´t with her out of pity, and he hadn´t enjoyed their kiss out of pity. The only thing he hated, was seeing what Hyda had destroyed within her. Much like how they destroyed him. Stripped him of his personality and replaced it with the one of a killer. While he was uncertain about the fate Lori had planned for her while in Hydra, he was under the impression she didn´t have as many kills under her belt as he did. He sighed softly before he stretched.

His watch showed 4.07 pm and he hummed. “I kind of want to take you out tonight, to a really nice place I usually go to for peace and quiet. How does that sound?” He asked quietly into Lori´s ear. She looked back and up at him and nodded. Her face was heating up quite a bit at the thought but she would love to spend a larger amount of time alone with Bucky. “Do you mean like a date or just dinner?” She asked and bit her bottom lip. Bucky chuckled softly and nodded. “Well, I was thinking of it as a date. But, changes can be made,” Bucky said but Lori shook her head. “No, no, I´d be very happy to go on a date with you, as long as it stops snowing,” she mumbled and looked to the outside to the darkness that faced them.

The team went their separate ways. The gods were going to Aasgard. Well, new Aasgard, to celebrate the night there. Wanda and Sam had plans on going out on their own, and Bruce was off to help some of the local hospitals with some new equipment. Peter and May were opting to just stay in and take a nice evening together. Lori got to her room to get ready. She had asked Wanda for help. She had no talent in putting together an outfit, which was why she was mostly in sweats or cargo pants. A black shirt went well with that obviously, and that´s why her warderobe looked just as dark as the vast space.

Wanda came to her room half an hour after Lori, and knocked before she opened the door. “Okay, let´s get you dolled up, I brought three dresses, two skirts, and some blouses that you can choose from. I also know you own two pairs of black jeans, one pair untorn, that I would recommend you keep in mind,” she explained as she placed the clothes on Loris bed. Of course she noticed it was made like it had been the day before, and she quickly deduced it hadn´t been slept in at all and that Lori had spent the night with Bucky. She didn´t mention it though, it was none of her business.

“Do you want to borrow a bracelet or some earrings. Maybe a necklace?” Wanda asked as she went through Loris wardrobe in search of a few nice shirts and her jeans, which she had realized Lori wasn´t wearing. “So, do you know where Bucky´s taking you?” She asked and looked over at Lori. Lori just shook her head and sighed. “He said a nice, quiet place,” she replied and sighed softly. “That makes me want to bet on jeans and a nice shirt or blouse. Maybe I can borrow the gray one from you?” She asked and looked to Wanda. “Of course you can borrow it. Are you wearing heels or just sneakers? Or are you going for like proper boots?” Wanda asked and frowned knowing Lori favored the boots over almost anything. Lori shrugged and looked to her warderobe, and her small selection of shoes.

Lori walked over and picked up her boots. They were simple matte black ones, but she really liked them. They were very comfortable. And they would keep her warm through the snow. “I´m going with the boots today, so jeans it is. I think the gray blouse would look great with them and then I´ll just throw on my black coat on top of that,” Lori explained and pulled everything out to line it up on the bed. “Are you sure? You won´t get cold when you take the coat off then?” Wanda asked and frowned. Lori chuckled a bit at Wandas worrying expression. “I´m a super-soldier Wan. I run warm, just like Bucky. We aren´t as affected by the cold,” she smiled and shrugged. “Plus I´m guessing I´m getting some warm food and possibly coffee or tea after that, so either way I should be fine,” she added quickly.

She really liked the outfit they had picked out. The jeans and blouse fit her perfectly and she pulled on some socks before she pulled on her boots. Wanda walked over to her nightstand and picked up the necklace Lori had lying there. “Wear this as well,” She said and helped Lori put it on. It was quite squiggly and silver but it was still very simple and went with pretty mcuh whatever Lori was wearing. Lori turned around when she was done and held out her hands. “Well, do you think this will be okay?” She asked Wanda and frowned. Wanda smiled and nodded happily. “You look great Lori,” she replied and skipped over to Lori to hug her. Wanda didn´t mention make-up as Lori didn´t wear make-up, ever. She found it unneccessary, seeing as she always got sweaty on missions. And she didn´t understand the whole deal anyways, there was just too much of it.

Back in her day, back in the 60s, when Lori would have been wearing makeup, the things she used was eyeliner and mascara and that was it. Now there was so much more, and so many different versions of essentially the same product. She had felt so confused while walking into a CVS, and seeing the whole aisle of makeup. It had freaked her out to begin with, not that she cared if anyone else liked it, or used that much makeup. She was just worried that that was the supposedly new normal.

She didn´t put on any makeup for the date either. It was still snowing and that was a good way to get runny mascara, which wasn´t a very attractive look. Wanda skipped out of her room to get ready for her own dinner date. Lori watched herself in the mirror and took a deep breath. The date would either be wonderful or it would be awful, she was hoping for the first option. She took a deep breath before she left her room to go look for Bucky.

He wasn´t far away, waiting in the living room. They were matching, but as always great minds think alike, and Lori was surprised to see him in dark pants, a lighter shirt and a leather jacket. She walked over to him and smiled softly. “You look great,” she said quietly as she began to pull her jacket on so they could leave immediately. Bucky looked up at her and let his eyes wander for a few seconds before he smiled back at her.

“YOU look great. Let´s take one of the nicer cars,” he said and held out his right hand for Lori to hold. She took it happily and intwined their fingers as Bucky led them down to the garage. He had a love for the very beautiful Range Rover the government had bought them. It was sleek, black, and frankly Bucky liked it for all the horsepowers it had. It was also a great car for the winter. He opened the door for Lori and helped her in before he walked over to the drivers side and got in.

It was manual. Bucky approved off that. Not that it mattered a whole lot to him anyways, he didn´t even have a valid drivers license. Sam had pestered him about it the past year but Bucky just couldn´t be bothered, plus he was well recognized as an avenger so cops didn´t stop him. Despite Bucky missing a lisence, Lori preferred his driving over anyone elses. He was always safe, and always kept to the speed-limits. Unless a situation needed him to exceed them.

Lori curled up in the seat and turned the heat on. Not because she was cold but rather because it was comfortable. Bucky glanced over at her every now and then as he drove and he eventually reached over and placed his hand on her leg. Lori smiled and placed her own hand over Buckys. Sure it was his metal-hand, and yes it was a bit cold, but Lori wasn´t bothered by it.

Loris life with Hydra had been hard, rough, and cold, but she had always found comfort in the strict schedule she had to follow. It had changed since then. It was the same shape, but so very different in structure. She couldn´t get to the metal nerves of it and it still bothered her a bit, she just didn´t know why.

Bucky parked the car by a diner which looked to be ancient. He got out of the car and got the door for Lori. “I used to visit this diner back in the 30s and 40s, before the war,” he explained and held out his arm for Lori to hook her own with. She did just that and stayed close to Bucky. “It looks very cozy,” she said softly as she followed him inside. Bucky introduced Lori to the owner, an 80 year old woman who seemed to be slighty too old to run a diner, but she was very nice and active for her age.

They got a table in the far corner from the door and a menu each. They weren´t as sticky as Lori would have expected from a diner. Of course Lori had a preset thought of american diners, but if this was as old as Bucky claimed it to be, she was excited. She looked through the menu but fairly early decided on a burger. It was simple, and no one could make a bad burger in Loris mind.

The old lady returned to take their orders. Bucky ordered a burger as well and diet sodas for them both. Lori watched him, and tilted her head as she leaned her elbows on the table. The lady left them to it for now but returned a few minutes later with their drinks. Not a word had been exchnaged between the two supersoldiers during that time. Once they had their drinks and were properly settled in Bucky let out a soft sigh. “I told Steve to take Peggy here when we were fighting the war, little did I know he wouldn´t come back home. And even less did I know he´d return to her from the 2020s,” he said as he turned the glass in his hand.

“You used to come here before the war with him, didn´t you?” Lori asked and smiled a bit. She really couldn´t imagine Bucky in the 30s and 40s, but she still tried. How different he must have been. How different everything must have been back then. Everything was very different for Lori, just from the beginning of the 90s til the 2020s. She despised some parts of it, but felt lucky to have been able to experience other parts.  

Bucky nodded to her question and crossed his arms. “Yeah, the lil punk used to come here with me. Usually I tried to set up double dates for us, but he was never interested. All he wanted to do was serve,” Bucky explained and looked over to a wall of pictures. Lori followed his gaze and saw a bunch of black and white pictures. Some which clearly resembled Bucky and Steve before the serum. She was very thankful for her enhanced eyesight, which made it easier to see the pictures without having to move. “His father died before he was born, right?” Lori asked and glanced over at Bucky once more. She was trying to tread lightly knowing how important that time, and memories were to Bucky.

“Mhm, he died in the first war, two months before Steve was born. His mom used to say she was lucky that I had entered Steves life. She was working a lot to make sure they were both in a good position, and it helped if Steve stayed at my place,” he said and smiled at the memories. He didn´t have a lot of them, but some of the early memories had come back. “My family had money, I lost my ma when I was a kid, and pa went when I was a teenager. By then it was just me and Becca,” Bucky continued.

Lori listened with great interest. There was only so much she could deduce from a file. She had learned that stories were told, not written in a file. She took a sip of her soda as she listened to Bucky. He spoke of the 30s and 40s with such care. “Becca was sent off to some boarding school, and I didn´t get to see her before I was enrolled. I´ve seen her later on in life. She turned 100, four years ago and I was there to celebrate her, but she passed away a year later. I don´t keep in contact with her kids, it doesn´t feel right,” he added and bit his lip. He wasn´t interested in getting to know his family.

“I can understand that. My cousins have reached out to me, and their kids as well, but I… I just couldn´t bear to face them,” Lori said and sighed. “But, I´m eternally greatful for the family I´ve found with you at the compound.” She said quickly and gave Bucky a soft smile as a reassurance. “Yeah, I was very lucky to be able to join Steve and Sam for a few years. Even if Sam is a pain in the ass he´s still my best friend,” Bucky said and reached out for Loris hand. Lori took his hand quickly and smiled.

The food arrived just a few minutes later, and despite it being on the standard diner plates it looked amazing. And it smelled amazing too. “This looks great,” she told the old lady and got her hand back from Bucky to dig into her burger. She had always been eating the burger before fries. The burger was the main meal after all, and the fries were just a side. Sure she loved fries, but not as much as she loved a proper burger. Bucky started with two fries before he picked up his burger and turned it upside down. Lori watched him and raised an eyebrow but turned her burger as well before she took a big bite of it.

She moaned softly at the taste of it and closed her eyes. Everything about the burger was just perfect. It was savory, and round in flavor. The dressing was delicious and went very well with the pickled red onion. “Okay, from now on, I trust you wherever you take me on a date,” Lori said once she was finished chewing and swallowing her bite. Bucky chuckled at her and shook his head. “This is honestly the only good place I know. I´ve refrained from going to Manhattan or popular New York in general,” he explained and took another bite of his burger.

Lori continued to eat and a few bites in she coughed slightly as a piece of her burger got stuck in her throat. She groaned softly as she swallowed it down with a few sips of her soda. “Fuck, I should know better than to chug down food, shouldn´t I?” She asked and laughed. Bucky laughed with her and reached over with his napkin to wipe some dressing off of her chin. “Hey, I can´t blame you. The burgers are amazing,” he said and smiled softly. He finished his burger in three more bites, and Lori was amazed at how much he could fit into his mouth.

“What´cha staring at doll?” He asked between bites and leaned back as he swallowed his last bite. “Oh, nothing, just a real cute guy,” she teased him and smirked as she watched him. She finished her burger just in time for the old lady to come back and asked how they found their meals. They both thanked the old lady and asked her to send their compliments to the chef. “Well, my husband will be very happy to hear it. You kids are welcome here any time, we love seeing Bucky here, and it´s so nice to see him bring a lady with him,” she said and patted Loris shoulder.

Lori felt her face heat up and looked down at her hands. She wasn´t embarassed, but she felt as if she was getting praise she didn´t deserve. “She is the only one I feel comfortable enough to bring here,” Bucky explained. Lori looked up at him and bit her lip. “Oh, so you´re the only one who can beat him up, when that is necessary?” The old lady asked and placed a hand on her hip while giving Bucky a stern look. Bucky blushed and coughed to himself. “I´ll have you know that I´m a very nice man ma`am, no need for a beating here,” he said quickly. Lori couldn´t help but laugh and shake her head. “Don´t worry ma`am, he already knows I´ll win, I´ve done it once before,” Lori said and glanced to Bucky.

Bucky groaned as he thought back to the day and moment Lori was referring to. He had known Lori was like him, but he had thought she would go easy on him. Or that he´d have the upperhand, with his metal arm and his years of experience and training, but no. He had pushed her over the edge with his teasing and she had broken his nose and bruised him up good. “Yeah, and I was a mouthbreather for a week, that´s your favorite story to tell, but I´m sure Mrs. Green has better things to take of right now,” Bucky said and gritted his teeth a bit. He did not like to be ridiculed, and that story really wasn´t a suitable date-story.

With a sigh Lori instead dug into her fries. “Sorry, but you were the first person I got to fight, and also the first person I touched voluntarily after I came out of the Cryo,” Lori said softly. She didn´t mean to embarass Bucky at all, it was a good memory to her, despite hurting a person she had come to hold very dear. Bucky ate his fries in silence but hummed in approval of her apology. “I know doll, it´s just… I was undefeated until you came along, so my ego was bruised,” he said and frowned. Lori gave him a small smile and reached out to take his hand. “I get it, but hey, I´ll let you win next time, alright? I could use a more fair challenge than Wanda anyways,” she teased him and moved her hand out of his before he could smack it playfully.

“She is quite the unfair fight, isn´t she?” Bucky asked with a chuckle. Lori nodded and laughed. “But it´s great practice, she really keeps me on my toes when we train,” Lori said and shrugged while she polished off her fries. Bucky did the same and leaned back patting his stomach. “Please don´t tell me you´re better than sharing a slice of apple pie with me and have some coffee or tea?” Lori said and smirked at him. “Oh, I´m better. I suggest we get a slice each, and bring them back to the compound for a movie, I can even drive us past a Starbucks if you´d like. I know how much you like their drinks,” he teased Lori.

Lori lit up in front off Bucky and nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes please, I want a peppermint hot chocolate so bad,” she said and clapped her hands excitedly. Bucky chuckled again and ordered their apple pies when Mrs. Green came back. He also brought out his wallet to be ready to pay. Their pies came back in a cute little box with a bow on top. “It´s on the house today kids, just come back every month, alright?” Mrs. Green said and smiled at them both. Lori thanked the old lady a few times and once more complimented the food.

Bucky stood up and reached out to take Loris hand while she grabbed their to-go box. He stepped closer to her and pecked her lips. “Thank you for coming out with me, I always love spending time with you,” he mumbled against her soft lips. Lori smiled against his lips and pressed hers to his once more. “No, thank you Buck, I haven´t really ever been on a date, but this was just perfect,” she said softly with a smile. She was happy, and it showed. Bucky led her out to the car and opened the door for her. “Keep the pie safe, or I´ll have you pay for it later,” Bucky teased Lori who protectively wrapped her arms around the box. He laughed at her and shook his head before he closed the door behind her and got behind the wheel.

“So, Starbucks, and then back home to a movie?” Bucky asked as he backed out of the parking lot. Lori looked out the window at the snow that came down in beautiful flakes. It had eased up quite a bit while they were at dinner. Bucky drove them for a little while before Lori asked him to stop. “You brought your mobilephone, right?” She asked as Bucky parked the car by the side of the road. He nodded with a frown. “Could you take a picture of me, in the snow?” She asked excitedly and opened the car door.

Bucky nodded once more and got out of the car as well. “Alright, let´s do it, but quickly, it´s windy and I really want some coffee,” He confessed and got his phone from his pocket. He looked at the background and directed Lori to a place she could stand. Seeing as Bucky hadn´t turned the car off the headlights would work as their lightsource. “Okay, now hold up your hands as if you´re trying to catch the snow,” he insisted and held the phone up to snap a few pictures, from which Lori could choose her favorite.

Lori rushed back to the car and got in blowing some warm air onto her hands. Sure, both her and Bucky could withstand colder temperatures for a longer time, but it was still uncomfortable to be in. “Okay, let´s get drinks and then go home. This is enough nature for me today,” Lori laughed and turned the seat heat on for them both.

[shreddedparchment]

To Be Seen Pt.07

Finally Seeing Him

03/15/2019

Pairing: Thor x Reader          Word Count: 12,803

*Masterpost in Notes   Warnings: language, oral sex (F&M receiving), unprotected sex, fluff, Ben fluff, jealous Thor, alcohol consumption, Def Leppard

*Any pictures of outfits are merely for the outfits and do not specify body type.

A/N: Man, this story just kept growing and growing and this chapter is hella long because I had to include this stuff and some of these scenes are tiny little things with insignificant moments but they’re moments I wanted to see and needed to see to resolve this relationship in my mind. I hope you like it and aren’t put off by the length. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Falling back into step with Thor is easy and difficult at the same time.

When he touches you and your body burns for him, you follow its natural response, moving in familiar patterns as it finds old and new ways of connecting to his. He also still remembers all your favorite spots. The ones that make you go weak in the knees and tear down your walls. It’s easy to love him physically because that’s kind of how your relationship began four years ago.

Just as it was so long ago, the pull you each have for the other is magnetic. Not that you mind at all. It’s a comfort to be covered in his heated body and you love being in his arms. When things are good, there is never a moment when he isn’t touching you.

There are also times throughout the day when he just kisses you. Those spontaneous kisses lead to making out for long spans of time. His hands run along the soft curves of your form while you curl your fingers into his hair and press the soft tips of your fingers against the fire heat of his neck and shoulders. He hums against your lips and you answer with a suggestive moan that sometimes does or does not lead to sex.

Good sex. Not awkward. You know awkward sex now. With Thor, save for that first time when he took your virginity, it’s never awkward.

For a week you enjoy each other in ways that you never thought you would again.

Being with Thor is also very easy when Ben is around. Your beautiful boy is a safe buffer between the two of you. He ties you two together, a shared son, who loves being with both of you and is so outgoing, thoughtful, and charming that you give in to almost his every command and Ben makes sure you are happy no matter what activity he, you, and Thor might be up to.

Yes, there are family activities like watching movies in your living room and making dinner together. You spend time outside together, playing tag until the game rises to the next level and you are no longer able to keep up. This leads to you sitting and watching Thor teach Ben to control his strength and to focus his skills.

It’s amazing to watch but worrying as you realize that Ben has already outgrown you physically. You can only do so much for him. You also fret, realizing Ben will want to follow his dad out onto the field someday. Eventually, when he’s old enough, which luckily is not for another fifteen years, he’s going to follow Thor out to fight and your poor heart aches at the thought of both your boys out saving the world or universe while you wait at home with strangling worry.

After Ben is put to bed whether that’s at nap time or at bedtime, that’s when your relationship with Thor gets difficult.

Not all the time. Sometimes the two of you fall back into making love and it’s perfect then. You fall asleep in his arms and you’re in heaven again. Other nights, when the things that aren’t being said get too heavy and weigh on both your shoulders, there is awkward silence and uncomfortable sessions of sitting around not talking.

You hate these nights because it feels as if it has no end. You and Thor patched things up! Or so you thought. What is this awkwardness between the two of you?

For two weeks you shift between heaven and hell.

You’re sitting on your bed, folding a few of your older t-shirts that you use when you do housework or spend time outside with Ben and you know you’re going to get dirty, when you stumble upon the navy t-shirt that Thor had been wearing the night the two of you had reconciled. You’d slipped it off of him so quickly and the beginning of that night is still such a frenzied flash of his tanned peach skin, quick and messy kisses, his strong hands ripping at your clothes, his body pressed against yours, and the wonderful moment afterwards when you both declared your love for each other again.

You can remember the way he looked down at you with Ben held against his wide chest. More than his naked body sweating against yours, that’s the sight you had wished for more than any other. Ben with his daddy finally holding and loving him the way he deserved.

Your heart stutters at the memory of your heart soaring high knowing that things were going to get better.

You smile and stretch the shirt out over your lap as you slowly slide your hand along the soft fabric.

You’re being so stupid. You know that you’re the reason that things are awkward with Thor sometimes. You just don’t believe him completely yet. The fact that he came back for you and not for Ben just seems so farfetched.

You also know that this thought is made even more stupid by the fact that Thor didn’t even know Ben existed until he showed up and he had a blonde toddler hugging his leg.

Why are you making this so hard for the two of you? Why can’t you just give in? You’ve made up, in words. You need to let go of your insecurities and move on but even right now, as you caress Thor’s shirt and think fondly of the memory tied to it, your heart clenches painfully as you remember his hurtful words from four years ago.

You fight the sorrow that horrible memory brings with it and try to ignore the way your eyes burn and sting. You shut your right eye and urge yourself not to cry. Your lip quivers and you know it’s pointless. You give in and pull Thor’s shirt up to cover your face with it.

You were hoping doing that would comfort you, but it doesn’t smell like him. Where is your rainstorm, spring wind, and the charge of his electricity smell?

Stupid laundry detergent.

“Hey.” Thor’s deep and gentle voice pulls your eyes up.

You’re desperate to look at him; his hard jawline covered in well-trimmed scruff, his wide forehead slightly creased as he narrows his gorgeous blue eyes, staring at you like you’re some mystery that he hasn’t been able to solve.

You sniffle and put his shirt down. “Hey.”

“May I speak with you for a moment?” He asks politely, proof of the stupid awkwardness you’ve been creating!

“Of course, Thor. Always.”

With your greeting, he moves towards you with slow and deliberate steps until he comes to the side of the bed you’re sitting on and sits beside you but on the other side of your small folded pile of laundry.

“Are you alright, my dove?”

You smile at his term of endearment, your heart warming and flipping, chasing away the ache.

“Yeah, I’m just being stupid.” You sniffle again and look down at his shirt and begin to press your hands along the wrinkles you’ve created by bunching it up and holding it against your face.

“That’s not possible.” He says confidently. “Do you want to tell me why you think you are being stupid?”

Appreciating this new ‘let’s talk this out’ motto he’s adopted suddenly, you meet his eyes again and almost lose yourself in his concerned gaze.

“No?” You sigh and then laugh once before resting your hands on his shirt again, this time holding them still. “But I probably should.”

“Then tell me. I do not want us to have anything unsaid between us, Y/N. If something is bothering you then I would like to know what it is.” He’s being so soft and caring that it makes you feel guilty for not letting his breaking your heart in the past go.

“I-” You hesitate, wondering what this will do to rebuilding your relationship with him. “I guess I’m finding it a little harder than I thought I would to put what happened behind me.”

“Oh.” He says simply, realizing that you must mean his leaving you. “I see. You mean, when I-I left?”

“I want to move on from it, Thor. I do. I promise and when we’re together, I mean, in bed or…technically we’re not always in bed when we have sex, but when we’re together like that, I have no problems with us. It’s like an instinctive response. You touch me and my body reacts to it. And I love that, but when it’s just you and me alone and when we’re not doing that…”

“Is that why you have not been talking to me when we’re alone? Because of the things I said when I left you?”

You shrug your right shoulder and with shame look up at his face. “I just…I can’t stop thinking that you’re, I don’t know, faking it again? I don’t know how to make myself believe it. I want to, so badly. For Ben. For you. For me. But I just…I keep hearing you tell me that you’re tired of me and want to move on with your life.”

“Y/N-” Thor says, his voice pained.

He lifts the laundry you’ve folded and moves it aside so that he can slide closer to you. He stops when his knee is touching yours and his hands grab yours to pull them up to his lips to kiss. He kisses them for so long you shut your eyes and let your tears fall freely, loving his touch but hating the ache in your chest.

“I wish I could erase that day from ever having happened. I wish I could wipe it from our history. I did not believe a single thing that I told you that day. I merely said what I needed to set you free so that you would not look back. To push you away. I wanted to make you hate me, Y/N. And I loathe to admit that it seems I succeeded.

“You are not and have never been boring. You have never made me weary. Yes, we had a lot of fun while we were together, I’ve told you a hundred times how much I love your body and making love to you but the moments that mattered more to me were the ones we spent talking. I have never let anyone in as much I did in that short time when I was with you. And when I could hold you in my arms and watch you sleep, I felt as if I were the luckiest man in the nine realms. How could such a perfect, creature trust me so fully? How does she allow me to love her? You are the most exquisite woman, no, the most exquisite being that I have ever encountered. And I have been from one end of the cosmos to the other.

“I love you, Y/N. I loved you then. I love you now. I will always love you. Damn me and my idiotic intentions. I am sorry that I hurt you. I am so very sorry that I have made it impossible for you to trust me.” He reaches up and cradles the right side of your face, rubbing his rough thumb along your cheekbone as his fingers massage the space behind your ear.

Why is he touching you? It’s so hard to think clearly when he touches you.

“No…” You sigh, hating yourself for making him apologize again. “This is on me, Thor. I know that you didn’t mean it—in theory. I know that what you’re saying now is the truth because it sounds like the truth but my…my heart won’t let me accept it completely. It’s just, I think it’s just going to take me some time.”

“Are you saying that we cannot be together?”

“No!” You gasp, desperate to keep him near and unable to imagine your life without him now that you finally have him back. “Please, never leave me again. Not even for the compound.”

He scoots closer, wrapping his left arm around your shoulders to pull you in. You press your palms to his hard chest and lean in to bury your forehead against the crook of his neck.

“Never.” He promises.

“I’m just saying it’s going to take some time before I’m okay with it just being you and me. I want you to know that it isn’t because I don’t love you, Thor. I do love you. I’m not talking because I-I don’t trust you. Not with me. With us. Not completely. Am I making any sense?” You pull back to look up at him as he strokes your left shoulder, his brow furrowed with pain and determination. “I feel like I’m not making any sense.”

“I love my brother Loki very much.” He says, throwing you for a second. “But I did not trust him. I wanted to. I hoped to trust him again one day.”

So, he gets it?

“I understand how you feel. I will win your trust again, my dove. If I have to spend the next hundred years earning it back, that is what I shall do. As long as you allow me to be by your side, I will never give up.”

He gets it.

You bury your face against his neck again and he wraps both arms around you to hold you for three glorious seconds.

“I still need to speak with you.” He says, interrupting the temporary bliss you’ve found in his arms.

You sit back, trying to put some space between you but Thor doesn’t let you move any further than where you’d been before. You have to tilt your head up to look into his stupidly gorgeous blue eyes.

“It’s bad?” You guess, reading the darkness in his blues and the fact that his brow is still furrowed.

“It’s not good.” He assures you. “I must go.”

“What?” You ask, incredulous after the conversation you just had about him not leaving you! “Why?”

“It will only be for a day or two. It seems there are some very bad people in a place called Sri Lanka. They are planning to blow up several planes and something is not right. These people are not normal.” He explains.

“They’re enhanced?”

“We do not know for certain, but the chance is high. All of us are going but the Spider-Boy-”

“Spiderman.” You correct him.

“Yes, the Spiderman will come to check on you to make certain that you and Ben are kept safe.”

“How long will you be gone?” You grab his white t-shirt, wrinkling it between your fingers as you begin to dread his departure.

“As long as it takes.” He says sadly.

“I hate this.” You complain, looking down at your hands on his chest.

“As do I, my dove. Parting with you and Ben is not something that I look forward to, but I would be lying if I said I did not miss the fight.” He admits and you realize that since Thor came back into your life, since the very moment that Ben clung to his leg and changed his life forever, Thor hasn’t left yours or Ben’s side in months.

You know what he’s like. You’ve seen the documentaries and read the books—thanks Ben—and you’ve heard Bruce tell Ben his stories of adventures on Sakaar and Asgard. You know that Thor is a warrior and has been for over fifteen-hundred years. You and Ben are new. You can’t keep him here and try to domesticate him. It’s not who he is.

“Right.” You say, more sadly than you intend to.

“Y/N, I will be back before you know it and then we can resume our life together. You and our son are the most important parts of my life now. You have altered me, and I may go but trust me when I promise that I will return to you, no matter what.” His eyes full of pleading, his hand cradling the left side of your face this time, you can see the sincerity in them and nod.

“When-?”

“Almost this moment.”

“Right away?” You realize, desperate for more time. What if something happens?

You hear a quiet creak and turn your tear-stained eyes towards your door to see your beautiful boy standing in the doorway, his hand on the smooth wood as his other rubs at his sleepy eyes.

“Mommy? Why you cwying?” He still sounds sleepy, but he sounds concerned too.

Thor loosens his grip on you and lets you get up to move to Ben. He immediately lifts up his arms and you scoop him up, rubbing his back gently to comfort him.

“What are you doing awake, sweet pea? Did you have a bad dream?”

“Yeah.” He says sadly, almost in tears and you hug him.

“Ooh, it’s okay, Ben. It was just a dream.”

He lets you hold him for a moment but then he straightens up again and looks from you to Thor and back to you. “Daddy make you cwy?”

“No, baby, your daddy didn’t make me cry. And yeah, he kinda did.” You say with a smile. “Daddy’s gotta go away for a little bit and I’m gonna miss him very much.”

Ben’s little lip pouts and he looks at Thor with big blue watery eyes. “I weew miss Daddy too.”

You look at Thor who moves to the two of you and without prompting hugs you both in the circle of his large arms.

“I will be back in no time.” He promises you both.

Though you enjoy the hug and lean into it, you keep your eyes on Ben and watch his little tears spill over. He probably wouldn’t have cried if he hadn’t had a bad dream too. He’s sensitive after he has bad dreams. More so than normal.

“Daddy weew miss Ben and Mommy?” Ben chirps, looking up at Thor so that he has to pull back to meet his son’s eyes.

“Of course, I shall miss you both. I love you both.” He places his hand on the back of Ben’s head and softly runs his fingers through Ben’s soft hair before looking down at you.

His gaze is intense, and you can really see that he hates leaving you just as much as you hate to see him leave. It takes your breath away so that when you breathe in as you stare right back into his eyes, your breath hitches and it comes out with a shudder which only makes Thor’s frown more pronounced.

“I will return to you.” He promises once more, sending shivers down your spine this time with the length of his stare.

He reaches behind your head and leans down to kiss you passionately while you push yourself up onto your tiptoes and try to keep a steady hold on Ben as you return his kiss. His lips meld with yours, hot and stern as he seals his word physically too.

While he kisses you, Ben leans his head onto your left shoulder, his favorite spot in your arms, and reaches around with feather soft fingers to play with your ear.

Thor finally pulls away and leans down to kiss the side of Ben’s head. “Take care of your mother, son.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Ben responds sleepily.

You smile, then meet Thor’s eyes again. You can see that he wants to kiss you again and you really want to kiss him too. “Go. Before I tie you to the bed and keep you here by force.”

“We shall revisit that thought when I return.” He says playfully before doing it anyway, he leans down and kisses you briefly before moving around you and moving out your door.

You move with Ben towards your balcony and slide the glass door aside. The brisk early spring wind clears your head as it blows your soft curtains aside while you step through onto the balcony. When you stop at the edge, you watch for Thor. Ben sits up and looks around too, more alert if only to get one last look at his daddy.

Thor appears a few seconds later, shirtless? Why is he shirtless? Not that you want to complain, it’s just a little weird.

He walks straight towards the center of your yard with Stormbreaker held tight in his right hand. He stops and turns to look at you and Ben, then waves. Ben waves back, looking excited.

“Say, ‘Bye, Daddy. Be careful.’” You instruct your son.

“Bye Daddy, be kayfoe!” Ben shouts at Thor who smiles when he hears him.

With a sudden thrust up into the sky, lightning rains down on Thor, engulfing him in blinding blue-white light. Ben blinks against the brightness but relentlessly stares at the spot his father was just standing in.

When the lightning clears, Thor is in complete uniform, black plaited armor, long red cape, thick and heavy black boots, while filling the air with the strong scent of ozone briefly. It’s washed away with that damn good smell of coming rain and you hate to watch as Thor swings Stormbreaker up towards the sky and in a startling burst of speed disappears into the night taking that smell with him. A few seconds later, you see the jet take off from the compound and follow.

“Mommy, am sweepy.” Ben yawns and lays his head back down.

“Let’s get you back to bed.” You sigh and shut your door.

Once Ben is back in his bed and fast asleep, you wander the house shutting off lights. First the kitchen, after you put away the juice and cheese you and Thor had left out after dinner. You wipe down the dining room table and strip Ben’s booster seat cover to toss it in to wash tomorrow. You turn off the dining room light then turn off the light in the living room leaving you in the dim light from the hallway at the top of the stairs.

You make your way to the door to make sure that it’s closed all the way and locked. As you turn to move back towards the stairs, you spot a flash of white on the table by your door and move to look at it.

It’s Thor’s folded shirt, with a slip of paper on the top, on which is written in fluid but still slightly messy handwriting: Because the blue one was just washed, perhaps this one will suffice in my absence? I love you.

You smile and fight the surge of emotion that tries to choke you because you don’t want to cry again. Sure, these would be happy tears, but you’re tired of crying. “Jerk.”

You hold the folded shirt up to your face and inhale his heady scent. You miss him already and can’t wait for him to come back home.

Thor has been gone for one whole fucking week. A week! Seven days! It's torture, unacceptable, and stressful.

None of the Avengers have called to give you any sort of update. Why should they? They never have before.

Steve had once called to check in but that had been so long ago when you were new to the compound and Ben was still an infant.

The last time you'd felt like this was the week after you and Thor had spent the weekend together and then he'd gone on a mission and you’d spent much of your time at home wondering whether you’d dreamed up the whole thing.

You pull on the bottom hem of his white t-shirt, the one he'd left by your door for you, and know as his beautiful scent wafts up and befuddles your senses that you hadn’t dreamt up his return.

He really came back. For you. You’re sure of that now. How could you have ever doubted him before? And he met Ben and Ben is absolutely enamored with him.

You’ve been sleeping in his shirt all week. Rolling around your bed and waking up every few hours when his smell washes over you deliciously strong and for a moment you think he's back.

Apart from his t-shirt, you also have Ben asking you every few hours if Thor is home yet. He's as eager for Thor to be back as you are. Though Ben isn’t worried. Not one bit.

When he heard you on the phone with Jane this morning, he pushed his French toast around his plate, rested his left little elbow on the table and propped his gorgeous blonde head on his hand as he watched you poke at your own French toast, too worried to eat.

“It's been a week, today.” You sigh.

“Oh, go ahead, rub it in how much you two are in love. Not like us single girls ever get tired of hearing about it.” Jane is only half kidding.

“I’m serious, Jane. What if something happened?” You worry, dropping your fork completely to rest your right elbow on the table to rub your forehead as if you can scrub out the thought.

“Daddy stwong, Mommy.” Ben argues calmly.

“Oh, sweet pea, of course your daddy is strong.” Damn you and your mouth! What if you scare Ben?

“He be back.” Ben says confidently before skewering a piece of toast and popping it into his mouth.

You stare at the utter confidence in your now four year old's face and scoff but smile.

“What did Benny say?” Jane wonders.

“That Thor will be back.”

“See! Even he knows! Stop worrying. You'll give yourself gray hairs and I don’t have to remind you that your man is going to out live you by thousands of years. You don’t wanna go looking old before you should.”

“Gee, thanks, Jane. That makes me feel so much better.”

Now that the day is over and day eight begins in thirty minutes, you can’t help but wish you had Ben's certainty of Thor's return.

You hate yourself for having let your insecurities keep you from loving on him more while he'd been here. You hate that you didn’t appreciate his arms around you or the kisses he likes to press against your neck while he was still here.

Just thinking about his massive body hovering over yours with that lustful look that always slowly shifts into complete adoration makes your legs weak.

That special tingle in your nether regions is so distracting that you rub your knees together, pressing your thighs shut tight because there is no Thor.

You want him home and safe but your body is obviously missing him too. You hadn’t gone a single day without making love after that first night three weeks ago.

Maybe it was just the honeymoon phase? You wanted him and he desperately wanted you, or so he'd whispered into your ear on several occasions. It was almost as if you two had been making up for lost time.

You roll onto your right and stare at the sheer blue inner curtains of your balcony doors. You've been leaving the larger thicket outer curtains open all week in case Thor comes home through there.

The night sky is beautiful outside. The stars twinkle at you happily in direct contrast to your nervous energy and heavy worry, but large and looming black clouds are rolling in, blocking them from view. The moon is nowhere in sight which makes the night darker and makes you feel that at least the night seems to be pouting at Thor's absence a little too.

“Ugh, fuck me.” You sigh, shoving your hand under your pillow. The cool fabric feel great against your skin.

You reach over to stroke Thor's side of the bed, staring at his pillow and picturing the last time you saw him laying there.

He'd been fast asleep, his mouth slightly open and his brow furrowed as if his dreams had been troubling him.

It had been a good day between the two of you. No awkwardness. Lots of time spent with Ben laughing and enjoying each other's company while feeling like a family.

You'd reached over and pressed the warm and soft pad of your index finger to the wrinkle between his eyebrows and slowly he relaxed his face.

You'd licked your lips, dropped your hand, as you stared at Thor's partially open mouth. It was just enough so that when you pushed yourself up and kissed him, a small echo of your quiet smack sounded back.

Thor had opened his eyes sleepily and stared up at you while your heart thrummed loudly in your chest as you nervously bit your bottom lip and wondered how you'd been so lucky as to get this man to lay in your bed beside you twice in one lifetime.

He'd reached up and cupped the left side of your face, slipping his fingers and hand into your hair as he pushed you back and rolled you onto your back then proceeded to make love to you again.

It had been more emotional than the bout of sex earlier in the night and thinking about it right now is depressing you.

You whine quietly, hating his absence, and shut your eyes. “Where are you?”

You ask the room and when there is no response, you let yourself drift into an uneasy sleep.

You're vaguely aware that it's thundering outside. You can hear the distant rumble as it rolls closer and closer, gently shaking you awake.

You feel a soft cool wind wash across your exposed legs and open your eyes to get a glance at the sky outside.

It's still very dark and as a flash of lightning illuminates your balcony doorway you notice that your doors are open and the soft sheer blue curtains billow in the previously observed wind.

As a deep rumble follows the illumination you feel hot hands wrap around your ankles.

You gasp and throw yourself onto your back, still mostly asleep, and push yourself onto your elbows to look down at your feet.

Your heart soars as Thor's massive outline is suddenly illuminated by lightning and you find his wide shoulders bare.

“Thor!” You exclaim quietly, so relieved to have him home.

“Oh, my dove.” He sighs, so quietly it's merely a hiss on the wind.

He presses his heated lips against the side of your left ankle, just above the spot where he's holding it and as he travels upwards he traces more searing kisses against your flesh.

You lay back, breathing heavily and still drowsy. It feels so good, tantalizing tickles making your core pulsate and your knees weak once more.

As he moves up, he pulls your legs apart, spreading them to make room as he kisses the inner side of your knee, your lower thigh, then the soft plush muscle of your upper thigh.

Your hips rock up towards him unintentionally as you sigh more loudly, having trained yourself to keep your moans more subdued because of Ben.

You can feel the tip of Thor's wet tongue run along the fold of your leg against your pelvis then his nose presses into the soft fabric of your underwear, already moistened from his seductive kisses.

The tip of his tongue pokes the center of your core over your underwear and you finally whimper. You reach up and shove your knuckles into your mouth to bite and silence your moan while Thor settles himself onto his stomach while wrapping both large arms under your thighs, gripping them with rough and firm hands as he delves deeper into you.

He pulls you towards him making you slide atop your bed and as thunder claps and lightning flashes, you look down and revel in the lurid sight of his head shaking as he tongues you enthusiastically, making your hips buck up towards him seeking more.

He moves his left hand down and pulls your underwear aside and once again presses his nose to the apex of your sex as he inhales you.

Your neck and ears burn with nervous embarrassment. How can he sniff you like that? Staring into your eyes at the same time before he begins to lap you up.

You shut your eyes tight and as thunder booms, you moan and the sky splits as heavy rain begins to fall.

Thor focuses on your nub, slowly pressing his tongue against it at first before he begins to flick it with the tip of his tongue.

As your hips shake beneath him he grips you tighter and presses an open mouthed kiss against that insatiable bundle and gently sucks.

“Thor…” You beg, so close your mind is a haze.

He gets tougher, pressing his mouth against your nub with relentless passion as he shakes his head quickly, strumming you fast as the pressure in your pelvis begins to build.

“I…” You begin, saying nothing really but your mind is so out of it that you’re not in full control of your mouth.

It hits you with a shock, a literal shock as Thor's electricity flows through you just as your climax hits.

“Ah!” You cry out, reaching down to fist his hair, holding him still as you twitch and squirm in his arms.

He doesn’t stop licking you, drinking you up as you orgasm. It's never happened before so you’re not expecting it when suddenly the pressure in your pelvis begins to build again.

Rolling flutters collect into your stomach as you curl your toes and try to lift Thor’s head from between your legs but that only makes him press himself harder onto you.

He releases his kiss with a gasp for breath and washes your mound in his heated breath while he continues to flick your nub over and over, quickly making you twitch with overstimulation.

“Thor,” You beg. “Please, please, please…oh, God, please…!”

A second orgasm sends you toppling back onto the bed, your legs wrapping around his head as you hold him in place.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head briefly before you swallow hard and lean towards your right to look down at Thor whose lips, you’re sure, are curved up into a small grin.

As your legs relax and your body goes still, he rises, standing at the edge of the bed to undo his black leather pants and pull them off.

You hear the heavy hiss as they fall to the floor with a small thud.

As he kneels on the edge of your bed, you eye his erect rod. Your mouth waters and quickly you sit up before he can move any closer. You slide towards him and take it in hand, wrapping your small hand around him.

You slide your hand up and down slowly staring at his staff as you stroke it.

Meeting his eyes as he sighs heavily makes you happy, pleasing him this way, makes you happy.

With a grunt as you speed up your strokes, he leans down and pulls your head up towards his for a deep kiss.

Your hand stutters in its motion. As Thor breaks the kiss you move easily down to his rod and take it in your mouth.

You lay your tongue along its bottom, tasting the salt on his skin as you move in slowly, taking him in more and more deeply, struggling a little with his girth.

He grunts loudly and you quickly pull back, releasing him with a breathy gasp and lick your lips.

“You'll wake Ben.” You complain.

Thor suddenly throws himself down onto the bed beside you on his back.

“Hey,” You begin to complain, you weren’t done with him!

However, Thor seems to have other things in mind. He reaches over, his hands disappearing underneath the white t-shirt you’re wearing and slides off your underwear. Then he hooks his hand behind your left knee and wraps it up and over him so that he's pulling you onto his lap to straddle.

“I must have you.” He whispers huskily, making your heart pound.

He rubs himself along the length of your slit twice, teasing you before he lines himself up with your entrance and in one slow and smooth motion, he takes hold of your right hip and pulls you down on him.

You lean forward and grip his shoulders, shuddering against his body as he stretches you in familiar ways.

Gasping he lets you sit there on top of him for a minute adjusting to him as his hands trace the curves of your body over his shirt. His hands find your breasts and he kneads them slowly before bringing his hands back to your hips.

“You look good in my shirt.” He declares, smiling. Pleased with the look of utter satisfaction on your face.

Your heart flutters as you remember another time he'd said something similar about his cape.

More thunder sounds outside, mingling with the heavy tinkle of rain as it hits your steel banister.

Thor sits himself up and wraps his right arm around your waist, his hand then finds the flesh of your left cheek and gives it a squeeze as he guides you up and back down along his length.

You both groan, enjoying the slow movement as he settles within you.

“I have missed you so.” Thor whispers and leans in to suckle your neck as he lifts you again.

This time you help him and drop yourself a little faster which makes him groan against you.

You try to move quickly and Thor fights you to move you slowly until finally he leads your legs around his waist. You wrap them in place, hooking your ankles together, and let him take the lead as he guides your hips back and the forth.

As he licks your neck then finds your lips with his own, you realize he's trying to enjoy the way your body feels against his.

Suddenly, you’re overcome and hot salty tears splash against his chest.

He pulls back, stopping your hips as he stares into your face.

“I missed you so much.” You whisper, meaning yes, this past week, but also the four years you'd spent without him.

He seems to realize this because he pulls you down to rest his forehead against your own.

“Forgive me.” He replies, begging you, really.

“I was so worried." You admit, this time only meaning this week.

“I’m home now.” He assures you then locks you into a searing kiss.

He moves slow and deliberate, his tongue languid as he tries to comfort you.

Then he's pulling you against him again and your temporary sorrow is pushed aside as your body responds.

“Faster…” You beg him, needing a new release to wash your sorrow away.

“Yes, my dove.” Thor says then flips you over onto your back, remaining perfectly nestled within you.

He lays himself flat against you and quickly begins to thrust his hips. He grunts with each thrust, shaking your body with every pump as he makes it a point to focus on that nub again, grinding down against it.

You wrap your legs around him, pulling him so close, as he keeps a fairly steady pace driving you closer and closer to bliss.

Thor locks your lips with his own again, groaning against your mouth then suddenly bursts into four quick thrusts. He shuts his eyes tight, breaking your kiss to lean down and bury his face into your neck where he bites you as he grunts one last time and with another electrical shock, he explodes with his climax, and this time you can see the waves of blue charge wash over both your naked bodies.

It snakes it’s way across your skin as it bites you.

You gasp at the pleasurable sting and wrap your arms around his shoulders while your right hand strokes the back of his head.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No way.” You tell him, happily breathless.

“And did you-?” He asks, not lifting his head from it's spot.

“No, but it's okay.” You assure him. “I did before.”

Thor groans. “No.”

He pushes himself up so that his torso is angled up away from yours as he rests his left elbow and right hand on the bed.

You have no time to protest before he's ramming himself into you hard, making your breasts bounce with each thrust. Within you he's still rock hard and you wonder how pent up this energy must have been for him to be ready so quickly.

You gasp and groan as he shoves himself into you, pulling you closer to the edge until your third orgasm crashes against you, filling your tummy with golden flutters that numb your legs.

Thor thrusts a few more times as you relish in the frenzy of pleasure still washing over your body. He tenses and with another shock he comes, releasing himself into you with a moan.

You feel a ripple of panic as he does but it passes quickly, glancing at the door to see no toddler at your door.

Maybe the rain is loud enough to keep him sleeping?

Thor falls against you and meets your lips for another languid kiss as sleep seems to lull him and make his movements fluid.

He slides to your right, settling into his side of the bed   but doesn’t let you get up as he pulls your back against his wide chest. With his large arms wrapped around you, he kisses the back of your head several times before leaning in towards your ear to whisper, “You look good in my shirt.”

You smile and with him, to the tune of a thunderstorm, you fall asleep.

You’re laying on your left side, your arms held tightly against your chest while larger hands hold them tight. Large arms are wrapped around you and you’re aware of the soft and hot breath on the back of your neck. Your hair has been pushed aside leaving the skin exposed so that the soft tip of a nose rests gently against your neck’s hairline.

Your eyes drift open for a quick split second, then shut again to shield out the brightness of the sun drifting in.

You remember thunder and lightning, cool wind and billowing curtains. You remember hard muscles constricting around you, melding with your own softer body, consuming you whole. Sleepily you take stock of the large body pressed close to the back of your own under the thin blue sheet of your bed. The body is curled around you so perfectly, it’s like Thor was made for you specifically.

You try to open your eyes again, but the sun is bright with the clear skies, washed of clouds with the disappearance of last night’s storm. You groan, hating yourself for forgetting to close the thicker curtains to block out the morning sun. The sliding doors are also still wide open allowing for the sounds of the early morning birds to drift in.

Despite your annoyance with the brightness, you know that this morning is as perfect as you could have ever hoped for.

Thor is home! He’s finally home. A week of his absence has not cured you of your lack of trust in him, but it has helped you realize that every moment with him matters. Trust will come with time. You know this. As long as he shows you that he loves you and that he devotes as much time as possible to Ben, then you can deal with not truly knowing if he’ll leave you again.

You make to turn yourself towards him, but his arms are so tight around you and his body pressed so close that you can’t. So, you groan again and in response, Thor’s lips press softly against your neck and he somehow pulls you even closer.

“Mmmm.” You complain, and wiggle against him.

“Mmmmmmm.” Thor replies, enjoying the movement.

You chuckle at his ability to enjoy even your whining as he traces slow burning kisses along the side of your neck.

“Thor…” You sigh.

“Y/N…” He moans against your throat, ready for round three it seems.

Your pounding heart responds, your hips aching with a sudden burn for him.

You’re about to shift to look at him but stop as a familiar pitter patter against your wooden floors race down the hallway.

Thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap.

Knowing that sound almost as well as you know your own heartbeat, you smile and shift in Thor’s arms so that you can turn to look at him and lay on your back. You bring your right hand up to gently stroke his scruffy chin as he lays his head up higher to look into your eyes more easily.

“Your son is going to come jump on you.” You tell him and Thor smiles.

“Is he?”

“He bruised my ribs a couple times because he forgets he can hurt me.” You explain.

“I’m sorry, my dove.” He reaches down, a torrid and calloused hand burns down along your chest until it comes to rest over your ribs. “Shall I kiss it and make it better?”

“Don’t start anything you can’t finish.” You warn him, leaning in close to kiss his lips slowly.

Keeping your eyes open, you watch Thor shut his eyes and the wrinkle that puckers between his brow tells you he’s just as happy to be here as you are to have him home. You’ve been so stupid. As you pull away, you promise to be kinder and more patient with him and yourself. Healing will take time but you’re not going to punish him for it anymore.

“I love you.” You whisper, desperate that he know it.

“Truly?” Thor wonders, reaching up to cup your left cheek with his right hand.

“Forever.” You promise him.

He smiles softly and makes to kiss you again when your door is thrown open.

You widen your eyes at Thor as an amused smile stretches your lips, feeling the shift of your bed.

Thor turns to look and barely manages to throw open his arms to catch the flying toddler in his arms. You roll away slightly so that Ben’s little legs won’t hit you accidentally while simultaneously pulling your bed sheet up to tuck underneath your arms though you’re still wearing Thor’s shirt.

Laughing you turn to watch Thor groan as Ben’s knees land painfully on his wide chest.

“Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home! Mommy, wook! Daddy’s home! I wuv you, Daddy! Wowcome home, Daddy.” He suddenly drops down onto Thor’s chest, wrapping his little legs around him as best as he can and lays his head on Thor’s chest too, facing you so that he can smile at you as he cuddles his father.

Your smile softens as you shift onto your side and reach for you baby boy, stroking his little cheek tenderly. “You like having your daddy home, sweet pea?”

“Yeah.” He says softly, shutting his eyes suddenly in complete contrast to the rush of excited energy he just displayed. Is he going to sleep more? He’s never gone back to sleep after waking up in the morning before.

One of Thor’s large hands cradle the back of Ben’s head as his other strokes his little back and in seconds, Ben’s arms go slack around Thor’s neck as he dozes off.

“I’m so happy you came back.” You say emotionally, watching Thor with watery eyes.

“As am I, my dove.” He’s too busy staring a Ben to see you getting emotional, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I’ll go start breakfast.” You whisper and lean over to kiss first Ben’s head and then Thor as he turns to meet your lips with his own, slow and passionate before you get up and move into the bathroom to shower and clean up after last night’s activities.

You keep breakfast simple. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and some orange juice and coffee. You make a lot because Ben eats like a regular sized man and Thor eats like five. You’d gotten so used to having just enough groceries in the house for you and Ben and just with breakfast, you’re already out.

Almost an hour later, Thor and Ben come downstairs, Ben still in his space and astronaut pajamas and Thor wearing a pair of low slung black pajama pants and no shirt. As they enter the small dining room, Thor deposits Ben on his booster seat and scoots him in as Ben continues to relay the things he and you did while Thor was away as he wakes up slowly rubbing sleep from his eyes with his little fists.

Thor listens intently but also moves into the kitchen to help you finish up with the toast. He takes over cooking more pancakes as you move to the fridge to serve Ben his juice. You deliver his plate first, placing four pancakes, two scrambled eggs, two sausage links, one strip of bacon, and half a piece of toast with strawberry jam on the large plate.

“I still cannot believe he eats that much.” Thor tells you quietly as you balance Ben’s plate on your hand and grab his sippy cup of juice.

“Well, he is your son.” You tease with a grin and move out to give Ben his plate and drink. “Want me to cut it for you?”

“Yeah!” Ben bounces in his seat, always excited for food, as you cut his pancakes, break up his eggs, and cut his sausage into smaller pieces for him to spear on his fork.

“Syrup?”

“Mommy, of cose I want seewup.” He shakes his head, exasperated with the obviousness of your question.

“Okay, okay. Just checking.”

Once his pancakes are drizzled you move back into the kitchen to finish helping Thor serve his plate and yours. The amounts of food on each plate are vastly different but each one is laden and looking delicious.

“Do we have any whip cream?” Thor asks, and your heart flutters so violently at his use of we that you smile like a dumbass before you nod.

“I think so. You want it for your pancakes?” You move to the fridge to grab the container.

“No. I want it for later.” Thor says deeply and you turn to look at him to find him grinning seductively at you.

Your neck burns and you laugh before shutting the fridge door.

“I’m already yours, Thor. You don’t have to flirt with me anymore.”

“I like flirting with you. How else shall you know that I desire you every minute of every day?”

You settle in beside him, still grinning stupidly, as you finish loading his plate with eggs.

“Does that mean you want me to flirt with you all the time too?” You ask him, staring at the food.

“Only if you really want to.”

“Mommy was woahweed, Daddy.” Ben suddenly chimes in sounding almost as if he’s chastising Thor. “She was up cwying and tawking to Auntie Jane that she was woahweed that Daddy wadn’t gonna come home.”

Ben inadvertently shatters your romantic bubble, but you look up at him and watch as your son rests his elbow on the table and his head in his little hand as he brings some pancake to his mouth and watches you and Thor as if trying to read the energy between you.

“Ben…” You begin but the heat of Thor’s arm wrapping around your right shoulder so that he can rest his hand on the back of your head gently to then slide it down and rest it on the back of your neck shuts you up.

You stare up at Thor, watching him as he keeps his eyes trained on Ben’s. “I am very sorry, my son. I promise that I will call home from now on when I am to be away for long periods of time.”

“Yeah, caw home, Daddy. Dun make Mommy cwy no moah.” He says calms then gives his food his full attention.

“He really does not like it when you cry.” Thor realizes, meeting your gaze.

“I cried a lot while you were gone. Before you came back the first time. I wish I hadn’t. My baby. He doesn’t like Eddie anymore because he broke up with me and moved to England for reassignment. I cried a lot then too.” You look at Ben and smile fondly.

Your little protector doesn’t know how much you just desperately want to protect him.

“He was a fool to leave you. As was I.” Thor points out and you look back into his electrifying eyes.

You laugh once, reaching up to scratch his chin like you would a puppy because that’s what he seems like sometimes to you and you love him for it. “Silly. He left me because he knew that I didn’t love him. Not the way I loved you. I never got to tell you but that day when you found me and Eddie in that lab alone, I was there asking him not to tell anyone about you and me.”

“He found out about us?”

“Yeah.” You nod, pressing your lips together as you remember the day vividly. “He’d come over to the house to talk to me, to try and see if I’d give him a chance.”

“I see.”

“You remember that last night? Before we broke up the next day?”

“Vividly.” Thor says, nodding. “I was late, was I not? On mission for a day and when I arrived you rushed into my arms and I lifted you up to kiss you.”

A strange lovesick look overcomes Thor and you find it so cute you smile despite the conversation.

“Well, Eddie saw that.”

“Ah.” He says with realization. “Wait, I do not understand. Why would you ask him to keep from speaking of us? Did you not want others to know that you were mine?”

Thor’s confusion is so real that it makes your chest feel like it’s caving in. He seriously did love you back then, no matter what he made you believe, which is comforting. But it also kind of pisses you off.

You shove that anger down because you’d said you were done making him pay for that day. You bring your hands down against his chest instead and shake your head, the pain is clear in your voice, but your face is perfectly neutral and devoid of said ache.

“No. Of course I wanted everyone to know but I wasn’t sure that you did.” You shrug your left shoulder. “We hadn’t been out of the house since that first night you took me to the bar, and you hadn’t asked me to go anywhere so I-I thought that maybe you weren’t ready to bring me out and show me to anyone. I thought maybe you wanted to keep us a secret or maybe there was some danger in being exposed as being with you? I wasn’t sure so I went to Eddie and asked him to keep things quiet, at least until I could figure out what you were thinking. I remember asking you the night before if we could go out. I was half asleep but you didn’t say anything. And then you left me.”

“I was a fool, Y/N.” Thor explains passionately, and you meet his eyes. “You and Ben are my everything. Before it was just you. I am sorry that I made you doubt it.”

You shrug again but smile at him, assuring him that you’re okay. “Yeah, yeah. You’ve said that already.”

“Because I mean it.” He leans down to kiss you, stealing your breath for a good minute before he releases you and carries both your plates to the table leaving you to take the coffee.

After breakfast you begin to clean up, taking stock of the food that’s left in your kitchen as you move back and forth. Ben is keeping Thor’s attention on him, asking him questions about Stormbreaker and how it is that Thor can fly.

“I tried to explain this to a friend once, but he got the wrong idea.” Thor tells Ben. “Hmmm, how do I say it so that it makes sense? The hammer has massive strength and when I swing it, the power it holds lifts me up from the ground. My hammer is also more than a tool or weapon, it is a partner. Together, the hammer and I-”

“Wike Mommy and Daddy? You and Stomebweakaw ah a team?” Ben asks, reaching out to hold Thor’s right index finger. He’s always touching him if he can, like he can’t believe he’s really there.

Thor smiles. “Exactly like us. We are a team.”

Reaching in front of Thor you grab his plate and fork. He leans back to give you room and turns his attention on you just as you begin to speak. “I’m gonna have to run into town to get more groceries. We’re out of all the stuff we’ll need for the rest of the week. I forgot how much you eat.”

“I’ll come with you.” Thor says, sighing as he relaxes, staring at your face.

You freeze, hand still holding the edge of the plate a few inches over the table and meet his sincere gaze. “You’ll come with me to the grocery store?”

“Yes.”

“But I’ll only be an hour or two, tops.”

“I do not wish to part from you yet. I have been gone a week.”

“I know how long you’ve been gone, I just…you going with me will mean that other people, people that work at the compound will probably see us together.”

“And?”

“You don’t care?”

“Of course, I care.” Thor assures you. “Our time apart has not diminished your beauty and desirability but increased it. I must make it known to every man and woman with their eye on you that you are indeed mine once more. We shall take Ben. Seeing us with our son will tell the citizens of Earth that we are never to be parted. Do you not want me to come with you?”

“Of course, I want you to come with me!” You gasp, laughing a little at the ridiculous joy you’re feeling in the moment. “Will you change Ben?”

“Alright. Come along son, we must dress. What do you wish to wear today?”

“Can I weow my Daddy suit?”

“Of course.”

Thor lets Ben down and follows him towards the stairs then shoots you a large smug grin as he disappears leaving you stunned and elated.

“I don’t know how I feel about leaving Ben with a babysitter.”

“Wha-? Don’t you trust me Mrs. Thor?”

“Peter, you know my name, you’ve never called me that before.” You grumble.

“I like it.” Thor approves, reaching out to give Peter a high five.

Peter gives it, beaming as he then settles his gaze back on your worried frown.

“I’ve got this, Y/N. Ben and I are buddies. You’ve got nothing to worry about. You and Thor need a date night, right?” Peter asks, looking at Thor with raised eyebrows.

The young twenty-year old before you, despite being skinny has well defined muscles, very lean but very powerful. His wild soft brown hair is slightly shaggier than the last time you saw him, time for a haircut. Although you know that Peter is a full-fledged Avenger—who is really like a reserve Avenger as he’s only called in for the really big stuff since Tony likes to keep him out of the danger as much as possible—and that he’s strong and capable, as he stands here in front of you in his dark gray long sleeved shirt layered under a dark red graphic tee of Iron Man’s helmet, and his blue jeans he looks like any other normal kid from New York.

“Yes. She does. She does indeed need a date night.” Thor says quickly, and when you meet his eyes, he widens his own. “We do.”

“But-”

“Unco Peto!” Ben exclaims, from the top of the stairs.

All of you turn to look as he jumps and rather than appearing vertically like they have since he started using his portals, this one appears horizontally like a hole in the floor except it’s several feet above the floor and at the top of the stairs.

You gasp as he disappears into the golden ring and then almost within the same second another golden portal appears just beside Peter and from it drops Ben.

“Woah! That was really cool, Benny!” Peter exclaims, dropping to one knee to hug the boy as he runs into his arms.

Ben is too busy giggling to notice how worried you are, but Thor has his arm wrapped around your shoulders to give you some comfort.

Ben giggles then gapes at Peter’s shirt. “Wow! You got a Unco Tony t-shot.”

“Yeah, and guess who else has one?” Peter asks almost more excited than Ben. “You do!”

He pulls a much smaller red shirt, exactly the same, from his back jeans pocket that you hadn’t noticed hanging there and then opens it so that Ben can see the graphic.

“Mommy wook! Unco Tony!” Ben jumps around in excitement and you shut your eyes with each boom as your house shakes around you. “Oops.”

Ben stops as he realizes what he’s doing just as a picture of you holding him at six months old falls from the wall.

“Whoops, I got it.” Peter rolls towards it and catches it easily before he springs up onto his feet. “Woah, you’re getting strong, buddy.”

Ben’s gaze is on you though, almost waiting for the scolding but really, you’re just terrified of leaving him alone with Peter. You know you’re just being overprotective, but you have never left Ben with a babysitter unless you were going to work. When you have not been at work earning a living for the two of you, you have been here, with your son. Every moment has been dedicated to raising him. Parting with him is hard.

“He’ll be alright, my dove. We should go or we’ll be late.” Thor whispers into your ear.

Ugh! “Peter, no horse playing in the house.”

“Got it.”

“No late-night snacks for Ben! If he wants a snack there are some fruits and yogurt in the fridge. If he wants more, there’s some V.I.C.”—everyone knows the code for vanilla ice cream when it comes to Ben, he really loves it—"in the freezer but try to avoid it. He can eat a whole carton by himself. In bed by nine at the latest. Anything else you wanna do is okay with me, just please don’t break my house.” And this you beg of both your son and Peter.

“No harming the house. Got it.”

“Ben?” You drop to your knees, your dark blue jeans shielding your knees from wood burn.

“Yes, my mommy?” Ben is trying to be cute with you, knowing he shouldn’t have been jumping earlier like he did.

“You listen to your Uncle Peter okay? No arguing or fighting. I’ll know if you do.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

“And Ben,” You hesitate because you don’t want to show him your fear of his gifts, so you swallow your request for him to keep from using his portals and pull him into a hug instead. “I love you, so much, sweet peat. Please stay safe for me, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy.” He hugs you back, rubbing the exposed part of your back to comfort you.

Why do you want to cry?

You kiss his little cheek and then release him and stand up, fixing the sheer and floral off-the-shoulder peasant top you’d picked for your first date night in over two years.

“Okay, let’s go before I find a reason to stay.” You sigh and move toward the door.

You can hear Thor kiss Ben and he claps Peter on the shoulder before moving to pull the door open for you and follow you outside.

Moving into the familiar bar—bought out for the night by Thor for you and your friends—brings back very happy memories. Sure, this had also been the place you’d broken down in but if that hadn’t happened then Thor wouldn’t have fallen for you and taken you home and given you Ben two weeks later.

There’s already music playing, filling the room along with the laughter of familiar voices. Tony and Pepper are standing at the bar with Rhodey who’s telling them a story apparently because his hands are moving around with emphatic gestures as he relates his tale. Pepper looks at Tony with an amused smile before spotting you and waving. Tony waves too then they both give Rhodey their attention again.

Bruce and Nat are sitting with Clint in a booth—not your booth but the one beside it—talking and laughing, each with a drink in hand. Nat notices you first and she slides over Bruce’s lap to rush over and give you a hug. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a week.”

“Because you haven’t.” You joke.

“Oh, right.” Nat says playfully. “Did this idiot greet you properly at least? He was so eager to get back here he left us in Sri Lanka right after we finished. Reminds me of all his rushing four years ago. Nothing changes.”

Your neck, cheeks, and ears burn hot as you think about his greeting and Nat laughs.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.” Suddenly Bruce laughs loudly, Clint following suit. “Ooh, I gotta get back over there. Clint’s telling us about Nathan’s first bullseye.”

She hurries back to their booth and once again slides over Bruce’s lap and you swear you see the slightest twitch as he pinches her bottom as she does.

Everyone is dressed casually, jeans and nice slightly dressy tops or casual dresses.

“Come on.” Thor urges you, taking your hand in his and leading you over to the same booth that you and he had first shared drinks at just after meeting. He lets you slide in first before leaning down to kiss your lips tenderly. “I should have brought you on a date a long time ago.”

You smile at him and shake your head, letting your eyes wander over your friends. “I’m good, puppy, really. Hey, don’t let me get drunk tonight. These guys haven’t seen me drunk and I really don’t want them to.”

“Sure.” He smiles at your term of endearment then kisses you again before heading for the bar.

“Nat?” Natasha turns in her booth to look at you over the back, resting her arms on the sturdy wood.

“Yeah?”

“Where’s Vis, Wanda, and Steve?”

“Oh, they’re coming. Steve was just being a stubborn ass about his reports. Mr. Workaholic doesn’t know how to take a break. You know, don’t repeat this because, Thor will probably fry me but I kinda wish you two had…you know…”

“Oh, Nat, it’s not like that with Steve.” You point out.

Nat is your only confidant about your one time with Steve and though she’d been very excited about it at first, upon realizing that it had turned into nothing, she’d gotten very depressed and refused to stop trying to really get you two together for months.

“I know! That man needs a girlfriend, though. A good one. Like you.” She gripes.

“I could introduce him to my friend Jane? She works with me at the compound. She fixes your suit sometimes. She’s nice. A little chatty.”

“Yes! Do that. Call her, right now. Get her here.” Nat insists and you reach for your phone to text Jane.

Thirty minutes later, Steve is sitting across from you, Wanda and Vision nestled at a table talking quietly amongst themselves, while Tony, Nat, Bruce, Rhodey, Clint, and Pepper are all piled into the booth nest to yours sounding tipsy, loud, and laughing.

Steve is busy comforting you, trying to soothe your worry about leaving Ben alone at home to come to a bar with Thor and the rest of them.

“You need a break sometimes, Y/N. And Peter’s a good kid. He’ll take care of Ben so well. You’ll see, you have nothing to worry about.”

“Maybe I should call them?” You wonder, feeling slightly swishy as you reach for your phone on the table.

“No.” Thor says, taking the phone and slipping it into the pocket of his jeans.

“Thor’s right, Y/N. Just have some fun. Here, I’ll get us more drinks.” Steve rises and heads to the bar and returns with several shots and your favorite cocktail.

Another hour passes and you are well past tipsy. You laugh as Thor nestles in against your neck, his lips kissing you gently which tickles.

“Stop it.” You whisper, feeling so relaxed you feel like you’re floating.

Steve has wandered off to talk to Vision and Wanda while Bruce and Nat are dancing to an old song. It’s slow and you don’t like it. You want something more upbeat. Of course, it’s Thor’s luck that just as you’re about to whine about the music, the song ends and shifts and the lyrics ‘Love is like a bomb’ echo throughout the room.

“Oh my God!” You gasp and scramble over his lap to get up and move towards the jukebox. The quick bass guitar fills the room as you approach and as the beautiful bass of the drums sets up the beat, the 80’s electric guitar chimes in making your skin bubble with goosebumps as ‘Pour Some Sugar On Me’ by Def Leppard fills the bar.

You can kind of hear Thor follow for a few steps but as you stop and grip the juke box, he does too.

You can’t help yourself. Your body begins to move to the music, and you shake your head to the beat, whipping your hair more than your ever would in front of people were you sober. Your hips follow, swaying from side to side fluidly as you let the music speak through you to show everyone in that room just how much you love that song.

You can hear Thor sigh from where he stands but you don’t turn around to look at him, too absorbed in the music.

“Wow, I didn’t know she could dance.” Steve says from somewhere behind you.

“No, she only seems to do it when she is inebriated.” Thor explains but he doesn’t sound upset. In fact, he sounds like he’s enjoying himself. “Which is why I did not listen to her when she asked me to keep her from getting drunk.”

“Won’t she be mad at you tomorrow?”

“Probably. But it’s worth it.” You can hear Thor’s smile in his voice. “I have not seen her dance since before I left.”

“We’re all glad you came back, Thor. She’ll probably never admit it because she’s proud like that but, she really needed you. Not for Ben but for herself. I’ve never seen her this relaxed before.”

You swish your hips from left to right, then swing your head back in a slow circle before spinning on the toes of your tennis shoes. You smile flirtatiously at Thor as you spin and give him your back again as you continue to sway your hips in time to the music.

“Her hips are wider now after having had Ben.” Thor observes with admiration saturating his voice.

“Yeah…” Steve agrees, dazed. “Wow.”

“What?!” Thor asks sternly.

“What? Nothing. I’m gonna go get a drink.” Steve says quickly, panicked almost as he slips off towards the bar to join Jane who has just arrived.

As the song slips over into its second half large hands grab your hips as you move them side to side. You press yourself back against Thor’s wide torso, sliding down his front slowly before you rise and hear the loud gulp in his throat as he swallows hard. You turn to look up at him and rest your hands on his biceps, trying to wrap your hands around them but they’re so large you barely cover the front.

“I told you not to let me get drunk.” You tell him as you slide your hands down to his wrists and bring his hands down a little further and back so that they’re resting on your butt.

“I probably should have listened.” Thor realizes.

You laugh at him then jump up, wrapping your arms around his neck as you meet his lips in a kiss. Thor catches you, wrapping both arms around your waist as he gladly returns your affections.

You listen to the soft laughter floating in from the open balcony doors of your room, smiling softly but uncertain of your future. Nervously you fidget with the frayed threads of your red throw pillow, ignoring the need to repair it in favor of having something to do while you wait. You have six minutes tops before Thor comes to find you.

You’re supposed to be outside with Ben, on your way to spreading your picnic lunch. Tony and Pepper had been graciously invited by your baby boy and they’d accepted and should be here any moment to head to the park with all of you. If it had just been you and Ben, he’d be pulling you by the hand outside but luckily, he’s distracted by Thor who has taken to having a jumping competition with him, encouraging Ben to jump as high as he can.

Their laughter drifts in oddly, getting louder and then softer and more distant as they fall back to the ground.

“My baby…” You sigh, smiling a bit more genuinely at the soft tinkling of his laughter.

You glance at the clock on your bedside table and your breath catches in your throat as you realize time is up. You rise and move towards the bathroom, stopping at the sink counter. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a long moment, hesitating because you aren’t sure what this might mean for you and your future. Your life is so perfect right now. What if you ruin it?

Finally, you force your eyes downwards and stare down at the small white stick, watching as a little pink plus appears sending your heart into aches and twists of nervous energy.

Can this really be happening again?

You lick your lips then bite down gently as your mind scurries through the possibility that it might all be fake. Your happy life, for so long, had been a fantasy. A distant dream. Forever out of reach. Your three weeks with Thor had never seemed real. Ben, however, has been and still is very real to you. But to have Thor and have Ben together under the same roof and for Thor to love you on top of all that seems like such an impossibility. How could you have ever gotten so lucky? And now…if this is really happening, you know there is no chance that this is all a dream.

It’s real. So real and good.

This isn’t just a good dream. Your life is about to change drastically again.

“Y/N?” Thor’s voice drifts in and the bathroom door swings open. “Here you are. Ben is ready to go if you are. Stark and Pepper are downstairs with him.”

You turn to look at him with your mouth slightly open as you try and tell him but somehow you can’t get it out.

His brow furrows when he notices that you’re crying.

When had you started crying? You can’t be crying. Ben will get upset.

“What?” He asks, stepping towards you and taking hold of your arms as he ducks down to look you in the eye. “What is it, my dove?”

“Thor…I-” You swallow the lump in your throat, forcing it down as your fear of his reaction mounts. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment Thor simply stares at you, worry shifting to confusion as he leans back and gives your stomach a glance.

“You’re-?” He begins but then stops as he meets your watery eyes.

His own suddenly shift from confusion to shining elation and he laughs. He laughs loud, filling your chest with his beautiful depth.

“You’re pregnant?!”” He asks, stunned but full of joy.

“Who’s pregnant?!” Tony’s voice shouts from downstairs, echoing faintly into your room and into your bathroom.

Thor laughs again and wraps you up in his arms then lifts you up as he twirls you only once then meets your mouth in an eager kiss.

When he pulls back, he’s more subdued but his happiness is palpable and paints your world sunshine yellow and baby soft pink. It’s glowing and it’s all because of Thor.

He leans forward and meets your forehead with his own, resting it gently as he shuts his eyes and sighs with relief.

“You’re pregnant.”

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[izzy-b-hands]

Aten Pt. 1

More random Ahk fic. I gave him a bf (again, because I can’t help myself, if I can’t find anyone he’s gonna at least) and we get nsfw so hold on to ur hats folks. A reminder that in my canon, Ahk is 21 (I know the movie says he’s younger but gosh darn it I just don’t believe that. He does not look or act that young to me okay. I remember being as young as they claim he is, he would need to act much sillier/stupider to be that young, but I digress. Here in Lee’s fanon land, he’s 21.) 

Interspersed some themes from the opera Akhnaten, and talk about it in the fic, hence the title (the name for the sun disk deity/sort of technically an aspect of Ra but whatever that’s a lot of history to sum up right here worshipped by the pharaoh Akhnaten.)

Breaking this into parts, because this is getting longer than I anticipated lol. 

ANYWAY

fic below the cut as per usual

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

He rose at the usual hour, expecting the soft lights of his exhibit, always on thanks to Larry.

It was pitch black, except for the soft glow of the emergency lights out in the hall. As he fumbled his way through the rest of the museum, grateful for the few emergency lights. He expected the exhibit spaces would be empty, and everyone else would be as confused as he was. 

But everyone was in their usual exhibits, not a sign of life in them. Nothing woke them, not any of his shouting or poking or prodding. 

“If this a joke, then know that I do not like it!” Ahkmenrah shouted to the apparently empty museum. 

It was eerie as he walked quickly from one hall to the next, no sound but the swish of his cloak and the padding of his sandals on the tile floor. 

Finally, he heard Larry’s voice, calling out for someone, anyone to answer.

“Where have you been?” he scolded as he ran to the main hall, where Larry was stood near the front desk, looking as puzzled as could be. 

“I slept through my alarm, my bad,” Larry replied. “Is this uhh...a prank or did I piss everyone off, or...” 

“I don’t know. I’ve tried waking everyone, at every exhibit I’ve gone by, and nothing has worked. If this is a prank, they are very dedicated to it,” Ahkmenrah replied. 

Without warning, Larry screamed, as loud as he could.

Ahkmenrah stared at him, wincing at the sound. “What on earth was that for?” 

Larry shrugged. “Thought it might rouse somebody. But I don’t think anyone’s awake. Which is weird, because then how are you...” 

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong,” he replied. 

They were of one mind then, down the halls and back to Ahkmenrah’s exhibit to check on the tablet. 

“Ah,” Ahkmenrah sighed. “Look. One of the panels is wedged, someone must have tried to turn it. You think it being this high up would mean no one would try and touch it.” 

He carefully tried to moved the panel back, but it was stuck tight. “I’ll need tools to move it without damaging it. The restoration expert’s tools are what i’ll need, if you can get them.” 

Larry winced. “He’s at a set of conferences, for the next two weeks. Took his things with him too. I have that memo somewhere; he said in it just to leave things in need of repair in his office.” 

“With all due respect to him, I’d rather repair this on my own once he’s back, and you can borrow his tools for me at night,” Ahkmenrah said as gently as he could. He knew that the restorer meant well, but he still would rather not have him touch the tablet if he could help it. 

“So...that one being stuck must have changed the settings or whatever on this, right?” 

Ahkmenrah nodded. “Apparently. With it moved, the magic only awakens me, not everyone else.” 

They stood there awkwardly for a moment as Ahkmenrah set the tablet back in its place. 

“Good night, I suppose,” he finally said, and waited for Larry to go.

“Oh. I mean...okay. If you want me to go, I can. But just because everyone else is...asleep, we could say, doesn’t mean you have to stay in here alone. Unless you want to be alone, of course, then I’ll...go sit at the front desk and just...I don’t know, honestly,” Larry said with a shrug. “If you’d want to hang out, come help me keep an eye on things, I’d certainly welcome the company though.” 

“That would be nice,” Ahkmenrah admitted. He’d figured Larry might not want him tagging around after him like a puppy dog, so it was a pleasant surprise to hear otherwise. 

“C’mon then! We’ll talk, hang out, I’ve got snacks and your other clothes in my locker, if you want them,” Larry said, leading the way out of the exhibit. 

With the lights still off, it was eerie walking about, the museum feeling almost too bit. Larry seemed to feel the same, if the nervous chewing of his lip was anything to go by.

“So. Must have been scary, waking up in here all alone like this,” Larry said as they walked to the employee lounge. “Not that you couldn’t handle being alone in here, I mean, I wasn’t implying-” 

“Actually, that was my worst nightmare come true,” Ahkmenrah interrupted. “I was so glad to hear your voice, to not be alone in here anymore. If I had no other option but to be alone...I suppose I’d have simply stayed in my exhibit area.” 

“Well, I promise I will be on time every day for the next two weeks, so no more waking up alone,” Larry replied with a smile. “After you change, should we go put some music on the PA system? Too quiet in here without something on, or people in here.” 

“I’d like that. You have something in mind?” 

“An opera. I figure if there’s anyone who’ll listen to it with me, it’ll be you,” Larry said.

“Opera? I didn’t expect you to be that sort of man,” Ahkmenrah said. 

Larry shrugged. “Not my normal thing, but I like this one. About a pharaoh, actually, by Philip-” 

“Glass,” Ahkmenrah finished. “I know the opera, and I do like it. You go put it on, I’ll join you in a moment.” 

He changed quickly as Larry went to the main desk. It was turning out better than expected, spending time with just Larry. Who knew how else he might surprise him. 

He went to the main desk, and found the conversation flowed easily now while the opera played, echoing through the halls. About the opera (both of them wished to see it performed live) to the museum, to the city itself. 

“I know you’d love to get out and see more of it,” Larry said. “I want to make that happen more, but the others-” 

“I understand,” Ahkmenrah stopped him with a raise of his hand. “Not all of them can go out and pass on the streets in modern clothes, and they get understandably jealous about it. Any night you can offer me is a gift; I treasure them all.” 

Larry nodded. “Y’know though, I could bring someone to meet you, Ahk. About your age, a regular here, stays so late I’ve had to ask him to go so he doesn’t see all of you wake up! But he’s a great kid, studying to work in Egyptology. He claims he only comes to your exhibit every other week for that research but-” 

Larry laughed. “You’d love him. He asks about you all the time. ‘What do you think he was like, what did he look like, surely Ahkmenrah must have been wonderful.’ I have to bite my tongue not to tell him he could just meet you and see. But now...maybe I could.” 

“You think he could keep it a secret? About me...” Ahkmenrah asked. 

“I do,” Larry replied. “Here, let me show you him.” 

He pulled out his phone, and showed a picture to Ahkmenrah. “There’s me, of course, your sarcophagus in the background, and that’s Tristan.” 

His breath caught in his throat. He was cute, reddish-blondish hair and a sweet smile, and soft brown eyes anyone could get lost in. And for a moment, lost he was. 

“Ahk? You good?” Larry’s chuckle brought him back.

“Yes, of course, um-” he stuttered. “He looks to be a very-” 

“Cute?” 

“I...I mean I’ve never said-” 

“I know,” Larry said, and smiled. “But you just stopped breathing for a good minute, and you’re blushing red as a tomato. Kinda gave yourself away, buddy. And don’t worry, half the time he can’t stop talking about how beautiful he presumes you were. Especially after his last break up, with some guy named Jeremy. He was in here every day for a week straight, in your exhibit, crying or trying not to cry. Said being near you and your exhibit made him feel better.” 

His heart was beating entirely too fast to be reasonable, and he scolded himself. “The poor thing. Was it recent?” 

“Nah. Good year back now. Why? Are you wanting this first meeting to be a-” 

“Date? That would be entirely too forward of me to ask for that,” Ahk said, then bit his tongue. “I mean, unless he’d...I don’t know, I-” 

“Awww,” Larry said softly. “Tell you what. I’ll see if he can come with me tomorrow night. Let him in on this, that it has to stay a secret, or he can’t come. Not that anyone would believe him if he told anyone but, still. And you two can meet, and if sparks fly...well, there’s the couch in the lounge...” 

“Larry!” he said sharply, but his mind lingered at the thought. Would it be much too much on a first meeting? Probably, but he couldn’t help but think of it.

“I’m just saying,” Larry laughed. “Whatever happens, you two have that space to sit and talk or...anything else you can think up.” 

He could only nod, as he thought of Tristan’s face, and the glimpse of Tristan’s hands, lovely hands, that had been in the picture Larry had shown him. 

Blessedly, Larry let the conversation drift to the snacks he’d brought with him for the night, and they ate and talked of other unimportant things for the rest of the night. 

“Time to pack it in,” Larry said as he cleaned the desk. “You want me to walk you back?” 

“I’ll be alright. I’ll go change and head in. Thank you for tonight Larry, for everything.” 

He left quickly then, as he thought of him again, and did so all the way through changing and settling back into his sarcophagus. Trying to memorize the cute face in the picture, so it was the last thing on his mind before the morning sun crested. 

****

The next night, he was up and out of his sarcophagus before Larry would arrive. Normally, he’d wait, but he couldn’t tonight. He had a good impression to make, after all. 

Even with his careful dressing and primping before he went to the main desk, it was still a short wait until he finally heard Larry’s voice, and a new voice, coming down the hall. 

“I can keep a secret,” the new voice said, deep but not too deep. Like a ray of afternoon sunshine, Ahk thought. Strong enough to warm one, but soft enough to fall asleep under. “I just...man, if this is real. Wow. Should I bow, or kneel when I see him?” 

“Just act normal,” Larry laughed. “Yes, he’s royalty, but he’s very...chill. And excited to meet you too.” 

Larry smiled as they approached the desk. “And there he is! Ahk, Tristan. Tristan, Ahk.” 

He left the desk to approach them, and immediately Tristan fell to one knee. 

“Oh no, you don’t have to,” Ahk said, and rushed over to pull him back up. “I mean, that is sweet of you. But it’s alright. Here.” 

He took off his crown, and handed it to Larry before ruffling a hand through his curls. “Better? The crown is...imposing. And a bit heavy.” 

Tristan was bright red, and suddenly grabbed his hand and kissed it. “You’re still a pharaoh though.” 

“True, but not in this time. I’m just...me,” he replied, even as his heart beat at the contact of Tristan’s lips to his skin. 

“I’m gonna go about things,” Larry said. “You two head on to the lounge. I’ll put this away for you, okay Ahk?” 

He nodded, but his eyes never left Tristan’s.

“...okay then,” Larry said. “You kids have fun.” 

As Larry walked away, Ahk led Tristan to the lounge.

“You need not walk behind me,” he said as they went, noticing Tristan apparently working to stay just behind him. 

“But you’re-” 

“Ahk. A new friend, who’d love to have you walk beside him,” he interrupted softly, and gestured for Tristan to come forward. 

He could have screeched with joy as Tristan trotted up to be beside him. It was wonderful and sweet and made even better when they reached the couch and, thanks to how small it was, ended up as close as could be.

They were silent for a moment, then Tristan giggled. 

“Gosh. You’re him! You’re more beautiful than I expected.” 

Immediately, Tristan blushed again, and it was Ahk’s turn to giggle. 

“Larry showed me a picture of you, last night. But you’re even more beautiful in person.” 

“Oh, gosh I’m nothing compared to you though,” Tristan stuttered.

“You shouldn’t say that,” Ahk replied, and tucked a stray piece of Tristan’s hair behind his ear. It wasn’t horribly long, just a bit near the ears, and that those pieces kept popping forward was utterly adorable. “You’re handsome. Even your name is beautiful.” 

“I’ve always hated it,” Tristan sighed. “It literally means ‘sad’, or at least one translation of it does.” 

“That may be, but you shine brighter than the meaning of the name. We could give you a nickname, if you’d want something happier.” 

 “That would be...so cool!” Tristan said. “I mean, my mom calls me Stan, but I don’t like that either.” 

Ahk bit back a frown. This man was certainly not a ‘Stan.’ “You remind me of the sunlight. The whole museum seems brighter with you in it. I could call you Aten.” 

He didn’t think Tristan could blush any deeper, but he did. “But that’s...a deity, I mean at least he’s associated with the sun and Ra, and I am not-” 

“A god? No, but if dying and living again has taught me anything, it is that none of us are. But we may bear the similarities of them, as you bear the brightness and warmth of the sun. If you would rather I not call you that-” 

“No, you can, I mean...it makes me feel special. And I’m nothing special, but it’s...it’s nice to feel special,” Tristan, his Aten, interrupted gently. 

This was too forward, Ahk knew it was, but Aten seemed to feel the same. And there was no harm in addressing the elephant in the room. 

“I want to get to know you better. But, we both seem rather distracted by the...shall we say physical side of things.” 

Aten, and though Tristan was a beautiful name, he did seem more an Aten the more Ahk used it, even in his head, nodded. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I got here. I thought the kiss on the hand would calm me down, because I mean, c’mon, we’re just meeting and I am not normally that sort of guy, but this has been just...magnetic and I want to get to know you too, but if you feel the same and it would be easier to talk if we get things out of our system, and-” 

Ahk softly grabbed Aten’s face in his hands. “Could you just kiss me?” 

And there was the afternoon sun again, in Aten’s lips and hands and hips as he pulled him close and back with him onto the couch. He heard Larry’s footsteps and the closing of the lounge door, but paid it no mind. 

It was frenzied for all of a moment, before Aten stopped and hissed. “Your clothes...I can’t imagine trying to restore them, I should be careful.” 

“Hold on,” Ahk said, and carefully moved from under him. Without a second thought, he pulled his sweatshirt and sweats from Larry’s locker, and changed. 

It was only after he was done changing, his usual garb safely folded and set on the table in the lounge that he realized he had accidentally stepped way over the line of forward, though Aten’s face was a happy one. 

“Should I have just left them off?” he asked with a smile as he returned to his spot beneath Aten. 

“I...I’ve just never seen you...sweats, it’s different, not bad just...” Aten’s head dropped to Ahk’s shoulder, and he pulled him close again, running his hands over Aten’s back. 

“Not very regal, but comfortable,” he said. “And on the nights Larry lets me out to explore, I have to blend in, so...these.” 

Aten seemed stuck, his head lifted again, but those gorgeous brown eyes simply glued to his. 

“Come. Kiss me again. We’ll talk later tonight, or tomorrow, if tonight proves too busy,” he smiled, and traced Aten’s lips with one of his fingers before pulling him gently down by the chin for another kiss. 

Logically, he knew the night would have to end, but he didn’t want it to. It was too good, all of this. Aten warm in his arms, stripping him of his sweatshirt before pulling off his own shirt, their hips grinding as they kissed. He could not say all what he would do just to have Aten’s hands stay on him as they were now, moving to every bit of bare skin they could reach, toying with the waistband of his sweatpants, but he knew it was a great deal. 

An alarm beeped on Aten’s watch, and he broke their kiss to look at it. “Fuck. We have half an hour left. Larry said the sun-” 

“I know,” Ahk replied. “A half hour is plenty of time to end this the way I think we’d both like it to.” 

It wasn’t enough time to do everything he might have been hoping for, but it was enough time to keep kissing Aten, to have him leave marks on his neck that he prayed would not fade by the time he awoke the next night, even after his body changed for the morning. Enough time to moan loudly enough at the increased pace of it all, the friction of their hard cocks against each other, kept apart only by the fabric of Ahk’s sweatpants and Aten’s boxer briefs (he’d barely been able to focus enough to undo the button and zipper of Aten’s jeans, but he was so glad he had.) Enough time to leave a mark of his own, a gentle nip at Aten’s neck that made him whimper and whine so loudly he knew Larry must have heard it. But he didn’t care, had only one thing on his mind. 

Just before the second alarm on Aten’s watch beeped, he let himself go, moaning, his cum hitting his stomach and Aten’s as the waistband on his sweatpants had shifted. Aten followed a moment later, kissing him so hard as he came that he saw stars. 

As they lay there, still wrapped in each other, there was a knock on the door.

“Um. I hate to break up the...well. But we’ve got three minutes, Ahk, so-” 

Aten kissed him one last time, then pulled himself up and off the couch. “Come on. I’ll help clean you up before we dress you, let me get-” 

“Leave it,” Ahk said softly. “It won’t matter anyways, after the sun rises. I want it on me for now. A reminder.” 

Aten kissed him again, but Larry’s insistent knocking interrupted it. 

“Tomorrow night?” Ahk asked softly as he changed. 

“Definitely,” Aten replied with a grin. “Maybe we can even talk tomorrow.” 

“Of course.” 

“And maybe, keep the door shut again...I mean, in case we need a break, from talking, or...that sounds so bad, probably, but...” 

Ahk smiled, and dashed from the door to him to kiss him deeply again. “Not bad at all. We can do both. Till tomorrow night.” 

He had to run to his exhibit, and was barely in his sarcophagus when the heavy feeling of death came over him again. 

But it had been worth it, so worth it. He couldn’t wait for the next night.