#she looks a bit dour but she's really a sweetheart

[ordinarykasa]

I drew some more Minecraft Mob Anime Girls, ahaha...

This time, it’s the Phantom! She just wants to make sure you’re getting enough sleep. Sleep is very important!

[bvccy]

Hi!!! Hope you're doing great

Can I please have a mix between number 2 from the soft and 8 from the dark one

Thanks, lost of love ❤❤❤

Thank you so much, nonnie! I am so sorry this took so long, I meant to post yesterday but it wasn’t done. Also, the 8th dark prompt was requested just before you sent in this one, so that is filled separately here.

I tried to do the mix you asked for, and I took the liberty of writing this with Bucky (specifically 40s!BB), and I hope that it’s ok. It’s a bit of a more specific story, actually, that I’d wanted to write for a while. I also did a kind of first for me, because it involves Steve x reader as a backdrop 😂 Anyway.

Lots of love to you too, my dear! 💗💗💗

— PAIRING: soft!dark!Bucky x Reader • preserum!Steve x Reader — PROMPT: Asteria - gazing at one’s object of affection, from afar + Prassius - an impossible desire, and unclean love — LINKS: Masterlist • love stones prompt list — WORDCOUNT: 2.5k

It had taken long enough, and sometimes it seemed like it would never happen, but he finally found Steve a girlfriend — or rather, his girlfriend found him one. Dottie had exhausted several of her close friends and most acquaintances, but she knew how tired Bucky was of seeing his friend mope around, feeling like a third wheel, getting into trouble to pass the time. And honestly she liked Steve too, just not like that — but, wonder-worker that she was, Dottie found a girl that did.

She agreed to come on a double-date one night, and she and Stevie hit it right off. It was the first time Bucky met her too, and he didn't think much of the girl. Small, shy, not quite sickly-looking but not far from it, shoes a bit scuffed, clothes a bit too big for her and smelling of plain soap — in a word: perfect. She was perfect for his sickly, skinny friend who nobody else wanted, and by the looks of things, nobody had wanted her either because she seemed to have no idea what to do around a dance hall. As they were returning home that night, he even heard her confess to Steve that she had never been to one before.

They went out on two more dates, all four of them, within as many weeks. Bucky loved to dance, and Dottie too, but Steve and his girl weren't so fond of tripping over their feet and being laughed at. So they sat together at the table like a pair of broken toys, sharing an ice cream sundae, swinging shoulder-to-shoulder with the music when they liked the tune. Bucky waved at them when their eyes met, and they waved back and cheered at his dancefloor performance, but that happened less and less as they got caught up in each other. Steve would start to sketch things on the napkins while they chatted: the band, the sea of dancers, the fancy chandeliers, and eventually her.

"She said nobody's ever drawn her picture before," his friend said dreamily as they walked back, after they wished a good night to the girls. "Can you believe that?"

"Sure can…"

"She almost didn't let me do it. But she's so pretty, Buck."

"Mhm, nice girl."

"I mean yeah, she's no Dottie, but… I don't know, there's just somethin' I like so much about her… I guess her eyes, the way they look when she's smiling, or how her hair looks when the sun shines on it…"

"Get a load a' you," he grinned, wrapping his arm around Steve's shoulder in a playful grip that moved his friend's whole body. "One dame's sweet on you, and all of a sudden you're Romeo."

"At least I'm not a punk like you," Steve teased, slipping from his grasp.

"You know what I like best about her?"

"What?" he asked, with a hint of jealousy.

But Bucky smirked without a care. "How she keeps you out of trouble."

It had, indeed, been a while since Steve got in an alley brawl, and by their fifth date his last few bruises healed. He'd almost gotten into one by a cotton candy stand at Coney Island, but his girl was there to pull him back.

"Stevie, leave him alone…"

"You heard what he said?!"

"Who cares," she sighed, clinging to his arm and throwing the other man a hateful look. "Come on, didn't you want to win me that stuffed teddy bear?"

"Better listen to your girl, pal."

"Oh go find a sty to wallow in," she hissed.

"I ought'a smack some manners into you, you two-bit broad!"

"I'd worry about my own manners if I were you, buddy." Bucky slipped between them, coming from behind, standing now close enough to punch the guy if things got heated. But, seeing himself outnumbered, the other man cursed them and left. Just then, Dottie finally caught up.

"What's going on?" she asked, a little out of breath.

Bucky turned around, and was met by the heart-melting sight of Steve and his girl holding each other, her hands on his cheeks as she quietly chastised him, but loving enough that it made him smile and giggle. She closed it with a kiss to his cheek that made the boy blush, and a kittenish rub of their noses together.

"Nothing, everything's fine."

It was around the time they went to see a movie together that Bucky's joy for Steve turned into something else. They sat in the back while some musical played, and through the flashing lights and the corner of his eye, he could see his friend with his sweetheart holding hands on top of her lap throughout the whole performance. Meanwhile Dottie kept rubbing up against him, sometimes leaning her head on his shoulder, daring in the darker scenes to kiss his neck, but when she tried to get more of his attention —

"Buckyyy, what's wrong?"

— he shook her off. Hearing his name spoken by her voice suddenly felt disappointing.

He caught himself staring more and more, and not just when they went out together. Sometimes, the girl came by and spent some time with Steve, looking at his newer sketches, trying her hand too — oh and how disgusting they looked, Steve taking advantage of the situation to sit behind, and wrap his arms around her, and whisper in her ear. The pair greeted him cheerfully when he stepped through the living room and caught them, and he grinned back at them as he took a glass of milk, but all his appetite was gone.

And when they walked together through the park, and he saw them holding hands again… When Steve dug for some change to get her an ice cream, and they giggled stupidly as they made a mess of sharing it… When she fell asleep by his side one night at the dance hall, and Stevie woke her up with a tickle down her cheek, and she shivered and murmured like a bird and hid her face in his unworthy shoulder…

"Why don't you ever wanna dance, doll?" he asked as they were fetching drinks.

"Not much good at it, I guess," she shrugged. "The fast ones make me dizzy and I always trip."

"I can teach you. It'll work out great! Stevie teaches you to draw, I teach you how to dance… What do you say?"

The girl seemed to think, but shook her head. "Hmmm… No, not right now. Thanks," she smiled politely. "Besides, what would Stevie do meanwhile?"

She told him no just for the sake of keeping his scrawny little friend company, and Bucky had never felt more insulted — not that she wouldn't dance with him, although that hurt enough, but that he couldn't remember the last dame that gave something up just to stick with him, or got into fights for him, or kissed his wounds away, or held his hand in hers with no ulterior motive, and he'd found a girl that did that, and he wasted her on Steve.

So what if she was a little on the smaller side? So what if her dresses didn't fit right? So what if she came down with the cold at every change of season? He put up with it for Steve and he wasn't half as charming. The girl, instead, looked very delicate, more feminine in her own way, like when she braced her fingers on a table as she talked and mindlessly swung back and forth, animated in whatever she was saying, and her digits bent in such a childish way he feared they'd break, and it only made him want to kiss them. Or when she took her shoes off when she came to their apartment and he could catch a hint of shapely ankle, just perfect for his grip, or a peachy pink instep small enough to fit his palm. And when she fell asleep on their couch that one time and Bucky saw her all curled up, and noticed the arch of her hips and the cinch of her waist and pictured how good it would feel to hold them, and angle them upward, and…

Slowly, he started to appreciate some of what his friend had said that night, because she did have lovely eyes, and hair that looked so soft and warm, and her scent, unburdened by perfume, was sweet and girlish, and her lips looked kissable, and her wrists and knees and ankles too…

"Going out again, tonight?" he asked as the blond boy fixed himself in the mirror.

"Yeah, she wants to try this new place we —"

"Alright, alright…" sighed Bucky, already sick of hearing more. "So, that's all you're gonna do?"

"Well��� yeah."

And then he voiced an evil thought. "Don't you ever want to… you know?"

"Y-you think we should?" Steve asked, turning away from his pallid reflection.

Bucky sat sprawled across the couch, and shrugged. "If she really likes you, she'd be up for it, don't you think?"

"I don't know about that, Buck."

"No? Ok," he nodded. "After all, what do I know?"

The aftermath of this particular advice was a draught of dates for poor ol' Steve, because just like Bucky had expected, the girl shrinked at the suggestion and couldn't stand to see him. For a while.

"Can you believe it, Buck?!"

"Yeah…"

"She'll see me again!"

"That's great, Stevie."

"What's wrong? You're lookin' real dour today."

Bucky knew he shouldn't. "I just…" He knew that it was wrong. "Look, it's great that she's forgiven you, but you gotta be realistic about this, pal." He had been happy for Steve at one point, long ago.

"What do you mean?"

But that was before he saw just how much love a girl could give, and realised he'd never felt it.

"Just don't delude yourself this is anything more than what it looks like, ok? She's only forgiven you because she knows nobody else will have her."

"That's mean, Buck."

"Yeah, well… I'm just looking out for you. You're my best friend, you know that. I don't want you getting hurt." It stuck in his throat to say it, but the bitterness stuck more.

And after Steve went to bed that night, Bucky took out the box of candy and the pricey perfume he had bought for her, threw them in the trash, and firmly promised to himself to never wait too long again.

But as he learned a bit later on, when they went back to double-dates, he might not have had a chance at all, because there was an unwitting element of truth to this cruel tirade.

"I can't exactly blame you, honey," Dottie consoled her as they stood in line for the ladies room, not knowing Bucky was just behind the thin divider leading to the men's. "If he does something like that again, I know this other fella —"

"Oh no, Dot, please… We're fine now. He explained things and… he's really sweet, I think he just had a moment of —"

"But just let me introduce you to Jim, see if you don't like him better."

"I… I don't know."

"He's a real charmer," Dottie grinned, "and he has these big, broad hands, jaw like an anvil. He just broke it off with Marcie cause she was a flirt."

He didn't hear anything next, but the girl must've shook her head cause Dottie asked, "You're sure?" and "Really? Well, if you change your mind…"

"Thanks, Dot," she lightly laughed.

"I don't know why you're so stubborn though, it's not like he's that far out your league. You just need to fix your hair a little bit and get a better brand of powder."

"It's not that easy."

"It's all it took me to get Bucky on my arm. That, and a better set of heels," she laughed.

"Yeah but you've always been pretty, Dot. Like, really pretty, and you know it. I guess some girls are for the James Barnes of this world, and some are the for the Steves."

She giggled as she said it, with not a hint of anger or resentment, and that's what stung the worst.

Bucky arranged to go see a late night movie with Dottie after that, while Steve and his girl went back to the apartment to listen to a boxing match on the radio and have some cherry sodas. Dottie went ahead to buy the tickets while Bucky walked them home, and after wishing him good night, she went upstairs to set things up. Steve was meant to go to the store and buy the drinks, but he stayed to chat with his friend a while.

"I can get some eggs and milk as well while I'm at it," he offered, swinging on his heels with his hands in his pockets.

"Sure."

"Or do we have enough for breakfast tomorrow?"

"Go ahead and buy them, pal," Bucky smiled, pretending to be less tired than he felt.

"Ok. And what about — darn!"

"What is it?"

"I just realized, I forgot to give her the keys," he said, taking a hand out of his pocket and holding them out. "I gotta get to the store, can you go up and give them to her?"

"Er, why don't —"

"You know I always trip on the stairs when I'm in hurry, Buck, they haven't changed the lightbulb yet. Don't make me do it."

"Fine, I'll go."

"I owe you big."

"You always do," he grinned, and took the keys from him.

Steve made off for the corner store, while Bucky started the long slow climb upstairs. It was completely dark inside at that hour, and the few candles some neighbours left to light the way had all gone out.

"Stevie, is that you?" he heard her call, standing right outside their door.

He kept one hand against the wall and walked his way toward her, stopping as he heard her whisper, "I think I lost the keys."

Blindly, she moved her hand forward, coming right across his chest. He felt her jolt at the unexpected contact, then burst into a giggle. Bucky could already feel the fanning of her breath right at the level of his chin. With an unseen smile, he took her hand, and placed the keys within it.

"Oh," she laughed. "You had them."

As her hand closed around them his own moved up her shoulder, fingers threading around her hair, and as he touched her jaw he felt her tilting slightly upward, shivering under the feeling.

"Is everything alright?" she asked.

He felt the warming tickle of her breath as he leaned close until, through the pitch black, he touched his lips to hers. Bucky did it lightly, just a little, just enough to taste and sip a kind of love he'd never really had. She stood surprised but took his kiss, and he felt her smiling into it, even beginning to kiss back just as he was parting from her.

"Your lips are softer than before," she giggled, in a sweet but altogether crushing way that made Bucky's heart beat stronger. "Stevie?"

Her hand moved through the air to touch him but felt nothing anymore, and down the stairs the heavy steps echoed, moving downward and away.

[noctuascion]

;; Cryptage server bullied me now I rebel ;;

--

There wasn't a cloud in the sky when Elliott arrived to a familiar little home, a half-synthetic hand in his own, squeezing in reassurance and support.

It was Mother's Day. Park had desperately wanted to visit Mystik, but she had insisted it was far too dangerous, especially if he was going to bring Mirage. It was just asking for attention, and any attention on both of them was unwanted.

He had wished her a happy Mother's Day (she teased him, saying he was just some little brat she had raised, but he knew better; it meant a lot), and the two departed to visit Elliott's mother instead.

Park has met Evelyn Witt, famous engineer and mother of Elliott Witt. Park knew the story, the loss of Elliott's bothers and Evelyn's fluctuating memory. Apparently, she'd been good these past few days, but, for some reason, Elliott had convinced himself that she was going to forget, that she'd take one look at him and not recognize him.

It took everything in Park not to fear for the same.

Once they had walked up to the door, the trickster knocked on the door, and the two anxiously waited for her to answer. Elliott had a small bouquet of flowers in hand, trying to force his anxiety down and smile through it. It wasn't working; Park could see how fake it was, that it was edging just on the territory of a "Mirage smile."

Evelyn soon came into view, the door opening to reveal her smiling visage.

"Hey, mom!" Elliott said, grinning just from being able to see his mother. "Happy Mother's Day!"

"Elli, sweetheart, so good to see you," she said, though, when she laid eyes on Park, her expression changed a bit. "Oh? Who's your friend?"

The trickster felt his heart sink, looking over to Tae Joon, who looked a little surprised but ultimately unbothered. Park's own gaze moved to the other's, gently squeezing his hand again when he saw just how upset the other was.

"Um, I'm Hyeon Kim," the hacker said, looking over to Evelyn again and letting a smile of his own curl his lips. "I'm… Elliott's boyfriend."

"A boyfriend?" Evelyn gasped, immediately moving aside and waving for them to come inside. "Get in here! I need to know how someone managed to get my sweet boy to finally settle down."

Funny. She said that last time, Park thought sadly, following after Elliott, who hadn't wiped that dour look off of his face.

The visit had consisted of Elliott retelling the story of how he and Park got together, trying to recount every detail, whilst his mother listened on, enraptured by the tale. Park was rather silent the whole time, merely holding Elliott's hand.

Aside from that one incident, she seemed to be decently coherent. She seemed to only have forgotten Park for a little bit. It had shaken Elliott's confidence in the situation just a bit, but he recovered rather quickly, back to his chipper self and joking around with the woman, only for Evelyn to threaten to show his boyfriend his baby pictures. Elliott was quick to profusely apologize.

Park had actually been enjoying himself as well. Evelyn was respectful and asked him questions about his drone, the little device in a holster on his back. (Elliott had said he didn't need to bring it, but Park was paranoid prepared for any scenario, and his drone never left his side, even for friendly visits.) He had tossed it out for awhile and let Evelyn examine it a bit, the little drone beeping in amusement when she gently poked it. It ended up joining them for a portion of the visit, floating by Park's side and beeping little responses that made the Witts laugh.

They had even gotten through dinner without incident. Evelyn had demanded Park try her famous pork chops, saying that, though Elliott was an amazing cook himself, she had her own special way of making them. Park hadn't bothered to tell her he had already tried them, so he just nodded.

They joked during dinner, Elliott poking fun at Park and Evelyn telling him to respect his boyfriend, and, really, Elliott had believed the visit was going to go perfectly aside from the slight bump in he road.

They were just about to leave, and Elliott had thrown his jacket on, looking to where his mother was standing, and felt a pit form in his stomach when he saw confusion in her features.

"Did I invite you boys over?" she asked, and even Park felt his heart shatter at the question. "Ah. I guess it doesn't matter. I hope you two enjoyed your stay. Have a wonderful day."

Elliott stared at her for a moment, heartbroken, before he nodded numbly, swallowing down the tears threatening to spill over. "Y-Yeah… Yeah. Um… Happy Mother's Day."

She laughed softly. "That's today? Oh, I would love to celebrate, but I never did have any children."

Park watched as Elliott tried so hard not to break, the agony threatening to crumble his very being, before he shot her one of those famous Mirage smiles. It hurt to see, like a knife directly to his heart, a stabbing pain that throbbed and ached.

"Well… we'll see you another time."

With that, Elliott reached out for Park's wrist, and the hacker was pulled out of the house, the door shutting quietly behind them.

The ride back was quiet, somber. Elliott had been fighting back tears the entire time, gripping Park's hand with enough force to shake the trickster's own. He took deep breaths, idly rubbed his other's half hand with his thumb—anything that kept him from thinking about it, about how he was being forgotten by the last bit of family he had left.

When they got back to the complex, Elliott hurried to his room, catching a few glances from the other Legends. None of them knew about Elliott's mother. He didn't have the heart to be able to relay this knowledge to them, didn't trust them enough with it. They were only allowed to see Mirage, just like everyone else—everyone but her and Park.

The hacker had followed him, hot on his heels, and, once the door was shut behind him, he was immediately pulled into a bone-crushing hug, heard the broken sobs, felt the man so well held together finally crumble. He felt the warmth of tears, the shaking of such a strong frame. Park himself wanted to cry with him, because no one like Elliott deserved to ever be in so much pain, but he couldn't let that happen, couldn't let Elliott be weak without someone to be strong for him.

"I don't want to lose her, too…" the trickster managed between the sobs ripped from his throat, letting Park's gentle hands rub up and down his back, trying to relieve the tension there. "I can't—I-I can't lose mom, too… I've lost so many people already—I…"

Park remained silent, knowing there wasn't anything in the world he could say to make it all go away. He couldn't make Elliott smile, couldn't give Evelyn her memories back. He couldn't bring back Elliott's brothers, and he can't bring back the others he's lost. He can't fill the endless void of loneliness, the agony swirling like an endless vortex that's gained hold of his heart. When it all came crashing down, and Mirage wasn't enough to hide it, Park would do what he could for him.

He could only hold him, let him weep, hold him through it all. He wouldn't let him suffer alone anymore.

Even when his legs grew tired, when the other's hold grew too tight, and even when his arms started to hurt from trying to console him, he didn't move nor complain. He stood there and let him continue releasing the sadness he keeps so diligently bottled up.

He was quiet when Elliott was loud, just as it always was.

[contrivedcoincidences6]

Goodbye Kiss

This continues my series of missed moments from the Star Wars comics that you can find here for this story I recommend reading the others first because now I’m starting to get into a bit of a running storyline. 

@otterandterrier​ continues to be a great beta and source of support and inspiration ❤️

After Vader Down which is Darth Vader (2015) #13-15 and Star Wars (2015) #13-14. The gist of the story is that Vader crash lands near a rebel base. Luke is lost in the area. Han is going after Luke and is frustrated that Leia cares so much more about killing Vader than she does about saving Luke. They apprehend Dr. Aphra (a dangerous associate of Vaders) and take her prisoner. 

“Are you gonna tell us where these coordinates lead or is this another fun surprise?” Han asked Leia as they entered hyperspace. 

“Just going to meet up with the fleet, Han. I need to talk to Sana about another mission, she should be cleared or nearly cleared by the time we get back.”

“Sana?!” Han swiveled to look at her but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. It had been like that for a couple weeks, ever since their short but very passionate kiss aboard the Falcon. At first Leia had avoided him like the plague and he’d let her get away with it for the first few days, but it had become tiring. He wanted to see her, even if it meant fighting. 

And they did fight then, a lot. In just a couple weeks, people knew enough to turn tail if the two of them were seen in deep conversation because they knew an explosion was coming. 

“I’m going to have her help me transport Aphra to prison.” 

Luke got up from his seat slowly, not wanting to become a target in the coming argument, and took the armless Threepio with him. 

“Why would you want Sana for that? Or even trust her for that? I’ll take you.” Han pronounced the last part as if he was giving an order and Leia’s head snapped up. 

“I am giving Sana this job for your sake, Han. To pay off your debt. If I didn’t hire her for—” 

“My debt?! Are you kidding me! Sana has stolen from me plenty of times, over the years it’s evened out. She’ll get over it.”

“I also think she could be useful to the cause.”

Han snorted and gently hit a silent Chewie on the shoulder as if to say, Isn’t she crazy?, Chewie, refusing to be dragged in, remained silent in his work. 

“Listen, sweetheart, Sana is not going to be helpful to the cause. She doesn’t believe in anything or care for anyone.”

“Just like you, right? These are the kind of speeches I’m used to hearing you spout off about yourself, but now it sounds like you're worried.”

Han stood up sharply to refute her but she spoke first. “It’s nice to know you care, Han, but I think I can handle myself.”

“I never said I cared, just don’t come cryin’ to me when she stabs you in the back!”

“Fine, I won’t.”

“Good.” 

“Yes.” Leia stomped out of the cabin before Han could think of another last word. 

He slumped down in the pilots’ seat and shook his head. 

”The two of you should talk about what’s really going on.” 

“Oh well, if it’s that easy…” Han didn’t have enough energy to throw the sarcasm behind that comment like he wanted to and instead, he sighed. 

“She’s right, kissing her was a mistake.”

Chewbacca shrugged. “Do you really believe that, Cub?”

Han just covered his eyes and slumped into his seat. She’d be the death of him. 

***

Han and Luke, both in a mood, sat in the mess hall next to the other Rogues who chatted on, despite their companions' dour demeanor. Luke was still struggling with leaving Vrogas Vas, and any potential info about the old Jedi Order, behind. Meanwhile Han was still irritated at Leia for her perceived apathy toward Luke and the rest of the troops in favor of catching Vader, as well as her insistence on having Sana escort her to the Sunspot prison. 

“Why are you so mad at Leia today?” Luke asked and all the pilots turned to hear the answer. 

Han, startled out of his thoughts, glowered at them, “Who says I’m mad at Her Adoredness? In fact, she’s the one who seems mad at me!” 

Luke rolled his eyes. “Whatever Han.”

“No! You know what? She left us all alone out there on Vrogas Vas so she could go all commando on her own little private mission to kill Vader. She cared more about trying to take him out than saving your ass and didn’t give a kriff how many soldiers died along the way!”

Luke’s expression turned sour in a way no one was used to seeing on him. 

“Don’t talk about Leia that way! You think she doesn’t know the name and rank of every person who died trying to get Vader? I made it out fine, and in the end she did save our asses! I don’t know what the hell has gotten into the two of you lately but stop trying to drag everyone else into it!” 

With that, Luke stood up and stalked away, presumably toward his bunk. 

Wedge looked after him, concerned, and Han waved his hand as if it was no big deal. 

“He had to leave a bunch of Jedi stuff on Vrogas Vas.”

Dubious, Wedge looked at Han and shook his head. “Maybe, but he’s got a point. You and Princess Leia are difficult to be around these days, it’s unpleasant for everyone. Some time apart will be good for you guys.”

He looked back at the exit to the mess hall and got up. “I’m gonna check on him.”

Wedge took a few steps before turning around. 

“And Han, take it easy on Leia. She has enough guilt without you adding this on top of it.”

Han just waved the pilot away and grumbled into his drink. She’d be leaving in a couple hours and the thought of it caused a strange squeeze in his chest. Maybe he could try to make it right before she left. 

***

“I hear you two are shipping off.” Leia nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Han’s voice. He leaned against the door to the Volt Cobra’s secondary hold, looking at her like she was the entire galaxy. His posture was casually practiced, and even though she wanted to be mad at him for startling her and for the way he was looking at her, he looked good enough to make her heart—and other places—flutter. 

When her gaze reached his grinning lips, she felt her face go warm. Damn Han Solo and his gorgeous lips. 

“What can I do for you, Han?” Leia asked, trying to sound cold. 

“Nothing, Your Highness, I just wanted to see you before you left.”

The way he said ‘I just wanted to see you’ sent a shiver up her spine but she kept on a mask of indifference. 

“Well, now you’ve seen me. You can either help us load up supplies or you can leave,” Leia said as she pretended to remember what she’d been doing before he arrived. 

“I wanted to talk to you, Leia.” 

She turned around to look at him to find he’d moved closer, looking sincere. 

“About what?” Leia felt proud of herself for keeping the tremor from her voice. He was close enough that she could smell the engine grease on him and feel the heat from his body. 

“You know exactly what about.” He moved in closer but she refused to back away, maybe didn’t want to, “That kiss.”

“I’d rather forget about that.” 

“Really? You scared?” His grin mocked her and she scowled at him.

“Of course not.”

“Then kiss me again—kiss goodbye, considering you’re going away with a treacherous smuggler to drop off a deranged prisoner at a secret prison filled with the most dangerous criminals the Alliance has to offer.”

“In your dreams.”

“Yeah, every night for two weeks.” He said it so fast and with so much sincerity, it caught Leia off guard.

Slowly, he moved his hand up to stroke her cheek. “Just be careful Princess.”

Leia nodded and neither of them moved. 

Finally, after an eternity Leia—against her better judgement—leaned forward and kissed him gently. It set her insides on fire and she grabbed hold of his vest just to stay up. His hands held her elbows, supporting her, but she could feel the same tremble running through him.

She’d lied to Han; she was scared—terrified. 

The kiss was shorter than the last and much more tame, yet somehow it touched Leia just as much. 

“See, nothing to be afraid of,” Han whispered, sounding frightened himself. 

When Leia started to open her mouth, he shook his head, “We’ll talk about it when you get back. Have a good trip, Your Highness.”

He gave her a lingering peck and corrected himself, “Leia.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Happy Together : 18

Wedding Daze

Character(s): (deceptively) dark!Steve

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. It goes without (and with) saying that this is 18+.

This chapter: oral!

Series Synopsis: The reader is stood up while awaiting a blind date, instead finding herself keeping company with the restaurant’s famous owner; Steve Rogers. After that night, she tries to forget her humiliation but she just can’t shake one thing about that night: him.

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: The wedding comes to an end.

Notes: I’m a motherfucking tease and y’all are gonna hate me. Hit me up and tell me that you do! Otherwise, enjoy!

I look forward to hearing from you in the replies/reblogs/tags/asks. <3

-

You were speechless as Steve dragged you back down the hall. As you turned the corner you saw Talia ahead, anxiously wringing her hands at the entrance to the dance hall. You carried your heels and Estelle’s. Steve had barked at you to pick them up and quickly snatched your other hand again. He didn’t hesitate as he neared your closest friend. 

You looked up at him, frightened at his expression. He was no longer seething but compassionate and worried. He let go of you and lowered Estelle from his shoulder, holding her up across his arm. 

“Grab a chair,” His voice was gentle. A perfect mask. “And her parents, if you can. She’s had a bit too much.”

Talia was quick to abide. She nodded and glanced at you curiously. You lowered your head. What could you say? Your sister was obviously inebriated and Steve was ever the gallant gentleman. Talia disappeared through the door and your husband shook his head. Your husband. Your eyes rounded at the thought.

“I asked your mother to keep an eye on her,” Steve muttered as he leaned her against the wall, “Tony insisted on an open bar.”

“Sweetheart--” You gulped back your words as he glared over his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” He said in a steely voice, “I know you’re sister is drunk. Foolish. Not thinking.” His words were so pointed they made you flinch. He wasn’t really talking about Estelle. “To ruin our day like this.” He shook his head and inhaled as he turned back to your sister and she babbled cluelessly in her stupour. “She won’t. No one can.”

Talia reappeared with one of the cushioned seats from the tables and your parents were not far behind. Your mother gasped as she saw Steve angle Estelle into the chair. Your father grumbled and shook his head. Steve turned to you and grabbed Estelle’s shoes and handed them to your mother.

“She tripped in the parking lot,” He was once more careless but his tone held an edge. “She needs to go.”

“Why I--” Your mother gaped and her eyes slowly strayed to you as you bent to put your heels on. “How could you let her get like this?”

“You,” Steve’s voice deepened as he stepped between you and your mother’s sneer. “I told you she was drinking too much. This isn’t on her. Not this time. Now you will let me and my wife enjoy our day and you will take your other daughter back to her hotel.” He snarled. You were as aghast as your mother looked. He’d never been anything but kind to her. “And when you return to New York, you will not speak to my wife in that manner.”

He cleared his throat and pushed his shoulders back. Your mother glanced at your dad and mumbled an apology. You had never seen her so thoroughly contrite. 

Steve turned to you and took your hand as he drew you towards the door. You peeked back as your father lifted your sister from the chair and hissed at your mother under his breath.

“...always coddle her…” He uttered and led your mother down the hall. 

Steve tugged on your hand and you spun forward. “Talia, you can let them know we’re ready now. Thank you.” He said softly and she scurried out the door. 

You watched as he closed his eyes and inhaled. At once, his fury slaked away and he was once more the blissful groom. The metamorphosis was terrifying. The DJ began his scripted intro and you shifted in your heels, pressing your skirt straight with your free hand. His eyes flicked over at the movement.

Steve leaned in, his hot breath made your shiver.. “You’re lucky this is the happiest day of our lives,” He growled and pecked your cheek gruffly, “Very lucky.”

-

You expected that every bride felt a sense of gloom when her wedding was finally over. You guessed, however, that your melancholy was much different than most. You looked down at your white skirt as Steve led you from the banquet hall, your hand held high in victory. You read once that white was the colour of mourning among medieval queens. It felt so much more dour than black.

A silver town car awaited you. Not the usual limo but just as elaborate. Steve opened the door and guided you inside with his other hand. He gave one last wave to your departing guests as he ducked in next to you. The door closed with a startling click and you slid across the leather seat until you were against the other door.

Steve caught your elbow and pulled you to him. Your skirts weighed you down as he drew himself close. He pressed his body to yours and shuddered. His other hand came up to cradle your cheek as he turned your face to his. “My beautiful wife.” 

He kissed you so fervently that you were crushed between him and the velvet interior. His other hand strayed to your bodice and he wrapped his arm around you. He had you pinned between him and the seat as he leaned over you. You were weak; tired. 

You dreaded this moment all day. Not the vows, the kiss, the dance, the sickening speeches. This. The moment you were left alone with him. The beginning of your end.

He turned your body to him and forced himself between your legs. You pushed on his chest and he unhooked his arm from around you. He took your hands and forced them away. He held your wrists above your head as he ground his hips into you. His low moans filled your mouth as he pushed his tongue inside. 

You murmured and he shoved his pelvis against your skirts until you felt him. Even through the yards of fabric, his impatience was obvious. You turned your head away to catch your breath and his lips continued along your cheek, chin, and neck. He pressed your wrists together and held them with one hand as his other tugged at your skirts. 

“Steve,” You gasped. You tried to kick at him but it only allowed him closer, your left leg trapped between him and the seat. “Steve, please...stop.”

“You’re my wife now,” He spoke into your collarbone. “You have your duty…” 

He nibbled at your skin and you squeaked. He continued to fight through your skirts and you wiggled your hips helplessly beneath him. He was too heavy, too strong.

“Here?” You croaked, “Steve, it’s not...right.”

“No, not here,” He assured you, “I just need to touch you.”

His hand delved beneath the layers of satin and grazed over the white stockings hidden beneath. He tugged at the garter and groaned, his face firmly nestled in your cleavage. He squeezed your thigh and pushed his hand close to your vee. You squirmed and his thumb rested on your panties.

“Steve,” You tried to pull your wrists free and his grip tightened. “Steve!” You lifted your head and he bit down on the top of your tit, just above the bodice. You yiped and he purred as his teeth pinched you.

His thumb rubbed across your panties and he rested the weight of his pelvis against his hand. He pulled away from your chest to look up at you. His eyes were smokey as if in a trance. You dropped your head with an exasperated sigh. You grunted as you tried to shake him off of you. 

He teased your clit through your panties and you bit down on your lip. Don’t. You whined as you felt the nerves gathering beneath his touch. Your panties were growing wet from your unwanted arousal. You were helpless in more ways than one. There was no defense against his touch; against the flame it stoked within you. You closed your eyes and sobbed. You couldn’t give in, but you wanted to.

Your hips bucked as he flicked across your clit faster. You whimpered and he nuzzled the crook of your neck. He rested his head between yours and the seat, his hand never wavered. Neither did the flurry. You gulped as you felt the rise and your body went stiff as you battled it. 

You gritted your teeth as your orgasm won out and a pathetic mewl escaped your chest. You panted beneath Steve as he eased you through and you shook your head desperately. No, no, no. You felt the cum soaking through your panties. He did too.

He rescinded his arm and let go of your wrists. He pecked your lips as he sat up and licked his thumb with a groan. You laid across the seat in shock. In shame. He pulled your skirts down and leaned back against the velvet leather seat. He sighed in relief and rolled his shoulders.

“My dear wife,” He rubbed his hand over his crotch and smirked. “Your duty.”

Your lips trembled in a pout and you crossed your hands over your chest. You shook your head and tried to crawl away from him. He caught your arm and yanked you along the seat until you sat up. He almost had you in his lap as he grabbed your other hand and shoved it into his lap. He wiggled his hip and groaned as you felt the bulge.

He leaned in and whispered in your ear. “You know how this night can go. Choose wisely.” He fell back against the seat and released you. He tilted his head and lifted a brow. “Well, what’s it going to be, honey?”

You kept your hand on him and stared at your fingers. They moved almost without your permission. You swallowed and snapped your mouth shut. Stop shaking. Stay steady. You could do this. It wasn’t so bad. Not as bad as the room. Nothing was as bad as that.

You unbuttoned his fly and pulled down his zipper. He spread his arms across the back of the seat and you refused to look at him. You knew he was watching. Could feel more than the heat at your fingertips or that burning at your core. You pushed apart his fly and reached into his briefs. It was as if they weren’t your hands at all. Like a dream. Distant and numb.

You bunched up his briefs and pulled his cock out. You gripped him in your hand and clamped your lips together. All feeling returned at once. You felt as if you were vibrating, your ears buzzed. You gave a long stroke and he exhaled sharply. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He watched your hand closely.

You repeated the motion and slid back slowly on the seat. You bent over him and closed your eyes. You swirled your tongue around his tip and he shivered. You did it again and again. You dragged your tongue along his shaft as you tried to spread the saliva. You worked your hand steadily and his breaths turned to moans.

You pressed your lips to the head of his cock and let them slip over it. You pushed yourself onward. Not the room, not the room. You repeated the words as you let him go deeper. At your limit, you stopped. You tried to pull back but his hand quickly caught the back of your head.

You stretched your neck as he forced you down. His cock entered your throat and you gagged around him. Your hand slid to his fly and you clung to it as you struggled to breath. Finally he let you up but not far. He guided your motion up and down his length. His dusky moans punctuated each descent.

Your head bobbed beneath his hand and you wheezed around him. The spit dripped from your mouth down his cock and his fingers tangled in your veil. You sped up, eager to be done. Eager to breathe. Your head throbbed from the lack of air, your jaw ached from the effort.

“Fuck, I’m gonna--” He grasped the back of your head and bunched your hair and veil between his fingers. He pulled you off of him and rasped through his panting breaths. “Use your hand.”

You swiftly took him in your hand and resumed your motion. You stroked him as he grunted loudly and his entire body shook. He reached out and grasped the front of your bodice, his fingers shoved between your cleavage. He came with a snarl. The ribbons spurted forth and dripped down your fingers and onto his black tuxedo pants. 

You slowed as he stilled and hesitantly let go of him. His cock fell against his stomach and he brushed back the hair that had fallen forward on his forehead. His blue eyes strayed to the window as the car came to a stop. He took the square of white from his jacket pocket and wiped up his mess before tucking himself away.

“Honey,” He smiled out the window, “We’re home.”

-

tags to be added in reblog

[queenmuzz]

Deep Blue Sea:  Chapter VII

Cutting Questions

Read full on Ao3 HERE

I can’t believe I agreed to try this on. You stared at the multiple copies of yourself in the full body mirrors as you cringed at the multi-angle view of the monstrocity masquerading as a wedding dress.  It was far too floofy, with enough taffeta layers that made you think that you were a pure white pastry.  And the bodice was far too tight, even for just a try out.  You swore your lower ribs were being crushed as the lady pulled the laces of the corset, and it took all your willpower to not cry out.

“There we go…” she said, triumphantly, and she twirled you around so you could get a good look at every side of this disaster.  “We may have to let out the bust a bit, and a little at the waist, but you look stunning!”

I look like a goddamn jellyfish, was all you could think.

You waddled out, attempting to not trip over the fluff that obscured your legs, to face the duo that eagerly waited for your appearance.  Surely they would find it as ridiculous as you did!  But the look on your mother’s face was not encouraging.

“OH MY GAWD,” she said with tears in her eyes…”You are absolutely gorgeous!  The dress suits you perfectly!”

“I dunno,” you said, attempting to be diplomatic.  Last thing you wanted to do is be known as a bridezilla, “I’m not sure it fits me”

“Well, of course,” she crooned, “It’ll need some alterations, but you’ll feel like a princess walking down the aisle with it.  The congregation will love it!” She was obviously taking the word ‘fit’ literally.  “And what do you think, Sarah?”

You silently prayed that your best friend would at least have the gumption to say something.  “It looks nice….” she started politely “but perhaps it could use a splash of colour?”

Your mother’s eyes widened, and she clapped her hands together.  “Yes!  A light pink would really bring out the colour of the diamonds on your engagement ring.” She paused, pinched up her face and thought for a second, chin in her hand.  “Ah!  Sequins!  You need more sequins!  It’s all the rage wedding this season.”   She turned to the saleswoman. “You MUST have something like that!”

The saleswoman, surprisingly, was a bit hesitant, considering she was about to make a major commision off this sale gently prodded, “I’m sure the bride would love to add to the suggestions.”

“I was hoping,” you started, “That it would be a bit less ostentatious.  Something a bit more simple, less fancy”

“Nonsense,” your mother interrupted, “This is YOUR day, you need to go all out!  With luck, this will be the most important day of your life.” She turned back to the saleswoman.  “Money is no object, but my daughter MUST look her best for her special day.”

The lady turned to you, to get your approval, and you wanted to say something, anything to get out of wearing yet another hideous top designer couture, but that excited look on your mother’s face just made you hesitate.  You couldn’t bear to see her face fall as you told her what you really thought of that dress. (Pink?   Your mother had to know you hadn’t liked that colour since elementary school!) And how sequins just didn’t suit you at all, you preferred the slender, simple backless gown with the green sash at the waist, that stood at the front window.  (The sneer your mother gave at it when you suggested it was enough to shut your mouth.)

But it was late afternoon, and you’d tried almost a dozen dresses, and frankly, you were tired.  And when you really thought about it, you’d only be wearing the dress for one day.  Perhaps your reticence was unreasonable.  After all, your mother had worn three different wedding dresses throughout her lifetime, and perhaps she knew what was best for you, maybe you should just trust her.

“Very well…” you said, and your mom giddily followed the sales lady to the back. You flopped down inelegantly on the cushioned sofa, and sighed.

“You know,” Sarah volunteered hesitantly, “this is supposed to be YOUR day, you shouldn’t be such a doormat”

“I’m not a doormat!” you hissed, attempting to not cause a scene.

“Suuuure you’re not,” she said rolling her eyes, before looking back at the dress in the window. “I love you to bits, but man, you gotta stand up for yourself.  You keep letting your parents push you around, it’s not gonna ease up, no matter how much you give in to their demands”

You cracked, just a little bit, Sarah had a point.  You spent your entire life trying to live up to their standards, and yet, it was never enough.  There was always a way you were supposed to dress, a business you should look into, a new contact you should make, a man you were supposed to marry-.  You decided that you would let that train of thought leave the station.

“I can’t,” you said quietly, looking down at your hands resting in floofiness that was your lap, “they’re expecting so much of me, I’d be letting them down right now”

“Well,” Sarah countered, “you stood up to them before, when you said you wanted to go into Marine Biology all those years ago.  I remember the  horrific arguments you had with both of them, you even stayed with me for a few weeks until they gave in.  And look where it got you, a Doctorate in your dream subject, and the ability to do the thing you really love; explore the ocean!”

“That’s because I felt passionate about it, Sarah”

“So does that mean you aren't passionate about this wedding?”

You clammed up, any words in response died on your tongue.  Sarah, despite her veneer of benign cluelessness, was an expert at cutting straight to the matter.  Did you feel passionate about this wedding? Did you even love Fredrick?  Would you ever love him?

“We’re baaaack!” your mother’s voice smothered your thoughts and doubts as she and the saleslady brought out a dress that quite possibly was even worse looking than the one you were currently wearing.  You gave one last longing glance at the the beautiful dress in the showcase, and allowed yourself to be shepherded back into the dressing room, leaving behind a beaming mother, and a resigned best friend.

*****

The sun was low in the sky as you finally left your mother’s place, after wishing her and your newest step-father a good night.  Sarah gave you a tight hug, with a concerned remark that no matter what you chose, she’d have your back.   You knew that you were hurting her by going through with this, but it would work out in the end, you knew it.

You sat back in your driver's seat, pausing after starting the engine.  It had been a draining day, and all you wanted to do was to have a bath, wrap yourself up in some towels, make yourself and Vergil some food, and just chill.  Despite all the stress from the wedding plans, and the the steep learning curve of taking up the reins of your father’s company, talking with Vergil about anything, and yet nothing at the same time calmed you down immensely.  You always looked forward to those times.

But first, one last errand before you went home.  You told your wireless system to make the call, and as you pulled out of your mother’s driveway, the drone of a dial tone reverberated in the car.  A few rings, and your father’s voice answered.

“Ah, how’s my favourite girl doing?  Did you pick your dream dress out?” he asked cheerfully.

“Yes, mom helped pick it out it’s a-” 

Your dad interrupted you, “Now now, don’t tell me, I just want it to be a surprise!  Just have your mother send me the bill, I’ll work out the payment”  You breathed a sigh of relief, you didn’t really feel like somehow describing the abomination that took the guise of a dress in a somewhat positive light.   

“Listen, sweetheart” your father said, “I’ll be out for a few weeks on business, accompanying your future father-in-law on a trip to check up on Fredrick, and maybe sign some more deals, so no ‘Take Your Daughter to Work Days’ for a while.  You got any concerns or any requests, you’ll have to call me.  Me and Mr. Sombra are on the cusp of a deal that will be mutually beneficial for both our family, and Fredrick’s.”  Another sigh of relief, one less stress point to deal with.  

Suddenly, in the background, you heard a popping sound, which sounded like fireworks, but the rhythm sounded off, it sounded like… Gunshots!?

“Dad!” you barked out worriedly, “Is everything alright?”

Your father’s response was cheerful and reassuring, “Ah it’s alright, I’m at the gun range, Mr. Sombra decided we should get to know each other better with our prospective hobbies while we work on this deal. I think I might be getting the hang of this gun thing, although I’ve gotta resist the urge to close one eye to do so.  Tomorrow, I get to show him the joys of breadmaking!” Your dad sounded as giddy as a schoolgirl to share his passion project, you couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I gotta go, your future father-in-law is begging me to try out this new pistol he purchased!”

“Okay, say Hello to Fredrick when you see him!  And have a safe trip!” you chirped, “I love you, dad”

“Love you too, sweetheart, bye!”  As the phone call ended, you began to relax.  Sure, today had been a draining day, but your father’s upbeat energy perked you up.  Perhaps your conversation with Vergil wouldn't be so dour today.  You sensed he had some issue with your father, but you never brought it up, simply because you never wanted to see him as he was when you first met.  You wanted him, if not happy, at least content and untroubled.  You hummed a familiar tune for the rest of the way home, but no matter how hard you thought about it, you couldn’t figure out where you heard it from.

As you pulled into your driveway, the cheerful mood skidded to a halt.  Another, unfamiliar vehicle was parked beside your usual parking space, but nobody was seen.  You tensed up.  You hadn’t expected any guests, and to just get on the property, you had to have a way of getting past the security gate.   

Cautiously, you got out.  It couldn’t possibly be a burglary, what idiot would park in front of your home while looting the place?  But still, you had your fears, not for your property, nor for even yourself.  What about Vergil?  

Your stomach dropped as your front door opened, and out came a slimy slug of a man...Doctor Griffon.   He was practically beaming, whistling a jaunty tune, with a regular sized briefcase in his left hand, and a long narrow briefcase in his right.  To your untrained eye, it looked similar to a gun case, and your blood ran cold.  

The doctor finally noticed you after he locked the door, (how the hell had he gotten a hold of the keys?) and smiled, totally oblivious of what he was doing to your emotions.

“Ah, My dear!  I was not expecting your arrival!  I must say, you’ve done a marvelous job on rehabilitating Angelo.  I was worried it was languishing in captivity, but you’ve managed to bring it’s original colour back, and it’s gained some weight, you must tell me your feeding schedule-”

“Cut the crap, Doctor. How the hell did you get a key?  What the fuck are you doing here? ” you hissed.  

The man deflected your anger as if it was a pesky fly.  “Your father gave me permission and access to your home, to take care of the creature, in case of emergencies, and I deemed it an emergency, since you’ve missed the deadline to deliver your monthly report for the past three days.”

Wait what?

You quickly checked your phone.  Sure enough, the asshole was right, in the hubbub of bridal shows, cake tastings, and now wedding dress try-outs, you had missed the deadline.  It was hard to resist the urge to slap yourself for this stupidity.

“I’m not sure how you managed to wrangle the creature without it’s leash,” he glanced down at the long  briefcase, “But I’m highly impressed you were able to.  I’ll admit I thought you were just faking the measurements…”

“You could have called me, let me know, I could have gotten you the information you so desperately  needed.  Instead of breaking into my place without my damn permission.”

The bastard dangled a ring with a single key on it, in front of you. “Like I said, this was given to me by your father, with permission to-”

You didn’t let him finish as you yanked the key out of his grasp.  “Consider the permission rescinded.” you said curtly.   He attempted to speak again, but you wouldn’t let him.  “Talk to my father if you want to contest this, because I’m not letting you set foot on my property again.  Am I making myself clear? Your voice lowered dangerously, your adrenaline pumping through your system, the key clenched so tight in your fist, you could feel the start of it cutting into your palm.  Immediately, your brain went into overdrive, preparing on how to react should Griffon try to take the key back, punch him in the face, or in the gut, or a kick to the groin?

But you needn’t have worried.  The doctor, despite his glares, decided to back off.  No doubt he would attempt to contact your father, but both of you knew who your dad would side with.

“Very well,” he glowered, “but if anything happens to the specimen,” the urge to punch him reached a deafening crescendo, “I will hold you personally responsible.” And with a huff, he shouldered past you, got in his car, and with a slamming of a door, he peeled out, going towards your family’s central warehouse building.

You let out a ragged breath, The next time I see him, I’m going to skewer the bastard, you thought viciously.  The previously relaxed feeling that you had worked so hard to build melted like snow under a blowtorch.  How could you have been so fucking stupid?  You had spent the last decade turning assignments on time for your doctorate, why did you forget now?  All your efforts at gaining Vergil’s trust had just been shattered because of your negligence…

Vergil…

You ran towards the door, clumsily failing to get the key into the hole, and spreading blood from your newly cut hand all over the handle.   It could wait until later, you had to check up on the merman, that was your priority right now.

After a few tries, you got the door unlocked, and you rushed inside, tossing your belongings everywhere in your haste to get to the aquarium.   “Vergil!” you called out, but no response reverberated in your head.  You plastered yourself against the glass, trying desperately to find him.  And after a few moments of panicked searching, you saw him, hidden behind his usual rock where he usually spent time alone.  But now he was unmoving, curled up in a defensive ball, his eyes vacant, staring at nothing at all.  “Vergil!” you yelled, but no response.  What had that asshole done to him?  Did it have something to do with that leash? What if he’s hurt?

Without quite thinking, you clambered onto the platform, and after a moment to gather your breath, you dove in.

The cut on your palm protested at the salt water, but you didn’t care, as you swam to the far rock.  You cautiously approached Vergil, unable to talk to him with your weak human lungs, which already started to burn. Vergil remained staring straight ahead, his eyes transfixed on nothing, unaware of your presence. So, you did the only thing you could, and placed your hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.  Come back to me, Vergil.

And then, without warning, both his hands shot out, grabbing your shoulders in a vise tight grip.  In your surprise, you let out the last of your air still in your lungs, the bubbles rising to the surface.  You went to follow, but Vergil wouldn’t let go.  Panic forming, you started struggling, but the merman was as solid as the rock he hid behind, and wouldn’t budge.  And what was worse, the vacant look in his eyes was still there, he had no idea he was drowning you.  For a split second, you thought about trying to hit him, to knock some awareness back into him, but that would make it worse.  So, as you felt your body slowly shutting down, conserving all the oxygen it had for only vital functions, you did the only thing you could think of.

You softly caressed his cheek, hoping the gentle touch might, possibly be the thing he needed to snap him out of his catatonia.  

To your relief, it seemed to work, and his eyes focused on you in confusion.  All you could do was keep your eyes focused on his, as everything besides his face became a dark blur.  Panic filled his face, and you were aware of rushing water, and then the feeling of cool air on your cheeks.  Spluttering and coughing, you gulped up the air, as Vergil gently guided you to the platform and helped you clumsily clamber up onto it.

“Forgive me…” you heard him murmur as you stood on all fours, still attempting to catch your breath. “Had it been a few moments later, I would have....”

“Not your fault, Vergil '' you gasped out, finally able to regulate your breathing, as the pounding of blood in your head slowed down, as the adrenaline stopped flowing.  “This was all me, I should have sent in that report, so ‘he’,” you spat out the word in hatred, so Vergil knew who you were talking about, “wouldn’t have shown up.  But I was so. Fucking. Forgetful. You felt like crying, but you kept it locked inside.  You both didn’t need the additional emotions tonight.

You felt a soft hand placed upon yours, and you looked into his grey eyes, softness replacing the blankness that had been there a few moments ago. “It appears,” he said with a gentle smile, “we are at an impasse to who’s at fault.  Shall we agree that we have both done the other ill?”

“I suppose we could do that,” as you used your hand to brush your soaked hair out of your eyes.  Suddenly Vergil frowned, he gently turned your other hand around, revealing an angry red gash.

“Did I…?” he started to say, but you shushed him.

“No, that was me, when I was confronting the Doctor”  Vergil stiffened at the mention, and you sought to assure him “Vergil, I swear I will never let him near you again, if I have to fucking kill him.”  He looked at you, as if he was searching for sincerity on your face, before nodding in gratitude..  You had never been so serious about something in your life.  Vergil didn’t deserve the treatment you could only guess that he’d been through.  If you could have chucked him into the ocean this very second, you would have.  But despite everything, he still answered ‘no’ to your question of freedom every morning, so you respected his wishes.

“You should get yourself dry,” he said, “you humans tend to get sick when you remain wet for a period of time.”

You got up, wincing at the pain from your palm and you pushed up off of the wood, “I’ll be back soon, and I’ll bring you supper, any requests?”

“Not particularly, anything you wish shall be fine” he answered, his voice unexpectedly soft.  You gave him a reassuring smile, and descended the stairs.

*****

You sat in a warm fluffy pj’s your hair still damp, but otherwise fully dry.  You’d made his favourite for him, ramen, with some slices of leftover pork chop, which he slurped up greedily.  He was still getting the hang of using utensils, but he was doing so much better.  You snacked on a turkey sandwich, not feeling the urge to prepare anything more strenuous than that.  Your hand had stopped bleeding, but still ached, and although it looked bad, with some ointment and some bandages, it would be more annoying than anything.  You pulled up your medical supplies to tend with it, but then heard Vergil’s voice. 

“May I?” and after giving your approval, he gently took your hand, amazed as you spread the cream over the cut.  He frowned, as he watched.  “I thought it would have healed somewhat by now, if not as quickly as us”

“Nah,” you shrugged with your free shoulder as you reached for the wrapping that would keep it protected while you slept. “Although cuts on our hands heal pretty fast compared to other parts of our bodies, we just need to keep it covered so it has a chance to heal.  It’s painful, but it’s not like a wound to the gut or anything.”

You began to wrap your hand, but somehow, Vergil took over, gently winding the cloth around your palm, taking care not to press down on the wound.  The way his fingers softly grazed your knuckles....  You suddenly felt slightly warm at the touch.

“May I ask you a favour?” he asked as you placed the supplies back in the kit.

“Sure”

“Will you sleep here?” he said, tapping the platform.  You paused, and watched to see if he was making a joke, but his face was serious.  “It would put my mind at ease, after all that has transpired today” he requested earnestly.

“Of course” you responded, and relief flooded his face.  “I’ll just have to get some more blankets and such, sleeping on bare wood is rather uncomfortable.”

So, several hours later, you were in a nest of blankets and pillows, lulled by the sound of water, on the cusp of sleep,  when you heard the sound of water sloshing gently, and a cool hand caressing your cheek.  Strangely, it didn’t yank you back into wakefulness, but instead calmed you down even more.

The last thing you heard before sleep truly claimed you was Vergil’s voice, barely a whisper.

“Sleep well, Sifa”

Tagging @harlot-of-oblivion (apologies if I tagged you twice, Tumblr glitched out, and I had to repost.)

[juleskelleybooks]

Star Still Fall: Worldbuilding Pt 2

I found a snippet in my Stars Still Fall worldbuilding file and built it out a little bit last night. Again, this probably won’t go anywhere in the final draft; it’s just for me to have when I’m writing the main story, which takes place a few years later. Anyway, the first part is here: [Link] (Content advisory on the post).

This follows very closely afterward. Content advisory for: PTSD, remembered death of family, coming to terms with new disability, severe depression in first-person POV. 

***

“…was really very nice of her to offer you this job. She didn’t have to, you know. Make sure you tell her thank you.”

Aunt Pauline’s voice barely broke through the distance that was always in my mind now, like I was observing my life from very far away. It was only when she said, “Lilly, tell her thank you, do you hear?” that I managed to mumble, “Yes ma’am.”

One of Aunt P’s church friends, Caroline, was the customer service manager at Piggly Wiggly and had offered to give me a job as a cashier there since I’d dropped out of high school for now. There had been some discussion and self-satisfied agreement between them that it would help give me a feeling of normalcy if I had some structure in my daily life.

“Something more than just moping around the house,” Aunt P had said. I don’t think she knew I could hear her.

And despite everything, I hoped they were right. I was as tired of being trapped in the house with Aunt P as she was of being trapped in the house with me, and it would be nice if this worked out. Maybe I could get to know some people. Maybe it would take my mind off things. Maybe I could save up enough money to move out of Aunt Pauline’s house. Maybe – and it was a wild, breathless dream of a thing, but I couldn’t help it – maybe I could save up enough that I could move out of Gideon. Maybe not as far as I wanted, but somewhere new. Somewhere people didn’t know me, didn’t pity me, didn’t whisper about me. A knot of guilt started up in my stomach at the thought that I was trying to forget about everyone, but I shoved it down. Cole would understand. He’d know that just because I wanted to live without people thinking of my family’s tragic accident every time they looked at me, it didn’t mean I wanted to leave my own memories behind. Right?

I could never forget you, Cole, or Mom and Dad. Don’t be mad at me.

When Aunt P put the car into park, I realized that we were at the door. She was dropping me off.

“I’ll be back to get you in a few hours,” she said, and the bright note in her voice surprised me for a moment. It was the first time I’d heard her sounding anything except cautious – at first – and then more and more dour and disappointed as time went by and I still had to be reminded to do basic things like take a shower or eat food. I didn’t even try telling myself that she was just happy for me that I was finally “moving on.” No; she was thrilled at the prospect of several hours when I was someone else’s problem.

The feeling was as close to mutual as it could get for someone who couldn’t feel anything.

And for a while, it was all right. I felt awkward and self conscious, having to figure out how to grip the items to scan until I mostly relied on my left hand, using my right hand to punch in numbers on the computer screen. I ignored everyone’s cautious glances at my missing fingers the few times I fumbled their cash and focused on their voices, which were mostly warm and welcoming and supportive.

“It’s so good to see you, Lilly Ann.”

“We’ve missed you. It’s good to see you’re all right.”

“We’ve been praying for you, sweetheart.”

No one minded that I was slower than all the other cashiers, slowed down even more by everyone stopping by my line to say hello in their own way. It was a little overwhelming, and I kind of wished they would just let me learn the ropes, but they meant well.

After only an hour, though, my body ached and my patience was beginning to fray. Was I really that frail? I could hear Aunt Pauline in my head. It’s been a year, Lilly. Are you ever planning to even try?

I couldn’t ask for a break after just an hour. I wasn’t that special. Getting this job was already a favor; I couldn’t abuse Caroline’s good will like that. And besides, if I couldn’t work, then I couldn’t save up any money, and I’d never get out of Aunt P’s house, much less out of Gideon. I didn’t realize my hands were shaking until the pickle jar slipped. It bounced off the scanner pane and rolled onto the floor, shattering into a mess of glass and vinegar, and through the ringing in my ears, I heard someone asking if I was okay and the song warbling over the speakers in the ceiling.

—So hard to find my way, now that I’m on my own

I saw you just the other day, my you had grown—

The tinkle and crunch of glass made it hard to breathe, and I pawed at the warm slickness on my face, confused when my hands just came away wet instead of bloody.

“Lilly Ann!”

“Somebody help her—get her to the office.”

Sometimes I’m overcome thinkin’ bout

By the time I could process anything, I was in a metal folding chair inside the manager’s office, someone’s sweater wrapped around my shoulders like a blanket, and someone was coaxing a styrofoam cup into my left hand.

“Here, sweetie. Drink some water, okay?”

You’re my brown-eyed girl

“Are you all right? Did it cut you?”

My brown-eyed girl.

“I’m sorry I made a mess,” I managed to whisper, the styrofoam creaking under my grip. I reached for it with my right hand, forgot for a moment that I couldn’t grab it the same way I used to, and fumbled it, splashing water into my lap before I caught it.

“No, no, don’t worry about that,” the woman said. I finally focused on her face. Barbara. She’d been bagging the groceries that I was scanning. “It happens all the time. Last week, the bottom fell out of a bag and four two-liters sprayed Dr. Pepper across the whole front end. What matters is that you’re okay.”

I nodded, but then I felt my lower lip trembling and desperately tried to stop it, pressing my tongue hard against the roof of my mouth. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t you dare cry—

“Do you want to go home?” Barbara asked softly, and I nodded again. This time I couldn’t have stopped the tears even if I had tried. But I was out of energy for trying.

I wished more than anything that I could have gone home—but the only home I had anymore was Aunt P’s guest room. That’s what Barbara meant when she said it. That’s what everyone would mean. Not the brick three-bedroom on Hough Street that I’d grown up in, that had been emptied out and sold, with only a few boxes of things packed up for me, but the floral print guest room with the porcelain angels lined up on top of the antique cherry wood wardrobe where Aunt P had her winter clothes stashed.

I wished someone would put me in a box and stash me in a wardrobe too, and see how long it took the moths to eat me.

[edelgoth]

matchup trade with doki-doki-imagines

@doki-doki-imagines here you go, lovely!! sorry for the wait. i hope you enjoy it!!

i decided to do some matchups with headcanons (mainly bc i take f o r e v e r to write scenarios and i didn’t want to keep you waiting!). also, you sound like a sweetheart!!

so first off, i match you with... 

 ferdinand (von aegir)!!

i feel like ferdinand would quite enjoy how sassy you can be? some of the people he can grow to be fond of are quite sassy (such as dorothea and hubert), so it’s likely a trait he finds charming 

ferdinand also acts as something of a voice of conscience amongst the black eagles; it is ferdinand, after all, who proposes the idea of widespread education, and ferdinand who reminds lorenz of their duty to their people. so, i get the feeling that you guys might have similar values? but i could also be jumping the gun there so hhhhhh

he’d really admire how ready and willing you were to help people, and he’d try and emulate that in himself!! he wants to use his noble status to help commoners (and very much sees that as his duty), so he’d genuinely appreciate another compassionate perspective

i get the vibe from your profile that you’d do a pretty good job at navigating nobility and politicians (particularly how you’re very good at reading people and the fact that you’re very polite), so i think that’s also something he’d really appreciate about you; it just makes his job that little bit easier 

he would value how empathic and open-minded you are, and i think they’re something he’d really want to see in his partner. ferdinand wants to make the world a better place, and he’d need a partner who could help with that; aka, you!!

and i think he’d really love that you’re able to take charge. you said you have your feet on the ground, and your stubbornness and cynicisim may actually provide a good contrast for him

and, conversely, his optimism could really help you battle that pessimism

furthermore, ferdinand is very frank and honest, and i think he’d encourage you to ‘pop the cork’ on your feelings, so to say; he thinks it’s good for you to be open about how you feel, and he wants you to know that you can rely on him

as,,, dense, as he can be at times, ferdinand is quite intelligent; but, more importantly, he really is very sweet at heart. he wants to do right by others, and he’s quick to own up to his mistakes. 

i think your stubbornness could also open up the table for debate, too; ferdinand would be sure to avoid hurting your feelings (and i do think he’s a very reasonable, level-headed guy), but you guys could probably come up with something quite productive during your discussions

which kind of relates to the point you made about always having a plan b or c; he’d really value that, and i think you two have the potential to be something of a power couple

and i think that openness he has may make him easier for you to trust? ferdinand doesn’t believe in mincing his words or contradicting himself, and he tends to say exactly what he means (even if it would be more convenient for him not to)

ferdinand is quite compassionate and optimistic at heart, and i think those are traits you’d need in a partner; he also has that extroversion you want and he’s quite outgoing!! 

ferdinand is quite driven and strives to improve himself, and he’d encourage you to do the same. he’d really motivate you to break your bad habits, and to become the best version of yourself that you could be

although i imagine things would go quite similarly to his supports with hilda, early on; you might be able to manipulate him into doing things for you until he gets wise

but conversely, i think your laid-back nature would be good for him. ferdinand tends to push himself too hard, and i think sometimes he doesn’t know when (or even how) to stop. having a partner who’s more tranquil might help him learn to relax every once in a while

i think ferdinand, as determined as he is, would try his best to get to know you, and would break past that “cold appearance” pretty quickly? i just get the feeling because he’s just so earnest that he can get to know anyone if he set his mind to it?

i think he can be a bit bad at reading people sometimes, so he may accidentally make you angry from time to time. but, ferdinand’s the sort of person who’s very open to learning from his mistakes, so that should be easy enough to smooth over.

loves supporting your interests. buys you the best quality drawing materials, and nice, thick notebooks with the finest ink.

furthermore, absolutely behind your dream to be a surgeon one day!! whatever he can do to help, he will; he finds it quite admirable!!

also loves to show off your work, if you’d let him; wholeheartedly believes you’re the most artistically talented person he knows

adores your cooking, and much prefers to eat that then anything else. you may have the train him to get used to eating spicy food, though

i think he’d really enjoy learning languages with you, as well. they’re key to diplomacy, and it’d be even easier to learn if you had someone to practice with

also he’s like 12cm taller than you after the timeskip  so that’s a bonus

also modern au (i guess? am i writing this with the game world in mind? who knows???) ferdinand looks like a rapidash

i would also match you with... 

ashe!! 

for all their differences in temperament, i think that ashe and ferdinand have similar values!! they just come from different sides on most issues

ashe would be more down-to-earth than ferdinand; while he’s quite idealistic when it comes to his dreams, he knows how harsh reality can be. because of that, i think your relationship would be quite different? you’re both daydreamers, but you both have your feet on the ground!

first off, you’re both very kind and open-minded!! ashe is also very understanding and capable of great empathy, and i think that would go a long way when it came to opening up to each other

i think ashe would be quite good at supporting you; he’s proven that he’s quite adept at navigating difficult emotions with people, and he’d be quite good with your sensitive side. i think he’d actually see your sensitivity as a strength, because it opens you up to caring about and understanding people in a deeper way!!

he’d also appreciate you being the voice of conscience, because he very much believes in Doing The Right Thing; you’re definitely that couple who’s always taking care of and helping out the people you care about, and it’s really quite endearing

also, possibly politest couple in the world? and everyone loves you for it

also very laid-back!! even though he knows when to take things seriously, ashe definitely prefers to enjoy life and to be positive, so i think it’s something he’d enjoy about you

and you’re definitely the planner in this relationship. something just tells me that ashe might be a bit laissez-faire at times.

ashe can absolutely be manipulated into doing things for you, but you know,,, he’s just to kind and helpful that i feel like you wouldn’t want to. probably motivates you to be less lazy by sheer accident. dare i say, iconic?

while he is quite down-to-earth, ashe is remarkably optimistic. i think that could strike a good balance with your cynicism and pessimism, and really help you two open up your worldviews?

ashe is on the more introverted side too, so he’d understand that sometimes you just want to hide away and not talk to anyone. also, i think he’d be quite happy to take up the mantle of the ‘socializer’ in your relationship;

stubbornness might cause you two to butt heads occasionally (but, i feel like every person i’ve put you with in this matchup can be kind of stubborn?) but i feel like ashe would be very open to dialogue and would do his best to avoid conflict?

cooking together!! oh my goodness!! you guys would be the cutest!! and you both enjoy spicy food (unlike most people in the monastery hhhhh)

a big supporter of your dreams, because he knows how important they are!! he also really admires the fact that you want to become a surgeon; he thinks it’s very gallant of you to want to pursue a profession that involves saving lives (or even just making life better for people)

another big fan of your artistic works; is incredibly fond of everything you show him, and feels very touched about the fact that you’ve shared it with him. it makes him feel special

has a particular love for your written work, just because he’s such a big fan of books. really loves it if you ever write fantasy

also he’s definitely a video game nerd in a modern setting, you’d absolutely spend entire weekends on the couch together, showing each other your favourite games

also here’s a platonic matchup, because Friendship Is Magic 

for your best friend, i’d pick... 

dorothea!!

i think you and dorothea would get along exceptionally well! 

first of all, sassiest friendship; you two can be absolutely savage. but it’s like,,, a privilege to be roasted by you guys. dorothea likes to direct the salt at ferdinand, but it just bounces off him

as a friend, though, dorothea would very rarely roast you; once you’ve won her allegiance, she is endlessly loyal and nothing less than constantly complimentary

dorothea values empathy and open-mindedness in people, and she’d absolutely seek that out in a best friend.

there may be a bit of tension between you two at first; her early supports with byleth are all about how she finds it unsettling how they “see through her”.

but, once she discovered how empathic you were, she’d feel more comfortable with it. you’re not going to judge her, after all; and chances are you’ll actually feel for her. 

she also adores the fact that you’re ready to help the people you care about; she’s very much the same (just look at like,,, any support chain she has with a girl sldskjf) and i think she’d be grateful to get that same energy back

i think she’d also find how laid-back you are quite refereshing; most people she knows can be quite dour or serious, so it’s nice to be able to relax every once in a while

while she may not be an active voice of reason herself, dorothea is a deeply empathetic and compassionate person, so she’d like seeing you reminding people to do the right thing (especially by others)

although she’s sometimes baffled by how you can remain so polite all the time (especially to nobles)

i think that, deep down, dorothea is quite cynical too (even just how she views marriage is a fairly important indicator of this, i think), so she’d really understand that in you

i think the two of you might potentially get into negative feedback loops (you both err on the side of pessimism), but hey, either ashe or ferdinand are quite good at lightening the mood

but, i feel like dorothea would encourage you to “un-bottle” your feelings!! she’s a very emotional and expressive person, so it comes very naturally to her; and, if you thought that was something you’d like to do, she’d be with you every step of the way

furthermore, i feel like she’s quite good at reading people, for the most part. she’d be able to tell when you were feeling sensitive, or when you were bottling things up, and she’d act accordingly

she’d do as much as she could on her part to try and make herself trustworthy; she gets why you don’t really trust people (hell, she seems to have a hard time doing it herself), but she’d want you to know that she always has her backs and genuinely has your best interests at heart

dorothea is the extrovert to your introvert; there’s a good balance between the two of you, and i think that really helps the friendship flow. also, if you’re ever in social situations, dorothea is more than happy to take the lead. after all, being a songstress teaches you some valuable things about socializing.

i think she’d enjoy learning languages with you?? she’s already got an interest in language via singing and the opera, so i think she’d be curious about learning ones that aren’t her first. it could be a fun bonding activity between the two of you!!

she keeps trying to get you to cook with her; she’s notably atrocious at it, but she does her best to learn from you. while the results tend to… vary, i imagine you both enjoy spending that time together 

[tacos4teenbrides]

Duggar wedding dress series, pt. 5: Joy Anna Forsyth

I was most excited about choosing a new dress for Joy, because I felt like she wasn’t really comfortable dress shopping, and didn’t know what she wanted. I didn’t feel like the dress she chose suited her personality—it looked like a copy of Jinger’s dress chosen by someone who doesn’t have a stable sense of her own likes and preferences. I chose a dress that suited Joy’s personality and age (only 19 at her own wedding!). Joy is sporty, casual, unfussy and prefers not to show too much skin. I chose a retro ballerina-length dress with point d’esprit lace 3/4 length sleeves, a sweetheart illusion neckline and sash at the waist. I like that this dress would be easy for Joy to move around in, without feeling constrained by a train. The polka dots are youthful and fun, and the sweetheart neckline suits her larger bust.

I would like to see Joy’s long hair plaited in a fishtail braid. That would keep her hair out of her face, which would make her more comfortable.

Finally, I found the modest navy bridesmaids dresses to be a bit dour and autumnal for the springtime wedding of a teenager. Using Joy’s orange and navy color scheme, I decided on mix-and-match patterned skirts, all worn with an identical top.

Anyways, here’s a photo of Joy with her bridesmaids (and Laura) at her 2017 wedding.

[missdaviswrites]

23. Nightmare Before Christmas

John wasn't sure what he had expected when they arrived at the Holmes's house early in the afternoon on Christmas Eve, but it wasn't this.

Mycroft greeted them the moment they stepped inside. "Are you ready to go?" he said to Sherlock.

"Already?" Sherlock passed a still-napping Rosie off to John and then looked at his watch and sighed. "I thought we'd have more time. There was traffic."

"Imagine. Traffic on Christmas Eve. Who would ever have suspected? Where is your violin?"

"I'll get it," Sherlock said, and went back out to the car—Mrs. Hudson's car. She'd let them use it since she was away for the holiday, but the thrill of driving it had been dampened somewhat by the heavy traffic.

John wiped his feet on the doormat and crossed the room so he could set Rosie on the sofa and take off her coat. He wasn't sure if he wanted her to keep sleeping—it was a bit early for her to nap, but she'd dozed off about halfway through the trip here.

Mycroft came over to stand next to him, so John handed him Rosie's coat and hat as he removed them. Mycroft rolled his eyes before hanging them on the hook by the door. "Since you have Rosamund to look after, I assume you won't be visiting Sherrinford with us today?"

"Sherrinford?" John had picked up Rosie again and now nearly dropped her. "Are you joking? What makes you think I would ever be willing to set foot in that place again?"

Mycroft sniffed. "Very well. The rest of us will be spending a couple of hours with Eurus today, but you have good reason to be excused, I suppose."

"What's that, is it because your sister tried to drown me the last time I saw her?"

Mycroft took a deep breath but before he could say anything, the front door rattled open and Sherlock returned, brandishing his violin case in front of him. He frowned at Mycroft and John. "Where are Mummy and Daddy?"

As if on cue, Mr. and Mrs. Holmes came down the staircase, both dressed in festive holiday attire. "Sherlock! John! Rosie!" Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, and greeted them all much as John had expected, cooing over Rosie and giving both Sherlock and John a hug and a peck on the cheek. But after a few minutes, she and Mr. Holmes retrieved their coats from the hallway and told John to make himself comfortable while they were gone.

Rosie woke up once they had left and John dug in her bag to find a sippy cup and a fresh nappy. He changed her on the floor, reluctant to search through the house to find someplace more appropriate, despite what Mrs. Holmes had said. He was of two minds about the fact that they had left him and Rosie here—it seemed a bit rude to invite a guest over and then leave, but on the other hand he certainly didn't want to go with them to visit Eurus. It would have been nice if Sherlock had told him what they were doing this afternoon, since it had clearly been planned ahead of time. Oh, well. Just another Holmes family surprise. He should be used to that by now.

He fed Rosie some biscuits and milk and tried not to think about the possibility of Sherlock's entire family being wiped out by their vengeful youngest child. And if that did happen, he hoped there were cousins or something who could handle their estate; dealing with Mary's finances had been complicated enough.

The house was a little too highly decorated to let Rosie crawl around very much, so John put on the telly and watched cartoons all afternoon with her, waiting for Sherlock and his family to return. He was starting to wonder if he should see about finding something for the two of them for dinner when he heard their car pull into the drive. A few moments later Mycroft came through the door, Sherlock right on his heels, as if they'd been racing to see who could get into the house first.

Mycroft stopped in the entryway to remove his coat, while Sherlock propped his violin case next to the door and went straight to Rosie, swooping her up from her spot on the floor in front of John.

John couldn't stop from smiling at the way she wrapped her little arms around Sherlock's head and planted a slobbery kiss on his cheek, and at the way her kiss immediately softened Sherlock's dour expression. He cleared his throat and spoke before Sherlock or Mycroft could notice him staring. "Right. Where are your parents?"

Mycroft made an uncharacteristic grunting noise and Sherlock waved his hand toward the door. "They're coming. Not that Mycroft wouldn't have left them there if he could have."

John wrinkled his nose, then got up from the sofa to peer out the window. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes were indeed making their way along the path to the house, slowly walking arm-in-arm. John pushed past Mycroft and opened the door for them.

"Thank you, John," Mrs. Holmes said as she stepped in. "Goodness knows our sons have no concern for us. Mycroft in particular."

Mycroft sighed heavily and began to unbutton his coat. "I have apologized repeatedly, if you'll recall."

"It makes no difference. You were still wrong."

John frowned, turning to Sherlock for explanation.

Sherlock tipped his head toward his parents and brother and gently moved Rosie's hand away from his mouth so he could speak. "Eurus. Every time we see her, Mummy and Daddy get angry at Mycroft again. It's starting to become tiresome."

John chuckled without any humor. "Well, they do have good reason to be angry. He lied to them for decades."

"He thought it was for the best." Sherlock turned to glance at Mycroft, whose lips were pinched tightly shut.

"He was wrong," Mr. Holmes agreed, surprising John. He'd always thought Mr. Holmes the type to never say a negative thing about anyone.

"As I have explained many times over the last several months, I believed it would be less painful for you if you didn't know the truth of what she had become." Mycroft stared at his mother and father in turn, as if daring them to object.

Neither of them said a word in reply, but John wasn't going to let it pass. "Mycroft. Thinking someone you love has died is exceedingly painful, no matter the circumstances." He licked at his lips, which suddenly felt dry, and dared a glance at Sherlock, who shifted Rosie to his other hip and met John's eyes very briefly before turning away.

"Ah, actually, John does make a good point," Sherlock said.

Mycroft's lips twisted as he shrugged out of his coat. "Oh, shut up, Sherlock. Two seconds ago you were on my side, but the moment John opens his mouth, you change your position, of course."

"I didn't—" Sherlock began.

"Oh, come on, Mycroft." John turned to face him head on, any inhibitions he may have had about arguing in front of Mr. and Mrs. Holmes gone. "This isn't a game where we all have to choose sides. Stop being so childish."

"Childish? I never—"

"Enough!" Mrs. Holmes banged her handbag down on the end table . "It's Christmas Eve. We should be able to get along as a family for a few hours at least." Sherlock and Mycroft both muttered under their breath, but she ignored them. "Now, John, did you settle in upstairs while we were gone?"

"Er, no, actually." John forced himself to relax his stance. "I left our bags at the bottom of the stairs, and we stayed down here. Wasn't sure where you wanted to put us for the night."

"Well, I made up three bedrooms upstairs. I hope you don't mind having Rosie in your room, but if it's a problem, Mycroft can sleep on one of the sofas down here and Rosie can have his room."

"Oh, for God's sake!" Mycroft threw his coat toward the hooks on the wall and turned around, hands on his hips. "'Mycroft can sleep on the sofa?' Really? I don't think so." He strode across the room and kicked at one of the sofas, a rather feeble kick, in John's opinion, but still, he'd rarely seen Mycroft lose his temper that much before. "Why don't you have Sherlock sleep on the sofa, hmm?" He looked from his mother to Sherlock and back, then waved a hand in John's direction. "Or better yet, have Sherlock and John share a bed."

"We aren't—" Sherlock began.

"What—we don't—" John didn't get much further.

"Well, you can start now," Mycroft said. "God knows you've both been wanting to sleep together for long enough."

There was a seconds-long silence which John knew he should break, but he had no idea how, and before he was able to figure it out, Mrs. Holmes exclaimed, "Well, I never!" John thought he was going to die right then and there beneath her gaze, before she turned it on Sherlock. "It's true, isn't it?" she asked.

Sherlock stood with his eyes wide and his mouth open, not even seeming to notice when Rosie tried to stick her hand in it again. John knew his own tongue was darting in and out of his mouth but he was helpless to stop it. His instinct was to deny it, to defend himself, but there was nothing to defend himself against. The accusation that he and Sherlock both wanted to sleep together—or at least share a bed—wasn't an accusation so much as a revelation, though it was one he would have preferred to have a bit more privately.

Mrs. Holmes clapped her hands. "Oh, I'm sorry, boys. This must very uncomfortable for both of you." She did nothing to hide her grin. "I'll go put the kettle on and see what's in for dinner, give the two of you some time alone. Sweetheart, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course." Mr. Holmes was grinning, too. He walked over to where Sherlock stood. "Let me take the little lady," he said, and took Rosie out of Sherlock's arms. "You boys can take your bags upstairs and settle in, maybe have a little talk, if you need to. I recommend the first room on the right—that's Sherlock's old room, and it has the newest mattress."

Sherlock's jaw moved but no sound came out as he met his father's eyes. Mr. Holmes hoisted Rosie onto his hip and patted Sherlock's arm. "You'll be fine. Don't worry."

Mycroft didn't say another word, amazingly. Apparently outing John and Sherlock to each other was satisfaction enough. He and his parents all disappeared into the kitchen together with Rosie—John could hear her babbling happily at them, so that was one thing he didn't have to worry about, at least. Just— "Sherlock?" he said quietly.

Sherlock nodded and John recognized the expression he had when he came back into the present after going offline momentarily. "John." He cleared his throat and said it again. "John. We should...talk. Discuss...this situation. Right?" He shot a glance over his shoulder at the staircase, then back at John.

"Yes," John said. "Okay. We should do that." He nodded at the sofa Mycroft had kicked. "Sit down," he said, because he was a little worried that Sherlock might fall over if he tried to walk very far. "Sit down. I think we've got a lot to talk about."

Read all the ficlets here: Welcome Christmas

[veliseraptor]

High Society, 3.1k, loki/grandmaster, victorian-ish au based on this headcanon post, there’s porn in it and I’m not sorry

also I changed “en dwi gast” to “andrew gast” because “en dwi gast” it not an appropriate name in this setting at all, loki and thor can at least sort of slide

Loki did not want to be here.

He might not know what the game was, yet, but he was certain there was one. It was right there in his name - the name he’d given himself, not the one that’d been written on the perfectly designed invitation. Well, perfectly. His mother had looked at it and called it, politely, a little garish, which it was, but the kind of garish that caught and held the eye. Brash, impolite, overwhelming.

All the dangerous things that had pulled Loki in.

He wasn’t quite enough of an egoist to think that the man had come here for him. Lord Andrew Gast surely had other motivations to return to what was, apparently, an ancestral estate. But the invitation...that, he thought, was for him, even if Gast had made a point of almost entirely ignoring Loki thus far except for a brief wink during the perfunctory greetings, as though they shared some scandalous secret.

Loki supposed they did. Rather a lot. Most of them had to do with he himself, though, which made them quite a bit less thrilling. Plenty of people thought they knew a lot about him, and Loki liked it that way; Gast knew too much.

“Loki! Are you just going to stand there looking dour all night?” Thor wasn’t quite managing to be his usual ebullient self, though he seemed to be putting in a valiant effort. The stress of Odin’s death was taking a toll on him. The stress of their dearest half-sister showing up out of nowhere, carrying herself like she already owned the estate, was probably taking even more.

Loki summoned a thin smile. “I’m afraid I am not feeling my best. I hate to deprive everyone of the pleasure of my company, but…”

He knew he ought to be making a better effort, but when he’d tried earlier in the night he’d just kept glancing over in Gast’s direction until his conversation partners took offense at his inattention. It seemed better to feign distraction, or even boredom. That would be less remarkable than being caught staring at their host.

“But nothing,” Thor said. “Come. Have a drink. Sif would love to see you-”

“I am quite sure she would not,” Loki said, but with a faint smile. He rocked forward as it occurred to him that if anywhere were likely to be a safe haven, it would probably be at Thor’s side. “Very well, you’ve convinced me. Let’s-”

“Oh, lovely! Just the person I was looking for.” Loki tensed, but when Thor turned he had to too. Gast smiled at him, bright and dazzling. “Lord Thor, do you mind if I borrow your brother for a little while? I promise to give him back after.”

A nervous thrill ran down Loki’s spine for the phrasing. “I wasn’t aware you two were...friends,” Thor said, a slight question in the words.

“Oh, yes,” Gast said before Loki could answer. “Very good friends. We met on the Continent - Paris, wasn’t it? Loki is such delightful company. I was terribly sorry to see him go.” The smile he turned on Loki made him feel shivery all over.

“Yes,” Loki said after a moment that was perhaps a bit too long. “Andrew did have the most...spectacular soirees.”

“So I do,” Gast said, and Loki noticed the present tense. “So I do. So, Thor…?”

Thor looked at Loki, and smiled a little, though he seemed slightly uncertain. “Well, if Loki would like to catch up...I couldn’t stand in the way of our host.” To Loki, he added, “come find me and Sif later?”

“I shall,” Loki said, trying to keep his smile from turning strained. Gast turned from Thor and offered his arm.

“Shall we?” He said, with that grin that Loki had found so appealing before. (Had? Still did, fool that he was.)

“Certainly,” Loki said, and after a moment’s hesitation took Gast’s arm.

His stomach clenched nervously when Gast guided them to the stairs. He balked. “Shouldn’t we...stay with the party?” He said, with a quick smile. “It’d look a bit odd for the host to leave in the middle, wouldn’t it?”

Gast flipped a hand in plain dismissal. “Don’t worry, darling.” He tugged Loki forward. “I just want a bit of privacy so we can...like your handsome brother said. Catch up.”

Loki managed not to swallow nervously, and just smiled again. “Of course,” he said, and went up the stairs, the noise of the party dwindling to a buzzing hum. As soon as they were on the landing Loki pulled away.

“This is private enough,” he said, trying to sound firm, but keeping his voice low. “Why are you back?”

“Why?” Gast laughed. “I was homesick.” Loki narrowed his eyes, and he cocked his head. “Why? Were you hoping I would say I came back for you?”

Loki felt himself flush. “If you forgot,” he said stiffly, “we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

“Bygones,” Gast said with a dismissive little wave. Loki narrowed his eyes.

“Really,” he said. “You never struck me as the type to just...let things go.”

“That’s very unkind of you,” Gast said, though he didn’t really sound like it bothered him. “And after all the good times we had together. Surely you haven’t forgotten. I haven’t.”

Loki shifted slightly and kept himself from glancing toward the stairs. “I haven’t forgotten anything,” he said, with weight. “I haven’t forgotten what you did to me-”

His eyebrows rose. “Did to you? So dramatic. As if I ever did anything to you that you didn’t beg for first.” Loki flushed again, his face burning. “Just because you regretted it later…”

Loki inhaled, anger flaring up. “I don’t have to tolerate this,” he said flatly, and turned on his heel to stride for the stares. Gast caught him before he went two steps.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said. “Don’t go off in a huff, sweetheart. Nobody wants that.” His voice was light, but his grip was firm enough that while Loki probably could jerk out of it, he suspected it would be unwise. “I hate feeling like you’re unhappy with me. It’s just the worst feeling.”

“I’m sure,” Loki said coldly. Gast shook his head, eyes wide.

“You know me. I’m all about giving people what they want. I’d had to think you were unhappy because of me.”

Liar, Loki thought viciously. “What do you want,” he asked, blunt but not quite harsh.

“So suspicious.” Gast moved around in front of him, smiling. “Who said I wanted anything?”

“You always want something. You brought me up here for a reason and I doubt it was just to say hello.”

Gast stepped toward him, expression changing a little. “Clever boy. You’re right; that isn’t all.”

Loki lifted his chin. “Then I ask again: what do you want?”

“Why,” Gast said, and if something in his eyes gleamed dangerously his smile stayed just the same. “You were always so impatient. Don’t you like surprises?” He took another step closer and Loki backed up, only to find that he’d been maneuvered against a wall.

“I think I’d rather not be surprised in this case.”

Gast reached out and cupped his chin. Loki jerked, but not exactly away. “I didn’t come back for you. But I was so thrilled to realize how close you were. Loki Odinson, my old companion. And then I saw you tonight looking so very...handsome. Poised.” His hand fell away from Loki’s face and he closed in. “I was worried you might’ve forgotten me. But I saw you. Staring at me. Watching. Just begging for me to come and get you.” He smiled. “Just like when you walked in my front door, wide-eyed and eager.”

His hand dropped down between Loki’s legs and grabbed him, not gently. Loki gasped, his hands flying up to grab Gast’s shoulders and try to push him away.

“I am not-”

“Are you really going to deny yourself?” He ground the heel of his palm against Loki again and Loki’s hands spasmed. “Honestly. Everything about you just screams ‘pent up sexual frustration.’ Poor thing.”

“I’m not - so desperate as-”

“Really?” Gast was already undoing his pants, thrusting his hand down to unbutton his underwear as well. “Because you feel fairly, ah…”

“Shut up,” Loki hissed. Gast laughed, his hand sliding into Loki’s underwear and squeezing his length before letting go. Loki just bit back a moan, hips jerking forward.

“Oh,” Gast said, a laugh in his voice. “Missed me? Don’t tell me you’ve turned into some kind of ascetic when you left us.”

“Hardly,” Loki gasped out, annoyed by how strained his voice sounded. “There are just not a lot of - options in the neighborhood.”

“Oh, now that’s just sad.” He rubbed his hand hard against Loki and he sucked in a breath, biting his lip. “And you as pretty as you are. Looks like it’s a good thing I came back, after all, doesn’t it?”

Loki managed to get his hands up then and actually shove Gast back, pushing himself back into the wall and grabbing the front of his pants to try to fumble them closed. “No,” he said harshly. “No, I’m not - interested in doing this again. I left for a reason-”

Gast raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t leave, Loki. You ran away. But you’re not happy here, are you? I can tell. A gorgeous flower withering on the vine, you are.” He closed back in. “I can fix that.”

Loki’s chin rose, his jaw tightening. “I doubt it.”

“You underestimate me.” He smiled, small but vaguely terrifying. Vaguely arousing, too.

“What do you think would happen,” he murmured in Loki’s ear, “if I went downstairs and told everyone all those nasty things you got up to on your grand tour of Europe. I could bring you down with me looking absolutely wrecked - I wouldn’t have to say anything. Everyone in the room would know exactly what you’d been up to. All it would take would be a few words and the rumor would spread like wildfire.”

Loki swallowed. “Are you trying to - threaten me?”

“Oh, no,” Gast said. “I would never. Threaten? That’s so vulgar. I just don’t believe in hiding one’s true self, and that’s what you’re doing, hiding. I think I liked you better when you didn’t have any shame.”

Loki licked his lips, some sick part of him reacting to everything he was saying. He tugged at Loki’s balls, pulling them gently down, and Loki made a strangled noise that he cut off by biting down on his hand.

“Beautiful,” Gast said, and Loki shivered. “It’s too bad there’s not time for a good, proper, fuck. Someone might notice.” He squeezed Loki’s cock again and Loki shuddered. “There’ll be time later, though. You’ll come visit. Won’t you? I’d be terribly disappointed if you didn’t. Say yes.”

Loki stared at him, and Gast’s expression shifted slightly, leaning in a little closer, the rough twist of his hand riding the edge of pain. “Don’t be like that,” he said mildly, and Loki dropped his hand from his mouth.

“Of course,” he said faintly. “How could I - possibly refuse?”

He smiled. “That’s more like it,” he said, and started pumping his hand more regularly. Loki gritted his teeth and dropped his head back against the wall, fighting not to make a sound.

“What do you - what do you want - want from me,” he forced out, though it was growing increasingly difficult to speak through the cresting pleasure coiling low in his stomach, the tightening of his balls, and oh fuck he was going to make a mess of his clothes.

“Want? You make it sound so sinister.” Gast leaned forward and mouthed at his neck. “I just want you to enjoy yourself, Loki. That’s all.”

Loki swallowed convulsively, his body straining. “That’s - ah, Andrew-”

He stopped, abruptly. “Oh, no,” he said. “I want to hear you say my other name. The one you knew me by first.”

Loki shook, gasping, on the very edge of orgasm. “Grandmaster,” he managed in a thin voice.

“That’s it,” he said, and bit down on the side of Loki’s neck as he rubbed his thumb just under his cockhead.

Loki clapped his hand over his mouth just in time to stifle the noise he made, hips bucking in stuttering thrusts as he came. He blinked, dazed, slumping against the wall and staring that inch up at his smiling face. He cupped Loki’s jaw with his hand, stroked his thumb across Loki’s cheekbone. He felt it leave a smear of come on his skin, and then two fingers pressed at his lips. He opened his mouth and sucked them clean without thinking, only a moment later realizing what he’d done. His face burned.

His dress shirt was spattered with white, as were his pants. Somehow, Gast had managed to remain pristine.

His hands landed on Loki’s shoulders and pushed downwards. “You know what I want,” he murmured. Loki blinked at him, and he cocked his head to the side. “Performance anxiety? From you?”

Loki lifted his chin. “You ruined my clothes.”

“In point of fact,” Gast said. “You did.” He smiled genially. “You’re not going to leave me hanging, are you?”

He wasn’t. Loki knew he wasn’t.

He dropped to his knees, face level with the tent in Gast’s trousers, undoing them as fast as he could and pulling them down just enough. He appeared to think Loki wasn’t moving fast enough, though, judging by the way he cupped the back of Loki’s head in one hand and pulled him forward, the other hand guiding his cock to rub against Loki’s lips. Loki’s breathing quickened and he closed his eyes, opening his mouth and letting Gast - the Grandmaster - push in. He sucked lightly, tongue flickering against the head, pressing up against the shaft, and Loki heard him make a distinctly pleased sound.

“Oh, good,” he said. “You haven’t lost your touch.”

Loki flushed, squeezing his eyes shut harder, humiliation burning with the arousal in his gut. He remembered Gast saying something like your tongue is wasted on all that talking, really, his head spinning, everything hazy and distant. Someone’s cock between his thighs, his fingers inside a woman whose name he didn’t know, all of them tangled together-

For a moment he could barely breathe, but the Grandmaster tugged at his hair. “Pay attention,” he chided, and Loki opened his mouth to let him thrust deeper. He liked it like this - being in control. Setting the pace, choosing whether it was rough or gentle, everything his to decide, and Loki could feel it pulling at him again, the urge to give in to it and let him take it all.

He tried to blank his thoughts, tried to relax and told himself that he could just finish this, satisfy whatever game the Grandmaster was playing and then he would stay away, stay far away and never come back.

Liar.

His throat spasmed when the Grandmaster’s thrusts hit the back of it, and if he didn’t choke he heard himself whine. He didn’t seem deterred, though, or maybe he liked it because the next stroke did the same, and the next, pulling Loki’s head back so he could push even deeper and his throat was going to be sore, his voice would sound-

He imagined the Grandmaster walking him downstairs, clothes spattered with come, lips swollen, flushed, dishevelled. Laughing. Proof of Loki Odinson’s perversity for everyone to see.

His cock twitched and he gasped, eyes opening wide, a strange mix of panic and desire flooding through his body.

The Grandmaster sighed out and came, and when had Loki started thinking of him as the Grandmaster again? Andrew Gast, he reminded himself. That’s his name.

He could taste his come on the back of his tongue. At least none seemed to have spilled out over his chin. He was enough of a mess as it was.

Gast pulled out and Loki coughed, pressing one hand to his throat before he pulled it away. He forced himself to stand, though his knees felt wobbly as a newborn colt’s. Gast’s eyes swept Loki up and down, and a smile bloomed.

“My,” he said. “You do look a sight. You’ll have to borrow something of mine, if you want to be...presentable.”

Loki twitched. He’d discarded all the clothes Gast had given him before, like it would mean anything about what had happened. But he couldn’t...possibly be seen like this.

“I suppose so,” he said. His voice did sound a little rough. He just had to hope no one would realize why.

“Don’t worry about returning them,” Gast said, pulling up his pants and turning to walk down the hallway. Loki scrambled to do the same, his fingers feeling clumsy, and hurried after him. He could still hear the party down below. Some part of him thought, absurdly, that Thor would take one look at him and know. He wanted to just bolt, but that would be worse.

Gast watched him undress. The clothes he gave Loki fit him perfectly, and he shivered again for what that implied. Loki went into the bathroom and looked at his face in the mirror, the smear of white across his cheekbone that he quickly scrubbed off. His hair was a mess. He was a mess.

But there was only so much he could do. It’d already been long enough. His absence would soon become conspicuous, if it hadn’t already.

“Go on,” Gast said when he emerged from the bathroom. “Go have fun. I can’t keep you all to myself.” The smile he gave Loki suggested he probably could. And would.

Loki turned his back and walked away, just managing not to flee.

**

Thor was not hard to find. Loki followed the sound of his laughter and approached at his elbow, composing his face and trying to look as though his heart weren’t pounding.

“Loki!” Thor said. “There you are. You were gone a long time.”

“Was I?” Loki’s smile felt strained. “Lost track of time, I suppose.”

Thor rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, though his eyes looked worried. “It’s a good thing that your friend will be so close by.”

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Loki’s throat. Oh, yes. Friend. That was what he was. He felt a prickle on the back of his neck and glanced over his shoulder to see Gast looking at him.

He smiled, and winked.

Loki looked quickly away.

“Yes,” he said, struggling to keep his smile. “Good.”

All he had to do was keep his distance.

Loki suspected that was easier said than done.

[noctuascion]

Hi! I have a Cryptage prompt, if you're still taking them, because my writing brain appears to be taking the day (week? month? year??) off. Basically crypto feeling insecure about how many adoring fans Mirage has, and not being able to be comfortable with other people telling Mirage that they're "in love" with him. :)

Oh, hello there!! I'm always taking prompts!! And, yeah, I feel that. Lol. I'll gladly take your prompt, though!! Thank you!!!

--

Park didn't belong in the spotlight for a multitude of reasons: he was terse, quiet, preferred his privacy, and was just uncomfortable with it in general. Crypto wasn't meant for the limelight in general—he was to be a mysterious character with little care for interviews and what his fans said about him.

Elliott, however, thrived on the attention, Mirage a prime example of someone made to live with all eyes on him. He was spectacular in the ring and able to charm his adoring public, all bright smiles and dazzling moves. His fans were eager to show their love for Elliott, Park noticed, one afternoon the two were spending together.

Elliott was reading some fan mail whilst Park was busying himself drawing on the trickster's arm, sleeve rolled up and intricate patterns marked along the tanned canvas, flowers and cats occasionally tossed into the mix. Elliott never minded. They always reminded him of really cool tattoos, and he didn't want to get any anytime soon, so he was fine with Park just drawing all over him (even if it was a pain to clean off later).

However, the hacker's curious gaze couldn't help but shift towards the letter currently in hand. It was from some female fan that had been watching Elliott ever since his first year of competing. There were a lot of sweet comments, about how he helped her move on from toxicity in her life, and that his smile was enough to make her a happier woman. He could see Elliott smiling as well; improving someone's life must make him joyful.

But Park didn't miss the confession near the very bottom, the typical "I'm in love with you." Elliott apparently received the phrase a lot—and not just counting the night they got together. For someone like Elliott, love never came easy, despite his desperate attempts to find someone to use all of that love in his heart on, to find someone to dedicate his existence to. Some people could be heartless, treating him like a ticket into a better life, and others abused him emotionally to get what they wanted. He had to grow thicker skin, learn from his mistakes, before he truly sought out someone that made his world worthwhile. Park commended his confidence and bravery. He's never been in relationships before, but leaving toxic ones must take a lot out of one mentally and emotionally.

Still, rereading that letter, the constant praises and adoration, the love for Mirage and everything he does, caused a feeling far too familiar to the man to wash over his mind, normally hectic thoughts beginning to run wild. Park wasn't one for letting insecurities bother him, but it seemed they, like a lot of things, made him feel uneasy, unhappy.

Elliott folded the letter with one hand, setting it aside, before pulling another one from his pile, this time temporarily taking the hacker's canvas away to rip the envelope open, arm returning to its prior stationary position. Again, though Park had tried to focus on drawing, his eyes drifted over the letter, though he wish he hadn't, as this fan appeared to be less shameful with their desires. He's sure, if Elliott peeked at him, he'd be flushed pink.

This time, though, the confession was within the first three paragraphs, third sentence of the second one. "I love you so much. I want to live my life with you," he read, frowning. People clamoring over themselves to be with Elliott—it was almost pitiful, but, then again, he didn't expect much from fans. Even his own can be a bit rowdy, though they appear much more mellow compared to his partner's.

The trickster didn't smile this time, just folding and tossing the letter aside without much change in expression. Another letter was opened up, arm returning to Park (even though he's become far too distracted to even think about drawing right now), and began reading the next one.

Once again, a love confession could be seen in the final paragraph, though it was far more poetic than simply "I'm in love with you." She had taken time writing this, it seemed, pouring her heart out on paper to this complete stranger she only knows via the television.

"Every waking day without seeing you is a strike to my heart. Your smile is radiance, and your very being is joy. My desire for you goes beyond physical, a wish to see within your heart, to let our souls intertwine in a dance for only us to see. I want everything you are, everything you'll ever be."

Elliott's fans really were adoring, if that was anything to go by. Park wasn't jealous by any means—frankly, were he to receive such letters, he can only see himself tearing them up and throwing them out. Elliott would scold him, saying someone put a lot of work into those, and Park would retort with: "They should spend time sending those types of letters to someone whose name they actually know."

That same feeling earlier returned, insecurity gnawing at his heart. Dour expression crossing his visage, his hand released Elliott's, marker pulled away, immediately alerting the other. Curious, the trickster reached out to poke the other's cheek, downcast eyes now moving to meet his own.

"Hey sweetheart, something on your mind?" he asked, hand dropping to place itself on the other's shoulder, an attempt at reassurance.

"… No."

Elliott raised a brow. "So you just look super depressed just 'cause?"

"… Yes."

A soft snort escaped Elliott, tossing the letter aside and moving to wrap an arm around the smaller's shoulders. "You and I know that's bullshit. Come clean and I won't get the information through other means."

The dangerous wiggling of his fingers was enough to tell Park just how he'd "gather information."

"Fine. But promise not to be mad at me…?"

"I don't think I could ever be mad at you, sugar pie. Probably a biological thing."

Park released a breath, head moving to lean on Elliott's shoulder. "I was… reading the letters your fans sent you…"

"… Is… Is that it? 'Cause, if it is, I think we need to have a talk about what makes you feel guilty and why it's dumb."

Park scoffed, though it was more amused than annoyed. "No, that's not it. But… you have a lot of… caring fans."

"Emphasis on 'caring' makes me think you might be meaning a different word entirely."

"They're affectionate… and kind… and they say nice things about you…"

"… Are you… jealous—? Have I not been saying enough nice things about you?"

"No, no, you say enough—probably too much, actually. But, no, I just… I don't think I like your fans saying how much they love you. It makes me think, one day, they'll make you feel more loved than I do…"

Elliott couldn't wipe the shock from his expression, immediately unwrapping his arm from Park's shoulders to place his hands on them instead, turning him so he was now face-to-face. The hacker's gaze had fallen once again, dourly staring at the copious amounts of love letters Elliott received on a daily basis.

In the end, that's all they were to him—just letters. They never amounted to the smile he got to see everyday, the gentle kisses and careful touches, the sweet feeling of his beloved's hands in his own, and nothing could ever amount to the three little words Park so seldom uttered, the way his cheeks would tinge pink and the sheepish tone that replaced his confident, cool one.

He couldn't imagine trading any of that for empty words spoken by fans.

"Hey, angel? Who do you know me as?" he asked.

"… I suppose I know you as Elliott."

"And who do my fans know me as?"

"I… I guess they only know you as Mirage."

"They get to see that persona of me, the fake me."

Elliott's hands began sliding down Park's arms, tracing gently over the smooth skin, feeling the change between real and synthetic skin, before gently grasping his hands in his own.

"They see the smile I wear when I don't want people knowing what I'm feeling. They see me acting cool and confident, and they don't ever see Elliott, the guy who just wants to own a bunch of dogs and has as many insecurities as he does kills in the arena."

Park's hands were raised now, Elliott craning his neck just a bit to press kisses to the knuckles, smiling at the other, who was beginning to look less and less dour and more surprised by the trickster's words.

"You get to see me, Elliott Witt, the guy who drools on your hoodies and accidentally chews on your hair because he thinks it's cotton candy."

That broght forth a laugh from the hacker, trying to pull a hand away from Elliott's to cover it, but the trickster was adamant in seeing his smile, hearing his laugh.

"And I get to see you in all your own dorky glory."

"I'm not dorky. You just bring out the weird in people," Park responded through his fit of giggles, any trace of sadness or insecurity having faded from his visage, only replaced by mirth and joy.

"That, I do." Elliott smiled and leaned in to press a kiss to Park's forehead. "I'd never leave you, pancake. You're the only person on the Frontier who would still love me even after hearing about all my baggage. I'm a mess, but I've never heard you complain."

"Maybe when you're drooling on me."

Elliott smiled, chuckling. "Yeah, you do complain about that a lot."

"But, even if you drool on me, I still… love you."

"And I love you too, darling."

[docholligay]

A Happy Little Tree

A release that I’m not even sure I ever posted to Patreon. AU of Mystery and Shadow! 

It was a thoughtful gift. Haruka was terribly thoughtful.

And yet, Michiru wanted nothing but to weep. It had been years, but still it felt too raw. She had never exposed the wound to the air, simply shut it away inside of herself and allow it to fester, covered up by the sweet perfumes of their new life, and only rarely did she feel the pain, bone-deep.

And then Haruka, sweet, gentle, effusive Haruka, had opened up everything.

“It’s okay if you don’t like it,” she had said, her voice suddenly filled with worry and regret, “I just really like playing basketball now and I thought you might…”

“Mama, I picked the colors!” M.A. jumped forward and clapped her hands together, overjoyed.

“Of course you did, my darling, I could tell by the masterful quality of vibrancy, you have such an eye for color.” Michiru smiled warmly at her, and M.A. beamed. It had been a little bit of a lie—they were the sort of loud, expressive colors Haruka liked, and she thought Haruka had selected them, but knowing that M.A. shared that quality with her Papa made it all the more endearing.

“You don’t have to use it, Michiru.” Haruka’s voice was soft now, as if realizing what manner of ghost she had called up.

“Oh nonsense, don’t be so dour, Haruka, it’s my birthday.” She crouched onto the floor and tweaked Kimi’s chin. “Now, I’ve been told by sources one would presume to be honest that there is a genoise sponge in the kitchen the quite literally has my name on it.” She looked over at M.A. and rested a hand on her little shoulder.  “We all know how terribly fond I am of genoise. Your Papa is so thoughtful,” Their eyes met, as Haruka nervously fiddled with her wheelrims, “And does so much to make me happy.”

Haruka smiled at that, and nodded. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t eat it already.”

“My birthday gifts abound.”

___

There had been many occasions in Michiru’s life where she had been required to draw upon some quality of inner strength, but the weight of the wood case was one of the greatest she had ever known. The hinge creaked with a tight newness, the scent of the oak overwhelming her. She ran her hand over them slowly. Fine bristles. Haruka had done her homework. The handles were smooth, sinuous lines until they rounded out into thick balls at the end, like ink pooling on a perfect piece of paper. Michiru touched her scar unconsciously, and looked over to the selection of canvases Haruka  had given her.

Cotton. Pre-primed. No time to dither. She deposited a tiny amount on the palette. Prussian Blue. A classic. She knew it well. Take courage, Michiru. The egg of the brush held in her hand easily, and that was some mercy, that she hadn’t already failed before she’d begun. She dipped the tip into the paint, and though it did not have the force she craved, it certainly picked up paint, and that was something.

In an uncharacteristic move, Michiru Kaioh closed her eyes and extended the brush to the canvas.

She thought if she didn’t look, it wouldn’t be so bad. She thought wrong. For the feel of bristle to canvas was intoxicating, a thousand memories swirling around her of long nights in the studio, giving voice to things she could never truly say but were always inside of her, watching, waiting, and  once more she felt the power of it, and gave a wide stroke, with great expression, as she remembered.

And then she opened her eyes.

A weak straggle of blue crossed the canvas, erractic and unseemly.

Even Michiru was surprised when the line became a watercolor for the emotion in her eyes. A failure. It was simply a thing she could no longer do, just like she could no longer play the violin, and damn Haruka for dangling it in front of her, it was all well and good that she enjoyed athletics again, but the fine arts were different, and required finery, and she bit her lip intensely, forcing herself to gaze upon her own creation, burning its simple weakness into her memory.

“Mama!” She turned to see M.A., in a large old shirt of Haruka’, her hair in two low pigtails, carrying her Barbie bag of brushes. “I want to help paint too!”

“Oh sweetheart, I don’t think I’m going to—“

“Oh Mama!” She gasped. ‘I like your river!”

Michiru turned back to the painting, to the meandering line down the judgmental white. “A river?”

M.A. set down her bag and put her hands on her hips, appraising it.”It’s very loose, like,” she formed her words carefully, “A Mow-nay.”

Michiru crossed her arms and studied it. “Do you think?”

M.A. nodded. “Can I paint too?”

“Oh, of course you can!” She brushed another line on the canvas, but this one seemed  stronger, friendlier somehow.

M.A. looked up from her large piece of paper. “I think you need a mountain.”

Michiru put a hand on her hip and smiled. “A wise artistic critique.” Michiru took it down from the easel. “ Would you like to help me paint it, M.A.?”

M.A. jumped to her feet with her favorite of her pink brushes, happily slapping some dark grey onto the canvas, mixing it with brown and white, and Michiru did not for even one instant notice her temperas mixing with Michiru’s fine charvin acrylics. She set it on the floor, and together they painted, michiru’s smile growing wide as she noticed the way the blues and greys and whites tumbled over each other—it did, in fact, look very nearly like a river. It wasn’t like her old work at all, but something entirely beautiful and new, fresh and alive.

Kimi toddled in, and Michiru called her over. “I think I know what this painting is missing.” She dabbled a bit of green into Kimi’s hands, and she happily smeared it across the canvas, dotting it with violets here and there. It was a lush scene, full of hope, and very soon the tip of Michiru’s nose was dotted with violet as well, and she began to wonder at what exactly they were using the old attic bedroom for, anyhow.

When she gifted the to Haruka, she told Michiru it was the best painting Michiru had ever done.

Michiru was inclined to agree.

[andromeda---galaxy]

routine procedure

Beginning of a three part fic featuring Gabe dealing with appendicitis

Philip sighs happily, sliding his arms around Lukas’s middle. The shower spray cascades over the two of them and Lukas tugs him a little closer, Philip’s toes on top of his.

 “We need to wash the dog,” Lukas says.

 Philip snorts. “She just got a bath two days ago.”

 Lukas runs a hand through Philip’s hair. “She starts stinking like three hours after her bath,” he says. “She’s just a naturally stinky dog.”

 Philip huffs and pulls back a little bit, looking up into Lukas’s eyes. “She shouldn’t! She’s a dainty little girl and she hardly breaks a sweat when we take her out.”

 “How do you know that?” Lukas asks, starting to smile. “You been measuring her sweat levels like a weirdo?”

 Philip pushes at him but Lukas laughs and pulls him closer again. Philip lays his head on Lukas’s shoulder and can hear Izzy growling at one of her toys outside the door. “No. But she shouldn’t stink. And if you gave her baths on the right schedule she’d smell how she should.”

 “Oh, me?” Lukas says. “I’m suddenly the main dog-bath-giver?”

 “She likes your baths better,” Philip says, placing a slippery kiss on Lukas’s collarbone. “She always shakes all over me and doesn’t let me wash her properly.”

 Lukas laughs. “Those sound like excuses.”

“Nope,” Philip says, vaguely hearing his phone ringing in the other room. He listens harder. “Is that my phone?”

 “Think so,” Lukas says.

 Philip sighs. He hopes it isn’t another job. He’s been so slammed lately, from online applications and people calling his number, and he figures he needs to get a go-phone or something so people aren’t blowing up his cell all the time. But he’s a little thrilled at how many people want to hire him, how much they love his work. The good word of mouth about his photos has been out of this world. He smiles, glancing up at Lukas.

 “You think it’s someone else hiring you?” Lukas asks, his hand soothing back and forth on Philip’s waist.

 “Maybe,” Philip says.

 “Can’t blame ‘em,” Lukas says. “Imagine hiring somebody and who’s talented and hot? Fucking jackpot, right here.”

 Philip pushes him a little bit again, grinning. “Let’s finish up in here and I’ll call whoever it is back.”

 “Yes sir,” Lukas says, briefly kissing him on the cheek. “We still using this rose shampoo? Making ourselves smell like a literal greenhouse?”

 Philip shrugs, watching as Lukas bends to pick up the bottle.

 “Can’t be wasteful,” Philip says.

 ~

 His phone rings again when they’re drying themselves off and Lukas clicks his tongue.

 “I’m gonna answer it,” Lukas says, shooting Philip a look. “Pretend I’m your secretary.”

 “Oh God,” Philip laughs, pulling a shirt on as Lukas makes a beeline for his cell. “Don’t you lose me a client!”

 “I’m just gonna talk about your strengths and your perfect hair, you know, important things,” Lukas calls. Philip closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Oh hey, it’s Helen!” Lukas yells.

 “You got it?” Philip asks, pulling on his jeans, the material sticking to the dampness of his legs.

 “Yeah!”

 Philip was planning on calling her tonight after the movie, and he wonders what she’s got to tell him. He hangs the towel up and walks into the bedroom, hearing the tail-end of Lukas’s conversation with her.

 “Okay one second,” Lukas says, slowly, turning around with a strange look on his face. He holds his finger over the receiver.

 “What is it?” Philip asks, his heart beating a little faster.

 “Not sure, she’s…she sounds weird, she just asked to talk to you,” Lukas says.

 Philip takes the phone, his throat going tight. “Hello?” he says.

 “Hey kid,” Helen says, and her voice is shaking a little bit. “Uh, Gabe—we’re in the hospital, Gabe—well—”

 Philip is definitely panicking now and he’s got one arm wrapped around his middle, nails digging into the material of his shirt. Lukas steps closer, an anchoring hand on his elbow. “What is it?” Philip asks, scared to hear the answer.

 “He’s fine,” Helen says, quick. “He just had a little weird pain, couldn’t eat, so we went to emergency care and they figured that he needed his appendix taken out. So that’s, uh—”

 Philip’s eyes dart around. “His appendix?”

 “Yes,” Helen says. “He’s—he’s in surgery now. It all happened really fast, I’m sorry it took me so long to call. Uh, it’s gonna be fine. It’s very routine, Tony had his appendix taken out a year after I met him, so—it’s fine. But it’d be nice, better even if you two could come—uh, I know you have class—”

 “Lukas,” Philip says without thinking, his voice going a little shrill when he looks up. “Gabe is having appendix surgery, could we—”

 “Of course we can go home,” Lukas says, fast, not missing a beat.

 Philip’s stomach dips. “Yeah?”

 “Yeah,” Lukas says, nodding. “I’ll message my teachers right now and contact the car rental place.”

 Philip reaches down and squeezes Lukas’s wrist in silent thanks. “Okay,” he says into the phone. “We’re gonna get there as soon as we can.”

 Lukas walks over to the bed, sitting down and opening up his laptop.

 “You sure?” Helen asks. “I don’t want to—”

 “I’m sure,” Philip says, and panic rings loud in his ears but he tries to stay level. “We’ll get there later tonight, probably…” He trails off, watching Lukas nod.

 “He’s gonna be okay,” Helen says. “I just know it’ll bring up his spirits to see you guys, you can bring Izzy, leave her with Bo and Sarah…by the time you get here everything should be good, we’ll have a room number and you can head over.”

 “Okay,” Philip says, though his mouth is dry and he can feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. “Okay, it’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna—do you want us to bring anything?”

 “Just yourselves,” Helen says. “Thank you, sweetheart. Hopefully we won’t keep you away for too long.”

 “Don’t worry,” Philip says. He’s said that phrase so many times in his life, so many times to his mother that it takes him back for a moment, to a different time, a strain in his heart and fear all over him. But he had to bury it all deep, put on a brave face, because their lives mattered more than his feelings. “Don’t worry,” he says again, feeling dizzy, and it’s like Lukas senses it because he looks up from his computer with concern in his eyes.

 “You either,” Helen says. “You sure you’re okay to come? Seriously, I don’t wanna force you, I shouldn’t have said it so fast, I was just thinking—”

 “No, no—I’m sure, we’re—we’re sure,” Philip says. “I’ll let you know when we’re on our way.”

 “Okay kid,” she says. “Love you.”

 “Love you too,” Philip says. “Tell him we love him when he wakes up.”

 “Will do,” Helen says.

 They both hang up and Philip just stands there for a second. He wets his lips over and over and he’s having trouble focusing. Nothing ever happens to Gabe. Gabe always seems so solid. Philip tries to tell himself this is just his appendix. He’ll be fine.

 But it’s surgery. Lukas went into a coma after surgery.

 “Hey,” Lukas says.

 Philip looks at him sitting there, Izzy by his feet chewing on her ice cream toy, without a care in the world.

 “Uh,” Philip finds himself saying, “you think it’ll be okay with class? Did you—did you e-mail them?”

 “I e-mailed Monday through Wednesday just in case, told them I had an emergency because my father-in-law is in the hospital. It’ll be fine, don’t even worry about that.”

 The words ‘father-in-law’ ground him and Philip absentmindedly starts twisting his engagement ring on his finger. He walks over and sits next to Lukas, bumping their knees together.

 “She sounded worried,” Philip says.

 Lukas leans in and kisses Philip’s shoulder. “I mean, of course she is. I get worried when you get a fucking hangnail. That’s love, baby.”

 Philip snorts, leaning into him.

 “Hey, I don’t think I ever told you this but I had my appendix taken out when I was like, six,” Lukas says.

 Philip narrows his eyes at him. “Really?”

 “Yeah,” Lukas says. “I don’t remember it at all but Dad reminded me back when I was in the hospital.” He clears his throat. They’ve still been having a hard time with the Ryan memories lately. Lukas hasn’t agreed to therapy yet, but he hasn’t gone to beat the shit out of Dour either, so Philip figures he’ll take it for now. But he knows Lukas’s feelings are still simmering under the surface, and Philip wants to make sure they’re addressed. He knows he isn’t really over it all yet either, not by a long shot, but Lukas’s pain is flaring up because of the Dour shit. Philip hates it. He wants to help him. He wants to fix everything, everyone.

 He sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Can we even get a rental car on short notice like this?”

 Lukas starts massaging his shoulder, rubbing his hand up and down Philip’s neck. “Of course we can,” he says.

 “One of us needs to like, own one,” Philip says.

 “Or maybe we just get that side-car for the bike and Izzy can travel in there.”

 Philip splutters, covering his face. He can feel Izzy’s tail thumping on his feet. His worry abates for a minute and he turns to Lukas, cupping his face, admiring him for a moment before he kisses him. Lukas looks at him a little dreamily when they pull apart, and Philp kisses him again.

 “Thank you.”

 “For what?”

 Philip caresses Lukas’s cheek, highly aware of the ring on his finger again. “Just—dropping everything, adapting so well—”

 Lukas shakes his head. “Gabe’s family. They both are. And you, well,” he laughs a little bit and makes a face like he’s gonna say something stupid, but a soft smile sneaks onto his face instead. “You. You’re everything. You know I’d do anything for you.”

 Philip is fucking floored by him. He leans in and kisses him again, deeper this time, feeling Lukas’s arm wind around his waist. He sighs into Lukas’s mouth and then nuzzles against his cheek.

 “He’s gonna be fine, babe,” Lukas says. “It’s just his appendix. It’s perfectly normal. It’s gonna be fine.”

 Philip nods.

 It’s just his appendix.

 Nothing is gonna happen to Gabe.

 He’s gonna be fine.

 He’s gonna be fine.

[zecretsanta]

Zecret Santa 2017 gift fic for nursedianaklim

To: @nursedianaklim

From: @interabangs

Happy Holidays, nursedianaklim! I’m thrilled to be your Zecret Santa, especially since I love Sigma/Diana, so I went with a family-themed fic for them. Hope you like it!

Recursion

“Are you two married?”

Thunk.

Diana hadn’t meant to drop her fork, really. It just happened to slip from her hand, landing on the finely crafted plate her mother only used for special occasions. Diana’s face grew hot, and it took all of her willpower not to look at Sigma.

“Okay, bud,” Liz said, dragging out her son’s chair and turning it at an angle so it faced the kitchen. “You asked for it.”

“Mom, no!”

“We talked about this,” she said as Diana wished her own face would stop looking like a tomato. “Back to the kids’ table for you.”

Looking dour, Taylor took his regular dinner plate and stomped all the way to the kitchen, angrily swatting aside the curtain that separated it from the dining room.

“Sorry, sis,” Liz said with an apologetic shrug as she scooted the empty chair back into its spot.

Diana exchanged a quick glance with Sigma before picking up her fork and saying, in as casual a voice as she could manage, “Oh, um, it’s all right.”

She supposed she was telling the truth. Things at least had been ‘all right’ up until Taylor looked right at Sigma and asked him one of the Forbidden Questions – probably because it might have been true.

Diana couldn’t exactly blame her family for wondering. There she was, back in her hometown, in her parents’ nice three-story in the cul-de-sac at the end of Bishop Street. Just two weeks ago, she’d cut contact with her entire family, and two weeks before that, she was crying her eyes out to Liz about another – well, Diana hated using the word, but it definitely had been an Incident.

Not long after that, and she was sitting next to a man her family never met, after having begged everyone over the phone not to ask him about their relationship status.

To her immense relief, said man reached under the table, where her free hand was trembling on her lap, and he enveloped her hand with his.  Not pushing down on hers, not gripping it. Just keeping his there, for her to feel him.

Her hand stopped shaking, and she smiled down at her plate.

She hadn’t even planned on asking Sigma to come home with her. It had simply slipped out, like the fork from her hand.

He’d been folding laundry while she was peeling carrots for dinner, and it was one of those things she didn’t realize she said, until right after she heard it come out her mouth:

“I’m going to visit my parents and sister next weekend, since I missed Christmas dinner with them. Do you want to come?”

She peeled off a particularly large piece of carrot, watched it hit the sink, then said, her face flushing, “Oh, I mean, I know it’s really soon. You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want —”

Sigma had crossed the room within a few of those giant strides of his, and put his arms around her, gently. “Yes, Diana. I’d love to.”

So, yes, Sigma had been great about it – like he was about pretty much everything, except grocery shopping – but it wasn’t him she worried about.

Before she’d called Liz and broke down crying, Diana hadn’t spoken to her in months. She hadn’t spoken to anyone in her family for longer – not even Great Nana, whom Liz was always quick to point out favored Diana.

And she was back home, sitting in her favorite dining room chair, like she hadn’t snapped at Mom to stop badgering her about the bruises on her arms, and why she couldn’t come to Taylor’s birthday party.

To everyone’s credit, they were warm and welcoming ever since greeting Diana and Sigma at the door. Patrick – Liz’s husband – and Dad might have shaken Sigma’s hand a little too long, and Mom may have squeezed Diana a little too tight when they hugged. But Diana could tell they were all on their best behavior.

As if to prove her point, Dad broke the incredibly long, awkward bout of silence – save for forks clinking against plates – which hung in the air after Taylor’s departure. “So, Sigma, how’s UC?”

“It’s great,” he said, without missing a beat. “I enjoyed my break, but I’m glad to get back to work.”

Patrick asked, “And you’re going for a, what, Master’s degree?”

“Actually, since I managed to get all my paperwork in before the deadline, I’m pursuing my doctorate.”

Liz nearly choked on her steak. “Your… I’m sorry, but how old are you, again?”

Sigma took his hand off Diana’s, but, after she glanced down, she saw that he only did it to wipe his sweaty palm on his black pants. “I’ll be 23 this year.”

“Holy shi – I mean, good for you,” Liz said, coughing as Patrick patted her back.

It was Mom’s turn to grill Sigma, and when she opened her mouth, Diana suddenly wished Sigma hadn’t taken his hand away from hers. “And your field is… engineering, right? I wasn’t quite sure how that got you into the same fundraising event as Diana.” Mom laughed in that slightly disconcerting way where you knew you did something wrong and she was pretending it was fine, but it wasn’t.

“Well,” Sigma said, after taking a few moments to chew his food, but Diana knew he was remembering what they’d prepared for the past few nights, “my passion is engineering, yes, but I’d like to study diseases – and their cures, as well. There was a seminar about a particularly disturbing disease at the event, and I happened to sit next to Diana.” He paused to exchange a brief, but knowing smile with her. “She’s heard all about the details, but I’ll give you the short version: when I was in high school, there was a deadly outbreak in my hometown, and if I could help prevent something like that from happening again, then I’d do whatever I could.”

Diana exhaled a long, slow sigh of relief as Mom, Liz and Patrick nodded in polite sympathy.

Dad took a sip of wine, peering over the rim of the glass at Sigma. “You’re from Michigan, you said?”

“That’s correct, sir.” Diana had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at the irony of Sigma saying ‘sir.’  He’d told Diana beforehand that he would be as honest with her family as possible, without explaining all the time-travel stuff that she knew they’d never believe. She and Sigma had to make up an entirely new story about how they met – in actuality, it could very well be true in one universe – but Sigma didn’t mind being open about his past. And, in this case, alternate future.

Dad put down his empty wine glass. “How come I’ve never heard about this disease outbreak?”

“Well, it will happen – it happened a long time ago, and the government made sure it didn’t spread in the news, so it wouldn’t cause any panic.”

“Really?” Patrick said, starting to become skeptical – he was so much like Dad it wasn’t even funny; no matter how much Liz protested – and Diana glanced at Sigma, unable to hide the worry from her face.

Sigma kept his gaze on her father and brother-in-law, and, as he launched into a far more detailed and boring explanation, his hand slipped back over hers.

Diana picked up her fork, smiling again.

—————————————–

“How long you known him, sweetheart?” Dad asked her not two minutes after Taylor and his three brothers yanked Sigma and Patrick out on the front lawn, turning them into human jungle gyms.

Diana stirred her hot cocoa, remember what she and Sigma had practiced in the car ride. She couldn’t have said three years, or even a year, when she felt like she’d known him much, much longer. She hadn’t mentioned anything remotely related to Sigma when she called Liz.

“I told you, it’s been a couple weeks,” she said, watching the dark liquid swirl in her cup after she lifted her spoon.

“Diana,” her mother said, gently.

“Okay – a few months.” It wasn’t a lie if both answers could be true at the same time.

“You really think it’s the best time for you to, y’know, be shacking up with someone new?” Liz asked.

“I’m not —” Diana protested, but the flush in her cheeks that she knew was visible, was about as obvious as if her nose began growing.

“Darling,” Mom said, the worry lines creasing between her eyebrows as she scooted her chair closer to Diana’s and brushed her hair back behind her ear. “I understand why you want to be with him. Really, I do. I mean, he’s polite, he’s intelligent, and good Lord, if Adonis was made flesh —”

“— Okay, let’s not get too carried away here,” Dad said gruffly, and everyone else laughed, even Diana.

“And the way he acts around you,” Mom went on, continuing to stroke Diana’s hair, like she did when there was a thunderstorm. “I can tell he’s taking this, taking you, very seriously. But what if he turns out to be like… well…”

“He won’t,” Diana said firmly. “I know he won’t. And I know you want what’s best for me, but please don’t worry about us. We’re taking things slow.”

“Hmm,” Liz said, chin resting on her hand as she watched Diana take a long sip of cocoa. “If ‘slow’ means making out in his car for five minutes down the street, I’d hate to know what ‘fast’ means.”

Diana’s cheeks burned even more at that. She set down her mug. At least she didn’t spit out anything.

Liz lowered her hand from her chin and reached it out toward Diana, across the dining room table. “Hey. I’m kidding. Look, you’ve been to therapy —”

“— And I’m still going,” Diana said, a bit hastily, but she was glad she sounded firm. It was one of the truths she and Sigma went over, like him being able to pursue a doctoral degree.

“We’re all incredibly glad to hear that,” Liz said, her hand still outstretched on the table. “If you know, for sure, that you really wanna be with this guy… If you feel safe with him and can trust him after such a short time, then…” Liz felt silent and looked to Mom for help.

She was as quick on the draw as Sigma had been earlier. “Then I suppose we can trust him, too.”

Diana looked out the window, toward the front yard where her nephews were hanging from Sigma’s arms and laughing as he flexed. Then she looked at her family’s faces, at the mingled concern and hope in their eyes.

Then, slowly, she reached her hand across the table, and pressed her palm against her sister’s.

—————————————–

“He doesn’t know about your family, does he?”

Diana studied Sigma’s expression, one of her favorite past times. He was starting to be more animated – not as much as she was, or most people, really. But she was fascinated with noticing each miniscule change in his face.

Liz, Patrick, and their kids had left ten minutes ago. Diana planned on heading out with Sigma soon, too, but not before giving him a more detailed tour of the house. Her room, which somehow still looked like it had years ago, was the last stop.

“He’s a good guy,” Liz had whispered in Diana’s ear as they hugged goodbye. “Tense, but I think it’s because he’s one of those old souls, y’know?”

Diana laughed, squeezing her sister tighter. “Thank you, Liz. I’m glad you like him.”

“He’ll take care of you. At least, he better. And if you ever stop banging him, I know at least twenty single moms who’d give an arm to be with him.”

“Liz, come on!” Diana said, but it took her a while to stop laughing.

As she looked up at Sigma while they stood in her old bedroom, he was gazing intently at the objects on top of her dresser drawer.

“No,” he finally replied, “I don’t think he knows. I’ve tried not to think about them lately, just in case. But I think if he meant them any harm, he would’ve gone through with it now.”

Diana nodded.  Neither she nor Sigma had uttered the name of their son, not since escaping the shelter. She wondered if they ever would.

Sigma’s breath hitched before he spoke again. “I’ll make sure he won’t touch anyone in your family.”

“He won’t.” Somehow, Diana was certain of that.

“Have you always had these?” Sigma asked, his gaze fixated on the row of dolls arranged neatly in a row – probably by Mom – and facing him with an identical expression.

“Since I was little, yes.” Diana had to stand on her toes to reach out and run her fingertips over the dolls, from the largest to the smallest. Most Matryoshka figures, Diana thought, were old women, but this set featured a wide-eyed, innocent looking red-headed boy.

“Do you know where you come from?” she whispered to the smallest one. “Do you care?”

She remembered holding the newborn boy, during the long hours it took for them to die.

Diana blinked, and when her vision cleared, there was a teardrop next to the smallest rd-haired doll.

“Hey, Diana,” Sigma said, bending his head so he could murmur in her ear, “let’s lie down for a little while, okay?”

She was about to protest before an uncontrollable yawn cut her off. “Oh, okay.” She turned off the light and guided Sigma to her bed. They settled down on the covers, facing each other – it was a bit cramped, but Diana didn’t care one bit.

Sigma wrapped his arms around her back, tracing slow, small circles on her sweater with his thumbs. “Thanks for asking me to come. I had a great time.”

“You were wonderful,” she told him with a wide smile. “I’m really glad you came with me.”

“We should bring Phi next time, if that’s all right with you,” Sigma said, closing his eyes. “I’m sure we could come up with a story for her.”

“Yes,” Diana said, stifling a yawn, “and then we can visit your family.”

“That sounds nice,” Sigma said, though his words were beginning to run together. “I’d like that.”

“Ten minutes,” Diana told him, “then we’re leaving.”

“Of course,” he said, leaning forward to kiss the top of her head before settling his back down on their shared pillow. “Whatever you say.”

“I mean it, Sigma,” Diana whispered as her eyelids fluttered close. “Ten minutes… and then… we’re heading home.”

[godofsunandselfies]

‘Apollo, so funny story. Charis and I got arrested by the Roman military. Quiet splitting us up. I don't know where Charis is going, but ... I'm not too worried. 'A brief pause. 'I'll be alright, don't worry. I think they're taking us as captives. After I get these manacles off me, it should be smooth sailing. '

Apollo chuckled at today’s “prayer” from his beloved. Don't worry, he says, he shook his head. How can I not when you just told me you got arrested.

“Another message from you’re sweetheart?”

He turned his head to glance at his sister. Artemis smiled at him teasingly; the look combating the annoyed tone that came with her question.

“Yep. Him and someone he knows may have gotten into a spot of trouble, ”he sighed. "He just told me not to worry but ..."

“But you will,” she finished for him. Then her brows furrow into a look of concern. "Apollo, I know you want to run off and play hero for him but you and I both know you very well can’t."

Apollo rolled his eyes. “I know. I know. You don't have to remind me, Arty. ” His sister shot him a warning look at the name he referred her with, but he ignored it as he leaned heavily against one of the many columns that lined the halls just outside the throne room. “Another council meeting. Yippee. I wonder what stupid nonsensical complaint we're all going to end up arguing about today. ”

"Apollo, you should take this a bit more seriously," chastised Artemis. "When Father called for this one, he was a lot more ... dour."

“When is he not?” He shot back.

Artemis looked like she had more to say - likely another reprimand for him - when a dull thump lightly shook the floor and the doors to the throne room opened, signaling the start of yet another dragging meeting. At that, she only shook her head and made her way in.

He followed after her, but despite his words, he could not help but feel a bit ... uneasy as he entered the throne room.

~

The marble of his throne cracks beneath his fingertips from how tightly he gripped it as he listened to the prophecy recited by the three women standing at the center of the throne room. It's words only putting worth to that uneasy feeling he had upon hearing Kleitos's last prayer to him. His heartbeat thundered in his ears - loud enough to block everything else but the damned prophecy ... and the ruling his father gave on what was to be done. An order that Apollo could not and would not accept.

"I will not," he said. The fury he felt was palpable in the room. The temperature gradually rising alongside his anger. “I will not leave him. Especially if what they are ”- a scornful look to the three hooded women, The Fates -“ say is to be is true. ”

All eyes of the Olympians - his family (if he could even consider a majority of them as such) - fell on him. Each carries a variety of emotion. Some looked at him with pity; with judgment; some even with annoyance. But his father? The Great “Thunderer” Zeus? (Or was it Jupiter now? Honestly he really didn't give a damn.) Zeus only gave him the look one would give a child who was acting out. (And Apollo supposed, in his perspective, that was true. To him, he was acting out. And Apollo knew Zeus would have nothing of that.)

"We cannot directly interfere in the events of prophecy," droned his father; reciting once again their most ancient law. “To do so would run the risk of defying the will of fate. It will bring further chaos to the world. ”

“And I won’t!” He rose from his throne. Beside him, Artemis jolts forward, ready to grab him and pull him back down, but he shakes off her reaching hand. He would not stand down. Not this time. “I will not defy the prophecy. I will be by his side, but I swear, I won't interfere. ”

A laugh - light and melodious, like that of a songbird - rises from in front of him. Aphrodite levels a pitying stare at him. One that he scowls back at. “Oh dear. Apollo, you and I both know that is not true. The minute he gets so much as a scratch, you'll bowl anyone in your way to rush over to heal him. ”

Another laugh - sharp and irritating like a blade dragged against rock. “She’s right. You'll practically do anything for this mortal. ” Ares chuckled as he shook his head. "It's pretty damn pathetic, if you ask me."

He surged forward and Ares, the war-mongering brute that he is, leaps to his feat with a grin. He would have reached him had Artemis and Hermes not caught his arms and firmly held him in place. "And no one did, Ares," he hissed relishing in the way the war god bristled when he uttered the "wrong name". “Not like anyone would bother. Nothing but cobwebs and hot air in that hollow space you have there for a brain. ”

Ares curses and draws his sword. Now several other Olympians found themselves onto their feet. Some held Ares back; others stood to reprimand the two of them; and a few merely sat back and commentated on the spectacle like it were but a show. It all warped into a chaotic cacophony and lasted what felt like hours until -

BOOM!

A loud clap of thunder silenced the room.

The smell of burnt ozone was thick in the air as Zeus rose from his thunder and froze Apollo in place with a look of thunderous disapproval. “My orders are final, Apollo. You are to remain here on Olympus until the course of this prophecy is set. Now cease this foolishness. ” He sighed heavily. "To fret so much over a single mortal - it is beneath you."

Heat exploded in his chest. From the way his fellow Olympians turned away, it was obvious that his own power had flared out. "Damn your orders," he barked. Though he knew when Zeus glared at him that he should buckle under his command, if only for the sake of his own well-being, he would never. Apollo could not abandon Kleitos. He would not leave him - especially knowing what he would have to go through.

He turned to leave, but he did not make it even halfway to the doors out of the throne room. His only warning was a shadow looming over him and his father’s low voice - “Vulcan.” A sharp pain erupted from his head.

His vision goes black.

~

When he comes to, he is in his palace, laid out on the floor in an undignified heap. The chill of the marble floor helped greatly in easing the throbbing in his head. What happened? He remembered heeding his father's call for another boring meeting, but after ... What happened after was muddled.

Groaning, he carefully rose to his feet as he made his way towards his bedroom. Maybe he just needed to sleep off this headache and then he would remember. Then he looked outside to see the sun rising in the horizon - the light of morning lighting his palace in a golden glow.

“Morning? That can't be right. It was noon when the meeting ... ”He stopped. Panic welled up in him as finally - finally - his brain got the wake-up call and he remembered everything.

Kleitos! He ran for the door. But when his palms pushed against them, they merely shook from the force and did not open.

“What?” He tried again. And again. And again, and again. He slammed his hands against the damn things harder and harder but still they didn't open. The bubbling panic in his gut began to intensify. He felt sick as the possibility of what was going on began to creep on. It only worsened when his attempts to simply teleport himself out of his palace - out of Olympus - were met with nothing but wasted time.

No. No, please, no.

Apollo ran for the garden where he and his Muses would waste away their time. If he couldn’t teleport - he could always just go down the old fashioned way and merely fall to the mortal plane. When he saw the open archway and the sleepy blue and yellow sky waiting just beyond, he made a break for it. Then something caught him just as his foot stood between the divide of tile and lush grass. It was ... soft and flexible - almost like a net of fine woven thread. It glittered like gold against the morning rays.

Then it began to burn painfully. Like acid against his skin.

With a shout, he frantically stepped back and checked his arms and hands, expecting burns to line his skin. But there was nothing.

His breath began to quicken. Hephaestus - he remembered Hephaestus being the one Father had called mere moments before he lost consciousness. Hephaestus knocked him out, and only Hephaestus had the skill to forge something that could trap a god. And that was what Apollo was now. Trapped.

No. No, no, no no no no.

Still he ran to every open area that existed in his palace. The courtyard; the archery field; the stables; his private garden - it was all the same. The near invisible gold netting draped over every door; over every archway leading to the outside. And whenever he pushed against it, the net burned him as if he were pressing his hand against the very forge Hephaestus used to make the damn thing.

Cursing, he turned and stormed back to the front doors. He slammed his fists against them - the banging and rattling surely loud enough to catch everyone on Olympus's attention - and shouted as loud as possible. He shouted his demands to be released; called out to his father, Hephaestus, Artemis, even Ares. (Using their Greek names - the names he knew them as - even if he knew very well that doing so would just infuriate them more. But that's what he wanted too anyway.)

He kept at it until his throat ached. For a moment - a horrible, horrible moment - he feared that his family may have roped Hecate to spelling his palace into silence; leaving him to be alone and unheard for who knows how long. Then he heard a heavy set of footsteps thump along outside. The pace is steady and precise with an air of arrogance. Apollo knew those footsteps.

"Father," he growled.

"I see you're finally awake," said Zeus from the other side of the doors. "Have you slept off your attitude by now?"

His fist collided hard against the door. Cracks spider-webbed along the white stone surface. His knuckles ached.

A scoff. “Apparently not” was all the bastard had to say.

“Let me out,” he snarled, glaring daggers in the direction where he knew his father stood, likely standing smug and proud like the ass that he was. "You can't keep me here!"

“Yes, I can. And take care with what tone you use to speak with me, boy, ”Zeus warned. “I decreed that you would remain here on Olympus until the prophecy's path is well and set, and it is here on Olympus that you will remain. No whining or temper tantrums from you will change that. ”

His next breath was ragged. Desperation crept on him as the futility of it all began to crash down on him. “I have my duties as a god to attend to. There are prayers I need to answer. Mortals who need my help. ”

His excuses obviously didn't fly with his father. "Then you really should have considered that before your fit in the throne room three days ago."

Apollo couldn’t breathe. “Three days?”

But his father ignored him. "You will remain inside your palace for the time being," he said. “I'm sure you've already discovered it, but I had Vulcan set up a ... guarantee that you won't be leaving Olympus any time soon. Perhaps if you behave yourself, I will consider the possibility of giving you back some degree of freedom. ”

He punched the door again, spreading the cracks further. “Fuck. You. ”

Agony crackled up his arm and shot throughout his body, leaving his muscles to spasm and twitch painfully. That smell of burnt ozone returned in the air. Even someone as dull as his half-brother Ares could piece together what just happened. His father had just electrocuted him.

Apollo didn't scream as the electricity ran its course through him - he didn't even if he wanted to, honestly, what with the muscles of his jaw now locked from the shock. He buckled to his knees as he heard Zeus curse at him from behind the door, shouting something about how “insolent” and “disrespectful” he was. How he expected more from him.

Honestly, Apollo just tuned him out. After all, it was nothing new. The same litany of disappointment that always came whenever he failed to meet his father’s expectations (which was always). It was likely that he blacked out again at some point since, by the time he focused back on the world, Zeus was long gone. Apollo was alone.

The hours quickly sped by him - though to him they sloughed by sluggishly. He spent them making a mess of his front doors and of his knuckles ... and his throat. Screaming and shouting, repeating his demands to be let out or just flat out cursing each and every one of his family members for just allowing this to happen. Apollo didn't know when he started crying during all that, but by the time evening had fallen on the sky, a splatter of tears had mixed with the splatter of ichor on the floor.

It was also by evening that he heard Kleitos again. Only this time, his beloved's voice didn't fill him with joy. Only despair and dread. What he had to say, only made it worse ...

'Phoebus Apollo, Far-Darter, Worker From Afar ...'

Apollo's head shot up from where he sat, tired and defeated, curled against his door. “Kleitos?” He called out, though he knew his lover couldn't hear him - not like how Apollo could hear him.

'Love ...' Apollo's heart drops. Why did he sound like that? Like he was in pain.

'I need your help ... a human didn't buy me. I'm ... I ... I can't get out. 'The growing panic rises up in him again and it coils tight around his heart. His mind scrambles with it. He rises to his feet.

'Can you come help me? Please? '

Dread and despair nearly drowns him as he assails his door again. Damn the time - it was evening, so what? They didn't need to sleep. And even if they wanted to, he wouldn't let them. “LET ME OUT!” His shouts are laced with pain. It sounded like pleading. (He was.) “PLEASE! HE NEEDS ME! ​​”

When Kleitos's voice comes again, saying his name - 'Apollo?' - voice leaden with fear ... Tears burn in his eyes as he all but begs to those who obviously hear him on Olympus. His family ... The Muses ... (They must be here somewhere. They are not in the garden but they must be here.) Anyone ...

'It's okay.'

"No, it's not," he croaked.

'I'll see you soon. I love you. '

The next hit to his door ends in a loud crack! Another spurt of pain laces down his arm. The brunt of his coming from his hand. He'd broken something, likely a finger. But he didn't care. He kept hitting the door - though his blows got weaker and the cracks on the heavy stone came to a stop. He kept yelling - though it soon devolves into sobbing.

No one answers him.

~

The next set of prayers break his heart. The injuries inflicted on himself - the broken split skin on his knuckles, the broken fingers, the aching throat - heal as quickly as he allowed them to (whenever he manages to exhaust himself to a stupor). But the aches in his heart don't go away. And the last one from Kleitos shattered it.

'If I did something wrong please just tell me. I'll make it up to you I promise. Apollo, I promise anything. Just please, please come. '

Apollo had never heard Kleitos sound like that before. He had pleaded for him to come. Practically begged - offering up such a dangerous promise - of anything. Apollo never wanted to hear his love sound like that ever again ... But would there even be an again by the end of this?

How long would this prophecy last? He wondered. Days? Weeks? Months? .... Years? All he knew from what the Fates had for his Kleitos was that he would “at the hand of kin, suffer and learn from pain” - and judging from what he heard from his first prayer, “kin” apparently meant another vampire. According to those damn crones, Kleitos was to "bring about great change". But what did that even mean? Was Kleitos to be a hero to the mortals, or would he be martyred to bring about this “change”?

Please let it be the former, he thought. The very thought of losing him - losing the one he loved ... again. Losing Hyacinthus had been a devastation that scarred him deeply - a hurt that never quite healed, even now. To lose Kleitos ... It would be something that he could never recover from. That he was sure.

But even if Kleitos did survive this prophecy ... What would Kleitos think of him? Unable to help him even when he pleaded ... Would he hate him? 

Does he hate me now? Apollo wondered. Would he lose him still even then?

“I love you,” he mumbled, though he knew none would hear the words - that the one he meant for them to hear him at all. “I love you, Kleitos. Please, don't hate me. ”

He does not bang on the doors and scream his throat bloody this time. Even though he can hear the footsteps of his family - of his sister - echo outside his doors, he does nothing.

~

When he hears nothing from Kleitos, he thinks the worst, and the despair swallows him whole.

Not dead, whispers that terrible voice in his head; the voice of Fear and Panic. He’s dead and it's all your fault. You left him alone. You left him to die. It's all your fault.

That despair burns right through him, and his palace suffers from it. Columns that decorated the halls toppled with some lay shattered on the floor in a splay of chunks of marble and dust. Art pieces - his and his Muses - are torn from their displays - vases and statues smashed to shards; pictures damaged. Very little was spared in his onslaught. Not even his door, which now bore a fist-sized hole from where the stone finally gave way.

If any of his fellow Olympians passed and noticed the disaster zone that his palace had now become, they made their presence scarce and left quickly and quietly. Not that Apollo wanted their presence. (But this emptiness, this silence ... It was madness. It was driving him to madness.)

Falling to his knees in the middle of the wreckage, Apollo cries. (How many times had he cried since this nightmare began? Has he reached the tens? The hundreds? He could not tell. The grief choked him.)

Outside and down on the mortals, the skies are left dark. The sun hidden away beneath the clouds, heavy with sadness, much like the sun god himself.

~

When he hears Kleitos's voice again, Apollo is sat, despondent and numb to the world, in his bedroom. His lover’s voice comes to him - faint and hesitant; almost miss-able: 'Phoebus ... Apollo ... Love?'

“Kleitos?”

For a moment, Apollo believed he had finally snapped; gone mad with his grief and was now hearing ghosts. But his love's voice returns again - and he all but weeps in relief. (Undoubtedly looking exactly like a mad man as he clung to his sheets and sobbing and smiling to the air.) "Oh, thank goodness ... you’re alive," he mumbled to himself; one hand over his chest, clutching at the fabric of his robes tightly - anchoring him from the waves of emotion that threatened to drag him down.

'I ... was thinking and I remember ... sometimes you aren't allowed to do anything ... if your ... well, I'm sure you know. Can you send me a sign if that's going on? Send me a raven if you want to help me but you can't ... ‘

Apollo scrambled to meet Kleitos’s request. Calming himself as best he could, he reached out to his sacred birds. A sharp pain began to pulse from his temple as his magic found resistance against another’s.

Ah - so Father indeed roped Hecate into constructing my prison. An arcane restraint - he reasoned out - one made to cut him off from communicating with anyone who could come to his aid.

Still, Kleitos needed him. This pain? It was nothing. He’s felt worse. So he pushed harder against Hecate’s spell - the pain in his head spiking to an intensity where he felt his world shift as his limbs began to shake and buckle. When he felt the connection made between him and his birds, he quickly called his command: “Go to him. Go to Kleitos. All who can find or know where he is. Go. ”

The connection is quickly severed, if only to save Apollo further pain as Hecate’s spell now left his head throbbing and his vision spotted. Still, he waited for Kleitos’s response. Hopefully he hadn't been too late. Hopefully his ravens found him.

As Kleitos's laugh fills his ears, Apollo couldn't help but join him - as relieved as his lover was. 'I see them ...' The relief in his lover's voice eased the panic and fear in Apollo's heart. 'I'm so fucking glad you're not mad at me but ...'

His next words sent a fresh arrow of pain deep into Apollo’s heart. 'I'm kinda scared ... I'm scared.' 

Oh, Kleitos. The admission had him yearning to reach past the unfathomable and unknown distance between them and wrap his lover in his arms. To shield him from his fears. To protect him (as he should be doing now).

'This can only mean that The Fates have made a determination about me ...' Indeed, they had. The prophecy was still rung fresh in his mind - and he despised how vague it was. How little it spoke of Kleitos's intended fate, other than being a source of change to Rome and also having a say on whether it would be "razed" or not - whatever that meant. Yet Apollo knew, even if he asked, the Fates would not tell him. What they shared was all anyone could get. Even if the shared words were but riddles.

'Will you leave the ravens with me ...?' Kleitos didn't need to ask. With one more additional (and painful) connection, the ravens that had found his beloved’s location were now the vampire’s personal protectors. They were the best substitute currently. Apollo wished it could be him instead, but, as his father said, he was to remain in Olympus until the "prophecy was set".

'I just ... I'm all alone in this room with just my thoughts and I'm going crazy.' Kleitos's laugh that followed was painfully forced. Honestly, Apollo couldn't help but huff a similar one for himself. "You and me both, Kleitos," he mumbled, glaring balefully at the vacant (and painfully empty and silent) halls of his damaged palace.

'I'm not gonna die Apollo.' - "Please don't," Apollo begged to the empty air. - 'Don't worry, okay?' - "How can I not? Not when you sound so in pain. ” - 'I can't do that to you. This guy ... '- A bubble of anger manifested at the thought of whomever had his Kleitos. - 'He’s a pansy-ass blowhard.' - That drew an actual laugh from him. - 'I just have to get out of these damn bindings.'

At that, Apollo’s vision goes red. Bindings? Kleitos was bound? Whoever this “blowhard” was - Apollo swore he would shatter the man’s bones for doing such a thing to his beloved. (The fabric of his bed-sheets smoked and burned under his palm. His anger summoning the very heat of the sun to him.)

'I'm going to be alright. I will, I promise. I promise. I gotta see that sunny smile of yours, and your gorgeous eyes, and hear your voice. I miss you already. '

"And I, you," mumbled Apollo. He doesn't hate me. Relieved, he relaxed his grip on his (now burnt) sheets. “I miss seeing you face, Kleitos. I miss your presence. It's ... painful to be without you. " And when they were reunited (and they would be; they had to be), Apollo knew he wouldn't be apart from his love for a very, very long time. Damn whatever his father had to say on that future arrangement.

'I love you' - the words sparked that heady warmth of joy and love that Kleitos always left him feeling - 'I'd tell you more about my lovely stay here but mostly I've just been stuck on this couch for days .. .so nothing much of interest to report. ' Kleitos sighed. “I hope you’re okay” - No. Not at all. - 'I've probably been freaking you the hell out.' Indeed. 'I wish I could hear you.'

A long pause followed, and Apollo knew Kleitos must be waiting to see if he would communicate with him. The searing ache in his head from Hecate's lovely spell pulsed and Apollo knew that such a thing was not possible, though how he wished he could. (This is just not fair. How could Father do this? How could his family allow this?)

Kleitos’s prayer continued on. He spoke further on the man, or rather vampire, who had “bought” him. All he had to say of him only made Apollo’s distaste of him grow ever worse. So this bastard thought himself a god, did he? A low growl rumbled in his throat. If there was one thing that he despised, it was arrogance; those whose pride blinded them so that they saw themselves as equals to the likes of gods, or worse, thought them superior to Apollo and his kin.

And while Apollo did try to avoid violence as much as possible ... he would admit that he did take some joy in laying such mortals low. And he knew that this blasphemer who dared to cage his Kleitos would be no different from those Apollo had punished in the past.

However if Kleitos's guess that it was he who was to fell the man is true, that it was indeed part of his Fates paved destiny, well ... Who was Apollo to deny his lover the satisfaction of slaying his captor?

'Thanks for leaving them with me ...'

"No need to thank me," Apollo responded as if Kleitos were here with him, and not a world away. "My birds are yours, love."

'I don't know if you're busy or bored out of your skull like I am but ... I guess I should probably shut up for a while ...' And just like that, the cold fingers of Fear quickly found its purchase again around Apollo's throat. No. Don't go. He wanted to say. But he doesn't. After all, Kleitos could not hear him.

'I'll talk to you again pretty soon okay?'

"You better," said Apollo with a hollow laugh.

'I love you.'

"I love you too, Kleitos. Very much ..."

Silence reigned again in his palace. Apollo quickly found that he hated silence.

~

Life and energy returned to him now that he had some connection to Kleitos, as one-sided as it unfortunately was; and with it came the knowledge that his beloved knew that he had not abandoned him. Thus the dreadful weight in his chest, as if Atlas's burden had instead found its way to him, had dispersed and the thick lethargy that ensnared his limb broke and gave way; and Apollo returned to somewhat of his original state - though still smoldering with fury from the situation his "family" had left him in.

However despite this vitriol, Apollo knew he could not simply continue on as he used to: shouting and pounding and shattering from dawn to dusk until his hands and throat were ached and bloodied. It was useless for him to continue - that much was obvious after having spent days doing so only to receive continued silence and solitude. (And didn't that just burn. Not a single soul in this gold and marble hellhole had come to him - not to help; not to present a sympathetic ear; nothing. It would not hurt so much had Artemis not been one of the many who simply did not show.)

So for the following days he threw himself into work - or as close to "work" as he was able. He cleared the rubble of his rampage from his palace, piling the marble chunks and dust and the broken refuse of whatever he furniture and decor that he had destroyed into a pile near the open archway that lead out to the stables where his horses and sun chariot were kept. He locked himself in his studio and worked on the many art pieces that he had left unfinished due to lack of time. He practiced archery, turning his palace and the remaining offending furniture to be his field and targets. He wrote poetry. He composed songs of every kind - anything to stave off the dread that gnawed at his mind and the fear that lay the risk of paralyzing him.

And when it would get too much and Apollo ran the risk of being overwhelmed by it all - Kleitos’s voice would always draw him back from the brink.

Since his last "prayer" to him, it was now a daily occurrence for Apollo to hear from his love. Considering he was ultimately kept prisoner by whomever bought him (a fact that never failed to rancor him), Kleitos surprisingly had much to share with him: accounts of the chaos the ravens that he had sent to him were wreaking upon his captor (always drew a grin and a laugh) and bits of gossip shared to him by a slave girl by the name of Fabia, who was charged to look after him.

It paled in comparison to actually being able to talk to Kleitos - to see him face-to-face, to be in his presence, and to have him within reach, for him to hold - but, for now, it was enough.

And for a good few days, Apollo was in a somewhat state of peace.

~

Apollo heard nothing from Kleitos. Fear wriggled and wormed into his heart, chilling it and his blood. Once more his mind was a flurry of panic. Why had Kleitos not spoken today? Why is he silent? Did something happen?

A crisp snap pulled him from the maelstrom of his thoughts. The arrow he'd been holding, ready to draw back and be shot, had shattered in his palm. Shards of wood had embedded deep in his skin and the broken halves of the shaft had managed to cut into it. Ichor, gold and warm, bled sluggishly from his palm. The pain anchored him.

Breathing in a shaky breath, Apollo picked out the splinters, watched his wound close and disappear, and drew another arrow from his quiver. He knocked it back.

Don't jump to conclusions. Kleitos ... he is okay. As okay as he can be in his situation. I'll hear from him again soon. He fired.

The arrow struck the red clay vase. It shattered to pieces.

~

‘I'm okay. I’m still here.’ Short. Prompt.

That is all Apollo gets.

His heartbeat pounds loudly in his ears and his nails dig into the meat of his palms, carving stinging grooves that bleed sluggishly for mere seconds before closing only to be reopened again and again and again.

Kleitos sounded so ... tired. As if he had no energy to him. Listless and void of that spark he adored so.

What is happening to him?

Apollo fires two arrows in a single go. One misses, knocking over the miniature statue of a featureless man to the ground where it lands with a crack !. The second hits true and its partner, that of a woman, shatters and falls next to it.

~

A knock at his door surprises him. Glancing up from where he sat on the marble ground, legs crossed and hunched over a sheet of parchment, sketching meaningless shapes in a ditch attempt to wave away the coiling whispers of his fears, he stifled his surprise when he saw none other than his sister through the rather size-able hole that he punched through.

It is that same hole that Artemis glanced at; brows pinched and nose scrunched with something of annoyance - an annoyance lightened by the shine of amusement in her silver eye; made evident when they fell on him as he approached. “Really?” She pointed at it. “Was this necessary?”

Usually Apollo would welcome the dry wit of their banter with a much too confident grin and a sharp retort at the ready. Today was not a usual day.

With a huff, he said through gritted teeth, impatient: “Did you need anything? Or have you come here only to gloat? ”

“To gloat?” Brows furrowed. "Apollo, why would I gloat?"

He gestured to the derelict state of his palace and the obvious and deadly sheen of the golden netting that hung over the door - as if that alone was the answer enough. “Is it not your usual to come bearing a sharp 'I told you so!' with a scathing lecture as to how I am and always will be wrong? For a moment, I thought you'd forgotten during all the excitement ”- he sneered -“ of my “situation”? But you're here now. So ”- he held out his arms like a wooden effigy ready to be shot at upon the archery grounds -“ have at me. ”

Artemis scoffed, looking far more like a truly vexed older sister than a triumphant one as he had thought. “Stop it with the drama. I am not here to do ... whatever it is you just said. ” She crossed her arms as, with a sigh, her expression softens to one of concern. (One that twinged guilt into his heart for snapping.) “I wanted to check up on you. See how you are. ”

“And? What’s your verdict? ”

Artemis smirked. "You look like shit, little brother."

A bark of laughter expelled from him. The sound - loud, dry and bitter - dropping Artemis’s smirk back to a tight frown of concern. “Yes, well, I suppose that's how one looks when they're thrust into a shit situation. Against my will, I might add!

Her lips curl further. "Apollo--"

“Now that your curiosity regarding my status has been satiated, I'm sure you have far more important things to do, Artemis” - Ah! And there is that annoyed scowl of hers - “Have a productive day. I know I won't. ”

"Apollo!" She shouted and he stopped. His body unconsciously (habitually) yielding to her unspoken command. She was the oldest twin. And he always did follow her lead.

Apollo turned back around to face her. Her expression was uncharacteristically impassioned. Wordlessly, he gave her the floor.

She sighed. "Look, I know you are angry--"

“That's an understatement,” he snapped; only to recoil back to silence under the piercing glare of his sister.

She continued. “You have every right to be. But let's be honest. You would not be able to resist the temptation to interfere had you been left to your own devices with this prophecy. As soon as your lover is in danger, you would come to his aide - no prayer; no offering required. ” The gleam in her eye hardened: 'Be honest' - it commanded. "Tell me I'm wrong."

He doesn't. Artemis knew that and he knew that; and he hated it.

Pity softened the edge to her eyes. (He didn't want it.) “This was the wisest course of action.”

He sneered. "You sound like Athena."

“Minerva.”

“Fuck! I don't care! ” Again his fist connected hard against the cracked surface of his already battered door. More pieces of it flew, and his sister's speed saved her from one that came close to colliding against her head. “Roman name; Greek name - Tartarus, Artemis, it doesn't fucking matter! You know who I am talking about so stop fucking correcting me! ”

Her eyes narrow to a glare. “Control that temper, Apollo. Lashing out will get you no where. One would think after all these years, you would learn that by now. ”

He snarled. “And one would think that after all these years, I could trust that you would be there for me when I needed you! Clearly I was wrong! ”

And just like that, his words draw back the silence he has grown to dread. But what else could he say to break it? He could not speak. Especially not with the way his sister looked at him - like his words had been his hand and he'd struck her. (He may as well have.)

Then Artemis's voice cuts through the quiet. Her words cold and sharp like a knife. “That is unfair,” she muttered. Her words shuddered with an emotion that was just barely restrained. "You know just as well as I do that when Father gives an order, there is little else that we can do but follow."

He scoffed but Artemis insisted; voice rising with that barely restrained emotion that had her shaking where she stood. “If this were not a prophecy, Apollo, you know I would help - I would get you out of there in a heartbeat. You know I would never abandon you. Hades' sake, I’m not abandoning you even now, ”she seethed. 

Ah - he now knew the emotion now - indignation.

“I had no choice but to stand aside and watch as Father had you dragged out of the throne room unconscious. I had no choice but to follow along, knowing that you would be locked away in your palace. I had no choice but to listen to my twin scream and wail in agony and be unable to do a single fucking thing to sooth him. None of us who wanted to help you - me, Mercury, Vesta, even Minerva - had a choice. ” Her eyes shone like liquid silver; tears building there but left stubbornly unshed. “So get your head out of your ass. If you want to be angry - fine. Like I said, you have a right to be. But just remember who exactly deserves your rage. ”

His stomach churns. “Arty--”

She holds up her hand and his mouth shuts with a dull and resound click. Guilty and ashamed, he watches her swipe the tears from her eyes before she looks at him again - face once again schooled to cool neutrality. “I was asked to check up on you and I did. Granted I received a mouth full of barbs for it, but I kept my end of the prayer. ”

He froze. “Wait - prayer? Did ... Did Kleitos-- ”

Once again she halts his words with a twitch of her hand. “Yes. Your lover sent me a prayer not too long ago, ”she explained with a roll of her eyes. Her patience with him now frayed to but wisps. “He asked me to look out for you. Wanted to make sure you hadn't gone “crazy with worry”. ” Her eyes looked him over - top to bottom. "Evidently, you already did."

Fates preserve him - he felt like an Agamemnon level of a jerk. "Sister, please--"

Thrice now, she ignored his words. Honestly, at this point, he didn't blame her. “Save it, Apollo. I really don't want to hear it, ”she snapped. “Now just because it was your lover who asked me to look after you does not mean that I would not if he hadn't. I will always look after you, little brother. Never - and I mean, never - doubt that. ”

With that, she swiftly turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall.

Guilt now dragging him to his haunches, Apollo could only groan and sigh. This incarceration was driving him mad. Surely things could not get any worse than it already is.

~

Correction - it can.

Kleitos’s voice came to him in the evening - a sluggish and pained message: ‘I can’t move… my arms hurt and… all cut up. So hungry ... Fabia ... '

Ever since his father had him locked away, sleep was a scarce visitor to his palace. Whatever rest he could manage only came when exhaustion would finally take its toll and drag him down suddenly into the void of unconsciousness. And this - this prayer; this message from his love - who was in pain; who was hurt; who was being starved - and the terrible silence that followed after did not help, not in the slightest.

He paced and muttered and cursed, circling through the halls of his palace like a restless ghost; and if any were to see him - his hair wild and tangled; heavy shadows cast under his eyes which were blown wide with mad fervor; skin of sickly shade; and clothes so crumbled they were webbed with wrinkles - they would think him exactly that.

Again, his mind conjured terrible images of his Kleitos terribly injured, bleeding out and dying, slowly and agonizingly - alone. He very nearly heaved from them. Nearly collapsed as despair once again weighed him down.

He has never felt so useless.

Then, after a long and agonizing silence, Kleitos's voice came again - sudden and loud with a fury that Apollo had never heard from him before. '... Lord Phoebus Apollo's sacred birds' - ah - so it was an accidental summon of his attention (but one that was welcomed) -' He might be watching you. Deciding where to put an arrow through you. You can't possibly be arrogant enough to think he'd have as hard of a time disposing of you as Python ... I bet one silver arrow would do it. '

Apollo was stunned. Then he found himself grinning - truly now the very picture of a madman as he stared and smiled up at nothing. Temporarily, his fears left him - the sound of his Kleitos so impassioned, so furious at his captor, drawing Apollo back to some semblance of life.

A laugh fell from him - amused and near hysterical in sound. Oh - what a threat his Kleitos had made! If only he knew how much more agony he would have wrought upon the vermin who dared claim "ownership" of his love; who evidently was also the source of his love's agony; and who saw himself equal or, better yet, above the gods. It would be more than just a silver arrow. Apollo wanted this man to die in a manner equal to the pain he caused for both Kleitos and himself.

And that was something that he could focus on. A goal that he could put his energy to rather than remaining in this hunched useless state.

Perhaps he cannot currently help Kleitos. But after, once this prophecy was done and his love was freed of his chains (and Apollo knew he would; his love would not die as someone else's belonging), he could be of use to him. He would be useful to him. Any enemies Kleitos had - whether it be that scum that had “bought” him or even all of Rome - he needed only point and Apollo would take aim.

He didn't sleep that night. The evening’s silence disturbed by the sound of loosed arrows and shattered pottery.

~

As the sun rose sleepily over the horizon, Kleitos voice once again returned; the sound a balm to the still anxious thrum of his heart. 'Phoebus ... I'm still here, heh ... I did something bad. It was an accident but ... '

He lowered his bow with a concerned frown. Kleitos sounded so ... hesitant. So different from the furious snarl that he'd heard hours before.

After a long pause (of which Apollo fretted over; hands tugging and tearing at the fletching of an arrow), Kleitos spoke again. What he had to say only sorrowed the sun god.

‘I’m tired.’ He certainly sounded it. ‘I can't sleep. I'm miserable, and I'm hurt ... '- while it only confirmed what he had already known, Apollo could not help bolt of anger from briefly scorching through him -' ..but I'm not dead. I just - I need a plan ... I don't know what to do. I know ... I haven't told you that much, but I didn't want you to worry ... 'The admission drew an amused huff from him. If only he knew how the silence only made him worry more.

What followed was a picture of misery painted by Kleitos’s downtrodden words. Finaly, he revealed to him his trials - how the man who'd "bought" him had him fettered and chained in a way wherein should his Kleitos attempt to break free, he would only cause further harm to himself. The revelation, while expected - Apollo had suspected some cruel machination had to be on hand to keep his love from simply shattering his bonds and escaping on his own - only stoked the furious flame that ate at his chest. It burned so hot that it now began to bleed into his own abilities - the arrow he held now charring in his grip.

It was the longest Kleitos had ever spoken since this nightmare had begun. He spoke of ideas of escape that didn't fall through - of playing to that scum's desires (a thought that had Apollo near crack a tooth from how hard he grit his teeth); of swearing a false oath to Styx (an idea with too high a consequence to weather) - of the fear and worry that plagued him (a voice that Apollo promised to never have Kleitos sound ever again), and ... of his loss .

Loss wasn't a stranger to Apollo. Loves, friends, children - it came unbidden and often into his life. Each coming always stung, though, if he would allow himself to be honest, he had become used to it after so long. But he never wished Kleitos to ever experience it - especially with someone his love had obviously cared about.

Each hitch of breath, choke of voice, and concealed sniffle was another guilty arrow fired into his heart. Oh how he longed to simply ... be there. To hold Kleitos in his arms; cradle him close and sooth away his sadness. Hearing his it and being kept from him - it was torture.

'I'm not giving up,' he heard Kleitos say; steely determination now settling in his voice, replacing the shaking sadness that near drowned it. 'It's just ... getting harder. I've got to do something. I just don't know what ... '

"I know you'll figure something out, love," said Apollo, voice soft, as it would be had he been facing his love and not another world away. “You're a clever thing. I believe you. ”

'I'm going to try to ... sleep or something.' He sounded so miserable. It made his heart ache.

'I miss your voice.'

"And I miss you," Apollo muttered, forlorn, "seeing you, holding you ... I miss you most ardently."

'I feel like I'm just talking all over you.'

Apollo huffed a laugh. “Oh you don't, dear. Your voice ... It ... It's all that's keeping me sane. "

'Thanks for keeping the ravens here by me ... it just ... it feels like you're closer than you probably actually are. Don't worry too much, okay? Especially if there's really nothing else you can do. There's no point in beating yourself up. '

Bulls-eye. Apollo chuckled. Despite the distance laid between them, trust his love to just know how he was faring. "Oh dear, if only I could make that a promise," he sighed. "I'm afraid I haven't been as kind to myself as you would like, dear."

'I love you. I hope you're getting rest too ... '

“About as much as you do, I wager. Less even, ”he said grimly. "I love you too, Kleitos."

He waited a while. Waited for Kleitos to speak again. When it proved only silence to be his company, Apollo set back to his makeshift targets. The sound of arrows and broken things filled his hollow home - chasing away that dreaded silence until he next heard his love.

~

Pick up an arrow. Knock back. Loose. Crash! Pick up an arrow. Knock back. Loose. Crash!

That was the only sound that ever came from his palace since the night he'd heard his Kleitos rage against his captor. No songs came to him - not with the bleakness that coiled tight around his life. And, frankly, he had no more tears to shed nor screams to loose - all that energy now festooned to his focus, his drive, to improve his already sharp skills so that, when he was freed, he would be of use to Kleitos; to make up for the long days of suffering that he could not save him from.

As before in the earlier days of the nightmare, Kleitos’s messages remained brief. And though it worried at him, Apollo did his damnest to not court with the dark whispers of his frazzled mind. Kleitos is fine (as fine as he can be in his situation), he thought to himself as he trained. He is saving his strength. He'll need it to escape.

As the hours wiled away and dawn turned to day then to dusk and night, Apollo trained - mute.

With his "docility" came the return of visitors to his palace.

Several of his fellow Olympians would pass by his door, no longer avoiding it like a plague as he ceased his “hysterics”. Some (Dionysus, Aphrodite, Hephaestus, Athena, and Zeus) would merely pass and peek in through the punched in hole on his door before moving on, saying not a single word. Few (Demeter, Hestia, and Hera) would do the same but make some sound of pity at his state - usually a sigh and a sorrowful look that would burn at his back before they too left.

There were those, however, who made an effort to speak to him.

Artemis often dropped by, bearing idle gossip - something that she never cared for, but he knew she only spoke of to keep him in touch with the world beyond his palace: “Heard something interesting happened today. Care to hear it, little brother? ”

Hermes would drop by his door whenever he could spare a second. Usually making use of his seconds-long breaks to make idle commentary of his poor appearance and even poorer abode: “You know this place looks like Ares had used it as his training ring, right? Crazy to think the cause of all this mess was actually you. ”

Even Ares would grace him with his presence - though sparingly. And with him he only brought his thickheaded jeers and taunts - all poor attempts to rouse some sort of reaction from him: “Made a bet with Eris the other day about your mortal boy toy. I wagered that he'll keel over by the end of the week. ”

All of them, Apollo ignored. All of them, he said nothing. For two days, he was silent, focusing only on his makeshift targets and the rhythm of his bow as he fired arrow after arrow after arrow.

~

One day - Olympus cast in the gentle golden light of dawn - he sensed a presence linger by his door. One that would usually spare him a glance before moving on, silent as a tomb.

Like always, Apollo said nothing. Not even giving a sparing glance to his unwelcome visitor.

Athena too said nothing. Minutes dragging, she merely watched him as he loosed his arrows into his now dwindling number of vases and clay statues; her expression, he imagined, likely as animated as a slab of marble - cold and stoic.

Then she spoke. Her voice absent of any discernibly feeling. Only four words: “It will end soon.”

Breaking, he turned around to face her.

But Athena was gone. Leaving Apollo alone in silence, but the absence of sound no longer found him full of dread. Rather, warmth filled him - a light fluttering thing.

He felt hopeful.

~

When the sun rose to its zenith, that little fluttering thing of hope in his chest grew stronger when Kleitos's voice echoed in his mind.

'So I have an idea ...'

~

Apollo was restless. Continuing his chain of relentless fine tuning of his bow skills did little to quiet the worried whispers that echoed in his mind. Neither did crafting new art pieces to replace those he had broken nor concocting new songs that he wished to perform to Kleitos once this nightmare ended. He could only resume his habit of carving trenches into the grounds of his palace with all his pacing as he fretted over Kleitos and the plan he had created and shared with him hours ago.

'I'm going to bite him. I'm going to try to kill him ... 'was what Kleitos had said; and with such determination. He meant it. Apollo knew (and didn't that angry flame that burned so deep and bright in his chest just crackle and glow with satisfaction at the thought). He had an idea of ​​what his love was capable of - he was a Spartan after all.

Still ... He's frowned. Kleitos’s plan relied quite heavily on chance and luck - too much for Apollo to be comfortable with.

'... if I kill him ... then someone will let me up ... and then I'll run and fight like Cerberus is on my ass. Foolproof plan, right? ’- Not entirely had been his comment. It was more foolhardy than foolproof. 'I just gotta ... get him to come in close ... A little luck, a little showmanship ... If he tries to kiss me' - And didn't that thought just spur his temper - 'or anything like that I'm going to bite his face off ... '

And that was it for his plan. Draw the bastard close with subterfuge and attack, hopefully kill him in the process.

Not the sturdiest plan he had heard, but, as his love so aptly had said, 'it's gotta be better than nothing'.

Day faded to night and still Apollo waited, pacing now near the doors that lead out to his private garden; eyes locked to the sky, as if its countless stars held the answers to the results of his love's plan of escape. Oh how he hated this. The waiting. The great expanse of unknown - of how little he could do; of how little he knew. He didn't even know if Kleitos would enact his plan tonight.

But it is likely. He reminded himself of how certain, how eager Kleitos had sounded. Then there was Athena and the vague message she'd left.

“It will end soon.” The words sounded different in his lips. With Athena, it sounded so solemn - a promise. With him, it sounded so ... hopeful - a wish. And is that not what it is to him? A wish; one that he had since he found the doors of what should be his home locked and lashed with burning nets. A wish to see his love, safe and unharmed (though he knew Kleitos was anything but); to hold him in his arms; to shield him away from any more pain; to just ... be with him and not be alone in this damned empty palace.

Before his thoughts could spiral further downward ...

'Apollo ...'

He jerked at the sound of Kleitos's voice echo in his mind. His heart hammered. Was he alright? Did his plan work? Was that bastard dead?

'I didn't kill him' - he fettered his disappointment - 'but I did get a taste.' That drew a sharp grin across his face. A taste, he said - so he, at least, managed to wound the bastard; and the thought of the scum getting some degree of comeuppance sent a Nemesis-sent jolt of joy ringing through his body. 'I think ... I hope he might be sending me away. He’s pretty pissed off. '

His love's message to him ends with the lovely sound of his laugh echoing in his head. The sound of it and the tinge of satisfaction in his love’s voice washed over him in a cooling wave. While it didn't go exactly as planned, there was change now in the horizon of Kleitos's future - he could sense it. If the Fates would allow and bless it (and for the love of Gaea, they better do), his love would be ferried away from that scum's awful clutches. Where exactly his love would be sent to - that Apollo fretted of in those dark corners of his mind, but that could harrow him some other time. Now ... Now was a time for some celebration.

It will end soon. Athena had said those four words like a promise. And now Apollo found himself believing in it.

“This will end soon.”

~

Apollo spent the next morning in brighter spirits. Song had returned to him as he hummed a wordless yet jubilant tune as he went about his day, painting and crafting, practicing and, occasionally, composing - using his merry tune as a base for something wonderful.

“What have you in such high spirits?” Artemis had asked during one of her occasional visits to his palace and prison.

He turned to her, smile fixed in place, and answered, gracefully ignoring her blatant shock (which was understandable considering how long he had gone, bestowing nothing but silence to all who bothered to visit him): “A change in the weather, Arty . One that I am very pleased with. ”

He said nothing more, focusing back on his present fixation of the hour and ignoring the confused look his twin gave him before, upon realizing that he would not be clarifying on what he'd said, taking leave of him. His sister was a clever soul - she was his twin, for Zeus's sake - he had faith that she would piece it together eventually.

While he was experiencing a rare day of levity, his worries still hounded him. The question of what that bastard was planning on doing to his Kleitos - where exactly he was planning on sending him away to - gnawed at him during the idle moments of the morning. After all, Kleitos did not say that it was certain that he would be sent away; instead he had only said he hoped that would be the case.

Brow pinched, Apollo feared that Kleitos could end up severely punished for what he had done, or worse, he could be executed for inflicting harm on his "master" (the title being matched by that monster who had his love made him gag). He was painfully aware of how most Romans are with ... disobedience among their "slaves". The idea of ​​Kleitos being subjected to more pain (the idea of ​​him dying) ...

Apollo shook his mind free from the chains of that idea. He would not despair. Not again. Not now. Not when hope was within reach.

"There is no use wasting myself away over possibilities," he reproached himself. He'd already spent so many days doing exactly that. He would not allow himself to fall back into that pit. He would get his answer to what comes next for his Kleitos soon enough.

~

'I guess I'm going to a gladitorial school, that sounds pretty fun ...'

"Not exactly the word I would use to describe it," Apollo grumbled.

Gladitorial school ... Kleitos was being sent to be a gladiator; sent to fight and kill for the sake of entertainment. He wrinkled his nose; discomforted at the thought. He took no joy in violence (most of the time), and the fact that the Romans had made a sport of killing and death was distasteful. (Though he had to admit Kleitos would likely thrive in that environment. Perhaps come away with some new lessons from how they trained their would-be fighters in the school.)

'Anything's gotta be better than here.'

Apollo sighed. Kleitos did have a point. Being a gladiator was indeed a better situation than as a bound ... possession. (Urgh.) At least in the arena, Kleitos could fight back.

'I wonder if when I get of here you can come back to me ... I miss you.'

"And I miss you too as well," he mumbled, staring longingly out of his palace's open windows. He hoped that was the case. That once Kleitos was freed from wherever that bastard had placed him, he too would be loosed from his gilded cage. The minute he was so, nothing would stop him from flying to his love.

'I don't know what's going on, but I hope it's over pretty damn soon.'

"You and I both."

~

The silence that came the following day riled up his nerves, but he kept himself busy to ward off the worst of his fears. Kleitos would speak to him eventually. There was no point in fretting.

Already Apollo began to count the days that would pass until his own freedom came to be.

~

The days that followed were ... happier to say the least. The day after the one where he had heard nothing from his love Kleitos had contacted him again bearing an apology and an explanation. Apparently that bastard was with him the entire time on the transport to the gladitorial school; thus he could say nothing without catching some unwanted attention from the gnat.

'I'm here now though,' he told him, meaning he had arrived at his destination and was finally free from that scum's grasp. 'Still chained up but just ... you know, chained and not strapped down. So, already better. Things are looking up. I think in a few days I'll probably be able to get them to take the chains off. '

After that fateful message, Kleitos contacted him regularly. He regaled him with information about his current abode and whatever he had learned and saw around the school. If Apollo did not pay too much attention to his caged environment, it would have been like as it usually would be on the busy days where he could not visit him. Him sharing stories of his day to make the distance between them easier ...

And the purpose was still relatively the same if the context was not. Hearing his Kleitos chatter about the goings of his day eased Apollo; and those moments where he would throw out ideas of what could be a possible escape plan gave his mind something to gnaw on - making songs and artwork simply to pass the time could only go so far ... especially once he started running dry on ideas and inspiration.

Days passed faster and days were light again; and Apollo was starting to feel like - well - himself. The cumbersome weight that were a conglomeration of his fears, his anger, and his despair steadily lightened as time blundered by; and while the damage to his palace could not be dealt with on his own, new art pieces that he found worthy began to fill in the spaces left by those he had destroyed in his rage (and those that he had used as target practice).

There was also a change now in Olympus. While he could not see it; he could feel it.

Over the course of the days, there is energy in the air. It wasn't like how it would be when his father stood on the brink of unleashing his lightning bolts upon the world (or upon himself), only it was less of that sense of danger in the atmosphere, but more like ... like the all the world was collective holding its breath. That all of heaven was waiting for something to happen.

Activity was spurring outside of his palace. No longer did any of his fellow Olympians stop by to provide unwanted commentary to his imprisoned situation; instead he would catch them passing by his door in a flurry of action - sometimes alone and sometimes in duos or trios or groups of more; heads ducked and whispering furiously to one another.

It was annoying. He wasn't used to being so left out. “What is going on?” he grumbled, fed up after seeing the silver blur that was his sister dashing by his door without so much of a “How do you do?”.

“Something epic is afoot ~”

He jolted, surprised, before whirling around. He grinned. “Calliope!”

Standing on the other side of the archway leading out to his and his Muses' garden space, taking care to avoid touching the glittering gold netting that still remained fixed over it, with a matching grin on her face was one of his beloved friends, his Muse of Epics. "Yes' tis I," she said with a dramatic flourish that had him chuckling. After, she gave him a once over. Whatever she saw, she disliked - evident by how she crinkled her freckled face. "You look terrible."

He merely sighed and acknowledged her words as true. While sure he was eons better than his previous rumpled, rat's nest of hair appearance during the start of his "punishment", he knew he still showed the signs of his troubles in the shadows that still lingered in his eyes; the knots in his hair; and the paint and ink stains that he still lacked the energy to wave away as he is wont to do.

"Oh I am quite aware, Calli, but thank you for dutifully reminding me," he said dryly. “Where have you been? In fact, where have you and all of the other Muses been? Why could I not find any of you? Why ... ”His voice gave away. Why did you leave me be?

Her expression crumpled to one of deep regret and sorrow - one that he had only ever sen once, when her dear Orpheus had died. (The sight of it pinched at his heart.) “I think you know why, Apollo.”

He scowled. (And that pinch grew into a furious throb.) “My father.”

She nodded. “Mhm. He forbid us from flying to your side when word got out about the prophecy the Fates had intoned about Kleitos, ”she explained. "He knew that, if we could not help you in escaping your palace-turned-prison, we would be unquestionably do as you wish ... like ferrying messages between you and Kleitos. Made us swear an oath to Styx to leave you be. ”

"An oath?" He stepped closer to her; alarmed now at her appearance. "Then why in Hades are you here if you swore not to?"

To his surprise, Calliope merely smiled at him; the gesture sharp as a knife and laced with mischief. “Well, I swore not to come to your aide. I never swore to stay away from you entirely for the duration of this damnable prophecy. ” She chuckled.

He laughed. "You sly snake!"

She bowed. “Indeed, I am. I would have come sooner, but you're dramatics meant Zeus and those of your family who are partial to him were watching far too closely for me to drop by without alerting him of my cunning. ”

"Ah, well" - he smiled sheepishly - "can you blame me for how I was?" Then he realized what Calliope had said in response to his initially rhetorical question. “Calliope?”

“Yes?”

"What did you mean when you said 'Something epic was afoot'?"

Her smile only grew. “Oh that! Well, I can't give you the details - oath to Styx and whatnot - but you know how I can always sniff out a heroic tale in the making. ” She winked at him. “And your love is on the cusp of beginning his first chapter.”

Eyes wide, he turned to look back at his damaged front doors where still the noise of activity could faintly be heard. "Is that why--?"

“--All of Olympus is up in a tizzy? Yes. ” She stared out onto the distance - seeing something in the sky that sparked that fire of inspiration he would always see in his Muses when something truly great was about to be.

He worried at his lip. He knew she was bound not to divulge anything about Kleitos, but could the same be be said about himself and his own position in this long and arduous trial?

"Calli, will I play a part in this story of his?"

For a minute, she said nothing; eyes still locked onto some unseen image in the horizon. Then she faced him with an expression as bright as the sun he guides. “Your introduction is coming, lovebird. Hope your arrows are sharpened. You will need them. ”

~

'Apollo, today's the day ...' Kleitos's voice greets him as the sun finds its place in the rose and gold morning sky. 'This is going to work, I just know it! And if the oracles say different - well you better change their minds about it, okay, love? '

His words drew a laugh from him. What a thought! As if he had full control over his oracles, especially in the midst of a Fates-issued prophecy - but, since it was his Kleitos asking it of him, he would certainly try if it came to it.

Truly an excited one, aren't you, my love? He mused with a fond shake of his head.

It appears Kleitos’s day shall be a busy one. Future sight or no - he could see that much; and he could feel it too. Again, the air was alive with that sense of ... destiny. It shot energy into his veins; the feeling like a swarm of bees had began to buzz and zip about. And just outside his palace, carried by the wind, he could hear a commotion beginning to clamor in the heart of Olympus.

It appears the prophecy was truly underway, and all the eyes of the heavens now watched whatever chaos his beloved was surely causing down below.

With a snap of his fingers, his hair righted itself - untied knots and tangles sprung loose until his golden strands once more fell in waves over his shoulders; his wrinkled and art stained robes were cleared of its blemishes; and he rid himself of any sign of his troubles - shadows and all. As his love had said - “Today’s the day”. He had to be presentable when he was reunited with him.

Apollo waited.

~

The wait was long. The sun, as always, had completed its journey across the sky, with its twin, the moon, now taking its place. Apollo was not a patient man, but he could be when needed - and he needed to be for this.

The morning commotion had evolved into quite a tumult. One that carried all throughout the day. As per usual since this hell began for him, none bothered to come by his palace and give him the news of what exactly was going on, but he heard the occasional words that were loud enough to carry in the wind and reach his ears. “Spartacus” was one that was one he heard frequently - it sounded like a name; though it had no meaning to him. The ones that did - "slaves", "free", "escaped", "fighting" - though disjointed and lacking in context, were enough to paint a picture in his mind to what exactly his Kleitos had sprung upon the Romans.

"Kleitos, you naughty chaotic man," he cooed.

Finally, that tumult grew louder ... closer. Then it stood right outside his door.

Apollo pushed off of the partially broken pillar he'd been lazily leaning against and faced the front doors of his palace.

He heard a sound similar to that of a light spring shower briefly in the air and a great ka-chunk resounded as whatever lock and barrier his father, and Hephaestus too, had placed came undone. And with a deep groan of stone, the doors opened ... and Apollo once more found himself meeting the face of his father, surrounded by some of the Olympians - a bright-eyed and grinning Hermes; his sister, Artemis, stone-faced but eyes alight; stoic Athens; and Ares, who nursed a particularly sour glower.

"So it's done then?" He asked with a lazy drawl, though he knew the answer already.

His father gave an unimpressed chuff. “It is. The prophecy is set and in motion. ”

“Good. I wish I could say that I enjoyed my time lounging about here at “home”, ”he sneered,“ but that would be lie, right? ”

Only Artemis and Hermes flinched at the venom in his voice. Athena, at least, gave him a rare sympathetic gaze. Ares merely released a particularly loud and obnoxious snort. And Zeus? Well, as always when it came to him, his father was as impermeable as mountain. Though he did burrow his brows at him - the gesture casting a shadow over his eyes.

"He is a threat to Rome," he rumbled.

At that, Apollo merely shrugged. “Good. I've always wanted to see this fucking empire burn. ”

Before his father could even start to thunder, he snapped his fingers. In a flash of light - he was gone from Olympus.

~

Apollo found himself standing somewhere in the Roman countryside. The fields and the occasional bundle of trees give shadows in the dark of the evening. But some ways away, he could see the glow of a fire and the sound of merry.

He did not approach just yet. For a moment, he just needed to ... to breathe in the fresh air, which was tinged with the smell of food and drink, and take in the open space ... the darkened sight of the outside. Oh how he missed this ... Truly, he didn't know how much would miss something so simple until it was ripped away from him.

The soft footfalls of feet against grass were then caught by his sharp ears. And even without hearing the voice that followed, Apollo knew who approached.

"Apollo?" Then a chuckle. The sound is much more beautiful to him in person than it ever could be through the echo of a prayer. "Calling for a god of light in the dark is a bit silly, isn't it?"

Apollo don't wait any longer. Not when Kleitos was so close within reach.

He stepped out from where the trees concealed him. For a moment, he could only move that much ... and stare. Even in the dark evening, he could see the marks this prophecy had left on his beloved - how he seemed sharper now from the trials he had to face alone, and the dark impressions of scars that had been left on his skin. And Oh - how it burned to see those ... 

The sight of the scars - on his wrists; on his chest (Where else was his Kleitos scarred?) - were just accusations of his failings. He could have prevented them. He could have protected Kleitos from suffering so ...

The guilt burned him, but he wasn't able to wallow long in it as a bright and beautiful smile crossed Kleitos's face, that and tears, happy and relieved, welled in those blue eyes of his that he loved so much. With a jubilant shout, the vampire launched himself at him - and sent both of them careening into the ground.

“You’re out! You're out too! We made it! ” Kleitos cried.

Apollo would have said something to him - words such as how much he had missed him; how he loved him so much; how much he wanted to apologize more - but was stopped by the press of Kleitos's lips against his ... and his guilt, his regrets ... they all melted away from the warmth of his love. So Apollo said nothing - there would be a time for that later. For now, he would do as he had always wished since that first day locked away in his palace: He would hold Kleitos tight in his arms and lavish him with all the love and affection that he had for him.

They had time. After all, he would never leave Kleitos’s side ever again.