#i love vanishing from the face of the earth only to return and post a dissertation no one asked for | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

earthlybeam · 7 months ago

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Hello. It's great.🥰💕 Is it possible for you to add more elves or characters to this request? (For example, other elves you wrote)

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Legolas, Elrohir, Elladan, Erestor, celeborn Versions are below. At the bottom of this post, I’ll leave link to of the last one featuring Mirkwood elves Feren, Meludir, Galion elros.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

Yandere/Dark Elf Legolas x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

𖧧 Legolas, with his keen elven senses and deep emotional connection to the world, would find himself utterly captivated by the presence of the fairy reader. To him, you’re not just beautiful—you’re ethereal, a creature of magic that even the most ancient songs of the elves could not capture. His obsession begins quietly, admiring you from afar, but it quickly becomes all-encompassing. Every moment he spends away from you is an eternity, and every word you speak to someone else stirs a jealousy in him that he cannot suppress.

𖧧 Legolas believes the world is far too dangerous for someone as delicate and magical as you. The shadows of Middle-earth, the wars, the greed of men—all of it threatens to tarnish the beauty of your existence. He uses this reasoning to keep you close, never allowing you to stray far from his sight. His words are sweet but laced with unyielding control “The world outside does not deserve your light, meleth nîn. Only I can ensure you are safe.”

𖧧 Isolation as a Form of Love He would gradually isolate you, not out of malice but because he truly believes he is the only one capable of understanding and appreciating you. He would take you deep into the heart of Mirkwood or another secluded haven, creating a sanctuary just for you. Every aspect of your surroundings would be tailored to your liking, but you would find yourself entirely dependent on him.

𖧧 Legolas’s control over you wouldn’t always be overt. He would gently guide your choices, framing his manipulation as concern. If you expressed a desire to explore the wider world, his face would fall, his voice soft and pleading “Do not leave me, my star. The world out there is cruel, and I cannot bear to lose you to it.”

𖧧 Fierce Jealousy if Anyone who dares approach you would feel the weight of Legolas’s jealousy. His calm, composed demeanor would shift into something darker when he feels his claim on you is threatened. His sharp eyes would narrow, and his words would become cold and cutting “You waste your time with others who cannot even begin to understand you. Return to me, where you belong.”

𖧧 Darker Displays of Affection In private, Legolas’s affection would border on suffocating. He would cradle you in his arms, his voice filled with a desperate intensity “You are mine, forever. No one else will ever love you as I do.” He would press fervent kisses to your face and neck, his grip on you firm, as if afraid you might vanish from his grasp.

𖧧 Legolas is deeply skilled at balancing his dark possessiveness with moments of overwhelming tenderness. He would bring you gifts—delicate flowers, shimmering stones, and other treasures he collects during his travels. He would present them to you with soft smiles, but his words would carry an undertone of need “I found this for you, meleth nîn. Do you see how I think of you always?”

𖧧 The Obsession with Your Magic As a fairy, your connection to nature and magic would fascinate and enthrall him. He would often sit silently, watching you with an intensity that borders on unsettling. If you use your magic, he would be in awe, but also possessive, feeling as though your abilities were something he must protect—something no one else should witness.

𖧧 Physical Possession as Legolas’s need to have you close manifests in physical ways. He insists on holding your hand whenever you walk together, his grip unyielding. He loves to touch your hair, often braiding it with flowers he’s picked, whispering how your beauty humbles him. However, his touch can sometimes feel almost desperate, as though he fears losing you if he lets go.

𖧧 Violent Tendencies Toward Threats Should anyone threaten or attempt to harm you, Legolas would shed all pretense of calm. His skill as a warrior would transform into something terrifying. He would eliminate the threat without hesitation, his piercing gaze and unrelenting precision a clear warning to anyone who might think of crossing him again.

𖧧 Emotional Manipulation If you ever challenge his possessiveness or express a desire for more freedom, Legolas would turn to emotional manipulation. His voice would break, his eyes filled with sorrow “Do you not see how deeply I love you? Everything I do is for you. Without you, I am nothing.”

𖧧 Legolas’s dark love for you is a mix of genuine adoration and an overpowering need for control. He cannot fathom a life without you, and his every action reflects this. Whether through tender gestures, whispered promises, or unyielding possession, he is determined to keep you by his side, no matter the cost.

𖧧 Legolas would often speak of eternity, of how your souls are entwined and meant to be together forever. He would promise you that even after the world changes, even after the time of the elves has passed, his love for you would endure “You are my everything, meleth nîn. The stars will fade, the forests will wither, but my love for you will never die.” In his dark, yandere state, Legolas’s love is a consuming fire—intense, unwavering, and terrifying in its depth. Yet beneath the darkness, there remains a glimmer of the elf who simply wants to cherish and protect the one he loves most in the world.

𖧧 Legolas would be endlessly fascinated by your fairy wings, treating them as sacred and beautiful. He would spend hours marveling at their colors, texture, and delicate movement. He insists on helping you groom them, using the excuse that they are too precious to be left unattended. His touch is both reverent and possessive, his fingers lingering a little too long as he smooths out the edges or untangles strands caught in your feathers.

𖧧 While he is gentle with your wings, there’s a darker undertone to his care. He sees them as a symbol of your freedom, something he desires to bind to himself. He would often whisper, “These wings are too perfect for the cruel world—they should carry you only to me.”

𖧧 Legolas will often wrap his arms around you from behind, pulling your wings flush against his chest as if claiming them. His fingers would trace the base of your wings where they meet your back, a possessive gesture that sends shivers down your spine.

𖧧 In public, Legolas would be subtly protective but in private, his need for physical closeness becomes overwhelming. He always ensures he is touching you in some way—whether it’s holding your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, or resting his forehead against your shoulder while his arms cage you in.

𖧧 His kisses are deep and all-consuming. They leave no room for doubt about his feelings. His lips would trail from your mouth to your neck, always hovering near the curve of your shoulders where your wings start. He sees this area as uniquely yours and uniquely his to adore.

𖧧 If you’re seated together, he’ll pull you onto his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close. If you protest or try to move, his grip tightens slightly. He murmurs, “I cannot let you go. Not now, not ever.”

𖧧 Legolas would weave delicate, intricate braids into your hair, often incorporating small feathers or leaves he finds in the forest, symbolizing his bond with you. These tokens of nature are his way of marking you as his.

𖧧 He insists on sleeping beside you, his body curled protectively around yours. His hand often rests on your wing or the small of your back, a silent reminder of his claim. He sleeps lightly, waking instantly if you shift or try to leave his side.

𖧧 Legolas is highly territorial. He reacts coldly to anyone who even glances at you too long. If another elf expresses admiration for your wings or your beauty, Legolas’s dark side flares. While his exterior remains calm, there’s a burning intensity in his gaze, and he ensures the offending elf is kept far from you.

𖧧 Legolas crafts a special space for you within the forests of Mirkwood, a sanctuary that only he can enter. While it’s beautiful and serene, it’s also a gilded cage. He insists it’s for your safety, whispering, “The world outside is cruel. Here, you’re protected… here, you’re mine.”

𖧧 He carefully watches your every movement, memorizing your habits and preferences. He uses this knowledge to anticipate your needs, always offering what you want before you ask. This might seem sweet at first, but over time, it becomes clear that he’s keeping meticulous control over every aspect of your life.

𖧧 He dislikes it when you interact with others, even your fellow fairies. If you must spend time away from him, he lingers nearby, watching from the shadow , ensuring no one gets too close.

𖧧 Legolas uses physical affection as both comfort and a reminder of his dominance. When you seem restless or distant, he pulls you into his embrace, holding you so tightly it’s almost suffocating. He murmurs sweet nothings in Sindarin, his voice low and soothing, “You belong with me, meleth nîn.”

𖧧 His love for your wings leads him to kiss them often, a possessive act that feels intimate and intense. He trails his lips along their edges, whispering how perfect and ethereal you are, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.

𖧧 If you ever try to resist his advances or question his possessiveness, he becomes eerily calm. His voice softens, but his words carry a quiet menace: “You don’t understand, do you? I’m the only one who can truly protect you. The only one who loves you as you deserve.”

𖧧 Legolas sees you as fragile and delicate, despite your own strength. He insists on accompanying you everywhere, even if it’s just a short walk in the woods. He keeps his bow and quiver ready at all times, his keen eyes scanning the surroundings for any potential threats.

𖧧 If you ever get hurt, no matter how minor, he becomes frantic. His hands shake as he tends to your wounds, his voice breaking as he whispers, “This world is too cruel for someone like you. I won’t let it harm you again.”

𖧧 Over time, his protectiveness becomes suffocating. He starts discouraging you from flying too far, insisting it’s dangerous. He grounds you in more ways than one, using his love as both a shield and a cage.

𖧧 Legolas constantly reminds you that his love for you is eternal. He sees your bond as something that transcends time and space. “We are bound, you and I,” he says, his voice filled with both tenderness and a chilling certainty. “Not even death could part us.”

𖧧 His gestures of love are both beautiful and overwhelming. He carves intricate wooden sculptures of your wings, sings hauntingly beautiful songs about your bond, and writes poems about your beauty. Yet all these acts carry an undertone of obsession—his love is a flame that consumes everything in its path.

𖧧 To Legolas, you are not just a companion or lover. You are his muse, his obsession, and the center of his world. And he will do whatever it takes to keep you by his side, even if it means clipping your wings to ensure you never leave him.

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

⭐️𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓱𝓲𝓻

Yandere/Dark Elf elrohir x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

✧ Elrohir’s fascination with you would begin innocently—his admiration for your ethereal beauty and magical presence would seem pure. However, this admiration would quickly turn obsessive. His deep love and admiration for your fairy-like grace would warp into an insatiable need to possess every aspect of you. Your laughter, your scent, the light in your eyes—all of it would become things he craves, things he believes should belong to him alone.

✧ Unyielding Protection As a dark version of himself, Elrohir’s protective nature would grow extreme. Any threat to you—real or imagined—would spark an immediate and merciless reaction. He would eliminate any potential danger with cold precision, ensuring no harm could ever reach you. To him, even his brother Elladan might seem like a rival or a threat, and his protective instincts would drive him to isolate you from everyone, including family.

✧ Elrohir would see the world as too dangerous for you, your delicate fairy nature too precious and fragile to be exposed to its harshness. He would insist on keeping you close at all times, often in places he deems “safe.” Whether it’s a hidden sanctuary deep in Rivendell or a secluded glade in the woods, these places would become your gilded cage, crafted by him to keep you away from anything he fears might hurt—or take—you away.

✧ Subtle Control Though his love is obsessive, Elrohir would initially cloak his control in kindness. He would subtly manipulate your choices, making you believe that staying close to him is what you truly want. But as his dark tendencies grow stronger, he would begin to exert more overt control, dictating what you wear, where you go, and who you see. He would justify this as “ensuring your happiness” or “protecting your freedom,” while in reality, he’s ensuring no one else can influence you but him.

✧ Elrohir’s jealousy would be as cold and sharp as a blade. If anyone even looked at you with admiration, he would see it as an affront to his claim on you. He wouldn’t lash out openly but would ensure the offender disappears—either banished from his presence or worse. To him, no one else has the right to so much as dream of you.

✧ Elrohir’s love would manifest in overwhelming gestures. He’d shower you with gifts—rare jewels, enchanted items, or delicately crafted things that reflect his adoration for you. But every gift would come with a possessive undertone, a reminder that these treasures are from him, and they symbolize your bond. He’d often remind you that no one else could offer you the love and devotion he does.

✧ Intense Physical Affection His physical affection would be intense and all-encompassing. He’d hold you tightly, almost as if he feared you might vanish if he loosened his grip. His kisses would be deep and consuming, laced with an almost desperate need to reaffirm his claim on you. These moments might feel romantic at first, but they’d quickly take on a suffocating edge, revealing his need to dominate every part of your heart and soul.

✧ Elrohir’s confessions of love would be both poetic and chilling. He’d speak of how you are the light in his otherwise dark world, the one being who gives him purpose. But there would be an undertone of obsession in his words, a belief that you are his alone. He might whisper things like, “You are my starlight, my sanctuary. Without you, I am nothing—and without me, you are lost.”

✧ Consequence of Defiance If you ever tried to resist his control or leave him, Elrohir’s dark side would fully emerge. His normally soft and composed demeanor would vanish, replaced by cold fury and unrelenting determination. He would make it clear that escape is not an option. “You belong to me,” he would say, his voice low and unyielding. “You cannot run from me, for I would find you no matter where you go.”

✧ The Line Between Love and Possession In his heart, Elrohir would truly believe that everything he does is for your sake. He would see his obsessive control and suffocating love as the ultimate expression of devotion. To him, your bond transcends choice or consent—it is fate, unbreakable and eternal. Even as his actions grow darker, he would justify them in the name of love, believing that no one else could ever love or protect you as he does.

✧ Private Intensity Behind closed doors, Elrohir’s affection would be overwhelming. He would pour all of his emotions into your shared moments, whether through whispered words of devotion or intense, consuming embraces. He would cherish every second with you, but his adoration would carry an edge of possessiveness that makes his love feel more like a binding vow than a gift.

✧ A Dangerous Protector While Elrohir’s dark love would often manifest in possessiveness, it would also make him an unrelenting protector. Any true threat to your safety would be met with swift and deadly action. He would not hesitate to strike down anyone who dared to harm or even approach you without his approval. His protective instincts, while born of love, would leave a trail of destruction in their wake.

✧ Elrohir would see your relationship as eternal, unbreakable by anything or anyone. He would frequently speak of “forever,” not as a promise but as a statement of fact. To him, you are his destiny, his one true love, and he would do anything to ensure that you remain by his side for all eternity—whether you want to or not.

✧ Elrohir's physical affection is intense and consuming, always leaving you feeling overwhelmed by the sheer weight of his devotion. He's drawn to your delicate, otherworldly form like a moth to a flame. Your wings-so fragile and luminescent-are his greatest fascination. He's obsessed with their beauty and the way they shimmer in the light, often running his fingers over the edges with a reverence that borders on obsession.

✧ Elrohir makes it his responsibility to care for your wings. He gently brushes them, ensuring they remain pristine and free from harm. If you're ever injured, he's the first to notice, tending to your wounds with a tenderness that contrasts with the dark possessiveness in his gaze. But his care comes at a price: he won't let anyone else even glance at your wings, seeing them as a part of you that belongs only to him.

✧ When Elrohir holds you, it's as if he's trying to fuse your soul with his. His arms wrap around you tightly, his hands tracing the curve of your back with a possessive touch. He's careful with your wings, always mindful not to damage them, but his grip on the rest of you is unyielding. To him, holding you this way is a reminder that you're his and no one else's.

✧ Elrohir worships you with every touch and gesture. He kneels before you, his hands cradling your face or resting on your wings as if you're a divine being sent to him alone. He often kisses the tips of your wings, murmuring words of devotion in Elvish as his lips graze the fragile edges. These moments are both tender and unnerving, as his love feels more like a claim than a gift.

✧ Elrohir insists on being close to you at all times, often resting his head against your shoulder or wrapping his arms around your waist while you sit together. His presence is inescapable, his hands always finding their way to your arms, your hair, or the base of your wings. He craves the warmth of your body, needing the physical connection to reassure himself that you're still his.

✧ Restrained Passion Though his love for you is fiery and consuming, Elrohir is careful when it comes to your wings. He knows how delicate they are and handles them with the utmost care, but this restraint only amplifies the intensity of his affection elsewhere. He kisses you deeply and possessively, his hands gripping your waist or shoulders as though he's trying to anchor you to him.

✧ In private, Elrohir's affection becomes even more overwhelming. He whispers sweet but dark words in your ear, his hands stroking your wings as he tells you how much he loves and needs you. He might say things like, "Your wings are the light of my existence, but it's your heart I crave the most. You were made for me, and I will never let you go."

✧ Elrohir is fiercely protective of you, especially your wings. He refuses to let anyone near you, even if their intentions are innocent. If anyone so much as brushes against your wings, his calm demeanor vanishes, replaced by cold, simmering fury. He'll do whatever it takes to ensure that no one else can touch what he sees as his alone.

✧ To keep you safe, Elrohir constructs a hidden sanctuary just for the two of you. This place is designed to accommodate your wings, with wide, open spaces for you to stretch them and soft perches where you can rest. Every detail is meticulously planned, but it's all done to keep you isolated, away from prying eyes and potential threats.

✧ Possessive Displays of Affection Elrohir loves to touch your wings in public, not just as an act of affection but as a way to assert his claim. He'll run his fingers along the edges or rest his hand on your back, just below your wings, letting everyone know that you're his. These gestures are subtle yet unmistakable, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that you belong to him.

✧ Dark Devotion His care for you borders on reverence, but it's tinged with a dark intensity that can be suffocating. Elrohir sees your wings as a symbol of your beauty and uniqueness, something that sets you apart and makes you his perfect match. He would go to any lengths to protect and preserve them, even if it means keeping you away from the world.

✧ Eternal Love and Possession Elrohir frequently speaks of your eternity together, his voice filled with both love and an unyielding determination. He believes your wings are a part of your soul, and by cherishing them, he's cherishing you.

"You are my starlight," he might say, tracing the edges of your wings with his fingers. "And I will guard this light until the end of time. You are mine, now and forever."

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

⚔️𝓔𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓷

Yandere/Dark Elf Elladan x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

⭒ Obsessive Love and Possessive Tendencies as Dark Elladan’s love for you is consuming and overwhelming, transforming him into a possessive guardian of your existence. He views you as a radiant, ethereal being whose light belongs solely to him. His obsession manifests in the way he watches over you, memorizing every detail about your life. From the tone of your voice to the way your wings shimmer in the moonlight, no aspect of you escapes his intense focus.

⭒ Elladan is convinced that the world is too dangerous for someone as delicate and otherworldly as you. He would use his charm and cunning to gradually isolate you, convincing you it’s for your safety. Whether it’s Orcs, Men, or even other Elves, he sees everyone as a potential threat to your purity. Rivendell becomes your gilded cage, a sanctuary where no one but Elladan and his chosen few can approach you.

⭒ Elladan’s playful, carefree nature from his lighter self twists into a more manipulative version. He decides what you eat, where you go, and who you speak to, all under the guise of ensuring your comfort and security. If you question his decisions, he brushes off your concerns with soothing words or sharp remarks about the dangers of the outside world.

⭒ Dark Playfulness with a Dangerous Edge While Elladan retains his mischievous streak, it becomes laced with a darker intent. He might tease you about how fragile you are or how easily someone else might try to steal you away, but there’s an underlying menace to his words. He enjoys watching you squirm under his possessive gaze, yet his affection never wanes—it only deepens, becoming almost suffocating.

⭒ Elladan’s affection is no longer the lighthearted smothering of his usual self. Now, every kiss, every embrace, feels like a declaration of ownership. He pulls you close, his grip firm, as though afraid you might vanish if he lets go. His kisses are deep and lingering, filled with a passion that borders on desperation. He whispers words like “Mine” and “You belong to me” against your skin, reaffirming his claim on you.

⭒ Jealousy and Ruthless Elimination of Rivals as Elladan is not one to tolerate any form of competition. If someone else dares to show interest in you or even gazes at you for too long, they become a target of his wrath. While his actions are subtle, they are devastating—an Orc ambush on the road, a sudden reassignment far from Rivendell. To Elladan, it’s not cruelty; it’s justice for anyone who dares to challenge his bond with you.

⭒ Calm but Dangerous When Upset If you defy him or try to escape his control, Elladan’s usual calm demeanor turns chilling. His voice drops to a quiet, menacing tone, his eyes dark with an intensity that makes it clear there’s no point in resisting him. “You think you can leave me?” he might say, his fingers brushing your cheek with deceptive gentleness. “You belong here. With me. Always.”

⭒ Elladan’s penchant for banter becomes darker and more pointed. He enjoys teasing you in a way that reminds you of how deeply tied to him you are. Comments like “Where would you go without me? The wilds would swallow you whole” or “Don’t you know I’m the only one who can truly keep you safe?” slip from his lips with a sly smile.

⭒ Elladan’s protectiveness borders on paranoia. He’s haunted by the memory of his mother, Celebrian, being taken and tormented. This trauma fuels his need to keep you close at all times, never letting you venture far without his supervision. Even a short walk alone becomes a battle of wills, with Elladan insisting it’s far too dangerous.

⭒ Tender Moments Turn Intense Though his love is dark and obsessive, Elladan is still capable of tender moments. When you are hurt or upset, he tends to you with a gentle touch, his concern genuine. However, his tenderness often takes a possessive turn as he uses your vulnerability to draw you closer to him. “See?” he murmurs as he bandages a wound. “You need me. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

⭒ Punishment as a Form of Devotion If you ever push too far—attempt to flee, reject his affection, or openly defy him—Elladan’s patience snaps. His punishments are never physical but emotional, isolating you further or withholding his usual warmth to make you regret your actions. He believes this is for your own good, a way to teach you that life without him is unbearable.

⭒ A Deep Fear of Losing You Beneath Elladan’s dark obsession lies a deep-rooted fear of losing you. The idea of you being taken from him, as his mother was, drives his every action. Even in his darkest moments, his love for you remains the foundation of his behavior—twisted, suffocating, and unyielding. “I would burn the world to keep you safe,” he tells you with a fervent gleam in his eyes. And you believe him.

⭒ Elladan’s need to be close to you can feel overwhelming. He insists on sleeping curled around you, his arms and legs tangled with yours while his hands rest protectively on your wings. Even when awake, he stays close enough that his presence feels inescapable, his touch constant and grounding, as if to remind you that you can’t leave him.

⭒ In his darkest moments, Elladan’s love takes on an almost sinister edge. As he strokes your wings, his voice drops to a quiet, unyielding tone: “I would destroy this world to keep you safe, my love. No one else will have you, not while I live. If you ever leave me…” His words trail off, but the weight of his promise lingers, heavy and chilling.

⭒ Elladan is utterly captivated by your wings, seeing them as the most beautiful and delicate part of you. They symbolize your ethereal nature and remind him of how different—and precious—you are compared to anyone else. He often reaches out to touch them, his fingers brushing gently against their fragile, shimmering surface, murmuring about how they’re a part of you no one else should dare to admire. He’ll make a habit of preening your wings himself, treating the act as an intimate ritual that only he is allowed to perform.

⭒ Elladan’s physical affection is overwhelming and constant, designed to remind you that you are his. He loves to pull you into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His touch is firm yet reverent, as though he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go. When he kisses you, it’s slow and consuming, as if he’s trying to pour all his love—and his claim—into every movement.

⭒ Your wings are delicate, and Elladan uses that as an excuse to carry you everywhere he deems too dangerous for you to tread on your own. He lifts you effortlessly into his arms, holding you close as if shielding you from the world. “You don’t need to walk when I’m here,” he says softly, brushing his lips against your temple. He particularly enjoys moments where you rest your head against his chest, your wings fluttering faintly as you relax in his embrace.

⭒ Elladan makes tending to your wings his sacred duty. He carefully cleans and smooths them, ensuring they remain unblemished and perfect. These moments are deeply intimate, with Elladan whispering soft words of adoration as he works. “You are a vision of light,” he murmurs, his hands gentle yet possessive. If anyone else even suggests touching your wings, Elladan’s playful nature vanishes, replaced by a cold, territorial glare.

⭒ Elladan’s touch is ever-present, as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he’s not holding onto you. Whether it’s a hand resting possessively on your waist, his fingers threading through your hair, or his arms encircling you from behind, Elladan ensures you’re always within his reach. He especially loves trailing his fingers along the edges of your wings, marveling at their beauty and fragility.

⭒ Elladan’s kisses are an extension of his obsession, a way for him to claim you over and over again. He often cups your face in his hands, pulling you into deep, lingering kisses that leave you breathless. When he’s feeling particularly possessive, he’ll press kisses along your neck, shoulders, and the base of your wings, whispering promises of devotion between each one.

⭒ Elladan is fiercely protective of your wings, treating any threat to them as a personal offense. If you’re in danger, he places himself between you and the threat, his sword drawn and his expression deadly. Afterward, he checks your wings meticulously, his hands trembling slightly as he ensures they’re unharmed. If they’re injured, even slightly, his rage is uncontrollable—he’ll hunt down whoever or whatever caused.

⭒ Elladan often uses his strength to keep you close, holding you in place when you try to pull away. If you’re upset or resisting his affection, he’ll wrap his arms around you tightly, murmuring soothing words in your ear. “Shhh, my star,” he whispers. “Don’t fight me. I only want to keep you safe.” His hold is firm but never painful, though the possessiveness behind it is undeniable.

⭒ When you’re frightened or upset, Elladan becomes uncharacteristically gentle, his dark obsession momentarily overshadowed by genuine care. He’ll guide you into his arms, wrapping you in his cloak to shield your wings from any chill. His hands stroke your back and wings with a tenderness that almost feels out of place, his voice soft as he whispers reassurances. “You have nothing to fear,” he says. “Not when I’m here to protect you.”

⭒ Elladan loves to leave subtle marks of his affection on you—not bruises or anything that would harm you, but small, lingering touches that remind you of him. He might braid small flowers into your hair and wings, saying they symbolize how he sees you: beautiful, delicate, and entirely his. He also loves to kiss the base of your wings, leaving the faintest sensation of his presence there.

⭒ When you’re resting, Elladan insists on holding you close, his body curled protectively around yours. Your wings are carefully tucked into his embrace, and he makes sure they’re free of any pressure or discomfort. He’ll murmur soft words of love and devotion as you drift off to sleep, his hand trailing along your back and wings in soothing strokes.

⭒ To Elladan, your wings are sacred, and he treats them as such. He often kneels behind you, tracing their delicate patterns with a mix of awe and possessiveness. “You are beyond anything I could have imagined,” he whispers, his voice tinged with both reverence and obsession. His worshipful treatment of your wings becomes another way for him to express his undying devotion.

⭒ Even in the midst of battle or danger, Elladan finds ways to express his love. If you’re injured, he becomes a whirlwind of deadly precision, cutting down anyone or anything that threatens you before turning his full attention to your wounds. He carefully tends to your wings, his hands steady despite the fury still burning in his eyes. “I’ll never let anything harm you again,” he vows, his voice low and fierce.

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

📚𝓔𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻

Yandere/Dark Elf erestor x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

✎ Erestor’s sharp mind, typically dedicated to strategy and problem-solving, becomes consumed by you. As a fairy, your ethereal nature fascinates him beyond reason. He memorizes your every movement, expression, and habit, cataloging them with the same meticulousness he applies to organizing Rivendell’s library. You become the centerpiece of his thoughts, an intricate puzzle he is determined to solve and possess entirely.

✎ Erestor views Rivendell—and the world beyond—as rife with threats to your delicate beauty and unique spirit. He takes it upon himself to “shield” you, using his influence and intelligence to ensure no one has the chance to get too close. He might subtly undermine relationships or tasks that demand your attention away from him, presenting his actions as logical solutions for your safety and well-being.

✎ Intellectual Manipulation With his dry wit and logical demeanor, Erestor has a way of twisting conversations to suit his ends. If you express a desire for freedom or independence, he’ll counter with rational arguments, using your own words and feelings against you. His tone remains calm and measured, but there’s an underlying intensity to his logic that leaves you questioning your own desires.

✎ Erestor doesn’t overtly forbid you from seeing others but instead orchestrates situations that make solitude—and his company—the more appealing option. He may invite you to the library for long discussions or leave thoughtful notes that demonstrate how deeply he understands you, creating a sense that no one else could possibly connect with you as he does.

✎ Erestor takes control of your surroundings with an almost imperceptible finesse. Your favorite books suddenly appear on your bedside table, your preferred flowers are always in bloom near your window, and your schedules mysteriously align with his. These gestures, though thoughtful, are calculated moves to keep you within his grasp.

✎ Erestor’s reserved nature makes his affection all the more intense when it manifests. His love comes in subtle, possessive gestures: a hand lingering on your shoulder, his gaze locking onto yours a moment too long, or a quiet murmur of your name laced with reverence. Each interaction feels like a promise that you are his and no one else’s.

✎ Dark Humor and Sarcasm When it comes to others who might admire you, Erestor’s dry sense of humor takes on a cutting edge. He might comment on their shortcomings in a way that seems lighthearted but carries a clear warning: they are beneath his notice and yours. His sarcasm becomes a weapon to belittle potential rivals without overt hostility.

✎ Relentless Devotion In private, Erestor’s love borders on suffocating. He insists on knowing your thoughts and feelings, claiming it’s to better understand you. He’ll whisper promises of eternal devotion, his voice a mix of tenderness and quiet intensity: “You are mine, in mind and spirit. No force in Arda could take you from me.”

✎ Anger as Ice, Not Fire When angered or jealous, Erestor doesn’t lash out. Instead, his rage is cold and calculated. He distances himself emotionally, withholding his usual warmth while quietly orchestrating events to punish those who crossed him—or you. His icy demeanor during these times is more unsettling than any outburst.

✎ Erestor expresses his affection through carefully chosen gifts that serve as reminders of his claim over you. A rare, beautifully bound book inscribed with a personal note; a necklace with a pendant shaped like a fairy’s wing; or even a secret alcove in the library filled with items he knows you’ll love. Each gift comes with a sense of unspoken ownership.

✎ Jealousy and Control Even the smallest perceived threat to his connection with you triggers his jealousy. If another Elf or being shows interest, Erestor intervenes with quiet but ruthless efficiency. He may ruin their reputation, reassign them elsewhere in Rivendell, or subtly manipulate circumstances to ensure they stay far away.

✎ Erestor is not one for spontaneous displays of love; every touch, kiss, or embrace is deliberate and meaningful. When he pulls you close, it’s with a firmness that leaves no doubt of his control. He may press you against a library wall, his calm exterior giving way to an undercurrent of hunger as he murmurs, “You are my greatest obsession.”

✎ Punishment through Silence If you defy or upset him, Erestor’s response is cold withdrawal. He won’t argue or raise his voice but will retreat into an icy silence that leaves you desperate for his attention. When he finally relents, it’s with a calculated show of forgiveness that reinforces his dominance: “I can’t stay angry with you, even when you test my patience.”

✎ A Prison Disguised as Paradise as Erestor creates an environment so tailored to your desires that it feels like a dream, but it’s also a cage. He ensures you’re surrounded by comfort and beauty, but every aspect of your life is subtly controlled by him. You may not notice the bars until it’s too late to escape.

✎ Unwavering Devotion to “Forever” as Erestor’s obsession transcends mortal limits. To him, your connection is eternal, and he will do whatever it takes to ensure you remain by his side. His whispers of love often carry a chilling finality: “We were meant to endure together, through all the ages of the world. There is no life for you without me.”

✎ Erestor is utterly captivated by your wings, seeing them as the most exquisite part of your being. He often finds excuses to examine them under the guise of “ensuring their safety.” His fingers, cool and deliberate, trace the veins of your wings with reverence, murmuring about their perfection. He is careful, almost tender, but the intensity in his gaze reveals the darker undercurrent of his obsession.

✎ Erestor insists on personally overseeing the care of your wings, providing rare balms and oils to maintain their ethereal glow. However, this “care” often feels suffocating, as he restricts your movements to ensure no harm befalls them. He subtly discourages you from flying, citing dangers that only he, in his wisdom, can foresee. Your wings become both a source of his adoration and a justification for his control.

✎ Erestor’s touches are firm and calculated, designed to leave no doubt that you belong to him. He often places a hand on your shoulder or waist in public, a silent declaration to others that you are under his protection. In private, his affection is more intense—his hands resting on your wings, holding you close as if anchoring you to him.

✎ Affection with a Hint of Dominance When Erestor kisses you, it’s never impulsive. Each kiss is a deliberate act, slow and consuming, as if he’s memorizing the taste of your lips. He often holds the base of your wings gently while he kisses you, a gesture that is both protective and possessive, reminding you of his unwavering control.

✎ Erestor’s acts of service are deeply personal and intimate. He meticulously prepares special resting cushions designed to accommodate your wings, ensuring they are never strained or damaged. He even crafts a private garden filled with soft, flowering vines that mimic the feeling of flight, but only he is allowed to accompany you there.

✎ Erestor often finds ways to draw attention to your wings, praising their beauty in his quiet, intense manner. He might compose poetry comparing their shimmer to the starlight, whispering it to you in the library. However, his admiration is always tinged with a darker possessiveness: “No one else could ever truly appreciate their splendor as I do.”

✎ Under the guise of concern, Erestor controls nearly every aspect of your care. He insists on inspecting your wings after any outing, running his hands over them to “check for damage” while subtly reinforcing your reliance on him. If you resist his care, his calm demeanor falters, replaced by a cold, commanding tone: “You do not understand the dangers, but I do. Trust me.”

✎ Erestor often wraps you in his arms, holding you against him in a way that presses your wings to his chest. These embraces are both comforting and confining, a reminder of his dominance. He murmurs soft, possessive words against your hair: “You are my light in this world. No one else will ever touch you as I do.”

✎ Delicate Worship of Her Wings At night, Erestor’s affection for your wings becomes almost ritualistic. He gently cleans and massages them with rare oils he procures from far-off lands, his touch lingering as he whispers about their beauty. His tone is reverent, but the intensity of his gaze betrays his darker longing to ensure that no one else could ever admire them as he does.

✎ Restrained Passion Though reserved by nature, Erestor’s affection for you occasionally breaks through in moments of unrestrained passion. He’ll press you against the shelves of the library or a quiet alcove, his hands cradling your wings as he kisses you deeply. His careful restraint keeps him from harming your wings, but the intensity of his touch leaves no doubt of his claim over you.

✎ Erestor uses your wings as a justification to limit your interactions with others. He insists that others wouldn’t understand the delicate care they require and that only he is capable of protecting them. If someone dares to compliment your wings, his mood shifts immediately, his sharp wit cutting them down with icy sarcasm.

✎ Erestor ensures you are surrounded by beauty and luxury, but everything is designed to keep you close. He creates a sanctuary where your wings are celebrated but also confined—a private library, a garden only you can access, all spaces where he is your sole companion.

✎ Possessive Words His declarations of love often focus on your wings as a symbol of your uniqueness. He whispers in your ear with a mix of reverence and obsession: “Your wings are a treasure, as are you. No one else could ever deserve their beauty—or yours.”

✎ Punishment through Neglect If you defy him, Erestor’s punishment is subtle but devastating. He withdraws his care, refusing to tend to your wings or offer his usual attentiveness. The absence of his affection leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed, a reminder of how deeply you rely on him. When he finally relents, his touch is more possessive than ever, a silent warning against future defiance.

✎ Erestor’s obsession with your wings reflects his belief that you are a creature meant to be cherished and protected—for eternity. He views his role in your life as sacred, and his dark devotion ensures that he will never allow you to leave his side. His voice is calm but unyielding as he vows “You are mine, for now and always. No one else will ever know your worth as I do.”

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

Yandere/Dark Elf celeborn x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

𖣂 Celeborn’s deep love for you, the fairy, would become all-consuming, and in this dark version of himself, it would warp his noble traits. His initial admiration for your ethereal beauty would turn into an obsessive desire to keep you in his domain forever. Celeborn would obsess over every little detail about you—your mannerisms, your voice, the way you flutter through the trees in Lothlórien. Everything about you would be perfect in his eyes, and he’d believe that no one else should ever have the privilege of witnessing your magic.

𖣂 Celeborn’s protective instincts would evolve into controlling behavior. He would keep you close, always by his side, ensuring that no one, not even the wind, could harm you. His realm, Lothlórien, would become your gilded cage. He’d forbid you from leaving the borders of his kingdom, believing that the outside world is too dangerous for someone as delicate as you. Celeborn would justify his actions as love, as an attempt to keep you safe, though you would feel more and more like a prisoner.

𖣂 Manipulative Gentlemen Despite his controlling nature, Celeborn would maintain his composed, dignified manner when interacting with you. He’d charm you with his wisdom, acting as the perfect gentleman, but there’s a darkness lurking behind those kind eyes. His words would be sweet but subtly manipulative. He would speak of your shared future, of forever, constantly reaffirming that you belong to him, even as he limits your freedom.

𖣂 Benevolent Tyranny He would lavish you with gifts, but these gifts would be laced with control. He might present you with beautiful, rare flowers from Lothlórien, but they’d always be in bloom under his careful watch, never allowing anyone else to touch or admire them. His love would feel smothering at times, as every action would be done in the name of keeping you safe and happy, but always at the cost of your independence.

𖣂 Jealousy in Silence as Celeborn’s jealousy would not be expressed in fits of rage, but in subtle, quiet acts of dominance. If another male elf so much as looked at you, Celeborn would appear almost immediately, his hand resting possessively on your shoulder or at your waist. His gaze would be sharp, calculating, silently warning others to keep their distance. Any attempt to talk to you would be interrupted, either by him stepping in or by a sudden, seemingly accidental change in the environment—a leaf dropping, the wind shifting—enough to send a silent, threatening message.

𖣂 Silent Watcher Celeborn would always be nearby, watching you, but never letting you know how closely. When you think you’re alone, he would be hidden, his eyes never leaving you. He’d memorize your every movement, and no action would go unnoticed. He believes that this is his duty, to watch over you, ensuring no harm comes your way. But it would feel less like protection and more like an invasion of your privacy.

𖣂 Possessive Affection When Celeborn expresses his love for you, it would be overwhelming and possessive. His compliments would border on obsessive, telling you that you are his, that you are the only thing that matters in his world. He’d often speak of his undying affection, saying things like, “You are my heart, my only love. I would protect you from all things, even from the world itself.” His actions would match his words—each touch would be tender, but it would feel like he’s marking you as his, ensuring that no one else can claim you.

𖣂 Romantic in the Darkest Way as Celeborn’s romantic gestures would be grand, but dark. He might take you on a walk under the stars in the Golden Wood, but the entire time, he’d be watching you, making sure you don’t speak to anyone else. When you share a quiet moment, he might lean in close and whisper in your ear, “My love for you transcends time. Nothing, not even death, will tear us apart.” His love, though beautifully worded, would start to feel like a trap, binding you to him eternally.

𖣂 Celeborn, knowing the pain of losing loved ones throughout his long life, would project his loneliness onto you. He would convince himself that you are the one being who can fill the void in his heart, the one soul that can stand by him forever. He’d be willing to do anything to keep you at his side—no matter the cost to you. The idea of losing you would break him, and he’d go to great lengths to ensure that never happens.

𖣂 Rejection of Independence While Celeborn would still respect your autonomy in front of others, in private, he would chip away at your independence. He’d express his distaste for the world outside Lothlórien, painting it as dangerous and corrupt, convincing you that the only place you truly belong is with him. Slowly, he’d aim to reshape your entire identity, until you see yourself as part of him—inseparable, bound to his side for all eternity.

𖣂 Manipulating Your Affection Whenever you express affection for him, Celeborn would bask in it, but it would also feed his obsession. He would grow addicted to your love, becoming more desperate each time you return his feelings. He’d want more, wanting to feel the depth of your affection constantly, always ensuring that you are emotionally dependent on him. If you ever tried to pull away or express doubt, he would turn colder, his usually calm demeanor shifting to something more intense, his voice carrying an edge that would make you realize just how deeply he feels about you—his possession, his love, his everything.

𖣂 Celeborn’s loyalty to Lothlórien would extend to you, but in a way that traps you within its borders. He’d say, “Lothlórien is a safe haven, my love. A sanctuary where nothing can harm you, where you will never know pain or loss again.” But in truth, it would be his prison for you both, a gilded cage that he would never allow you to leave. The beauty of Lothlórien, its shimmering woods and tranquil waters, would mask the suffocating isolation that Celeborn would subject you to, all in the name of love. In this darker version of Celeborn, his feelings for you would run so deep that they twist into something darker and more possessive, wrapped in the guise of protection and eternal love.

𖣂 Celeborn’s touch would be both tender and intense, as if claiming you without words. His hands would gently stroke your wings, caressing the delicate membranes with reverence, though always with a possessive undertone. He’d often trace the intricate patterns on your wings, as if memorizing them, his fingers lingering a little too long, his gaze too intense. His touch would be careful yet possessive, making it clear that your wings—so unique and beautiful—are something he holds dear, and no one else should ever admire them the way he does.

𖣂 Shielding Your Wings As a fairy, your wings would be one of your most prized and vulnerable features. Celeborn’s protective instincts would kick into overdrive whenever he’s around you. He would make sure that your wings are shielded from harm, constantly positioning himself between you and potential dangers. In the privacy of Lothlórien, he’d insist on carrying you if you grow tired, gently lifting you in his arms so that your wings are never strained. He’d often delicately fold them around you, wrapping them in his own presence as a way to shelter you from the world outside.

𖣂 Jealousy Over Your Wings If anyone shows even the slightest interest in your wings, Celeborn’s protective nature would flare up. He’d subtly, but fiercely, position himself between you and the observer, his hand resting possessively on your shoulder, the touch a silent warning. “Your wings are for me to admire, my love,” he might whisper softly in your ear, making it clear that he doesn’t like the idea of anyone else appreciating their beauty. His obsession with your wings would be all-consuming, as if they were his to care for, to treasure, and no one else’s.

𖣂 When Celeborn gives you affection, it’s always with a degree of control. He would press kisses along the base of your wings, his lips brushing gently against the delicate points where they meet your back. He’d admire the way your wings flutter when he does so, his eyes softening, but there’s always an air of ownership in the way he holds you, as if you’re his to cherish and protect, and no one else’s. While his kisses would be gentle, there’s an underlying tension—a constant reminder that you belong to him, even in these intimate moments.

𖣂 Celeborn, with his love for the natural beauty of the world, would take great care in grooming your wings. He might sit behind you, brushing through the feathers with a careful hand, making sure they stay pristine and perfect, taking a personal interest in your comfort. He’d insist that only he should touch your wings in such an intimate way, brushing away any debris or imperfections that could mar their beauty. The act of grooming would be both a sign of his affection and his control over you—after all, no one else could ever care for your wings the way he does.

𖣂 Soft, Protective Restraints When Celeborn feels a surge of possessiveness, especially in private, he might hold your wings still with an almost imperceptible, yet firm grip, as if reminding you that they are his responsibility, his to keep safe. His hands would run along your wings in a manner that feels both possessive and affectionate—keeping you in place, but always in the gentlest of ways. He would often murmur words of love and protection as he holds you, his voice warm yet intense, reinforcing his belief that your wings, like you, are something precious he must shield.

𖣂 Long, Enveloping Hugs as Celeborn’s affection would manifest in long, enveloping embraces where his arms wrap around you fully, pulling you close to him. His chest would press against your back, and his hands would hover over your wings, gently cupping them to protect them as you lean into him. The closeness would be comforting, but there’s an ever-present feeling of being held too tightly. His love for you, though tender, would never let you go, and every time you try to pull away, his grip would tighten, though not out of malice, but from a need to keep you within his reach.

𖣂 His Own Personal World Celeborn would try to create a world where it’s just you and him, isolated from the distractions of the outside world. He’d make sure to keep your wings safe by building you a secluded sanctuary deep within Lothlórien, a hidden grove where only he could find you. In this space, your wings would be free to stretch and flutter without fear, but always under his watchful eye. He would be there to greet you with soft touches, brushing his fingers against your wings as if marking them as his own. Here, you’d be surrounded by his love—and his control—where you’d feel the weight of both.

𖣂 Celeborn would regard your wings as the most precious part of you, seeing them as symbols of your beauty and grace. When he gives you gifts, they would often be things that reflect the ethereal quality of your wings—silk scarves, fine threads, or precious stones that he’d delicately place on your wings. The idea of you wearing these gifts would please him immensely, and when he sees you wearing something he’s given you, it would feel like an extension of his affection for you, even though it would reinforce the idea that you belong to him.

𖣂 Celeborn’s protection of your wings would be symbolic of his larger desire to control every aspect of your life. When you venture outside Lothlórien, he would go to great lengths to ensure that your wings are always shielded—whether it be with a veil of magic or simply by positioning himself next to you to prevent any accidental harm. His obsession would make him insist on carrying you when you need to fly, always making sure that you’re never out of his sight. He would claim that it’s for your own safety, but deep down, you would begin to feel that it’s just one more way he is tying you to him.

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

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beannoss · 3 months ago

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it’s only me, what have you got to lose? - chapter 12

“You vanish for five days and then expect me to turn up whenever you call?” Franky hissed two hours later when Twilight answered the door, thrusting a bottle of wine into Twilight's chest as he shoved in, shrugging off his jacket. “The least you could do is tell me when you won't be availa — Mrs Forger!” Franky greeted Yor, all cheer and warmth on a dime as Yor joined them. “How are you? I heard little Anya was sick, that must have been worrying for you!”

Ship: Yor x Twilight Rating: M Canon: Manga spoilers

Characters: Yor, Twilight, Anya, Shopkeeper, Handler, Franky

Tags: Identity reveal, family feels, romance, emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort, touch starved, trust issues, intimacy, slow burn, fluff and angst, some humour (eventually), eventual smut, mutual pining

Chapter: 12/24

Overall fic summary:

“Who are you?” Loid met her gaze. Yor wondered what her face was doing, that he was taking so long to answer. “To you, I am Loid Forger.” Why did that hurt more than if he’d struck her? “And to Anya,” he said, some gentleness finally coming into his voice, “I am Loid Forger. Her father. And you are her mother.” Yor stared at him, now certain her devastation was plain on her face. When Yor learns of a plot to kidnap Anya, she returns home to find Loid handling a gun with expert skill, and Anya already taken. After that earth shattering day, in rallying around Anya, Yor and Twilight face a time of uncertainty where choices are made, long-kept secrets are shared, and precarious trust becomes unassailable intimacy.

Start at the beginning ->

Feels a little cheeky posting this, as I sign up this fic for the Finish Your Sh*t WIP Big Bang and this will be the last update for this fic for a few months! But I wanted to say something on my blog about it. When I start posting again, it will necessarily be essentially complete (edits outstanding, basically!) So once it’s only me comes back, it’s back — right through to the final sentence of the final chapter 😤🥳

To steal the explanation from my A/N, the BB is for folks needing an extra push to finish their work. I love this fic so, so much, that isn’t an issue: the heft of what I’ve got planned combined with the rejigging I need to do to future stuff I’ve already written is such that I feel like the structure and space the BB provides will help me get it right.

See you on the other side 🫶💕❣️

#spy x family #twiyor #spy x family fic #twilight x yor #loid x yor

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mireiyuzo · 4 months ago

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Lost souls

AN: hello! I just wanted to write a quick disclaimer, this is my first time writing a fanfic especially in a gothic style. So please forgive me if it’s not a smooth read! I’m open to all constructive criticism so don’t hold back!

✨

Summary: this fanfic is a Geto X Gojo romance novel. It’s written in an old gothic style.

Gojo and Geto have their infamous KFC breakup and this is just a very overly angsty and dramatic take on how things went behind closed doors! FYI in the future there will be 18+ themes but I’ll probably just post it on AOO!

Pairings: Satoru Gojo X Suguru Geto

Warnings: A lot of angst! Some possible 18+ themes (in the upcoming chapters)

1/?

Anyways have fun and enjoy ✨✨

Satoru had been ensnared by a relentless, creeping despair that clung to him like the suffocating fog of a desolate moor. Of late, every step he took seemed an ill-fated one, a misstep into the void, a divergence from the path he once held with such solemn reverence. The very earth beneath him seemed to tremble, as though rejecting him, as though he no longer belonged in this world. His soul, once a beacon striving toward the light, now wandered in shadows, groping for a glimmer that had long since vanished, swallowed by an eternal night.

He had tried, with a desperate fervor, to resist the temptations of darkness, but such efforts were as futile as a man trying to hold back a storm with his bare hands. Deep within, he knew, as much as he might wish to deny it, that he had lost the way. The fragile hope he clung to, like a candle in a tempest, had flickered and gone out, leaving him to stumble blindly through the cavernous abyss.

Two weeks had passed since the very foundation of his existence had crumbled beneath him, and yet those fourteen days felt more like fourteen eternities. He had lost the love of his life, the man he believed would stand by him through the deepest shadows, the one with whom he imagined he would face the cold, eternal silence of death. Now, his world was an empty shell, hollowed out by a sorrow that gnawed relentlessly at his heart.

The relentless passage of time, so often a balm for the wounded, had become his tormentor, stretching each hour into a cruel eternity. The hours dragged like poisoned thorns, each minute a sharp jab, sinking deeper into his chest with every passing second. The pain was unbearable, and yet he could not escape it. The memory of Suguru, his lover—his beautiful Suguru—was etched into every corner of his being. Even the faintest trace of his presence, the faintest ghost of his scent, was enough to send him spiraling into madness, drowning in a sea of whisky and despair. The mere echo of his lover's touch haunted him still, a cruel reminder of all that he had lost.

How he longed to return to the days when Suguru’s fingers would trace delicate circles upon his palm, his touch so gentle, so tender. How he longed to hold onto the warmth of their shared moments, to bury himself in the soft, silken strands of his lover’s hair. But those days were gone, and in their place, there was only an emptiness so vast, it threatened to consume him entirely.

Their parting had not been a violent one, but rather a slow, agonizing fracture that had begun with Satoru’s neglect. He had been so consumed with the demands of his work, with the ceaseless tide of responsibilities, that he had failed to notice the creeping distance between them. And now, he was left alone with his guilt, an ever-present specter that whispered in his ear that it was all his fault. He could not escape it. He could not escape the truth that he had driven Suguru away.

Once again, Satoru lay in his bed, a prisoner of his own sorrow, unable to find solace in sleep. His eyes remained fixed upon the ceiling, a blank canvas upon which his torment was painted. The faintest trace of Suguru’s scent lingered in the room, and it made his stomach churn, as if his very soul recoiled at the memory of the love he had lost.

His hand, trembling with despair, reached out to the vacant space beside him, the place where his lover had once lain. He clutched the pillow that had once cradled Suguru’s head, pressing it to his chest as if by some miracle he might feel his warmth once again. "Do you miss me, too?" he whispered into the empty room, his voice a mere wisp, a fragile thread that could scarcely be heard over the deafening silence. "Do you feel this emptiness, this ache, this coldness that has consumed me?"

He wondered if Suguru suffered as he did, if he, too, felt the crushing weight of loneliness, the hollow void that gnawed away at the edges of his soul. But it was a thought he dared not entertain, for to acknowledge it would only deepen the wound. The world had grown cold to him, distant, as if the very air had turned to ice. He felt as though he were standing on the edge of an eternal winter, one that would never end.

Reluctantly, he dragged himself from the bed, the oppressive weight of his own sorrow heavy upon him. He had no choice but to continue. Life demanded it of him. His obligations—his work—demanded it of him. But as he dressed and forced himself out the door, he knew there was no escape from the torment that had become his existence.

The evening had fallen by the time Satoru left. The sun had disappeared, leaving only a dim and spectral twilight in its wake. The streets, bathed in the eerie glow of streetlights, seemed to stretch on endlessly, an unbroken expanse of asphalt and shadow. He walked, his footsteps echoing in the hollow silence, the chill of the night air biting at his skin.

He walked not with purpose, but with a sense of detachment, as though he were merely drifting, carried along by forces beyond his control. The streets twisted before him, their once-familiar paths now foreign and unfriendly. Each step felt like a descent deeper into the abyss, and yet he could not stop himself.

——————————-———

Once he had arrived at the house that was no longer a *home*, he undressed with a hurried urgency, his hands cold and numb as he shed his clothes. His bare skin, pale and sensitive, yearned for nothing but the touch of Suguru against it. He moved about the empty space with shameless abandon, clad only in his boxers, the stillness of the house a cruel reminder of what he had lost.

He slumped into the kitchen chair, the weight of his emotions pulling him down. With a grim determination, he reached for one of his favorite bottles of whiskey—though, who was he fooling? For the past week, every bottle had become his favorite, as he could no longer endure the endless evenings without drowning his sorrows in its warmth, seeking solace in the numbing embrace of alcohol.

On the other side of the coin, there he was: the man who had somehow turned the strongest among them into a shattered wreck—Suguru Geto.

He lay in his bath, the water a shimmering, tranquil pool that could not calm the pain within him. His head rested against the moist surface of the tub, his pale hands trailing aimlessly through the water, creating gentle ripples—ripples of regret, waves of grief, as his own salty tears mingled with the water, each drop a silent testament to his sorrow.

It had been he who had ended their relationship, and yet, he suffered with a torment equal to Satoru’s. The two weeks of separation had been an unmitigated tragedy. He had grown so accustomed to having his lover by his side that now, the silence of his house was a void too vast to bear. Every reflective surface turned his stomach, for he could not face the man he had become, nor could he stomach the reflection of the choices he had made.

In truth, Suguru’s heart was shattered. The chasm he had carved between them could never be filled—nothing but despair could occupy it.

When he had witnessed what he thought was Satoru’s death, something inside him had shifted irrevocably. The realization settled like a weight upon his chest: if Satoru were truly gone, the anguish would be etched into his very soul, a wound that time could never heal. He could never forgive himself for that.

Nights upon endless nights, Suguru had found himself alone in the dark, curled in the fetal position, a hand clutching his chest as he succumbed to his despair. One arm encircled his legs, as if seeking any semblance of comfort in his own brokenness.

He needed Satoru to live—to be happy—but did Satoru need him? That was the question that gnawed at his insides, eroding him from within.

In Suguru’s mind, Satoru was a radiant being, a force of nature that everyone adored. He was free, untethered, able to command anything he desired with a mere glance. But Suguru, in contrast, was a shadow—silent, introspective, always trailing in the wake of Satoru’s brilliance, ever hopeful that his hand would never be let go.

After *the incident*, a suffocating isolation had taken root in his heart. He could no longer ignore the darkness that clouded his thoughts, the ever-present fear that consumed him. What would become of him if Satoru ever decided he no longer wanted him? If Satoru yearned for a life filled with children, a wife—someone the world would accept, someone he could build a future with? Suguru could not offer those things. Worse still, he could not bear the thought of losing Satoru entirely.

These fears, these insecurities, twisted and morphed until they were the very air he breathed, dragging him into a melancholy from which there was no escape. And so, he made the only choice he thought he could: to sever the bond between himself and Satoru, in the desperate hope it would spare them both from the inevitable pain of a love that could never be.

——————————-———

The taste of alcohol had never been a pleasure to Satoru. To him, this vile *poison* was nothing but a means to drown the wretchedness of existence—a fleeting escape from the cold, cruel reality that clung to him like a shadow.

Now, he sat there, lost in the haze of his own mind, his sixth or seventh glass—or was it the ninth?—spinning in his memory like a fading dream. The count had long since evaded him.

Despite all the alcohol that coursed through his veins, there was no relief. That unbearable ache, that gnawing, relentless longing—he could not escape it. It was as if his very soul, his very being, cried out for Suguru.

Did Suguru know? Did he understand the depth of Satoru’s feelings? Had his words failed him? The frustration of it all was maddening, an invisible cage closing tighter with every passing moment. In the twisted recesses of his thoughts, he was a lost puppy—helpless, vulnerable. If only Suguru had asked, if only he had spoken a word, Satoru would have followed him anywhere, even to the very pits of hell.

So many questions, left unspoken, hung heavy in his chest. He had not dared voice them when they parted ways, and now, it seemed, the silence had only deepened the distance between them.

And somehow, he found himself here. How had he come to this place? Was it the alcohol clouding his judgment? Or was it his body, acting of its own volition? One thing was certain: he stood now before a door he knew all too well. The storm outside raged with furious intensity, but it was the least of his concerns. The only thing that mattered was that he stood at the threshold of his past lover's home. A glance was all it took—he needed no further confirmation.

As he moved forward, the rain lashed against his skin, cold drops trickling down his chin. The storm howled in the distance, yet it seemed a mere whisper compared to the storm that raged within him.

Every muscle in his body ached, his vision blurring with the weight of his emotions. With the last of his strength, he lifted a trembling hand and, in a soft, almost imperceptible motion, rapped lightly upon the door.

#satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #gojo x geto #jjk #gay #jjk gojo #jjk fanfic #jjk geto #angst #jjk angst

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allthatmay · 1 year ago

Note

"ask, prompt, or infodump?" so do you accept prompts? any prompts? if so, could you do a shanks+ace modern meet cute?

Oh, good question! I should probably write a post or something about it, but yes, I will happily accept prompts. I'd prefer they be within one of my favoured fandoms [OP, FF7, Naruto], but I'll give anything a go once, so you can always ask!

Having said that... Give me all the prompts! ৻(•̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

Sorry this took me so long to get done, but here's your Shanks/Ace meet cute! Thanks @chromotps for the setting; it was just so cute, I couldn't help myself.

It's not that Ace avoids becoming attached to the children he looks after, it's simply that he knows he shouldn't; that they'll grow up and move on while he's left holding them in his heart. There's been a few kids Ace has gotten just a little bit too fond of, and every time, he swears it's the last. Luffy might simply be the latest in the chain, but he's also, by far, the one Ace has cared for the most.

"C'mon, buddy. We've gotta find your shoes, or your dad won't be able to pick you up, will he?"

Trying to convince Luffy to do anything is a dangerous affair, unless one has food at the ready. The kid's prone to biting. Some people find it concerning, but it only endears him to Ace, who was an assertive child himself—to put it mildly.

"Dunno where they are," Luffy says petulantly. "Guess I'll stay with you, Ace!"

Ace shakes his head, biting back a smile. He crouches low in front of Luffy, holding out a hand that Luffy takes. "I've gotta go home, squirt."

"So I'll go with you!"

"But what about your dad? I bet he wants to see you!"

Luffy hesitates, worrying at his bottom lip. Finally, he looks up, excitement shining through his big, brown eyes, and says, "Then you should come home with us!"

A funny noise slips from Ace, which doesn't go unnoticed by Makino, who's been not-so-subtly eavesdropping from the doorway. She starts snickering into one of her hands but quickly straightens up when Ace cuts her a glance, returning her attention to the reuniting families outside.

"Aw, well, you know I love spending time with you, buddy..."

Luffy nods emphatically. His grin is missing a tooth. "Ace is great!"

"So are you, Luffy! But I can't come home with you. It wouldn't be right."

"Oh." Luffy's lip curls out into a big, wet pout. "Why not?"

"Well... Because I don't know your dad, buddy. And I bet he wants you all to himself!"

Luffy bursts into giggles when Ace tickles at his sides, all signs of sadness vanishing from his cherubic face.

"Okay," he says, although there's a determined line to his brow that raises Ace's suspicions. "Wait here!"

"Hold on, Luffy, your shoes—!"

Luffy, sans shoes, barrels past Makino and out into the playground where the parents are congregating, waiting to sign their children out. Instead of chasing after him, Ace starts the cleaning up, throwing pillows back in their places, returning pencils to their box. He's digging through the ball-pit—a likely hiding spot for Luffy’s shoes—when Luffy returns, announcing his arrival with, "Dad! Dad! This is Ace!"

Aw, shit. Ace has never been great at the 'meeting the parents' part; it's why he handles cleaning up while Makino manages parental pick-up. Still, for Luffy’s sake, he turns around with his most dazzling smile at the ready, throwing a stray ball over his shoulder.

"That's me!” he says, extending a hand in welcome. "I’m Portgas D. Ace. Nice to meet ya."

It turns out that Ace’s best smile pales in comparison to the one in front of him. Luffy's father has a certain crookedness to his lips that tells of mischief, with a small scar on his bottom lip that begs for attention—the pretty bait to a lethal trap, perhaps. Tanned skin is haloed by a head of fierce red hair, and yet it's his eyes that hook Ace in. They're as full of life as the warm, spring earth. Hard to look away from.

"The pleasure's mine," he says. He takes Ace's hand with easy movements. The smile lines around his eyes deepen, as does the fuzzy feeling in Ace's stomach. "I'm Shanks. Luffy's father."

"No kidding." Ace grins back. Before their hands release, Shanks' thumb slips across his, leaving a lasting sensation. Ace, to cover his abashment, crouches in front of Luffy. "So, Luffy, you gonna tell me where you hid your shoes, buddy?"

Luffy grabs his dad's trouser leg, playing innocent. "I dunno. Are you gonna come home with us?"

"Hmm..." Ace pretends to think about it, ignoring how hot his face suddenly feels. "Sorry, buddy, I can't. But I'll see you tomorrow, you know!"

"But you said that you'd come with me if you met my dad!"

"That's not—" Ace glances up at Shanks, who hasn't stopped grinning. "That's not quite what I said, buddy."

Luffy immediately looks to Shanks. "Dad! Tell Ace to come over!"

"We're not going anywhere without your shoes," Shanks says. He hoists Luffy up into his arms, who laughs. "Hot or cold, kiddo?"

"Cold!"

"Hm..." Shanks walks Luffy closer to the bean bags. "Hot or cold?"

"Hotter..."

Ace watches the two of them go over this a few times until, eventually, Shanks finds the shoes tucked inside the toy box. He gives them to Luffy then swings him up onto the table, kneeling in front of him.

"Alright, kiddo, left foot first. No kicking this time."

Ace can't help but laugh. Shanks glances at him, smiling, as he slides Luffy's foot into his trainer.

"There we go. Pull it tight. Great! Next one, Anchor."

"Anchor?" Ace asks.

Shanks gets Luffy's other shoe on, then helps him jump down from the table. "Oh yeah. Luffy's struggling to swim. Aren't ya, kiddo?"

"Not for long! I'm gonna beat the water!"

"Beat the water?" Ace repeats, starting to feel like a parrot. He can't help but laugh, warmed by Luffy's determination. "Well, I'll be sure to warn the oceans, buddy. Want to say bye to Makino?"

"Yeah!" Luffy looks at Ace, then his dad. "Stay here! Right here!"

"Cross my heart," Shanks teases.

They both watch Luffy run over to Makino, who looks down at him with a warm smile. She won't admit it, but she also has a soft spot for Luffy. Why else would she ensure he gets a space in her daycare every summer? But next year he'll be big enough to go somewhere else entirely...

"Makino used to be his favourite, you know."

Ace blinks, surprised to find Shanks is looking at him, not his son. The attention makes his toes wriggle in his boots.

"Used to be? Naw, Luffy loves Makino!"

"Oh? But I haven't heard about Makino in weeks. It's all about Ace and his super cool dragon drawings."

"Well, I do draw some pretty cool dragons."

"Among your many other talents, I’m sure.” Shanks winks. “He’s pinned them up around his bedroom, you know. You've got him wrapped around your finger."

"Really? Feels like the other way around."

"He does have a way with people. Something I hope he gets from me."

“He's got to get it from somewhere."

"Suppose I could test it." Shanks' grin is positively wolfish. "See if I can’t get you wrapped around my finger, as well."

Ace swallows, feeling hot under Shanks' unrelenting gaze. He looks from Shanks' twinkling eyes to his smooth, rose lips—and that damn scar of his, only visible in the sunlight—then back again. It's been a while since he's been hit on so obviously, and by someone so handsome. He flounders for a response, all too aware of his pinkening ears.

"I dunno. You're not as cute as Luffy."

"Cute's not really my style."

"I'll say," Ace mutters.

Shanks, his smile growing, steps in closer. “You, though? Very cute. Cute enough to eat.”

“‘Cute?’ I take Krav Maga.”

“Oh, so you’re cute and dangerous. And in such a pretty package.”

Ace laughs. “Wow, you’re an incorrigible flirt, aren’t you?”

“Truth be told, it’s been months since I’ve had a date.”

“What?” Ace regards Shanks from head to toe, from his silly sandals and floral pants to the loose fit of his shirt. “Months? But you’re—I mean—”

“Not cute?”

They stare at each other, equally silenced. Shanks’ smile slowly returns.

“Let me take you to dinner this weekend. Or to your Krav Maga class. Pottery, even. Whatever you like, I don’t care.”

“Really winning me over,” Ace snarks, like it isn’t the truth. “I’m covering a shift at my old job this weekend. Lifeguarding. We could do something after.”

“Oh? And Luffy just so happens to be struggling to swim.” Shanks digs into his pocket, retrieving his phone. “How about we hang around for an hour after you’re done? Give him some lessons. Grab some food.”

Ace is surprisingly touched by the offer. He tilts forward on his toes, glancing over at Luffy, who’s started saying goodbye to his friends as well. “You’d… really want that? What would Luffy think?”

“Something along the lines of, ‘Wow! Ace is here! Maybe he can draw me another dragon!’”

Ace rolls his eyes, grinning. “Alright, if you say so. Give me your phone.”

Shanks almost throws it at Ace in his haste to pass it over, and Ace has to bite down on his lip to stop his laughter from resurfacing. He’s just finished punching in his number when Luffy comes bounding back toward them, beaming.

“Dad! Let’s go! I’m hungry!”

“Alright, kiddo,” Shanks says. He takes his phone back with a wink, tucking it into his pocket. “But don’t you wanna say bye to Ace first?”

Luffy’s eyes widen. He rushes forward, wrapping his arms around Ace’s hips. “Bye, Ace! I’ll miss you!”

Ace puts his hand atop Luffy’s head. “Bye, squirt. I’ll see you soon. Stay out of trouble.”

“Nu–uh!”

Shanks takes Luffy’s hand when it’s extended toward him, then looks back at Ace. His smile pulls at the scar on his lip. “Bye, Ace,” he mirrors. “I’ll miss you!”

Heart stuttering, Ace scoffs, though the effect is weakened by the reddening of his face. “You’ll see me soon, too.”

“I’ll call you sooner,” Shanks returns. “Come on, Luffy. Spaghetti for dinner.”

“Yes!” Luffy runs toward the door, almost toppling poor Makino over. “Come on, Dad! Spaghetti!”

Shanks, grinning, shrugs at Ace. “Spaghetti,” he echoes, then follows in Luffy’s footsteps, disappearing from sight.

As soon as he’s gone, Ace sits on the side of the ballpit, knees weak. He feels like he's just gotten off a rollercoaster, and he must look it, if the way Makino is giggling is any indication.

"So,” she starts, a hand to her mouth. “Got any nice weekend plans?”

“Not another word, Makino. Not another word.”

#this was a lot of fun!!#I'm not 100% happy with it #but I have other things to write...#my asks #my writing #prompt fic #one piece fanfiction #shanksace #shanks #portgas d. ace #one piece AUs #divider by saradika

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xxmyhomexx · 2 months ago

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HARRY POTTER: Life With the Malfoys

I did a series of posts long ago of the Malfoys ordering fem!Potter (Harriet) to live with them following Voldemort's return. This is what I believe would happen after the Goblet of Fire.

I don't own the series. I just love the Malfoy family! Enjoy!

~~~

He'd fallen in love with her, but it was one-sided. Cedric Diggory, the boy who should have been the champion of the Triwizard Tournament, but it ended up being a trap. Harriet still couldn't wrap her mind around the outcome, the outcome that should have marked the greatest victory in wizarding history.

He laid next to her in the grass, his hand outstretched and stroking her cheek. His fingers were warm and gentle, a smile spread across his face as she stared at him.

"Thank you for returning me, Harriet," he told her. "Thank you for returning me to my father."

"Thank you for helping me, Cedric," she thanked him back. "You-you saved me from Voldemort."

Cedric's smile vanished. "No, Harriet. I did not rescue you. I...I died and you must wake up."

Her green eyes narrowed, confused and horrified. "W-what?"

"Wake up, Harriet," Cedric urged her. His face started to distort, the skin bending and swirling into a grotesque heap of flesh. Harriet shrieked and scrambled away as his body jerked to its hands and feet, crawling after her.

"WAKE UP, HARRIET POTTER!" Voldemort's red eyes and fangs screached, his face masking Cedric's.

"AAAAAH!" the girl wailed as she shielded her face, tumbling back as if she were re-living that awful night again and again. A distinct rattle echoed in her ears before she tumbled off something high, sprawling across a grey carpeted floor.

"Oof!" What on Earth?! Harriet hopped to her feet, her green eyes scanning the room she had no recollection of entering. Where was she? Had Dumbledore returned her to her room in Gryffindor? Oh, Ron and Hermione must be out of their minds with worry. She wanted to run into their arms, she wanted to-wait a minute.

She tucked her hair behind her ears and gazed around her. She wasn't even in Hogwarts, but a bedroom plastered with medieval decorations, lamps flickering dim orange light along with a chandelier over a queen sized bed covered with plush forest green blankets and a black wood headboard. The room was triple the size compared to hers at Number Four Privet Drive.

A chaise rested next to large, wide bay windows overlooking a vast acreage of forest, trees scattered across the land like a Bob Ross painting. Something wasn't adding up, no matter how comfortable the room was.

Things only got more confusing when she looked down at her clothes. No longer did Harriet wear the torn, shredded jeans or shirt when fighting Voldemort. A fresh set of white linen pajamas covered her, the shirt hugging her and pants ending at her bare feet. Lifting up the shirt, she noticed no scarring or fresh wounds from the attack.

Had Dumbledore sent a healer after her fight? If he had, they must have tended to her while she was sleeping. Suddenly, a fluttering of wings caught her attention.

"Hedwig!" Harriet hurried to the bay windows, noticing a familiar snowy owl just waking up from a nap. Hedwig chirped and hopped as she unlocked her cage, letting her stretch out her wings.

"Oh, you're ok," Harriet nuzzled her face against the owl's head. "Thank God you're ok!"

Hedwig cooed as she stepped back to observe her surroundings. The colors of the room, the vast space, the mixture of black and green...it reminded her of a familiar house with a serpentine name.

"Ah, you're finally awake," a feminine voice startled her. Harriet gasped and jumped around, freezing at the sight of a woman she never expected to see.

"Y-you?!" Harriet narrowed her eyes. "You-you're Draco's mother!"

Narcissa Malfoy sauntered out of the shadows, wearing the finest expensive clothing that Harriet heard only the very family could afford. Her long, blondd hair piled on top of her head in an elegant bun, her blue eyes never leaving the young Potter. She wore a form-fitting green dress with a shawl draped across her shoulders, her lips painted red as she passed Harriet toward Hedwig's cage.

"My husband's spell wore off," she mused as she reached for the snowy owl. Hedwig squaked and flapped her wings as the Malfoy matriarch offered her a treat.

"What a sweet owl," Narcissa smiled, stroking her head. Hedwig nuzzled her hand and closed her eyes. "Such beautiful wings, too."

"Why are you here?" demanded Harriet. "Where am I?"

Narcissa closed the door to Hedwig's cage. "You are in Malfoy Manor, dear. My family brought you here after that heinous battle with You-Know-Who."

Harriet's mind flashed to the events as if re-watching a movie. The cup, the Death Eaters, Voldemort's attack! She didn't know what happened after that, but now, everything made sense.

"You were in hysteria," Narcissa continued. "Poor thing. Our healer told us it at least be another week before-"

The woman's eyes flashed to a spark of white light forming in Harriet's hand. The girl held her wand out in front of her, glaring daggers as if she were some kind of angry predator. Narcissa's shoulders dropped as she sighed.

"Why did you take me?" Harriet demanded. "What have you done?!"

Narcissa crossed her arms. "Now, Ms. Potter, there's no need to get defensive."

"Let me go," she didn't relent. "I'm not staying here another minute!"

She didn't wait for Narcissa to respond, sprinting toward the bedroom door. Her bare feet slapped against the floor as she turned the knob and flung it open. Before she could make her escape, she bumped into a hard, rock solid chest, dropping her wand.

"Agh!" Harriet stumbled back as another familiar face entered the room. His skin was a few shades paler, his grey eyes widening when he felt her collide with his chest.

"Harriet, goodness!" Draco caught her in his arms before she fell. "You're ok, you're ok."

Blinking, she felt his arms around her waist. More images swirled in her mind: the Yule Ball, their dance, that surprise kiss he stole from her...and now he held her again. Frowning her brows, she grabbed his wrists and tugged herself free, shoving him back.

"Don't. Ever. Touch. Me. Again."

The enunciated words sent a chill down Draco's spine. The hatred in her green eyes, the reflection of her glasses...she remembered everything. His shoulders slunk as he walked toward her, but she seemed to take three more steps back.

"Harriet, please listen," the young Malfoy pleaded. "I'm not here to hurt you. Not again."

Not again. Harriet flinched as she grabbed her wand and pointed it at him.

"I don't care about the past! I can forgive you for that, but not the Yule Ball!"

"What?" Narcissa's eyes widened at this.

He bit his bottom lip and avoided his mother's gaze, even as his father walked inside. Lucius was wearing his usual royal black wizard robes, his long blonde hair cascading down his shoulders.

"Oh, my," he noticed Harriet pointing her wand at his son. "Is that any way to thank us for our hospitality, my dear?"

Harriet ignored him and kept her eyes on Draco. "That should have been my moment, Draco. You ruined everything! How could you make a fool out of me by stealing my first kiss?!"

Silence. Narcissa gasped, and Draco winced, the guilt breaking his heart even more.

"Draco," his mother glared at him. "What does she mean?"

"It was never meant to embarrass you," Draco desperately answered. "I didn't know, Harriet, I truly didn't know!"

"You make me sick," Harriet laughed bitterly. "You're just as awful as the rest of those Slytherin bastards. I hate you, Draco Malfoy, I HATE YOU!"

She shoved past the family and bolted out of the room, slamming the door. The echo startled Hedwig, making her cage rattle.

Narcissa crossed her arms. "Explain. NOW."

~~~

"Expecto Patronum!" Harriet waved her wand and a familar stag shot out in a wave of blue light. It pranced through the evening air, bucking its horns and kicking its back legs. Harriet stood on the porch of Malfoy Manor, watching her Patronus stop in front of her.

She reached to touch it, her fingers gliding through it like air. The stag reared its front legs and pranced off, disappearing in a flash of stars. Harriet tucked her hands in the arms of her shirt, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Harriet?"

Harriet turned around and saw, much to her surprise, Lucius walking toward her.

"What do you want?" she was too exhausted to argue. "Please, just leave me alone."

"I'm afraid not, my dear," Lucius stepped beside her. "You need to understand why you're here."

Harriet's ears perked at his voice. That voice was so familiar, it sounded like the same one that belonged to the person who took her out of the arena when she returned with Cedric's body.

"It was you, wasn't it?" she asked carefully. "You took me out of the arena."

"I had to get you out," explained Lucius. "It wasn't safe, Harriet. It was the diversion we needed to get you to the mansion."

"Why bring me here?" Harriet's self-embrace tightened. "Why not just let Dumbledore take care of me?"

"And have him send you back to that awful Muggle family of yours?" Lucius scowled at the thought of those awful Dursleys having her in that house for another summer.

"They're-they're not..."

Oh, who the Hell was she kidding? The Dursleys were her only living relatives, but they treated her more like a punching bag rather than their niece.

"You will be safe here," Lucius tapped his cane on the wood porch. "I managed to pull a few strings within the Ministry, and from now on, you will be spending the remaining summers here."

Her neart nearly stopped at those words. Spending summers, the season she actually had no school, the season she could see Ron and Hermione freely whenever she wanted, at MALFOY MANOR?! No, no, no! Absolutely not.

"Dumbledore will never allow it," she tried keeping her voice neutral. "Just like I won't."

Lucius chuckled, amused by the little Potter's defiance. "Well that's going to be hard considering he was the one who approved it."

"WHAT?!" Harriet shrieked. "He wouldn't sink that low! I know him, he-"

"Ms. Potter," Lucius grew quite annoyed. "Stop talking, please."

Harriet remained fuming in silence. Dumbledore pulled another move without her knowledge again?! He was already keeping so much from her.

"Voldemort is after you," Lucius continued. "You're vulnerable to his attacks. We can keep you safe, my dear. Trust us, we are only looking out for you."

"Are you?" Harriet's tone lowered, still full of anger. "Because your son has made a fool of me ever since my acceptance into Hogwarts."

Lucius chuckled. "It was actually Lucius who wanted you here."

Harriet's brows shot up in surprise. From their first meeting, she was not receptive of Lucius at all. He was worse than Draco in arrogance, and her point was proven correct when he and Arthur fought in Flourish and Blotts. Hearing him say his son, his own son, wanted Harriet in Malfoy Manor, that was worth a belly laugh.

Lucius frowned, wondering why this peculiar child was laughing at his perfectly laudible explanation. During the tournament, Draco went to his parents, begging them to do something to help Harriet.

"Voldemort won't stop until she's dead," he told them. "We've already infiltrated the Death Eaters, but it's not enough. She can't stay with those awful Dursleys, they'll tear her apart!"

"Draco has a point, Lucius," his mother agreed. "The protection spell has worn off, and he can harm the girl."

"Perhaps you are right, love," their reasons were strong. "I just want to know, Draco. Why do you want to help Ms. Potter?"

"Because..." Draco couldn't tell them about his feelings. Whatever he felt for her, it became real at the Yule Ball. He didn't kiss her to bully her, he kissed her because it was time to act on his desire for her. Unfortunately, it'd all gone terribly wrong. He hurt her, broke her heart, and was met with a slap in the face.

He never meant to upset her so much. "Because she deserves to be in Hogwarts, Father. It sounds foolish, but I've seen what she can do, and if we lose her so soon, we'll never end the Dark Lord's war."

That was enough to sway him, even if he revolted the idea of a Potter in Malfoy Manor.

"You're serious?" Hariette frowned when she noticed he wasn't laughing with her.

"Why do you think I brought you here, girl?" Lucius asked sarcastically. "You're not here for another tournament."

Sighing, Hariette's shoulders finally relaxed, though her mind was still racing with fear of the unknown. If Draco really did vouch to his parents to keep her here, away from her old life on Privet Drive, she'd cross the threshold when she had the energy.

"I guess..." she turned toward the door. "That makes sense, but it doesn't change what he did."

Lucius remained silent. "Your son hurt me, Mr. Malfoy. What he took, I can never get back. Don't expect misplaced gratitude, because if it were up to me, I'd run far away from here."

With those words, she left the Malfoy patriarch standing on the porch, walking back in the house. She entered the large foyer when she noticed Draco standing in front of her.

"Harriet," he tried speaking again. "I-"

"Draco, please...don't," Harriet softly stopped him. "I'm not in the mood. Not tonight."

Still, Draco stopped her as she tried to bypass him. She didn't flinch when he touched her arm, his fingers gently gripping her elbow.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I want you to know that kiss was supposed to be real. I really thought I was helping you see my true feelings, Harriet. I swear, I never meant for you to interpret it that way. I know now it was a terrible move on my part, and I'll forever regret hurting you."

His apology had Harriet fighting off another surge of tears. "If you were trying to tell me this, why at the ball? That was my dance with Ron, and you treated it like a show."

She backed away from him as he released her arm. "Every time I look at you, it's like the tournament all over again. The kiss, the cup...Cedric dying."

Those words hovered over her as she sniffeled. "Your father told me you want me here, but what if he's lying? I only know he's even more arrogant than you, and that's just from our first meeting!"

Draco flinched at her words but she continued on.

"I can't do this," Harriet narrowed her eyes. "I want to forgive you, but it's so painful being around you right now, Draco. I-I need space."

She hurried off before he could stop her, disappearing down the hall without another glance.

#fem harry potter #harry potter #draco malfoy #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy

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senashenta · 5 months ago

Text

Storm Season: Chapter Six

Title: Storm Season (Chapter Six)

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: E

Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut

Summary: “Dean Winchester is Saved.” The angels all say, clear as a bell—and Dean crawls out of his own grave. Shortly after, he meets the person who pulled him out of Hell, and it turns out to be CASTIEL. Seven years after Cas vanished off the face of the Earth, Dean is suddenly confronted with his former lover again, only this time he’s not just a regular college kid—he’s an ANGEL, and Dean just doesn’t know how to compute that AT ALL.

But even after all these years, Dean can’t deny that he still has feelings for Cas, even as he and Sam embark on an out-of-place-palraijuq Hunt in Louisiana. Not even a giant crocodile monster can keep his attention when Cas comes around—and just like before, the angel is very, very distracting, bringing up Dean’s love for him once more. But things aren’t as simple as when they were younger and Cas was human, and it will take a lot of work before Dean can trust Cas again.

Notes: Palraijuq are creatures from Inuit folklore, they resemble huge crocodiles but with six legs. Like with the jorogumo in Horror High, please excuse the liberties I’ve taken with them. idek for sure though because there’s not much info on them out there to begin with, at least not that I can find. I know I did 100% make up the How To Kill Them portion of the lore. :D

Also, Storm Season is somehow going over even more poorly than Horror High (and that’s saying something) and I still don’t know what I’m doing wrong. Is the fandom just really that dead? Wow. :|

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3.

STORM SEASON ET AL TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

STORM SEASON Chapter Six By Senashenta

They stayed like that for a while, until Dean actually fell asleep, still tucked into Cas’s chest, clearly exhausted—emotionally, if not physically. Cas, of course, didn’t sleep, couldn’t even if he wanted to, but stayed with him, nonetheless, watching his eyes dart back and forth behind closed lids and hoping he was having pleasant dreams—but not really expecting it, after everything he had been through.

They hadn’t talked about it yet, but Cas was certain that Dean remembered every second of his years in Hell. All the things that had been done to him, and all the things he, in turn, had done to others. And it made sense that Dean didn’t want to talk about it, it was far too painful, so Cas wasn’t going to push. Instead, he just silently hoped to be a dreamcatcher for Dean, the way Dean had been a dreamcatcher for him when they were younger.

Cas spent the night like that, just holding Dean in his arms and silently listening to his breathing, his heartbeat, the little things that he had missed so much for all the time they had been apart. He even turned off Angel Radio, just to enjoy the peace with Dean, though he was sure he would be reprimanded for that when he next returned to Heaven.

Dean slept late the next day. He did that, sometimes, on “days off”; normally he was up at the crack of dawn, but today it was eleven o’clock by the time he dragged himself awake—and when he groped for Cas in the bed next to him, the angel was gone. Dean stifled the immediate panic that tried to set in and sat up. He was just rubbing at his hair and yawning to himself when Cas popped back into the room holding a coffee cup and a paper bag that smelled amazing.

“Sorry, I was hoping to be back before you woke up.” He held up the bag; “breakfast burritos and coffee from a little place in Mexico City I think you’d like.” Cas explained, setting the food on the table, “I thought you might be hungry.”

And so started their first real day together. Dean ate his breakfast ravenously, like he hadn’t seen food in weeks, but that was typical, so Cas just smiled to himself and didn’t worry too much about it. Dean didn’t say as much, but it was obvious he thoroughly enjoyed the burritos and coffee—he even offered a muttered thanks to Cas halfway through his meal.

Cas, meanwhile, still had Angel Radio turned off, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t hear if someone prayed directly to him, so if Sam tried to call him in early, he would get the message. He still fully expected to get in trouble for turning off the antenna in his brain when he returned to Heaven… if they didn’t send someone to fetch him, first, which was always a possibility. In the meantime, he was determined to make things up to Dean as much as possible.

Now, he shrugged out of his trench coat, then loosened his tie and pulled it off, draping them both over the back of a chair before taking a seat next to Dean at the table. The elder Winchester had slowed down partway through his second breakfast burrito, and finally set it down to pick up his coffee to take a drink.

“I feel bad, eating in front of you.” He admitted.

“Don’t, though.” Cas gave him a smile, “it doesn’t bother me at all.”

“No, but it bothers me.” Dean pushed the rest of the second burrito over toward him, “just like. Take a bite. Prove that you still can.”

“You think I’m a robot or something?” Cas teased gently, but still picked up the burrito and took a healthy bite, chewing and swallowing despite the fact that it tasted like nothing but it’s molecular structures. Then he set it back down and pushed it back over toward Dean again. “See? I’m capable of eating, I just… don’t.”

Dean watched him closely the entire time, then just took the burrito back, picking it up and beginning to eat again, slower this time. “You seem… much more relaxed today.” He mumbled around a mouthful of food.

Cas nodded, glancing down. “Yeah, I… last night helped.” He admitted, then added; “also I turned off Angel Radio so my mind is… quiet. For the first time in a long time. Just me and my own thoughts. It’s nice.”

Surprise flitted across Dean’s face. “Won’t you get in trouble for…?”

“Probably.” Cas agreed, “but I don’t care. I want—” Breaking off, he cleared his throat and looked toward Dean again. “I want this time with you.”

Dean regarded him quietly for a moment before turning back to his breakfast, finishing off the last couple of bites and then pulling his coffee closer. Green eyes focused on the cup in his hand, and he offered softly, “I don’t want you to get into trouble for me, Cas.”

“But I happily will.” Cas told him with a soft smile. “I would do anything for you, you know that.”

“But not…” Dean began before trailing off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

Cas knew what he’d been about to say; he would do anything, yes, except come down and reassure him when he’d thought Cas was dead for all those years. When he had been searching for him so desperately. Cas sighed softly and glanced down again. “Dean, no matter how many times I apologize for not coming home to you, it won’t make things right. But if I could go back and do it again…” He closed his eyes; “I would never have left in the first place. I would have stayed with you on Earth, I would have married you like we’d planned; I would have denied Heaven entirely. I would have cast out my Grace to stay human and be with you.”

He still had his eyes closed, so he didn’t see all the micro expressions that flitted across Dean’s face as he looked at him—but he did feel when Dean’s hand came to rest over his own on the tabletop. “You can do that? Just get rid of your Grace, just like that?”

Cas lifted his head to look toward Dean again and carefully threaded their fingers together. “It’s possible. But it’s unpredictable. If I was to do it, I would Fall, and there would be a chance I would be reborn as a different human. An infant. That’s what happened with Anna, we think, and Heaven has been looking for her for years.” He rubbed his thumb against Dean’s absently; “and then there’s the possibility that I could just… implode. An angel’s Grace is like a nuclear reactor, it’s tricky and dangerous to work with. It would be better if I had another angel to extract it for me, but… I don’t know of any who would do it.”

“Cas, it sounds like your Grace is something we probably shouldn’t mess around with, anyway.” Dean pointed out, a concerned look on his face.

“Yeah, but if I did it properly…” Cas shrugged slightly. “It’s just something I’ve thought about over the years. The idea of casting out my Grace and being human again. So I could be with you.” Blue eyes flitted downward again, “it’s all I’ve ever wanted, ever since we met.”

“Cas…” Dean looked at Cas for a long while before squeezing his hand and tugging at it gently. “Cas, look at me.” And when Cas finally lifted his gaze again; “you don’t have to mess with your Grace to be with me. You can be with me just like this. You being an angel now doesn’t… it doesn’t change much, really. I just… need to work through some things, that’s all.”

And conversations like this were helping with that, helping salve the wounds that had been festering for years. Having Cas there with him. Knowing that Cas did, indeed, still love him—and with everything he had. Knowing that Cas would turn off Angel Radio so they could be alone, defy Heaven’s orders for him. Knowing that some things would never change, and one of them was how much they cared for each other, deeply and truly.

Searching for Cas in the time after his disappearance had been torture. Dean had had to rehome Marshmallow with Garth, and Itsy with an exotic animal rescue. He had put it off, thinking that Cas would be angry when he got home to find that his pets had been sent away. That had been in the very beginning. When he’d still had hope.

But then every lead he thought he’d found didn’t pan out. Every person he had talked to had known nothing, not even the psychics—though Missouri had been suspiciously vague when Dean had gone to her, and he had always thought she might have known more than she’d been willing to admit.

Dean had searched every Goddamn inch of the country for Cas, and even parts of Mexico and Canada when he’d gotten tips leading him there. He had searched until he was so deeply exhausted and rode-worn that he thought he would be tired forever. He had pulled Sam into the search, for the first year or so, and Cas’s friends, too. He had suffered and raged and mourned until he had eventually given up hope and just... stopped.

It had never occurred to him to just look up.

Through it all, though, one thing had never changed: he had never stopped loving Cas, deep down in his admittedly bitter and jaded heart. And if he could survive forty years in Hell, and what that had done to him, then he could survive the love of his life returning from the supposed grave.

“Thank you,” Dean said after the silence dragged on between them for perhaps a little too long; “for breakfast.”

Cas offered a little smile. “I just thought you’d like it. It was no problem at all.”

“When I woke up and you were gone, there was a second of panic.” Dean admitted, a little embarrassed. “I slept better last night than I have in a long time, with you with me in the bed.”

“I’m glad.” Cas’s smile turned soft and fond around the edges.

“What about you?” Dean asked, “did you have bad dreams? You always used to…”

“But not with you.” Cas reminded him, before awkwardly informing him, “but no, I, ah… don’t sleep. Anymore. Not since my Grace powered up again. Since I became an active angel.” He shrugged slightly and ran his free hand through his hair, “on the plus side, I mean, no more nightmares, right?”

Dean just stared at him. “Well, that’s a little awkward.”

Cas shook his head, “no, I just stayed with you overnight and kept you safe. It was nice, actually.”

Dean seemed dubious, but Cas assured him it was fine.

And it really had actually been pleasant, just spending that time with Dean, absorbing the man into himself in a way that he hadn’t been able to in what seemed like an endless span of time. Cas thought he could easily do the same thing every night for an eternity—but of course that wouldn’t be permitted.

The two of them sat like that, together at the little kitchenette table, for the rest of the afternoon, just talking about everything, working through a little of Dean’s trauma, with breaks here and there for one or both of them to run to the store for drinks or snacks for Dean. He insisted on driving, rather than Cas popping in and out in the blink of an eye. Something about Cas’s teleporting made him uncomfortable.

At around ten o’clock that night, Dean disappeared long enough to hit up a diner for a take-out burger and fries, half afraid that Cas would be gone when he returned, and privately more than a little pleased to find the angel still seated at the table when he got back. A little smile tugged at his lips as he locked the door behind himself and headed over to take his own seat and eat his dinner.

They chatted while Dean ate and when he was finished eating, Dean cleared his throat slightly and stood, beginning to strip out of his clothes. Cas blinked, watching almost warily, until Dean was down to his boxers and t-shirt, at which point he climbed into his bed and gestured for Cas to join him and—ah. Okay.

Cas stripped out of his own clothes, down to just his boxers, and climbed into the bed with Dean, easing up against his side and tucking in there, then letting Dean pull the blankets up around them. After some brief adjustment they ended up with Cas settled into Dean’s side, Dean’s arm around his shoulders and one of Cas’s arms slung across Dean’s chest—just the way they belonged, as far as Cas was concerned.

They were quiet for a while after that, both of them just getting used to being in each other’s arms again, and it was warm and comfortable and nostalgic. Soon Cas found his eyes closing—not to sleep, obviously, but just to take in the moment on an even deeper level.

“You’re still beautiful, you know.” Dean murmured finally. “Nothing’s changed about that.”

Cas’s lips tugged into a little smile, and he replied, “I could say the same thing about you.”

“Beautiful is for chicks, Cas.” Dean told him, his voice a low rumble.

Cas just laughed softly and turned his head to press a kiss against Dean’s chest, over where his heart was beating. “You said that to me once when we were younger, too. But you still call me ‘beautiful’, so what does that say?”

“It’s the perfect word for you, though. It describes everything about you. All the things I fell in love with. All the things I still—” He cut himself off with a sigh. One hand came up to tentatively thread his fingers through Cas’s hair. “Mh. Anyway.”

A pleased hum and Cas murmured, “we don’t have to talk, you know. We can just… be. Like this. For a while. It’s getting late, anyway.”

Dean shifted slightly, still stroking through Cas’s hair gently. “Will you still be here when I wake up in the morning?”

Cas made a soft agreeing noise. “Of course, Dean. If that’s what you want.”

Dean just made a quiet sound in the back of his throat before deciding, “yeah, Cas, I think that’s what I want.”

“Okay, then. I’ll be here.”

“Promise, Cas…?”

“I promise, Dean.”

-- --

In the morning, eleven o’clock finally rolled around, it was time to fetch Sam from South Dakota, and Cas had to reluctantly ease away from Dean and climb out of the bed, leaving him tangled in the covers. He would only be gone a minute or two anyway.

Still, when he pulled away Dean muttered a quiet protest and sighed out a deep breath, then groped at the bed where Cas had been a moment before. He picked his head up and looked for the angel blearily—then seemed relieved when he saw him. “Thought it was a dream, for a second,” He muttered, letting his head fall back down onto the pillow, “thought you were gone again.”

“No.” Cas stepped back over to the bed, kneeling on the mattress to lean over and press a kiss by Dean’s temple, “no, I’m here, Dean. I promised, didn’t I? I just have to go get Sam, that’s all.”

Dean just grumbled at that idea, even as he was drifting off again, seeming placated for now. Cas smiled fondly down at him, then straightened again, retrieved his clothes and got dressed, homed in on Sam’s presence in South Dakota—and vanished with the soft beating of invisible wings.

Half a second later he appeared in Bobby Singer’s kitchen, where Sam and Bobby were seated at the table surrounded by stacks of books, coffee cups from that morning—and empty bottles of beer from the night before. They both startled when he popped into view, jumping in their seats, and Sam palmed over his face while Bobby just looked at him like he’d seen a ghost. This was the first time Bobby was really seeing him since he’d been ‘back.’

“Hello, Sam.” Cas greeted the younger Winchester, then; “hello Mr. Singer.”

Bobby stammered for half a second before managing, “hey… Cas.” And then; “so you’re… alive.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed softly, already bracing himself for the inevitable; “I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“Worried me?” Bobby sounded incredulous—and also a little angry. He shoved his chair back and stood, turning a glare on Cas, who just met his eyes with a sorrowful look of his own; “Jesus H. Christ, son, you should be sorry for what you did to Dean! You destroyed that boy, broke him down into tiny bits that he might never manage to put back together again! You promised me, you swore you would never do anything to hurt him, and I swore if you did, you’d have to deal with me! John ain’t around no more to take care of these boys, but they’re my boys too, and you—and you—"

Cas glanced downward, a sad expression on his face as Bobby ranted at him. He had expected it, really. Bobby viewed Dean like his son, and Cas had broken Dean, so obviously he was angry. If John Winchester had been alive and known what Cas had done, he probably would have shot first and asked questions later. Not that it would have done much good.

“Mr. Singer, I—”

“Bobby,” Sam’s voice finally broke through the angry tirade of words, and Bobby trailed off before looking at Sam. “Cas knows. He knows all that. And he’s doing his best to make up for it, to fix things, has been ever since he came back.”

“You damn fools think you can just make up for what Dean went through?” Bobby bit out—but then just heaved a sigh and dropped back into his chair. He took his hat off to rub at his head before pulling it back on again and glancing back at Cas. The older man looked him up and down, then offered, “you look good, at least. Being an angel must agree with you.”

Cas smiled just slightly. “It’s what I’ve always been, I just didn’t remember for a while.”

“Is it better?” Sam asked curiously, a question he hadn’t thought to ask before; “being an angel, I mean. Is it better than being human?”

“In some ways, it’s more convenient.” Cas agreed softly, but then looked down again and added, “but I think… it’s not better in the ways that really count.” And when Sam tilted his head and made a confused puppy face, Cas thought for a moment before explaining; “we’re not supposed to… care. Or feel. About anything except what we’re ordered to. But what I felt for Dean… what I still feel for him…” He waved one hand slightly. “Human emotion is… it’s everything. It makes life worth living. I couldn’t give it up when I returned to Heaven. I’m a poor excuse for an angel, really.”

“They don’t let you love? In Heaven?” Bobby demanded, disbelieving.

“It’s a distraction from our missions, our orders. In general, the only angels that freely show love are the cherubs and the cupids, because it’s their job.” A tiny smile, then, and he added, “it’s true, too. Holding onto my love for Dean made me a less efficient soldier. I spent a lot of time looking in on him, watching him. I was chastised for it often. But then they…”

When Cas trailed off and his eyes returned to the floor, Sam prodded gently, “they?”

Cas made an uncomfortable noise and sighed. “They weaponized my love for Dean. Used it to send me into Hell to rescue him. Many angels were lost in the incursion, but I still pressed on regardless of the casualties. They knew I would do anything to complete that mission. Give anything. Anyone. Even myself.”

“Oh.” Sam glanced at Bobby, then asked softly, “you held onto your love for Dean even through all that? Through Heaven’s rhetoric?”

A brief nod. There was seriousness, determination in Cas’s eyes when he looked between the two men. “Dean was, and still is, the most important thing in the world to me. I would do anything for him, and the fact that I’ve hurt him so badly… I’ll never forgive myself for that. I was ordered not to come down to Earth, and I obeyed until recently, but I shouldn’t have. I should have gone to him and told him everything as soon as my memories returned.”

There was a long silence between the three of them, then, and Cas’s gaze eventually returned to the floor. He knew he had a lot of atoning to do, to make up for his transgressions, with Dean, yes, but also with Dean’s loved ones. Cas was determined to do everything in his power to repair things, though, from now on.

After a while, Bobby got up and went to get a beer from the fridge. He didn’t normally drink so early in the day, but this was a special occasion. He didn’t bring one back for Sam, though, since Sam would be leaving shortly. When he sat back down, he sighed out a deep breath. “You’ve got an uphill battle, that’s for sure.”

Sam started packing up his laptop, shutting it down and tucking it into his bag. “What will the bigwigs in Heaven do if you just don’t come back?”

“I’m not sure.” Cas admitted truthfully, eyes lifting up to Sam, who was just standing and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “For now, I’m trying to… to balance my time here and my time in Heaven, but if my superiors decide I’m being too disobedient, they could force me to come home. They could lock me in. If that becomes the case, there’s a chance I really will be gone for good.”

Sam came to stand next to him. “Don’t hurt him again, Cas.” He advised seriously.

“I don’t plan to.” Cas stated, just as seriously.

Then he nodded to Bobby, and patted a hand down on Sam’s shoulder, his wings taking them back to Laramie, their starry, kitschy motel room, and Dean still passed out on his bed. Cas then proceeded to take off his shoes, trench coat, suit coat and tie and crawl back into bed with Dean—so he would be there when the man woke up, just like he had promised the night before. (Sam only rolled his eyes a lot at the sight.)

-- --

Dean woke with a start from a horrible nightmare an hour later, thrashing under the covers with Cas trying to calm him down with limited success. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the elder Winchester started to settle—until eventually he was clutching at Cas’s arms with his head buried in the center of the angel’s chest, gasping for air, eyes flitting around but not settling on anything. Finally, he just closed them. He swallowed thickly.

“Cas?” He croaked.

“Yeah,” Cas’s arms were around his waist, and they tightened, pulling him even closer, more securely against himself, “I’m here. You’re okay.”

But Dean just shook his head, eyes still firmly closed and clutching Cas even tighter. “I’m not okay.”

Over at the table, Sam had been eating his lunch and going over some research on his laptop, but now he was staring at them. He swallowed down the bite of food in his mouth and set his fork down, unsure what to do or say to help—if there was anything he could do or say to help.

Cas just ignored the fact that Sam was in the room entirely and adjusted so he was on his back and Dean was pulled close into his side, half-over his chest, his arms wrapped securely around him. “No, Dean, you’re okay, I promise. You’re with me and you’re safe. You’re okay.”

Dean’s voice shook slightly, and he whispered, “Cas, you don’t get it. I’ll never be okay again.”

It was at that point when Sam stood up from the table, his chair screeching along the floor and making Dean startle like a spooked animal. Cas just tucked him closer against himself and murmured something soothing to him, then shot a look in Sam’s direction.

Sam was already packing up his laptop and winced slightly before offering; “sorry. I’m just gonna get out of here. There’s a café down the street, I’ll be there if you need me.” He headed for the door, book bag slung over his shoulder—and paused before ducking out the door. “Take care of him, Cas.”

A brief nod. “I will.”

When the door banged shut behind Sam, Dean jolted again, but then just asked, voice rough, “…Sam leave?”

Cas rubbed at his back gently. “Yes.”

Dean sagged into Cas’s chest, practically collapsing against him, and shook his head, hair mussing against Cas’s shirt. “I don’t want him to see me like this.” Then he paused before adding; “don’t want you to see me like this, either.”

“I’ve seen you like this before,” Cas pointed out, then hesitated before offering, “but I can go, if you want me to.”

But Dean shook his head again. He began shifting, moving around so he could properly tuck himself up in Cas’s arms, his own arms wrapping around the angel in turn. “No, I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that.” His head went back to its previous place, firmly burrowed against Cas’s chest. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this, but… if someone has to, I don’t—I don’t hate that it’s you.”

“You’re allowed to show weakness, sometimes, Dean, especially around Sam and I, we understand.” Cas told him softly, pressing another kiss into his hair, just gentle affection, then; “nightmare?”

“…yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I…” Dean began, then trailed off and shook his head. “No.”

Cas accepted that easily, one hand rubbing along his back gently, still. “That’s alright. Not until you’re ready. Maybe some other time.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed weakly, not really meaning it; “maybe.”

-- --

Sam was gone for nearly two hours, during which time Cas and Dean stayed where they were, wrapped up in the blankets and each other, and talked about anything but what Dean had been dreaming about earlier. When the younger Winchester tentatively knocked on the door—then tried it to find it unlocked, he opened it carefully, afraid of what he might find for more than one reason. When all that greeted him were Cas and Dean blinking at him in surprise, he let out a little, internal sigh of relief and stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind himself.

Then he crossed over to dump his bookbag on his bed. He was carrying a take-out coffee in his free hand, and set that on the kitchen table, before he cleared his throat and glanced at Dean, concern written all over his face. “You… alright?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied gruffy, already extracting himself from Cas and the covers. He headed over and snatched up the coffee. “This for me?”

“It’s actually—I mean. Yeah. Alright. I guess it’s yours now.” Sam shrugged with a sigh. Dean was already drinking, and it was just a coffee, it wasn’t like he couldn’t get another one easily and cheaply. Really, he should have just brought one specifically for Dean to begin with; but he hadn’t been sure what shape his brother would be in when he got back, so he hadn’t wanted to make the assumption.

Cas was currently climbing out of the bed, clothes completely wrinkled and definitely in need of a good ironing. And then he glanced down at himself, and he seemed to almost blur for just a moment, just the span of a blink, and his clothing was perfectly neat and crisp again—or at least as neat as crisp as Cas’s clothing ever was. Dean was halfway to a drink of his pilfered coffee and blinked a couple of times, then shook his head and went back to his caffeine. Sam just made a huh kind of noise. Cas continued on to where the rest of his clothes were, draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He pulled on his suit coat, then his tie, but left his trench coat off for the time being.

“I need a shower.” Dean was muttering around the lip of his cup, “and some aspirin.”

“That was, ah… some nightmare.” Sam observed.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Dean headed him off at the pass, and Sam raised his hands in defeat, even as his brother set the half-finished coffee down and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a bit. Don’t throw out my coffee.” As if Sam would ever deem to do such a thing.

Once Dean was in the bathroom with the door firmly closed behind himself, Sam turned to Cas, expression expectant. “Well?”

“He wouldn’t talk about it with me, either.” Cas frowned and glanced down slightly. In the past, Dean would have shared anything with him, but now they clearly still had a long way to go to get back to that point. “I suspect it has something to do with his time in Hell, but I can’t tell you for sure. Just… keep an eye on him, the next couple of days. He’s not in a good place right now.”

“You’re leaving?” Sam asked, then; “now isn’t really the best time.”

“I know, but…” Cas trailed off for a moment and reached inward, flicking the little switch to turn Angel Radio back on in his head. He winced when he was bombarded by a barrage of angry messages. “Sam, I turned off Angel Radio the last couple of days to be here with Dean, I basically went AWOL. My superiors are not happy with me. If I don’t go back, they may yank me back, like I said before. I don’t want to get locked in up there. That would be much worse than being gone for a few days, I think.”

“I get that, Cas, it’s just…” Sam glanced toward the bathroom door. Inside, the shower was running now.

Cas followed his gaze before glancing down. “They expect a lot of me, and I’ve been falling short lately. If I get locked in, I won’t be able to come back. At least not in your lifetimes, most likely. I want to be here for you and for Dean, but I have to do my job for Heaven as well, or…”

“Or we might never see you again.” Sam finished for him. He sighed. Right now was a terrible time for Cas to be leaving, but he understood. If he wanted to be there for Dean in the long term, he had to leave for the short. “Just don’t… disappear while he’s in the shower. Wait and say goodbye first.”

Cas nodded. Dean was very afraid of him vanishing again, that much was clear. If he just left without telling him goodbye, it would be detrimental to their new, burgeoning relationship. So, despite the voices yelling in his head, Cas took a seat at the table, reaching for his shoes and pulling them on in the meantime, tying them with deft fingers. “You need to watch out for him while I’m gone. He’s very… delicate. Right now. Even if he would never admit as much.”

“Emotionally, yeah.” Sam agreed. “He’s an absolute basket case between one thing and another.”

“Basically. So, don’t—don’t push him, too hard, okay?” Cas finished with his shoes and straightened, giving Sam a worried look; “I know you want to know about how he’s feeling, about me, and about Hell, and all that, but he’s not ready to talk about it. It could be really bad if you force him to.”

“I’m not—” The younger Winchester began protest, but then broke off because, really, he was, and he knew it. He glanced down and nodded. “I’ll try to curb myself for a while. Just… try to come back quickly?”

“I’ll try.” Cas promised. “But I can’t guarantee anything.”

About that time the shower shut off, and a couple minutes later Dean came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel hanging low around his hips. He headed straight over to dig through his duffle bag for clothes and Cas’s eyes followed him the entire way. He shifted, adjusting himself in his seat, and swallowed thickly. Sam just rolled his eyes and chuckled, “some things never change.”

“What was that, Sammy?” Dean pulled out a clean pair of boxers, then rooted for a t-shirt before muttering, “gotta do laundry today. Damnit.”

“Nothing.” Sam coughed, then headed over to grab his own bag and began stuffing dirty clothes into it before tossing it onto Dean’s bed; “shove your dirty stuff in there and I’ll do a laundry run once Cas is gone.”

Dean’s head came up at that. “Wait, what do you mean ‘once Cas is gone’?”

Cas stood from his seat and reached for his trench coat, draping it over one arm rather than actually pulling it on. “Dean… I have to go for a while. I’ve been away from Heaven and unreachable for too long. I’m already going to be severely reprimanded when I get back.”

“…right. Right.” Something shuttered off in Dean’s eyes, and he went back to getting dressed, his movements quick and efficient now. “Go, then. Don’t want you getting in trouble because of me.”

“Dean,” Cas took a step toward him, but Dean obviously tensed, and he stopped. Looked down with a sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ll be back as soon as I can. And if you need something, just… pray to me, and I’ll come.”

Sam said gently, “thanks, Cas.”

Cas flashed him a sad smile—and then he was gone.

-- --

Dean was not in a good mood for the rest of the day, and Sam was more than happy to volunteer to do laundry to get out of the motel room for a while, but he could only linger in the motel’s laundry room for so long before he eventually had to return. When he did get back, Dean was dressed, at least, but sitting in front of the TV, brooding at the screen, obviously not actually paying attention to what was playing on it, with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

Sam just sighed and put their clean clothes away, then went over to his computer and booted it up. Once it was ready to go, he pulled up the relevant pages and then waved Dean over, snapping his fingers to catch his attention, “come over here, I’ve got something to show you.”

Dean heaved a sigh but got up nonetheless and made his way over to sit at the table with his brother, glass of whiskey in tow. “What do you want, Sammy?”

“The thing in New Orleans.” Sam spun his laptop around, open to a page on Inuit folklore; “okay, so Bobby and I did some research, and we think it might be a palraijuq.”

“…”

“A palraijuq.”

“I’m sorry a what now?”

“A pal-rai-juq,” Sam repeated for the third time with an eyeroll, enunciating more clearly for his brother’s sake, “it’s a creature from Inuit folklore. Kind of like a giant armored crocodile with six legs and a taste for human meat.”

“Okay, giant crocodile. Great. But Inuit?”

“Yeah.”

“Like Alaska?”

“Yeah, Dean, like Alaska.”

“Then what the hell is it doing in freaking Louisiana?”

Sam shrugged but he was frowning. “How should I know? Weird creature behavior happens all the freaking time. Remember the chupacabra up in Maine back before you… uh. You know.” He didn’t want to actually say died or went to Hell; “how did that make any sense? This is just another one of those things where you have to accept it and move on.”

Dean slumped back in his seat and let his head fall back with a groan. “Alright fine, how do we kill it then?”

“Well, that is the tricky part.” Sam told him, and Dean slumped even further because there was always a tricky part. “An Inuit arrowhead, dipped in seal blood, shot through the palraijuq’s eye. I guess that’s the only part of it that isn’t covered in armor.”

“Sam, where the hell are we going to get either of those things?” Dean demanded, and he absolutely was not whining, thank you very much.

Sam was already typing away at his computer. Dean tried to be patient while his brother did his searching, but sometimes it wasn’t easy. Now he shifted around restlessly until finally Sam said “ah,” and looked up again. “There’s a few Inuit arrows in Alabama.”

“Great! We can go rip those off asap once we get down south,” Dean fixed Sam with a look, “but where are we gonna get the seal blood, Sammy? That’s not like a goat or a dog, we don’t exactly have seals running wild around freaking Louisiana. And if you even think about saying Sea World, so help me God…”

Sam hesitated before asking, “think we could ask your boyfriend?”

“We can’t ask Cas for every Goddamned thing just because he’s an angel, Sam, we have to—”

“What can’t you ask me for?” Cas wondered, having popped into the room just behind Dean’s seat. Dean startled and flailed slightly, his chair tipping backward—and Cas simply reached out to catch it and right it before he could fall. “I heard my name. How can I help?”

Sam made note that not only did Dean not dispute the ‘boyfriend’ label, but he also actually gave Cas what amounted to a small smile once he’d stopped flailing. That was progress. As for Sam himself, he didn’t even blink when Cas suddenly poofed into existence there the way he had. He supposed he was starting to get used to it, the teleporting thing, although actually doing it himself was another matter entirely; when Cas had done it with him the first time it had left his stomach tied up in knots for what felt like hours afterwards. The second time hadn’t been nearly so bad, though.

“Hi, Cas.” Sam said, already looking back to his computer.

“Hello, Sam.” Cas replied, before turning his attention to Dean. His greeting was the same, but his tone was warmer. Sam noted it but didn’t take it personally. “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.” Dean replied, shifting in his seat and clearing his throat. He actively forced the smile off his face and reached to pull out one of the other chairs around the table, a clear invitation for Cas to take a seat. The angel did so without comment. “I thought you had to go back to Heaven and stuff.”

“I did.” Cas agreed, “but Heaven’s time is different from Earth’s time. A few hours down here is years in Heaven. I… made up for my transgressions, somewhat. And a part of me is always tuned to you, Dean.” And it was clear that Dean was pretty much always top priority for him now, the same as he had been in the past—the same as he apparently always had been, regardless of whether Dean had been aware of it or not. “My superiors aren’t happy with me at the moment, but, as I said, I heard my name, so.” Then he simply asked again, “how can I help?”

Dean was just looking at Cas, a little bit contemplative with fondness trying to edge its way in as well—but he was doing a good job hiding it. Sam watched him discreetly, and privately thought he was doing well, all things considered. Having the love of your life come back from the dead wasn’t a small thing, and Dean hadn’t been coping well to begin with, for obvious reasons. But he seemed to be to the point now where his anger and resentment, while still there, were beginning to simmer down.

It was a good thing, because Dean had been completely spinning out there for a while, between the whole Hell thing and Cas showing up back in his life. And it was obvious right from the hop that he was still as in love with Cas now as he had been years ago when Cas had vanished. But he still had a lot to work through before he could completely trust Cas again, and Sam knew Cas understood that. Something between them had been broken by Cas disappearing the way he had, and now they needed to slowly glue the parts back together. They were working on it.

Finally, Sam cleared his throat. “Cas, we’re pretty sure we’re up against a palraijuq.”

Cas paused, eyes narrowing slightly as he clearly went through a mental catalogue in his head, and then he nodded. “Ah. Yes. Fearsome creatures. They originate from the far north, if I remember correctly.”

“The Yukon area, yeah.” Sam confirmed. “Not entirely sure what one is doing this far south, to be honest.”

Cas shrugged. “Weather pattern changes, habitat destruction, it could be any number of reasons. Supernatural creatures often migrate for the same reasons regular animals do. It could be its food supply simply ran out and it set out for new territory. You have to admit, this place is full of easy meals for something like that.”

He had a point. Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Freaking global warming.”

“Basically.” Cas agreed.

“Anyway,” Sam glanced at his computer again, then back up at Cas, “the lore says we need an Inuit arrowhead dipped in seal blood.”

“No, that’s wrong.” The angel frowned, eyes flitting back and forth as he thought for another minute before; “a spearhead, not an arrowhead. It has to be a spearhead. The seal blood part is correct, though. Preferably from erignathus barbatus, and best from a pup.”

“Erignathus barbatus?” Sam asked.

“The bearded seal.” Cas shook his head, “I’m sorry, I… I’ve gotten used to talking—communicating—a certain way, in Heaven. I forget myself sometimes when I’m down here.”

“I’m stuck on the best from a pup part.” Dean said, “it’s bad enough we have to bleed a seal, but a baby seal? C’mon, man. Could we pick a cuter animal?” Sam just shrugged and gestured from his computer toward Cas and back again, Dean rubbed at his forehead. “Can we just agree to make this as painless as possible for the thing?”

“You need me to obtain the seal blood, I take it?” Cas asked, and then assured Dean, “I’ll make it as humane as possible.”

“Thanks, Cas. I hope you don’t mind.” Sam offered a little smile.

“I’ve done worse.” Cas glanced down slightly. Obviously, things from the past few years—or millennia, in Heaven’s time—were weighing on him, but he didn’t say anything, just stood from his seat and prepared to leave. “This could take some time; pupping season ended a month ago. Finding a young enough pup could be troublesome.”

At the last second, Dean’s eyes flitted to Sam briefly before returning to Cas, and he reached up to take hold of one of Cas’s hands with his own, just giving it a gentle squeeze, a tiny, brief, moment of affection. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas smiled and squeezed his hand back. “I’ll be back.” And then he was gone.

Once Cas had disappeared, Sam went back to his laptop and quickly found them some Inuit spearheads they could rip off from a different museum, and they made plans to leave the next day to do exactly that.

That taken care of, Sam went to the fridge and pulled out a pair of beers, bringing one over for Dean and popping the cap on his own to take a drink. He watched Dean stare down at the bottle in his hands for a couple of minutes before finally saying, “dude, you need to talk about it or you’re going to drive yourself insane.”

“Huh?” Dean looked up again—and immediately opened his beer, taking a huge gulp. “There’s nothing to talk about, Sammy.”

“There is, though, after everything that happened with you and Cas—”

“Sam, you know I’m not into all that sharing feelings crap.”

“Yeah, but this is a big one, and if you’re not going to talk to Cas about it, then—”

“I have talked to Cas about it. More than once.” Dean grit out. “Look, just leave it alone.”

But Sam was like a dog with a bone with some things and this was apparently going to be one of them, despite Cas’s warning earlier. He sat back down across from Dean and set his beer on the table, then demanded, “you look at him like a lost puppy sometimes, and I just don’t get why you don’t—”

“Because I am! We’re trying to make it work, but I’m drowning, Sammy!” Dean finally snapped, slamming his own beer down on the table, the force making it foam out the top and down over his hand. He cursed and shook his hand slightly, then wiped it on his jeans. Green eyes glared. “I searched for him, you know how long I searched for him, you helped me search, for God’s sake! I cried and I sobbed, and I raged and I—I broke, and he was just up in Heaven watching me go through that! And before you say anything, I get it, he wasn’t allowed to come see me, but just the fact that he was watching me fall to pieces is—”

Breaking off, he swallowed hard and looked down.

“I still love him. More than anything. More than life. But he’s seen the absolute worst of me and I just…” Dean trailed off for a moment. Sam was silent, just sitting and waiting, “I’m not the person I used to be, Sammy. But I look at Cas and I see everything that I was before all this shit, and it tears me apart inside. And I do love him. You know that, of course you do. So does he. I never stopped. Cas is the love of my damned life. But everything inside me is stripped raw and right now loving him is like rubbing salt into an open wound. Every time he’s around I feel… I feel everything so clearly. Love and hate and hope and pain, just all in one big ball. And I’m trying, I really am, but sometimes the pain is just too much and I…”

“You lash out.” Sam finished for him softly. He offered a little, barely-there smile, “but you’re doing better, Dean. I can see it in how you talk to him and interact with him. I get that it still hurts, but you’re doing so much better. Even if you don’t see it right now.”

Dean huffed and glanced up. “I’m trying.” He repeated, “I’m trying for Cas, because I get that the last few years haven’t exactly been easy on him, either. And I can’t imagine what it was like…” He trailed off again and swallowed thickly before continuing; “I can’t imagine what it was like to suddenly remember all that angel shit and be Called back to Heaven instantly, and immediately told he could have no contact with me. To have everything ripped away like that, his whole life. It must have broken his heart, and I hate the thought of that. So, I’m trying. For him.”

“You should try for you, too, you know.” Sam told his brother gently. “Because he is back, and you do still love each other. Despite the whole angel… thing.”

A barked laugh from Dean at that, “that was the last thing I expected. Cas is a freaking angel.”

Sam smiled a little. “You remember the little angel wings he had on his backpack in high school? Ironic now.”

“Yeah.” Dean reached for his beer and took a gulp, making a face. It wasn’t right now that it had foamed over. “I never believed in angels, all this time, and it turns out I was sleeping with one for years.” Then a pause, followed by a warning look and, “dude, if you make a Touched By An Angel joke, I swear…”

Sam held his hands up, a placating gesture. “I wasn’t going to.”

Another brief silence and then; “he pulled my ass out of Hell, Sam. He saved me from the pit, and all I did to thank him was shout and yell and make accusations. I guess I do take after Dad more than I thought.” A pause and he added, “though there was some frankly amazing angry sex, but that’s beside the point.”

“You didn’t need to mention that.” Sam coughed out around the lip of his beer bottle.

“I guess the point is…” Dean ignored Sam’s protest and continued on, seemingly determined now that he was on a roll; “he’s done nothing but be here for me ever since he literally saved me from damnation, and I’ve just… been a spiteful little bitch. I shouldn’t… I can’t do that anymore. It’s too hard on him. And on me.” Then a pause, followed by; “it’s just… when Cas is around, every possible emotion boils to the surface immediately and it’s hard to sort through them all, I…”

“You’re trying.” Sam concluded, repeating Dean’s earlier words, and then, when the following silence stretched on an uncomfortable amount of time, he smacked a hand against the table and announced, “A+ share, Dean, great job! What do you say we go out for burgers to celebrate?”

Dean had been looking uncomfortable, but now relaxed visibly and gave his brother a little, grateful look before downing the rest of his shitty beer and setting the bottle back on the table. “That sounds like a plan. We’ve gotta wait for Cas anyway, we might as well go grab some grub while we’re at it.” Then a pause and he added; “then I guess we’re on our way to Louisiana.”

Sam smiled and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll drive.”

Dean snorted and pulled the keys out of his jeans pocket. “Like hell you will.”

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #destiel #destiel fanfiction #spn #spn fic #sena writes #storm season by senashenta

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dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice · 2 years ago

Text

To the Shadows that Cry Witch /// Chapter 18

And I'm back!! I'm so happy to return to writing this fic for you guys, and for the long time I've been away, I've made sure to make this next chapter extra long for you all - at almost 6k words! (Which is a feat for me lol) So good news aside, I am unfortunately not going to be posting weekly anymore, as I have just started uni, and I already have a lot of studying to do. But I can promise that I will be posting chpaters as frequent as I can, I'll just be limiting myself to make time for my academic side of life. Anyways, Enjoy! <3

Summary: Magic was real, but it came at a price. So when two girls end up in the one place they never thought they could reach, strange things began to happen. Good or bad? That's up to them to find out.

Tags: Kili x oc/reader - Fili x oc (POV to be written soon) - Thorin's company × ocs/reader (platonic) - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Bagginshield

Word Count: 5960

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, claustrophia, accidental drowning, swearing.

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

PLEASE START FROM THE BEGINNING IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY OK LOVE U

Want some background music? Check out my Soundtrack Playlist!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 17 // Chapter 18 // Chapter 19 >

Part 2: Chapter 18 -

Into the thick of it.

Selenotropism (Definition): Growth in response to moonlight. (Noun / Origin: Classical Greek / Se·lee·no·trop·isum)

The Old Forest, Outer Hobbiton, The Shire – T.A. 25th October 2939 of the Third Age (1339 in Shire-reckoning)

I had strayed from the path a while back, grass replacing the smooth stones that marked the paths circling Hobbiton. Only the dying light of my small lantern accompanied me, I foolishly realised, as I had not planned ahead for this spur-of-the-moment outing – thinking I could rely on the shine of the moon, but I forgot that it was a new phase, so all that was ahead of me was the gaping darkness, as it tempted me deeper into the towering trees of the Old Forest.

By now, any glow from the lights left outside each hobbit hole had vanished behind the silhouettes of thick trunks and bushes that surrounded me. The only luck I had to return before Bilbo’s curfew was if I stumbled upon a road that led me back, and, I managed to guess the correct direction that wouldn’t lead me into the wilderness. Just because I had a map of Middle Earth on my favourite mug back home, didn’t mean I had memorised it. Which, at this point, was my biggest downfall.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, taking in the sharp, fresh air that came with a clear late evening, like a cold glass of water, that was blissful on your throat at 2am. Approaching one of the taller trees, I plopped myself down against its trunk and stretched my legs out. Many thoughts passed over my mind, memories from Earth, things I owned that would never be found here, but what stuck, was thoughts of my family; Where they were; if time continued on, and, if the two of us reported missing. How they would cope with the news. That was the one thing I dreaded – considering how sensitive my family was. I wondered about Bella, my dog. Knowing her singular braincell, it’ll take her a few years to realise I’m gone. I smiled at the thought of my dogs face as she pounced around the fields in search of rabbits, her thin ginger tail whipping back and forth. Her warm brown eyes staring intently at me from in between the long grass, the iris’ flickering with green.

Wait – green?

Bella’s eyes weren’t green.

I blinked rapidly, returning my senses to my surroundings. Pressing the bases of my palms against my eyelids, I blinked them open, and realised that the green eyes weren’t leaving – they were in fact, in front of me.

I grabbed my lantern and held it up, stretching my arm out to allow the dying flame illuminate the bushes that sat a few yards ahead of my feet. With baited breath I stared arduously at the small gap of leaves, until a flash of green flickered, and the pair of green eyes returned, this time with a physical body.

Placing one paw in front of the other, the shadow silently crept out from beneath the darkness of the leaves, almost like a hunter stalking its prey. Light shimmered like gold on ebony fur, and with a twitch of its ear, a black cat emerged, traipsing into the light.

A soft gasp left my lips, watching it stop just before where my feet lay, and I felt a smile warm my face. Any sorrowful thought that plagued my mind earlier was now whisked away at the sight of the small feline.

“Hello,” I whispered, as I gently placed the lantern down, watching as the cat’s emerald eyes flickered over me, following my every move. “Where did you come from?”

As slowly as before, I lowered my hand to the ground, and carefully moved it towards the creature, stopping just past my toes. To my delight, the cat took another cautious step forwards, it’s black nose lifting to sniff the air, before lowering it to my curled fingers. My pinkie twitched slightly, and the cat took a step back, returning to sit where it had revealed itself by the bush, the end of its tail flicking slightly from where it rested on the grass.

“No touching? That’s ok.” I murmured, taking my hand back and placing it on my lap. Minutes passed by, where the two of us simply observed each other, getting used to the other’s presence whilst waiting for the other to move.

My head raised suddenly, Bilbo’s stern face appearing at the forefront of my mind, and I remembered my curfew. Getting to my feet as calmly as I could to not startle the creature in front of me, I brushed off the fallen leaves that had caught themselves on my shift and coat, and picked up my lantern.

I had only taken a couple steps, when a ‘meow’ sounded from behind me. Puzzled I turned around to see the cat was now by my feet, it’s eyes wide as it approached me, almost playful.

“Huh?” Was all I said.

It meowed again, white teeth flashing as it opened its mouth to make the sounds.

“I’m sorry but I have to go.” I replied gently. “Or Bilbo will have my head.”

I went to walk away once again, but jumped with a start as I looked down to find it had appeared in front of me, but this time with something familiar in its mouth. Squinting, I gasped in outrage when I realised what it was.

“Hey!” I exclaimed, shoving my hand into the inner pocket of my coat, only to find it open and missing the one thing that was supposed to be inside it. Though I knew where it had gone – and it was currently trotting away with its tail held high.

Turning on my heel, I strode after the cat, keeping the lantern as high as I could to not lose the dark-furred feline to the darkness it could oh-so easily blend into. Eventually I broke into a run, frustrated at the sight of the cat as it only got further away.

“Come on!” I cried with heaving breaths – bed rest had not been courteous to my stamina levels. “That’s important to me! You can’t just take it!”

Said thing was a braided leather bracelet, cream in colour, with a red button sewn on as a clasp. It was a handmade gift from my grandad, one I had kept close to me and cherished since his passing three years ago. And I certainly wasn’t going to part with it any time soon.

My walking boots thumped heavily against the ground. Whilst working perfectly well on the wild terrain, they were certainly not suited for running, as my feet began to feel like they have become big hooves – too heavy and stiff for these kinds of escapades. Shoving away a low hanging branch, I then leaped over a twisted root, only to cry out as my still-healing ankle gave way, and I hit the ground with a thud.

With a groan, I pushed myself onto my elbows before twisting over to sit up. The cat came back into my mind, and I whipped my head around, ignoring the throbbing aches from the points of impact my body graciously had with the ground.

The glass of my lantern was smashed on the ground in front of me, and in the final flickers of the flame, my eyes landed on a large rabbit hole in the middle of a hollowed tree trunk, and as I climbed to my feet, I caught a flash of green from in the shadows. Marching over, I kneeled down, braced my hands on either side of the rotting bark, and peered into the darkness.

It was an exceptionally large tunnel, big enough for me to fit into. Roots of all sizes twisted and hung from the walls and roof of soil. The odd beetle appeared, before dashing away again, and as the flame behind me finally died, I went to give up on the rescue.

With a snap, a twig broke behind me, and I spun around, only to let out a scream as the rotten bark crumbled in my hands as it gave way. Feeling a sharp knock against my head, I watched the world go black, feeling myself tumble into the darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“C’mon c’mon c’mon.” I whimpered, working my trembling hands as best as I could to strike the match against the rough side of the cardboard box. It really helped sometimes when I forgot to empty all my pockets, feeling extremely lucky that matches were one of the things found. What didn’t help was the uncontrollable tears that began to pool in my eyes – and also that fact that I was stuck in a narrow tunnel in the complete pitch black.

With a crackle and a hiss, the small flame burst to life in between my fingers, and I craned my head the best I could to look down either side of the tunnel, hindered by the fact that it was so narrow, my back was arched forwards and my neck was constantly bent over at the low ceiling. The tightening in my chest also meant the claustrophobia was kicking in big time.

Trying my best to look down both sides as much as I could through the blur of my tears, I noticed that one end trailed upwards, and decided that was my best option to fining the way out. Feeling the heat of the flame grow, I quickly blew the match out, and summoning all the energy I had left, I flopped onto my front, and began to commando crawl up through the darkness.

Digging my elbows and knees into the soil, I clambered onwards for what felt like a quarter of an hour, whilst also lighting the odd match, checking that there wasn’t any other tunnels that I would accidentally take. It was odd that I was so far down, and I wondered whether or not I landed down there naturally.

Soon, to my luck, the fresh air from earlier began to replace the damp and stagnant, the tunnel widening enough for me to stand on my knees, and I felt relief wash through me knowing I was almost out. Lighting a match, I raised it up, only to see a large hole above me just a metre ahead, with a familiar wall of bark surrounding it. Shuffling myself closer whilst trying to keep the match alight, I went to reach to the edge of the hole, when something caught my eye.

Adding on to the very odd things that had happened to me on this night, I stared bewildered at my bracelet hanging right in front of me, hooked onto an even odder-looking piece of wood. My hand quickly shot out, grabbing it and stuffing it to the bottom of my deepest pocket, making sure it was zipped up securely, safe and tight.

Lighting another match, I looked back, holding the small flame up as I eyed the piece of wood curiously. It didn’t look quite like a root – the end was too thick and blunt, and was covered in parts that were unnaturally smooth, a darkened colour as if someone had crawled down here and decided to carve and polish random parts of tree roots, leaving them to stick out about several inches from the soil. Reaching out, I poked and prodded at it with my fingernail, before slowly wrapping my hand around it. A pull.

But I didn’t pull it.

Before I knew it, my hand was jerked forward, sucked into the wall as if I had stuck my hand into the flesh of a giant slimy slug, and I quickly began to panic, my eyes widening as I watched soil wrap around my wrist like short, stubby tentacles to pull it in further. The squelching and crumbling of wet dirt and rock contorting around my limb echoed through the tunnel as I realised that I couldn’t let go of the stick, so trying my best to think rationally through the crushing fear of becoming part of the ground, I leant onto my back and lifted my legs up, bracing my feet against the wall. With all my might, I gritted my teeth together as I grasped my rapidly disappearing arm, and pulled.

I let out a loud grunting breath as I felt it give way a little, but quickly repositioned as I prepared to pull again. But before I could, a deep sound resonated in my ears, drowning out the noises of moving dirt, and every hair on my body stood on end, terror pinging through every vertebrae along my spine, the one sound I had wished to never hear again pounding against my ear drums.

Feeling the colour drain from my face, I slowly turned my head to my right, until my eyes landed on an oh-so familiar shape down in the tunnel.

It was blue.

Slitted eyes pierced into my own as I fixated on the terrifying creature from my dream, and a tsunami of panic crashed over me, for this time I wasn’t in a dream – and this was very much real.

With a cry, I returned to my arm, bracing my legs and pulling with all my might. My eyes darted back down the tunnel, and the creature lurched, it’s claws reaching out to gouge the dirt as it tried to pull its large body towards me. If they could gouge dirt, they could certainly gouge me. Sobs racked through my throat as I frantically tugged at my arm, feeling my fingernails break skin as I clawed uncontrollably at my wrist, that was slowly but surely revealing itself.

Letting out a scream with one final pull, my hand shot out, hitting me in the nose. Through the uncontrollable watering of my eyes, I watched as the soil closed itself back up, spiralling inwards like an alien mouth until it became part of the tunnel wall once again. A roar much closer than before pierced my ears, and I darted for the hole above me.

Hands clawed and gripped at grass as I clumped bundles of it up, pulling my torso up and over the edge whilst my feet scrambled and slipped against roots and waterlogged soil.

I managed to hook one knee over the edge, and went to drag the other up, when something pulled against it. Blood pumped through my ears as I looked down, only to find that the bandage around my ankle had snagged against a root. I pulled my foot up again and again, only to find that the know holding it together refused to budge.

“Curse Erard and his perfect bandaging!” I cried.

Remembering what I had put in my coat pocket earlier, I stuck my hand in to pull out my sewing scissors, and quickly got to work, hacking away at the cream material.

It was just in time, because as soon as my foot landed on the grass, a glowing blue set of claws shot out. I screamed in terror, then howled in pain as one of the hooked appendages nicked my shin, and I clambered to my feet, sprinting full power into the darkness.

Tears ran down and across my cheeks, and hair whipped across my face and neck as I raced between the dark silhouettes of trees and stumbled over unseen roots, hoping to whatever deity was out there that I was going the right way. Adrenaline had replaced any feeling as I tried to put as much distance between myself and that godforsaken hole.

I decided to only take a moment, hands gripping my knees as I arched over to catch what breath I’d lost, air rattling through my lungs as I tried my best to stop my breaths from shuddering and shaking. My back pressed against a trunk as I tried to shrink my shoulders together, hiding myself as best as I could whilst I recovered. Though an odd feeling in one of my hands had my eyes blinking open, and in the darkness, I could just make out the outline of a thin object in my hand. Running my fingers up and down the surface, I recognised it: I had not let go of the oddly shaped stick, the one that caused my hand to be sucked into a wall by some unseen force. Doing my best in the pitch black, I tried to make out the shapes and features on the stick of wood – surprisingly straight, and thinned out slightly at the top end, and I wondered if someone had dropped their toy wand down a rabbit hole.

Leaves rustled nearby, and I quickly spun around. Though I had not watched my surroundings, and my arm collided with the trunk, knocking the stick sharply against the bark.

A light.

A spark.

Then a bang.

I let out a scream, my arm coming up to shelter my face against the splinters of wood that flew past me. Lowering it, my eyes widened like saucers as I gawked at the sight in front of me.

The tree that stood to the right of mine was now smoking, the edges of the gaping hole that pierced all the way through the trunk glowing an orange, whilst embers floated, before slowly lowering to the ground.

My hands flew up unconsciously in surrender, when I looked to my right hand, looking accusingly at the perpetrator. Just barely, I managed to spot the tip as a light faded until it returned to looking like any other smoothed out stick off a tree.

Though I guess it wasn’t just a stick.

Thundering footsteps vibrated heavily through the ground, and up my legs. Daring to look around the tree, my eyes landed on the blue outline of the creature as it spread its wings, using them to help it skid to a stop, mud spraying everywhere (which was odd, considering I could still see through it).

I held my breath, begging for it to move on. It raised its horned head, taking deep breaths as it searched for scents in the air – most likely mine – and I prayed that the light wind blowed in my favour.

A creak, then a groan, then more creaks, sounded from beside me. Both me and the creature slowly turned our heads, watching as the tree with the hole began to splinter at the sides of the hole, bits of wood springing out as the upper half pressed its weight down. With a loud, creaking BANG, the sides gave way, and the upper half slammed down onto its lower half, before letting out a long, resounding groan as it fell to the side, and my body shrunk in on itself, cringing at every loud noise that drew the creatures attention to my hiding spot. Hitting the ground with a final mighty crash, branches and leaves snapped off whilst birds from all around scattered at the sudden noise.

Finally, I let my body relax, shaking off the tension as the foliage settled once again, and I peeked around my tree once again, only to find that the creature was looking directly at me.

Taking cautious steps, I slowly began to back away, only for the creature to lower its head, and it began steadily stalking towards me, just like it had done on our first meeting.

Feeling the fear and panic pierce through me once again, I racked my brain for a way out. I glanced at the stick in my hand. Raising my arm, I hesitantly pointed it at the creature. Its eyes landed on what I was pointing, at it let out a roar, and broke into a run. I sped up my backwards walking, keeping my arm raised, and without thinking, I brought it back, and gave it a powerful flick.

Just like before, a spark shot out the end, flooding the forest with light for a moment, crossing the distance in less than a second before landing a direct hit on the beasts head.

The blast sent it flying backwards, and it crashed into the bushes behind it, vanishing amongst the leaves after leaving an outline of its landing. I punch the air, letting out an uncontrollable shout of triumph. Though that was short lived, as the beast let out another roar, more aggressive than the last. Oh, I had pissed it off big time.

Stumbling over my own feet, I darted back the way I had come, speeding as fast as my legs would allow, praying that the lights of Hobbiton would appear again soon.

To my luck, as if someone was watching over me, I finally felt the stone path, that I had foolishly abandoned earlier, back under the soles of my boots, and looking up, I smiled, relieved, at the sight of a street-lantern just metres ahead. I could finally see properly. I continued down the path at the same running speed, not letting any false sense of security fall over me. The banks at either side of the path grew higher and higher as the stones travelled downwards towards the first set of houses, until one fell away to reveal the town. Behind me, my ears picked up the sounds of footsteps again, and I whipped around, raising the stick once more to point it at the creature, this time aiming for between the eyes.

It skidded to a halt at the edge of the forest, kicking up another spray of dirt as it did. It stood there, nostrils flaring, with what looked like smoke emitting from them and from between the gaps of its mouth. Claws dug into the ground as it stood on the bank that towered above me, its eyes boring into mine before flicking down to what was in my hand.

A growl erupted from its throat, one that you would feel in the ground rather than the air, it was that deep. It snapped its jaws, teeth flashing and saliva dripping and disappearing into thin air. To my surprise, with a flick of its spiked tail, it tucked in its wings and turned around, vanishing into the forest.

A breath escaped me, and I relaxed every tensed muscle, whilst patting my chest to calm my quivering heart. I reached up and rubbed my neck, moving my head around in a full circle to feel those satisfying pops in my spine. I also shook my arms and legs out, ridding what I could of my remaining adrenaline.

Doing a quick scan of the area, I figured everyone was still in bed, despite the loud screams and shouts I had made while deep in the forest. I made a reminder to never get myself back into any sort of danger whilst staying with hobbits, because you could guarantee that they would snore through the whole ordeal unless you smashed their window in screaming bloody murder.

After confirming that nobody was watching me, I began the trek up to Bilbo’s house. Despite the fact that no one heard me in the woods earlier, it didn’t mean that I didn’t want to be found wandering around after hours, so I decided to take the long but hidden route around the outskirts of the town.

‘At least it’s scenic.’ I thought to myself, but remembered immediately afterwards that I wouldn’t be able to see most of it considering the sun was non-existent right now, and the nearest lanterns were at least a couple metres away from the path.

Jogging over one of the stone bridges, I walked along the path until I reached the banks of one of Hobbiton’s lakes. Across it, I could make out the lights from Bilbo’s kitchen windows up the hill, and sped up. Walking past a cluster of bushes, I looked over them at the small lake beside me, only to stop in my tracks.

On the grassy bank on the other side of the lake, Kay stood in only her shift and socks, deathly still. Her head was tilted down slightly, strands of wavy copper hair hanging down and concealing her face slightly as she stared into the watery depths.

I stared apprehensive – she had never done anything like this before. Unless she had a secret hobby that included staring at water (when she knows she can’t swim yet), then there definitely was something wrong. Silently lowering into a crouch, I hid myself behind the bushes, and crawled on my hands until I was able to peek around the leaves.

She still hadn’t moved from her standing position, though after a moment passed, her leg moved out, and she took a single step forward, and leaned over slightly.

Yeah, there was definitely something wrong.

I went to stand up, planning on marching over there and dragging her away for an explanation, when I stumbled slightly. My hand shot out to grab at a branch of a bush, only for it to let out a crack that resounded through the silence of the night.

Kay’s head snapped up, and I immediately stilled, staring in horror.

From where I was, I could see that her eyes had turned completely white, reflecting in the yellow glow of the street-lantern nearby, and was that blue on her cheeks?? No, no blue anymore. I remained as still as I could – I didn’t trust white eyed Kay – and remained in the shadows until she slowly turned back towards the water.

A minute passed, where she only stood, then she took another step forward, her toes at the edge of the grassy bank that held her up about half a metre higher above the water level. She leaned further. And further. I was preparing to call out, when she fell, sending a wave to crash over the still surface of the water, and I rushed to my feet.

Nuh uh, there was no way I’m having some water-obsessed demon possess my only earth friend to jump in lakes!!

(Well, more like belly flopped.)

Rounding the edge to where she had stood, chucking the stick in my hand on the ground, and I dived in, getting flashbacks to pulling her out of that pond when we first fell here. In the black depths, I stuck my arms out, hoping to catch onto her at some point.

A turquoise glow appeared from near my feet, and brushing the blurred outlines of pondweed aside, I made out the fuzzy silhouette of Kay as she floated unmoving over the glow, though one of her arms was outstretched, reaching towards it. I then reached out and grasped her shoulder, only for her to begin thrashing in my grip. Despite her flailing, I managed to keep my hands on her, and started dragging her to the surface.

Breaking the surface, I gasped for air, and brought Kay with me, only for her to worsen. This time, she replaced thrashing for screeching, her hands shooting out to claw at where mine were on her biceps. At one point she leaned over to bite me, and I noticed something ghastly.

Her teeth had become pointed and fang-like, snapping menacingly just like the creature had done earlier as it chased me through the woods.

Deciding that enough was enough, I swam towards the shore. More like flopped around, considering I had a feral, possessed Kay in my grip trying to gnaw my arm into a stub.

Reaching a part of the bank that slowly raised into short pebble beach, instead of the miniature grassy cliff, I managed to find my footing, and quickly let go of Kay to shrug off my heavy, now waterlogged coat and chuck it onto the shore. Turning back, I stood and watched as Kay remained on her front in the water, her hands gripping onto the stone as she lifted her head up to glare at me with her white eyes. I took a small step forward, and she bared her teeth, emitting a cat-like hiss. I put my hands on my hips.

“Alright, mermaid time is over.” I deadpanned.

She hissed again, and pushed back against the rocks, trying to re-submerge herself. Acting quick, I kicked at the water, emitting a wave that hit her directly in the face. Whilst she flailed distracted at the attack, I lunged forward and grabbed her under the armpits. She shrieked, arms twisting and flapping about to try and claw at my arms again. Though she had cut her nails recently, so all that she left were shallow red and white lines along my forearms. Dragging her onto the stones, I pinned her down by the shoulders and tried speaking over her hissing and screaming.

“C’mon, you can’t just go –” *HISSS* “ –Stop it. I said you can’t just go around jumping into water whenever you feel like it and expect me to drag you out each time!”

A hand came out and slapped against the side of my head, and I sucked in a breath, gritting my teeth. Shutting my eyes for a second, I let out the breath and opened them again to meet Kay’s white ones, and came to my last option.

“You asked for it.” I warned, raising my eyebrows at her accusingly.

And slapped her across the face.

Letting go, I watched as she rolled over, groaning, and curled in on herself, then stilled. A moment passed, and her head shot up, whipping around with a frown on her face, along with a red mark shining prominently on her left cheek. What was relieving though, was the fact that her eyes had returned to her usual grey. Raising her hand to her cheek, she glared at me.

“The fuck was that for??” She whinged. “That hurt.”

“That hurt?? Then what the hell do you call this??” I raised my forearms up, accidentally flicking water everywhere, to show off the scratches and bitemarks along the skin. She gawked at them with wide eyes, but opened her mouth, outraged.

“I didn’t do that!!” She cried.

“Yes you did! For some reason you thought tonight would be a good time to play mermaids, and have been kicking and screaming ever since, all the while I’ve been trying to drag you out to stop you from drowning yourself!”

“Drag me out – ?” Looking to the side of me, her mouth hung open as she spotted the lake behind me, then down at her clothes, reaching to pull at the drenched shift that was clinging to her skin. “I was – I was in the forest!”

“The forest? What were you doing there?!” I questioned.

“I was there to ask you the same thing!” She exclaimed. “I followed you! To make sure you weren’t doing anything stupid after Bilbo had said you went for a walk. I ended up losing you for a bit when you ran after something, and when I found you looking into that giant rabbit hole, I ended up snapping that twig that scared you into falling in.” She frowned. “Then I think I blacked out, and woke up here – to you slapping the shit out of me, might I mention!” She accused, shoving a soggy finger in my direction.

My hands flew up in protest. “Yeah, cause you were acting possessed! I was walking back to Bilbo’s when I saw you standing on the bank just staring into the water like that girl from The Ring, then you fell in, and when I tried to get you out, you eyes were white and your teeth had magically become sharp for some reason!” I replied, gesturing to the shallow puncture marks in my arms. “All you had to do was grow a fish tail and I would’ve officially thought I was going mad!”

Kay stared incredulously, her mouth hanging open wide enough to catch an entire hoard of flies as she remained in a shocked silence.

“White eyes.” I nodded. “Sharp. teeth.” I nodded again.

“Would I lie about something as crazy as that?” I asked.

Slowly, she shook her head.

“So I went all demon on you?” She questioned, a guilty look on her face.

I thought for a moment. “More like feral mermaid.”

She raised her eyebrows, intrigued by that version.

“But you had no control over yourself.” I stated, and she went back to frowning, deflated at the revelation.

We both sat there, drenched hair clinging to our faces and clothes heavy and dripping with lake water. I ended up pulling a few pieces of pondweed off from where they had caught on my shoulders and legs. Flicking away a piece on my ankle, a tiny nudge of movement caught my eye, and I let out a gasp at the sight of a stick almost identical to the one I had found, held loosely in Kay’s hand. I pointed at it.

“Where did you get that?” I questioned.

She eyed me, confused, then her eyes switched to where I was pointing. Frowning deeper, she quickly brought it up to her face, examining it with wide eyes, before bringing it away and gingerly dropping it down between us.

“I have never seen this before in my life.”

We both stared at the stick as it laid on the pebble shore. Kay got startled as I then scrambled to my feet, kicking stones everywhere, and she watched as I ran along the shoreline, before skidding to a stop to grab something off the ground, and sprinting back. Flopping back onto my spot, I placed my stick next to hers, watching the realisation dawn on Kay’s face as she stared at them.

“I found mine,” I jabbed a finger at it, whilst catching my breath, “Down that rabbit hole I fell down.” Kay’s head shot up to look at me in shock. “It was sticking out of the soil, and when I tried to pull it out, the wall tried sucking me into it, a bit like how you were possessed and almost drowned when getting yours.”

Kay’s eyes glazed over as she stared, her mind most likely travelling a million miles a second as she tried to comprehend the newly revealed information.

“And mine did something.” I added slowly. “I don’t know how, but I ended up blowing a tree to smithereens with it.”

Her eyes refocused, and bore directly into mine.

“Like a wand.” She muttered.

I nodded. “Like magic.”

“There you are!”

We both screamed, jumping high in the air. I toppled over, though quickly regained myself to look up and see a very disgruntled Bilbo standing on the grass at the edge of the beach. He tapped his foot in place, his hands on his hips while a lantern sat at his feet.

“Jesus Bilbo! Where on Earth did you come from?!” I cried, clasping my chest as I tried to steady my breathing. Poor Kay looked as if she was about to cry from fright.

“I came looking for you two!” He pointed at me. “Your curfew ended two hours ago, and you!” He pointed at Kay. “You were supposed to be in bed! Imagine my panic when I found out you weren’t! And look where I find you, playing wizards in the freezing water!” He gestured to the sticks between us.

We both hung our heads, unsure on what to tell him. He looked at the two of us, and let out a long sigh, picking up his lantern.

“Right, come now. You must change out of those shifts and dry them before Mrs Greenfoot has you both by the ear.”

We stood up, both discreetly picking up the sticks and slipping them up our sleeves. Walking up to Bilbo, I grabbed my coat.

“Hurry now, can’t have you both developing an illness now.” He fussed.

“Yes mother.” I jabbed playfully as I passed him, listening amused at the sputtering match that went on behind me, before the hobbit grumbled under his breath, and ushered us along back up the path.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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echoes-of-the-land · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 31: The Chief’s Verdict

The morning mist clung to the earth like a thick veil, and the camp was still hushed in the uneasy silence that had gripped it since Kimo’s capture. The air was cold, but the tension in the camp was far heavier than any chill the wind could carry. Kimo stood at the center of the gathering, bound to a sturdy post. His head was bowed, but his posture remained defiant, his mind a whirl of thoughts—none of them good.

He had always known that the balance between the settlers and his people, the Lenape, was fragile at best, but he had never imagined that it would come to this: his life weighed in the hands of strangers, with accusations he knew in his heart were false.

The night had been long. The cries of the murdered settlers still echoed in his ears, as did the accusations hurled at him by Edward, who had seen fit to declare him guilty without any proof. The blood on the knife was damning, but Kimo knew—knew with every fiber of his being—that it was a set-up. But how could he prove it?

Nia stood beside him, her presence the only source of comfort in this sea of hostility. Her eyes burned with a quiet intensity, refusing to believe the worst of him. She was determined to stand by him, even if it meant challenging her own father, the great Chief Tomak. But how could she? How could anyone defy the voice of the man who held her life—and the fate of the entire Lenape—so firmly in his grasp?

It was not long before the faint sound of many footsteps were heard pounding the frozen underbrush, breaking the stillness of the morning. The settlers stirred, some of them eyeing the horizon in uncertainty, others muttering in low tones. Word had spread that Chief Tomak himself was coming, though few believed it would truly happen.

But it was true. From the edge of the settlement, Chief Tomak appeared, nobally leading a small but formidable group of warriors. His tall frame was unmistakable, even from a distance. His presence seemed to part the very chilled fog that clung to the ground as he drew closer, a living embodiment of authority and power. His face, carved from years of leadership, betrayed no emotion, but his eyes—sharp, calculating—searched the camp as he approached.

Nia’s breath caught in her chest when she saw her father. Her heart pounded fiercely, a mix of fear and hope surging within her. She stepped forward to meet him, a part of her longing for the strength he had always provided, but another part of her bracing for the judgment she knew he would bring.

When Tomak dismounted, his gaze fell on Kimo. A tense silence spread like wildfire among the settlers. Kimo stood still, his wrists bound in thick rope, the weight of all their stares heavy upon him. The chief’s eyes hardened when they landed on his daughter, and he crossed the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps.

“Nia,” he spoke only in Lenape, his voice low but commanding. “You still stand by this man? After everything that has happened?”

Her voice was firm, though there was a tremble beneath the surface. “Yes, Father. I do. Kimo is not guilty of these crimes.”

The chief’s expression softened only momentarily as he looked at her, his daughter, the one person in the world who could still make him question his decisions. But then his eyes returned to Kimo, and the softness vanished.

“You are blind, Nia,” he said quietly, but there was a deep sadness in his voice. “You defend a man who has betrayed his own people. You want to believe in him because you love him. But that will not save him now.”

Nia’s chest tightened, but she did not look away from her father. “I know him better than anyone here. He didn’t kill those men.”

“Then who did?” Tomak asked, his voice sharp, his gaze now flicking toward the settlers, who were watching the exchange with barely concealed interest.

Before Nia could respond, Miwank, the translator, stepped forward. His eyes were narrowed, as if he had already weighed the situation, his mind working through the possibilities. “It was not Kimo,” Miwank said, his voice steady but full of conviction. “The men who were killed—their blood is on the hands of another. The settlers have not looked within their own ranks.”

A murmur spread through the gathered crowd of settlers, and Nia’s heart skipped. Miwank had spoken plainly, with an authority that only a man of his experience could command. But Chief Tomak was not so easily swayed.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the chief spat. “There is no ‘other.’ Kimo’s knife was found beside the bodies. The evidence is clear. He is guilty, and he will answer for it.”

“But Chief,” Levi Solomon spoke up, his voice rough but insistent, “the evidence is not as clear as you think. There are other possibilities here. We have been investigating this, and we believe that another man—one of the settlers—may be responsible.”

Tomak’s gaze turned to Levi, and for a brief moment, the tension was palpable. “You dare question my judgment, Solomon?” Miwank translated those words for Levi to understand. The Chief's anger needed no translation. Tomak’s voice was a growl, his patience wearing thin.

Levi stood his ground, his eyes steady. “I question truth, Chief. No your judgment. Murderer among us. May no be Kimo. Could be — how you say - another, who want Lenape destroyed.”

Nia held her breath. This was the moment, the one where everything could shift. Tomak’s gaze flicked to Levi and then to Thomas Lake, who had been silent until now.

“Is this true, Lake?” Tomak asked, his voice cold, as he waited for Miwank to issue his translation.

Thomas Lake cleared his throat before answering. “There is suspicion, yes. We don’t know for sure, but there’s a chance someone among us is trying to frame Kimo—or worse.”

The chief’s lips tightened as he glanced between the three men—Levi, Thomas, and Aertsen, who had not yet appeased him but whose eyes had not left Kimo’s bound form. Aertsen looked as though he were waiting for an answer to his own unspoken question: Who is the real enemy here?

The crowd was beginning to grow restless, and Tomak held up a hand for silence. Miwank immediately realized that his translations for the settlers must be precise or things might spiral out of control. “I will not allow my people to be blamed for these killings,” he said, his voice ringing out with finality. “The Lenape will answer only for their own deeds, not the deeds of others.”

“I want have trial,” Levi Solomon said suddenly, his voice cracking the tension. “Trial that follow laws. We will find truth, Chief. But we no rush this.”

Tomak looked at him, his expression unreadable. “A trial? Among settlers?” He sneered. “You think I will allow a white man’s law to govern us?”

“We must work together, Chief,” Thomas Lake interjected. “If we are to survive this, we need to find the truth—no matter where it leads.”

For a long moment, there was silence. Tomak’s gaze hardened, but he did not immediately refuse. Instead, he looked at Kimo again, his face darkening.

“I will take my people and leave,” Tomak said at last, “but I will not let this dishonor stand. Kimo must answer for what he has done.”

“No,” Nia said firmly, stepping between her father and Kimo. “No, Father. You can’t condemn him like this. You can’t.”

The chief’s eyes flashed with anger, and for a brief moment, Nia thought he might strike her. But instead, he spoke Lenape through gritted teeth. “I will not let my people suffer because of his reckless actions. If you choose to stand with him, Nia, you stand against your people. And you will be alone.”

The tension was unbearable, and Nia knew her father had spoken the truth. If she chose to side with Kimo, there would be no turning back. But she couldn’t give up on him—not now, not when she knew in her heart that he was innocent.

“Then I choose Kimo,” she said quietly, her voice steady with the weight of her choice.

Tomak’s face twisted with rage, but he said nothing further. With a final glance at his daughter, he turned away, his warriors following close behind him. The crowd parted silently as the chief and his men left the settlement, the weight of his departure settling heavily on everyone present.

As they watched the warriors disappear into the mist, Nia felt the crushing weight of the future press down on her. But in her heart, there was only one truth: she would fight for Kimo, no matter the cost.

#crossroadsofhistory #lennilenape #ancientwisdom #culturalheritage #communityandconnection #kimoandnia #loveandlegacy #natureandtradition

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6okuto-moved · 3 years ago

Note

If I may add on to the post where the MC genuinely wants to return home: what if they managed to travel between worlds seamlessly after some more practice?

As in, the M3+Rime literally just said good bye to their love, turn their backs on the spot where they disappeared, wiping their eyes from tears threatening to spill...

And not even a minute later the MC jumps through a portal and launches themselves at their LI. Moving between worlds has become natural to them - no need for heartache or long periods of time without one another again 💕

(this is my first submission, i hope y'all enjoy :))

— when mc can move between earth and astraea

note: YEAH. real real real no more angst . we're going to ignore the time warping with sage we are Ignoring it because we choose Happiness

anisa

being—acting strong was one of anisa's many talents. but right now she's standing alone, and the only thing she can hear is mc's "i love you" before they left

she has an iron grip on her sword's hilt as she clenches her jaw. trying to compose herself, she takes a deep breath and blinks the tears away before finally walking away

but she stops in her tracks when a noise and wind come from behind her. anisa thinks she's never whipped around faster, and she's sure that she's never felt her heart pounding harder than when she sees mc appear from the portal that forms

they look around until they make eye contact with her, seemingly shocked to see her standing there, "anisa?"

"mc," she breathes out. she takes a step towards them, speeding up when they start running towards her with a grin on their face

the both of them collide and wrap their arms around each other, and anisa lets out a sound between a laugh and a sob

"what—what are you doing here? how did you...?" "the astrolabe, it brought me back, i—i've...figured out my powers?"

anisa pulls away and brushes her thumbs over their face, taking a deep breath as if to reassure herself that they were really here. "you've always had a knack for pulling off incredible feats, haven't you?"

mc grins but yelps a little when anisa suddenly kisses them, and they think of the first kiss they shared all that time ago. when the both of them pull away, they continue to look at each other smiling. that is, until anisa's slowly vanishes, replaced with an unsure, but maybe excited expression. "do you think..." anisa trails off. mc furrows their brows, "hm?"

"...do you think you could travel...with another person?"

felix

mc was gone. felix reaches for his face that they were holding only a few moments ago, wiping away the tears that fell from his eyes

he knows he couldn't stand there forever, the others were waiting for him, and mc wasn't going to appear out of thin air. so even though he struggles, he finally wills himself to move.

but as he walks away, he hears a familiar sound and turns back

he thinks he can hear his heart about to beat out of his chest when he sees a portal growing. danger be damned, he trips over his feet running back when he sees a figure coming through. he's back where he stood, panting, when the figure becomes clearer,

"...mc?" "felix!" he stumbles backwards when they leap onto him, wrapping their arms around his neck. he only takes a second before he's holding them, tears threatening to fall again.

"i—i figured out how to come back! the astrolabe, i just, i—" they stumble over their words before pulling away to look at him. "i figured out my powers, i think."

"you...you? i—" he stares at them, processing their words and reeling from them even being here. then he breathes out a laugh before smiling sincerely and cupping their cheek, "of course you'd be able to figure that out."

mc leans into his palm and smiles back. they decide to lighten the mood, "i suppose i did have quite a talented teacher." felix blinks before snorting, "really? i'd love to meet him, then."

"mm, maybe. don't tell him i have a crush on him, though." "oh? a crush? not to worry, i'll be sure to keep your secret," he muses.

they both look at each other before leaning in to kiss and felix's heart might burst at this point. his hand continues to cup their face while the other rests their waist—he's never been so happy.

sage

he stares at the spot mc was standing when they said goodbye. the others decided to give him space, knowing he needed it more than anyone. finally, he irons himself and turns to walk away

but he...hears something, senses something? his ears twitch and he whips back around and watches as a portal forms again

he thinks he might be imagining things when he sees mc suddenly standing in front of him

"are you fake this time?" sage's voice cracks and he thinks he might cry despite his attempt at being lighthearted.

but then mc jumps into his arms and he's burying his face into their hair, clutching onto them like they had been gone for longer than a few minutes. "you'll be glad to know i'm just as real as always."

and sage cries this time. he's not sure why this was what broke him, but it is. mc panics and pulls away to hold his face, "sage?"

his hands hold onto theirs while he looks at them, "i thought i lost you." mc pouts and bring his forehead to rest against theirs, "you'd never lose me, i promise."

"why are you here? how are you here?" "i got back and, i don't know, it felt...wrong? so i did what i did the first time and asked the astrolabe for help and here i am. with you."

sage wasn't exactly a cheesy romance lovey-dovey kind of guy, but his chest felt warm and light and really, the only explanation at this point was love, wasn't it?

"couldn't get enough of me, huh?" he smiles. but it turns into a grin when he hears mc laugh, a sound he thought he'd never hear again, "yeah, i missed my big scary cat mercenary."

"well, what do you want to do now?" "..." "sage, i swear." "listen,"

rime

everyone had left a while ago. but rime stayed at the place where mc first formed the portal, sitting on a ledge while he stared off and remembered the smile they gave him before vanishing

something bubbles inside him and he runs his hands over his face and through his hair, letting out a loud groan of frustration before leaning his head back and closing his eyes

they shoot open again when he senses something in front of him and he stands up to look around. but then he realizes something was forming and he stops breathing for a second—it was a portal. a portal that mc stumbles out of before it closes behind them

he watches as they grin to themself before they turn and see him, "rime?" but rime still can't seem to breathe properly so he just...stares.

"what...? what are—what are you..." he feels stuck in place. mc cocks their head and can't stop themself from smiling a little, seeing him so lost for once, "this is a very warm welcome back." they decide to walk to him instead, gently hugging him and burying their face into his chest.

"i figured out my powers." "you what?" "i mean, i just, i wanted to see you again. so i did what we practiced and asked the astrolabe and...here i am."

they look up and smile, "happy to see me?" something clicks in rime's head when he sees them smiling and finally he pulls them back into the hug, earning a yelp from how tightly he holds them

it isn't often that he's vulnerable or quiet like this, so mc decides to just hug him back, using one hand to run their fingers through his hair. there was time for everyone and everything else later.

"what? did you doubt i'd figure out how to get back here?" they tease. but rime only scoffs, "when i've watched you turn felix's hair blue?" "oh come on, it was for like, 30 minutes. he didn't even look that bad." "it's not good to lie, you know."

#last legacy #felix escellun #sage lesath #anisa anka #rime varela #last legacy felix #last legacy sage #last legacy anisa #last legacy rime #fictif

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sylvarantii · 3 years ago

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Am I A Distraction?

Bruno x [gn] Reader

Genre: Fluff

(Notes: My apologies for the script method. I'm more comfortable writing dialogue than I am writing scenery. And if I don't write things out in a quick format, I usually lose interest quickly. ^^;

Post Movie. Bruno and Y/N are already in a relationship. They've only been dating for a short while though. Like maybe a few weeks? Reader is a bit more confident. Bruno is still a bit nervous.

Reader is also a writer. I'm not going to be very specific, so they can write for whatever sort of genre you desire.

Also, up for debate, but since I have ADHD, Reader might display traits of this. So, you're free to consider it an ADHD!Reader fic.)

[Scenario: After asking Bruno if they could sit in a quiet place to get some work done, Bruno offers to let Y/N use his room.]

[Y/N sits on the floor, opting for it over an offered chair or pillow as they write within a journal type of book. The pen being one of the few sounds to echo throughout the dome that encases them. Meanwhile, Bruno sits close by, knees tucked under his arms and back against the wall as he watches silently.]

Bruno: ...You sure do get focused on your work, don’t you?

[He notices the way your brows furrowed in concentration as your hand moves furiously across the page. You jot the words down so fast, it's as though you're afraid that if you waste a second, the idea will vanish all in an instant.]

Y/N: Mm, sometimes. Sometimes it’s hard to focus.

Bruno: Oh…sorry.

[Bruno turns his head away and lowers it to rest his chin on his folded arms as you turn to look at him. A guilt ridden expression plaguing his face.]

Y/N: For what, Bruno?

Bruno: I’m, uh, distracting you, aren’t I?

[You laugh lightly, finding it strangely humorous that he could indeed be a distraction. Just...not in the way he was posing the question right now. After all, the first few days you two had gone out, you hadn't really been able to keep your eyes off of him. There was something so entrancing about him...especially those eyes.]

[You shake your head quickly, not wanting to keep your response waiting too long. A laugh didn't exactly ease his concerns, after all.]

Y/N: No, of course not. I like having you around while I work. You're a source of comfort for me, you know.

[Keeping his chin resting on his arms, his eyes glance over at you for a moment. Curious as to if you really meant that.]

Y/N: I just meant I get distracted by my thoughts a lot, is all. The gears in my head are always whirling, you know. One minute I'm focused on what needs to be done, the next I'm thinking about the possibilities of Luisa's gift. And if it'd be possible for her to say, rotate the earth itself if she were to dig her fingers into the ground deep enough and give it a good tug.

[Bruno chuckles slightly. Sometimes, the thoughts in your head could be rather strange. But then again, weren't his too? Really, it was quite an endearing trait.]

Bruno: Yeah…yeah, I guess I’m the same way.

Bruno: And no, I don't think...or I HOPE she wouldn't be able to do something like that. Let's uh, not put any ideas into the kids' heads, alright?

Y/N: You've got yourself a deal.

[The two of you exchange amused grins with a slight laugh before there's silence between you once more.]

[Y/N returns back to their work. Getting in a few more lines before Bruno does a slight cough and starts tapping his fingers on his knees.]

Bruno: You know…if you…need a break at a certain point though…

[You look up from your journal curiously, causing Bruno to stumble a little over his words and his eyes to dart away before he continues.]

Bruno: The two of us could, well, go into town and do something. Maybe…get something to eat…Together?

Y/N: That sounds great honestly. I’m getting pretty hungry.

Bruno: O-Okay, great! I actually know this amazing place that we can try and everyone in mi familia enjoys it. Well, uh, most anyway...I’m sure you’ll love it!

Y/N: I look forward to it then.

[You check the clock for a moment before looking back over at Bruno.]

Y/N: Would you like to head off in about a half hour? We could go even sooner if you’re hungry now.

Bruno: No, no, that’s fine. Finish up what you’re doing. I can wait. I promise.

[Bruno waves his hands at you dismissively as purses his lips together to sputter a little before making a PSSHT sound.]

Y/N: You sure?

Bruno: Of course!

[Bruno quickly springs up onto his feet and flips his hood up so that it’s over his hair and eyes as he points a finger up into the sky and the other hand rests on his chest.]

Bruno: The great Hernando never lies!

[You chuckle softly and nod.]

Y/N: You’re right. Hernando, nor you, would lie.

Bruno (Hernando): Exactly!

[Bruno pushes back his hood to fully reveal his face and takes a seat back on the floor next to you. The sand, thankfully, makes it easier on you both. Even if you both still felt the urge to shift around into more comfortable positions.]

Bruno: Anyway, point is, take your time. I mean, if you want to take even longer, I can just take a nap.

Y/N: While I would usually encourage it, it’s probably better if I just finish up. Wait too long and we’ll both regret it.

Bruno: Yeah, I suppose so. I think I’ve already heard your stomach growling. Unless that was one of Antonio’s friends.

Y/N: Was it that loud?

Bruno: Ah, yeah. But I mean, mine’s probably going to start growling too.

[You close the journal pages together and place it in your bag before easing up onto your feet. Slipping your sandals on quickly as you walk over to Bruno and offer out your hand to him.]

[His hand hesitates a little, but it doesn't take much to ease him up in front of you.]

Y/N: We should get going before it gets too late.

Bruno: What? But what about your work?

[Bruno continues to hold onto your hand without thought, the grip even tightening slightly as his eyes reflect his concerns.]

[Being an emotional person, it might have its downsides. He was an open book when it came to his feelings. But there was also something so alluring about it.]

[Your favorite times were possibly when his face lit up with enthusiasm upon getting excited as he gestures wildly and moves himself around the room with such vibrancy.]

[Maybe that was one of the reasons you had fallen for him?]

Y/N: It can wait.

[You pat the hand holding yours in a reassuring manner before leaning in to give him a soft peck on the cheek.]

Y/N: It’s like you said, my stomach’s growling and I tend to not get my best work done when I’m hungry, anyway.

[You pull away just enough to see his face, a soft smile spreading across his lips as he touches his cheek.]

Y/N: And well, obviously I can’t let you starve. Wouldn't make me a very good partner, now would it?

Bruno: Haha, you really don’t have to worry, you know.

Y/N: Too late. I'm afraid my fate was to worry about you from the very beginning, cariño.

Bruno: Well...looks like I've ended up with the same problem.

[He intertwines your fingers together and the two of you make your way towards the stairs, a hope deep in your heart that you two would have more days like this together for many years to come.]

#encanto #bruno madrigal x reader #bruno x reader #oh god I've definitely gone down the rabbit hole now #I'm already writing fanfics for encanto #do I regret it?#absolutely not #cariño seems to translate to something akin to #darling or sweetie or dear #I hope my research was accurate on that #but I thought it was sweet #and I wasn't sure if amor should be reserved for relationships that #have gotten pretty serious #that seems to be the case for mi vida anyway #even though I know it's used with family too

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eighthman-bound · 3 years ago

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Saw Lightyear at cinema, got annoyed at how Zurg was done (it’s not a bad idea in itself I’ve just seen it done much better in other movies) and on bus ride home fuelled by couple bottles of cider wrote to my friends group chat my take on how I’d handle it and afterwards thought hey why not copy/paste post it here, so spoilers for 2022’s Lightyear ahead. I don’t know how to do the ‘read more’ cut on mobile so hoping Tumblrs new shorten post feature kicks in to not spoil things for others.

‘Okay hear me out. Alisha had son, who we see grow up and have Izzy. I assumed he’d be admiral guy seen in trailer but turns out he’s a separate character to red herring burnside and he vanished from movie, even his daughter doesn’t mention him much if at all.

Bullshit. Revision time.

During one of his stays Buzz actually, get this, actually talks to son of his best friend. Tells him stories of a earth he was not born on and tells him they will get back no matter what, even if it drives him berserk. It inspires boy but over years grows resentful of buzz popping in and out of his life, giving false hope all the time, leaving his mother to die without him.

Jump forward city is invaded by zurg and his robots. Zurg confronts team and is like “I am your father” and buzz is like “dad?” and Zurg is like “no not you you idiot; I’m Izzys dad”.

Get flashback of how he achieved his own jump out of planet using dangerous anti-matter or black hole energy scarring him but bringing him to earth only to discover it’s not the planet from the stories he was told and he’s furious that humanity moved on without his mothers space crew. He goes awol, hijacks ship and robots.

How the name ‘Zurg’ came about in movie was so dumb. Top of my head; evil robots were programmed to keep screaming “Beserk!”

But as years go on and systems get bit muddled the wording gets more warped, leading to “serk!” Which people misunderstand as “Zurg!”

Outside of the massive battle armour give Zurg the classic Cape and mask look.

Predicting Buzz’s return he goes back to planet and puts it on lockdown so he can get buzz’s hyperdrive and combine it with his antimatter tech to create wormhole to past to change everything, lost insanity that he and his daughter may not even exist when he changes past.

It’s not perfect idea I know. but here Zurg is an actual character with built in emotional ties to Buzz and Izzy

But if you HAVE to keep the whole evil future Buzz thing, then for love of Clom don’t just blow him up like that give an attempt at emotional conclusion.

Zurg crashes back down to surface, half the armour obliterated, future buzz’s face scarred. Him and team look like they’re about to have final brutal showdown; til he sees izzy. And he’s stunned, because he’s not really seeing ‘her’. He’s seeing Alisha.

He claws his way out of armour, limps painfully to Izzy, talking to ‘Alisha’ begging to her, telling her he tried so hard to fix everything, til it full on divulges into sobbing for forgiveness. And Izzy is like “I… I’m not my grandmother. But I know she, wouldn’t give forgiveness, because she never resented you etc”.

Future buzz is fading, going weak but takes a real look at Izzy, and let’s all the self anger go, just acceptance and is like “you’re not her. She’s gone. What’s your name cadet?”

“Izzy”

“That’s… nice name.”

Him and present Buzz have bit of talk. Buzz has stuff along lines of like “I’m going to finally live a life. And I’m not going to be like you.” And old man Buzz weakly chuckles and replies “of course not. You’re gonna go beyond me” before finally passing away…’

Anyways thanks for coming to my rant, go watch the original Star Command movie instead. Hell go watch Morbius I don’t care just get out of my house please.

#lightyear #buzz lightyear #toy story #Pixar #zurg #evil emperor zurg #original post #plot revision #film

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curiosity-killed · 4 years ago

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Lang Qianqiu deserves more love goddammit: a post, unfortunately

This brought to you by the wonderful @veliseraptor & @/yuer on Twitter but also mostly out of spite and the fact that it’s preventing me from writing a very dumb poke-the-bear post abt the entire weird social media culture around The Minors

As always ✨SPOILERS!! SPOILERS EVERYWHERE✨

So first off: when I hit the scene where lqq confronts xl and screams “I will never be like you” I sat up in bed, did a little shimmy of delight, and hissed “fuck yes” at like 2 AM so. Now you have a preview of wtf this train wreck will be

1 ) lqq is a good character

We don’t get a ton of time with lqq because tgcf is 87 side characters running across stage with The Most Interesting Concept constantly one-upping each other before vanishing. But what we do get is, I think, enough to make a pretty compelling story: Lang Qianqiu is a kind and generous prince who is also the sole survivor of the bloody massacre of his entire family, committed by the people dearest to him (both in his belief that Gusohi Fangxin did it and in the reality of An Le’s involvement), who goes on to peacefully lead his fractious nation into a peaceful reign before he ascends as a powerful enough (aka beloved and worshipped enough) god to be ranked among the top heavenly generals. That’s like. Pretty fucking classic protagonist vibes right there.

And, as usual with mxtx’s characters, we get a lot more than this lovely little backstory. In his interactions in canon, lqq is capable of great grief and anger; he is willing to sacrifice himself if it means avenging his murdered family; and he simultaneously holds both great hatred and great respect for his old teacher. And, of course, he winds up raising and taking care of his enemy’s son which shows a remarkable depth of compassion and emotional messiness that I find terribly compelling. He struggles with a simplistic view of justice that is supported by lies told to “protect” him and that is uprooted by the truth and forces him to try to make sense of the world without the guardrails that others installed around him (looking at you mister fangxin sir).

Also I’m stealing my own tweets bc I’m Right but:

*pulls up single barstool to lqq is a good character table* I think it’s interesting & Says Things abt the continued relationship btwn lqq & xl that lqq *didn’t* recognize xl, implying that he left fangxin’s mask in place even when he went to kill him

Like here is the man who killed his family & best friend, who left him abandoned in bloodshed on his 17th bday—& here is also the man who saved his life, who taught him, who lqq looked up to & wanted to be like

Even when lqq *does* recognize xl, he still has so much respect for him paired with that hatred that it’s honestly rlly tragic? Like man. There’s so much grief in lqq’s repeated demands for a duel & insisting it’s fine if xl kills him as long as he doesn’t hold back

*pats lqq pompom* this bb is so sad. And so much more like his teacher than either of them seem to realize or necessarily want

Despite being a pretty minor character, lqq gets a lot of complexity and nuance! Look at this child trying to be grown up while desperately turning to his old master for guidance and “the truth”! Look at him! Be sad!!

2 ) lqq is an excellent parallel to xl

Okay stealing my own tweet again don’t look at me I yell the same shit everywhere

Xl didn’t want lqq to become like him (self-sacrificing, vengeful, alone) but lqq not only became alone, chasing vengeance, & willing to sacrifice himself for revenge—he also became kind, open-minded, & remorseful!! & he still clearly respects xl @ novel end 🙃🙃

We all know hc’s “they’re not very alike at all” and yeah sure baby go support your man but narratively, there’s a lot of importance given to cycles, parallels, and foils in mxtx’s writing and most explicitly (compared to mdzs, haven’t read svss) in tgcf. For example, *gestures at beefleaf, gestures at Xianle Trio vs Wuyogn Crew, gestures at Xie Lian & Jun Wu’s whole uh. Deal.* And while I’d argue xl and lqq are part of a triumvirate rather than a pair, we’re not including mister three-face in this conversation so just looking at xl and lqq:

Both adored and sheltered crown princes

Both taught by a guoshi who was seeking to prevent the repetition of their own tragedies and in their efforts, lied/omitted information and failed to protect their charge from tragedy

Both were betrayed* by their closest friends

Both are the last living members of their respective royal families

Both caught the interest of supernatural beings from a young age

Etc etc I’m getting v bored and distracted writing this so moving on

Most importantly to me, we have their betrayal by a very close and adored mentor and how they react. The confrontation I mention at the start of this shitshow is really imo one of the most important scenes in the novel because it a) illustrates the differences in xl and Jun Wu and b) sort of gives you a preview of how xl ultimately wins

So a) Jun Wu and Xie Lian both take a talented, marked-for ascension young prince under their wing. Jun Wu sees himself in the boy and obsesses over shaping him into Jun Wu’s own image in the belief that this will make him the perfect heir. Jun Wu pushes his chosen heir into situations where Xie Lian is repeatedly harmed in an effort to show that the common people are fickle and cruel and don’t deserve his compassion and care.

Meanwhile, Xie Lian is reluctantly roped into mentoring his prince due to his inability to stand aside when he feels he could do something to prevent hurt or injustice befalling another (simultaneously his great strength and great weakness! God I love him). Xie Lian tries to teach his student to believe in and care for the common people and not to sacrifice himself (see: flashback convo re:taking the force of the sword strike into his own body).

When Xie Lian refuses to bend in the shape Jun Wu demands, Jun Wu bashes his head into the wall. When Lang Qianqiu cries “I will never be like you!”, Xie Lian laughs and says “Good!”.

B) this of course feeds directly into foreshadowing! Like Lang Qianqiu’s bold words, xl ultimately refuses to become like his mentor and remains defiant even when it would stop him from being hurt. Xl beats lqq and says so what if I tricked you, so what if I lied, I still won. Naturally, xl beats Jun Wu not through standard swordplay but by using a trick he learned while forced to busk and wander the earth alone and unlucky for centuries.

…okay so I have fully forgotten what I was actually saying here! Anyway!

Like Xie Lian, Lang Qianqiu spends a time consumed with the need for vengeance, hunting his enemy and rejecting the heavens. And like Xie Lian, he winds up caring for his enemy’s “son” and trying to both comfort him and maintain what’s left of Qi Rong’s life force despite having previously been hellbent on destroying him—bc he sees the impact it has on another person. In the end, he even gives a gift to Xie Lian—his mentor, his role model, and the one who killed his father—that was once given to him as a symbol of unexpected kindness. Sound familiar?

But, importantly, and contradictory to what I have been yelling abt but whatever it’s 12:30 am, Lang Qianqiu is not a direct mirror of Xie Lian but a closing of a vital loop in the story. Lqq is very similar to xl (I will die on this hill!! Only I won’t bc I’m stronger than y’all and will keep swinging these pots and pans) but bc xl tries to do better and keep lqq from suffering the way xl has, lqq is able to have a gentler and more optimistic path forward. He’s proof that even a small act of kindness or even kindness to only one person still matters and has a ripple effect that can’t be seen when you’re in the middle of it—a thread started with xl giving the coral pearl to Lang Ying and closed with Lang Qianqiu returning the pearl to Xie Lian.

So I have no idea if any of this is coherent or compelling but I meant to be asleep two hours ago and the points are:

A) Lang Qianqiu is good actually

B) parallels!!!

C) look ive already started another wip about Lang Qianqiu and Xie Lian and I didn’t want this but no one else wrote it so now I have to so pls just accept this as a warning

*sort of air quotes around this for Xie Lian bc frankly Mu Qing was right & Xie Lian kicked feng xin out BUT on the other hand, it was experienced as a betrayal and we also again have all of Jun Wu’s shit so it evens out

#should I wait and proofread and edit this tomorrow? yes.#am I doing that? no <3 #idk what to tag this as #uhhh #tgcf spoilers #lang qianqiu #I don’t think this can reasonably be called meta #since I am unsure if it is even readable #tgcf #long post

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underworldreaderinserts · 5 years ago

Note

Hey, this is my first time doing a request and I don’t know if this is the right place to put it (I hope it is). But I was wondering if you do do multiple characters, if you could do (separate) headcannons for Zagreus, Thanatos, and Hypnos falling for someone completely mortal on the surface? Thank you so much and I’m really sorry if I didn’t input my request correctly!

Hello, love! No, you did absolutely fine, this is exactly where you’re supposed to submit your requests♡ Thank you so much for sending it in! I hope it’s to your liking♡ I’m so sorry it took so long to publish. The past few days have been hectic! But I’m back♡ Do these even count as headcanons? I’m so sorry-- I know you asked for them separate, but I thought of them all together, and I accidentally made a poly circle. Since this post is long enough already, I’ll leave them out, but please let me know if you’d want me to make a post with them! I had so much fun imagining and writing it that I couldn’t help myself♡ -- Ryan

Thanatos:

✧ Your modest, mortal life hadn’t been too grandiose; you worked as a humble physician, tending to your village in ways of medication and treatment, everything between minor procedures and check ups.

✧ In your line of work, death was no stranger. It wasn’t very frequent that patients died in your care, but when they did -- whether it was a life lost to infection, injury, or illness -- they were only in extreme cases. (Needless to say, Thanatos had made all those visits to your practice)

✧ In the beginning, he'd refrained from any involvement in your life -- only watching over the soul whose allotted time was running out before reaping them, then departing.

✧ But one day, he’d watched you fighting to keep your patient alive. Tears streaming down your face as you did everything in your power to stabilize the boy. His parchment read, ‘name; Nicos, age; 10, cause of death; injury by stampede’.

✧ He knew that he’d have no other choice but to take the boy’s soul -- living with those irreversible damages would be a worse outcome.

✧ After that, he began to notice things he never did before.

✧ The care you put in to making your patients comfortable before they passed. How you went above and beyond caring for them, and giving preventative measures to prolong their life (though he’d still be there to take the soul regardless, he’d watched as you did your best to preserve their life). All of it showed how limitless your strength was.

✧ “He’s.. doing fine. The boy.” You heard a voice one day, an unfamiliar one. You turn around from the bookshelf you stand before, holding a journal and a vial of ointment.

✧ “Excuse me?” You blink, asking the stranger softly, taking in his features. He wasn’t from the village, you were aware of that. The village rarely had travelers passing through, and given this man’s robes and garments, you weren’t quite sure he was an ordinary man.

✧ “Nicos. He’s doing well.” The man wields his scythe, gently shifting its weight from one hand to the other. Your eyes widen as it dawns on you. “Than..atos?” Correctly identifying him, he seems to give a small bow of his head.

✧ You do as any sane person would, in the presence of a god; you drop everything in your hands and take a step back. You had enough reason to believe him -- after all, you knew everyone in this village, and Nicos had passed months before his arrival. There was no way he’d have known.

✧ “Are you... Is it my time?” You ask, leaving Thanatos a bit puzzled. “Are you here to collect my soul?” You repeat, and the understanding visually clicks in Thanatos, and he chuckles, shaking his head. Of course, you’d believe he’d come for your soul, as he’d only ever appeared before humans who have met their time. “Then... What is it you’ve come for?”

✧ You’d asked the million dollar question. Why had he even appeared before you? What was it that drew him out like this? “I... Can’t tell you myself. I just came to tell you, he’s doing well.” And with a toll of a bell, he’d disappeared. No word of goodbye, no mention of ever coming back.

✧ Reflecting on what had just happened; The God of Death himself had come into your home, just to tell you that Nicos was alright. It warmed your heart to take comfort in that, knowing that he was no longer in pain.

✧ Sitting on the situation a little longer, and judging by that little bit of information, it finally dawned on you that he was there, personally, for that event, and that he’d thought of you enough to reassure you.

✧ Due to his work, Thanatos makes frequent trips to the surface.

✧ Frequent trips to the surface, meant frequent visits (where he could, of course. Lord Hades would have his head if he didn’t prioritize his job).

✧ At first, he refrained from any sort of involvement in your life -- he’d come for his job, and nothing more. But now he seeks you out. He’ll stop by to check in, or even just to see your face. And one thing differs now, when he comes to reap the soul’s whose allotted time had run out.

✧ “Take good care of them, Thanatos.” You’d smile softly as you place a coin over your patient��s mouth, voicing your little prayer to him. You said this each time, too, and it made him think you could see him.

✧ He wasn’t sure when it began, but thoughts of seeing you as he carried out his job filled him with a warm, soft feeling.

Hypnos:

✧ In charge of the census of the dead, Hypnos was aware of how everyone dies; when they died, and where they end up in the Underworld.

✧ He found that his job became so ingrained in his being that, when he’d drift off at work, his dreams would take him to visions of the lives of some of the mortals he had met, or have yet the pleasure of meeting when they come to the underworld.

✧ Most of these dreams always tie back to a particular individual -- someone who seems to touch the lives of everyone they’ve ever met.

✧ At first, he’d just assumed that you’d met and knew everyone in the world, as the only common denominator throughout these dreams was you. But upon further evaluation of that statement, he had determined that was impossible.

✧ Next, he had to admit that perhaps he was drawn to you. Whether it was a connection the Fates mandated, or it was his subconscious actively seeking you out, he’d have these visions of your life, these interactions with the people in your life.

✧ An image of your smile, the depiction of an experience you had. You’d invaded his dreams, and eventually his thoughts.

✧ Being shackled to the House, and without the luxury that Thanatos or Zagreus have to go to the surface, Hypnos only has a very one-sided means of interacting with you; and though he doesn’t know you, he’s very drawn to you.

✧ It’s curious. As he’s seen all these snippets of your life, he feels he simultaneously knows everything about you, yet nothing about you at all. He could see these candid shots of your life, but he doesn’t know your dreams, your ambitions, or even the sound of your voice.

✧ With his thoughts always falling back to you, he’s a bit more spacey on the job, receiving reprimands from Hades more and more often, looks judgement from his brother, and looks of solemn understanding from his mother.

✧ Achilles teases him, recognizing traits of “a lovesick puppy”, but never really gets an answer on what that means (he might even observe Cerberus for a while to see if he can understand it a little more).

✧ He awaits enthusiastically, and a tad bittersweetly, for your eventual arrival to the Underworld, desiring nothing more than to meet you, and to hear your experiences of life on the surface.

⚠️Spoilers Ahead!! ⚠️

Zagreus:

✧ Most of your mortal life is spent in Persephone’s vibrant and luscious gardens.

✧ You lived not too far from her cottage, and you made frequent visits to her, bringing her goods and gifts from the market, and the words from all the gossipers of the town.

✧ As far as you knew, she was the only one who lived here, and she didn’t seem to have any family of her own. Taking care of her gardens seemed to be her passion, and to be honest you enjoyed her company. There was something about her, so lively and inviting, that made it hard to stay away for long.

✧ Trips to Persephone were always fragrant, delicious, and warm, despite the permanent snow in the region. Conversations over meals, fishing by the river, and of course time spent in the garden where you got to watch your toils bear great produce.

✧ One day, you return to the cottage, a basket of bass and trout resting on your hip as you walk. The plan was to make a profit selling them in town, and use the coin to get better tools for the garden and the kitchen.

✧ Though, on the way to the cottage, you notice scorched earth in the shape of a bare footprints. The trail leads up to the garden, where you find Persephone with a man you’ve never seen before. A man like you’ve never seen before.

✧ You watch on as Persephone embraces this ethereal form, whose skin is much like ash and moonstone. He looked beyond out of place, yet, something about him felt so familiar.

✧ Focused on the two before you, carelessly unaware of your surroundings, you snap a branch under your foot, alerting them of your presence. The stranger flinched, tensing as he pulls his guard up. He turns to meet your eyes, and whatever words you’d formed in your mind vanished.

✧ One red, one green -- his eyes bore into yours as you admire his. That electrifying moment of attraction ends in time with Persephone clearing her throat.

✧ No one needed to say anything for you to recognize he’d had the same energy as Persephone. You could deduct immediately that he was her son. But nonetheless, Persephone’s words broke the silence, “[Y/N], This is... my son. This is Zagreus.”

✧ “Zagreus..” You sit a moment, tasting his name as it falls from your tongue, and it was something about the way you said his name that drew a shiver up his spine.

✧ “[Y/N]... Have you been here the whole time? How much did you hear? Do the Olympians know of you, too?” His questions went miles a minute, but made no sense to you. “Why would the Olympians...? What, do you mean the Gods?” You ask, and Zagreus exchanged a look to his mother, recognizing his own mistake.

✧ However, he’d reached his limit in that moment, and Zagreus clutched his chest, stumbling. Immediately, you drop your basket in worry, and go over to help him maintain his balance. Persephone placed her hand on your shoulder, and you watched as his body faded away.

✧ It was then, between that day and the next visit Zagreus paid to the garden, that the whole truth was told to you. How Persephone was actually the daughter of Demeter, the cause of the perpetual snow, and Zagreus was her son with the God of the Underworld, Hades.

✧ Since the day he’d met you in his mother’s garden, his curiosity was piqued.

✧ How long had you been visiting his mother? If you hadn’t known she was a Goddess of Olympus, what was it that drove you to help her? His heart beat faster with his recount of your eyes, your voice, your worry as he felt the tug of the Styx back to the Underworld.

✧ His mission remained escaping to see his mother again, and again, but he found himself hoping each time that you were there.

✧ To try the food that you’d make for him. To hear the newest rumor that was spreading around the town. To help around the garden, and see you glow with happiness as each of the plants met maturity.

✧ You’d invaded his mind, tugging at the strings of his heart -- and on the days when you were away from the garden, his mother had no problems teasing him about his crush on you. Though, she admits, if she’d have to give her only son away to anyone, it would absolutely be you.

#Zagreus x Reader #Hypnos x Reader #Thanatos x Reader #Zagreus Headcanons #Hypnos Headcanons #Thanatos Headcanons #SFW Zagreus #SFW Hypnos #SFW Thanatos #SFW Headcanons

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todoscript · 5 years ago

Note

prompt 100, todoroki, smut? first time/confession?

Always You.

Prompt | “All I know is that if you don’t tell me to stop I’m going to kiss you.”

Genre | SMUT. Fluff.

Pairing | Todoroki Shouto x Fem!Reader

Words | 5.2K+

Warnings | 18+. Smut. Oral. Penetration. Semi-public sex. Body worship. Characters are aged up. Feelings Revealed. Cuddling.

Summary | Hearing your troubled thoughts about the daunting future ahead of you, Shouto finally realizes what you meant to him all this time.

A/N | I’ve been wanting to dabble with smut, so thank you Anon for this request (also I’m assuming you requested the prompt based on this list from my past drabble event). This is my first time posting e/xplicit content so beware of all the warnings. Other than that, please let me know your thoughts!

Big thank you to @sadistiks and @shoutogepi for beta reading! I really appreciate it! <3

For the longest time, since the very first year of his high school journey to becoming a hero, Todoroki Shouto knew that you were special to him. But he didn’t realize what these emotions meant.

At first, the feelings bombarded his thoughts like a haze—a screen of smoke he couldn’t see past. He initially discerned it as an affliction down his path, blocking his sight from the light at the end of his heroic odyssey. Yet even when he waved the murk away, he felt your spirit was still somehow manifested within him.

The darkness of the dim first floor greeted him when he arrived down from the elevator, the agony of no sleep pestering mind. The light shuddered back inside as he stepped out, a ding echoing throughout the quiet atmosphere that was the dead of the night. He trekked down the halls, past the kitchen, and into the common space where only a single flicker of candlelight met his vision.

However, when he approached closer, he noticed the fire wasn’t alone. There you were, sat on the couch with warm, soothing tea nestled in your hands.

“Y/n,” he called out, and you heard his voice quickly in the silence. You turned around, knowing well it was Shouto from the distinct husk in his tone and not your teacher Aizawa coming to reproach you for still being up so late.

“Oh Shouto, couldn’t sleep either?” you asked. He replied with a nod, which compelled you to pat the cushions on the couch. He took your offer and established himself into the light, sitting next to you.

For a moment, a gentle lull instilled itself into the atmosphere. You didn’t say anything to each other, but your presences were enough to soothe the strain in your bodies and release any disturbing thoughts plaguing your minds. It was an unspoken form of affirmation between you two that Shouto was oddly fond of. When you perched your cup of tea onto the coffee table, you finally cut the silence.

“I’ve been… thinking…” Your words drifted off, and Shouto removed his sight from the candle’s dancing fire to turn to you.

“About?” He poked the remark further.

“Our class. Our journey to becoming heroes,” you answered, folding your legs into you on the couch with your chin propped against your knees. “Soon, it’ll all be over.”

Your words lingered with distraught at the thought that within a few months left in your third year, the next step in your path will open forward, leaving a curtain to draw close on the current one you’ve walked upon for nearly three years now. It was unsettling. Realizing the habits you’ve established, and the faces you’ve been accustomed to throughout each day, will suddenly vanish within the instant you approached life after high school. It scared you as much as it did the boy by your side, which to him was strange.

It shouldn’t bother him as much. He’s worked himself up since he was a child, grinding sweat and rigor through his bones to achieve this goal. He’s known across his entire life that he’d eventually end up at this point and move further toward that dream of becoming a Pro Hero. Yet when you addressed the troubling notions out loud, he grew conflicted.

“That’s right. We’ll be walking on our different paths after,” Shouto said. It was then he realized the weight amassed in that single statement. That once the year is over, you won’t be ingrained into each other’s lives anymore. He wouldn’t get to see your smiling face greeting him every morning or engage in the compelling conversations you enacted between classes. His life would be different from then on out, and the idea of the emptiness carved into it after your departure left an ache in him, making him hollow.

“A-Are you ready for it? To move on and leave everything behind?” you stuttered as if anxious to receive his answer. Deep down, you wanted to believe the boy still desired to hang onto the present and the relationships woven into this fabric of time, rather than cut them off and start a new seam. However, you could not forget about his achievements and hard work, forged through sheer will and determination. He was amongst the top in your entire year, and you couldn’t neglect that he was destined for bigger and better things after. It would be selfish of you to anchor him down with these chilling notions of yours.

Yet as Shouto thought over the questions, he envisioned his trudge down this long winding road, and then remembered everything. He remembered all the times his eyes lingered on you, and the silent, reassuring exchanges you sent each other between infinitesimal moments. He remembered all the words you spoke to him when his spirits were down, recalling whenever he willingly sought out your presence just to be near you—next to you. And he remembered the heat on his body and the confliction he dealt with whenever he craved your touch as every thought of you ignited a blaze he wished you could douse out, lest his sense of reason be incinerated.

It’s when he reached the end of this path, and the light peaked in its brightest form that he ultimately realized. The light was you. It was always you from the beginning. You were never the haze obscuring his journey, but the luminosity that guided his way, showing him to who he truly was and helping him experience all the joys on this path.

Shouto snuck a glance over to you while your eyes still lined downward at the quivering reflection of the cup of chamomile tea next to the candle. The single light source illuminated every crest beautified on your face, and he beheld the vulnerability within the moment as if you were the only thing on this earth. You made him happy and filled that void in his existence that plagued him before he arrived at U.A., like the missing piece of an incomplete puzzle. He could not fathom the world around him without you.

Shouto breathed a heavy sigh from his lips. Despite your doubt and suspense, his answer felt all too obvious to him.

“No, I don’t think I’m ready to move on just yet,” he conclusively admitted. When you perceived his answer, you loosened your legs clutched to your chest, and met his eyes with an astonished expression.

“Shouto, what are you saying?” You tried to urge him to rethink his words again, understand what they meant. Shouto, out of the majority of everyone in your year, should be more than prepared for the future to come. You’ve known the boy so closely throughout your three years together, but you couldn’t discern whatever could be troubling his mind for him to be afraid of taking that leap forward.

“There’s… something in this life that I’m not willing to let go of yet,” he cast his gaze to the small flit of the candle before shifting it to the glow of your irises. His hands reached out and entwined with yours, and the comforting touch of your warm skin gave him the fortitude to continue.

“You. I don’t think I’m ready to leave you yet, Y/n,” he told you, and in the quiet, the words nearly echo through your mind. Initially, you’re speechless at the confession, but you don’t pull away. In fact, you gripped his hands tighter, like maybe the Shouto in front of you was a mirage conjured by your lack of sleep. However, he’s real. The unwavering stare, the altering sensations clasped against his calloused palms, the resolute composure on his handsome features. They were all real.

“Sh-Shouto… I—”

“I realized what you meant to me. You’re always on my mind because you’re the one thing in this life I can’t go without, the one person I won’t and can’t move on from.” Though a man of few words, he mustered the strength to utter this unyielding declaration.

“I’m in love with you, Y/n,” he imparted the words he’s been meaning to tell you—the words that finally answered the confusion he felt all this time and lifted the veil that clouded him.

Your eyes shimmered, hearing the heart behind his affirmation. Your face shifted from a mien of confliction to one of acceptance, allowing yourself to wholeheartedly welcome the emotions he finally unshackled from the depths of his soul.

“Shouto, I… I love you. I think deep down, I’ve always felt the same, I just never knew if it was right for us to be together,” you said, and it obliged him to return an enlightened look while he slowly inched closer.

“But… What does this mean from here on out?” you tried to ask through a whisper, but the ceasing proximity between you two blanks your mind to only the attention of Shouto’s face drawing near, his cold breath tickling your lips.

“I don’t know. All I know is that if you don’t tell me to stop, I’m going to kiss you,” he warned yet didn’t stop to pause as his eager lips finally met yours in a searing sensation of emotions. Your mind adjusted to the caress of his lips, soon melding perfectly into his with a simple tilt of your head.

Shouto brought a hand up to hold your jaw while his other gripped underneath your thigh to adjust your position, now straddling him on the couch to allow your bodies to press together intimately. Naturally, your arms found their way around his neck while you continued mingling your lips for kiss after kiss in the empty common space, tongues dancing together. He palmed at every inch of your skin, traveling from the expanse of your naked legs to your ass, and then up to your clothed breasts. Through these motions, you grounded yourself against him and felt the growing shape beneath his sweatpants form against your covered cunt.

Your lips detached for a second. You stared into the evident lustful haze fogged in his fraternal twin irises, a playful grin on your swollen lips. “Are you sure all you want to do is kiss?”

He mirrored your smirk, hands lightly grazing your thighs teasingly. “Not even close, love.”

Hearing the endearing name caused a heat to pool in your lower-half, which continued to grow desperately hot while he embarked his mouth on a journey across the expanse of your neck. You winced at the array of fervent kisses left in his wake and noticed his hands busied themselves by rubbing circles against your torso to your hips underneath your sleeping clothes. He brushed up against your breasts, unrestricted due to an absence of a bra. His touch felt like fire, and sent you into dizzying desire. It wasn’t long until he finally tugged on the hem of your shirt. Taking the hint, you moved your arms up to allow him to pull the article of clothing off.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he muttered and wasted no time in admiring your bare upper body, tossing your shirt to the side. Though he only spoke of beautifying praises, he noticed your hesitance when you hovered your arms in front of him, cheeks growing vividly hot. At this, he took your hands in his and moved them away from obscuring the beautiful sight before his adamant, loving gaze.

“I mean it. You’re the prettiest thing on this earth, Y/n,” he assured, planting a kiss against each of your palms then settling them on his shoulders.

“And I’m going to make sure—” His words paused as his mouth attached to your skin once more.

“That your beautiful body—” He molded his lips against the underside of one mound, traveling upward.

“Knows all the things—” it eventually made its way to your nip that shivered and hardened through the exposure to the cold air, “I’ll be doing to it.”

Hearing those sensual words leave the mouth of a man usually so composed and calm made your mind scatter in a hazy daze that drenched you from your panties to the thin material of your shorts, undoubtedly wetting his sweatpants in the process.

“Mm… Ahh…” you breathed out a sigh of moans next to his ear thanks to his methodical movements, which sounded like a melody he would repeat over and over in his head for years to come. One of his large hands slipped behind you down your shorts to grip your ass, ignoring the clothing, and the other wandered to your breast that wasn’t occupied by the heated presses of his mouth. You tried to keep yourself anchored to reality and not drift off in the hot air of lust by gripping behind his head and weaving your fingers in his dual-colored tresses. Unknowingly, you pressed him further into you, and he gladly continued to indulge in his simulations.

Eventually, he parted from your body to sit back and admire his handy work, which were the marks adorned on your skin and the needy look on your face left in his wake. The glimmer of the candlelight behind you accentuated the outline of your figure, and he wanted to ingrain this pretty image into his head so badly.

“Sh-Shouto…” you whined, and his eyes perked up.

“What is it, love?” he asked, though his hands continued caressing your waist and thighs almost tauntingly, discerning the desire in your voice.

“I want…”

“Want what?” he pried on.

“You know what I want...” You bashfully eyed down his lap, fingers tracing below his shirt to the waistband of his pants, tugging.

“Hm, do I?” he jeered, and you cursed at how he dragged out your desires while falling further into his mischief from the way he resumed stroking the fever of your skin.

“Yes, you do,” you ground against his erection once more, hoping to spark a reaction. And in the end, you received one in the form of his hands gripping your hips to still your movements.

“Fuck…” His brows narrowed tightly together from the shift that caused blood to spike through his cock. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want, love—what you need,” he finally assured, softly touching your cheek with the back of his hand before planting a peck.

“But first, I want a taste. Hands on the couch,” he ordered in the husky timbre of his voice, and you didn’t disobey, lest he draw out your pleasure toward a nerve-wracking pace your body couldn’t handle anymore. You moved off his lap and crawled to the furthest end to perch yourself against the couch’s arm, knees on the cushions, and bottoms faced toward Shouto.

He awarded your immediate compliance with his hands, dragging themselves down the skin of your back and descending toward the waistband of your shorts. However, to your chagrin, he only pulled off the first layer.

His eyes beheld the color of red while he jerked the clothing down your thighs, now met and widened at the sight of your rose-hued panties. He watched as you slowly turned your head to catch his amorous expression, the man kneeled behind you from the view of your ass emphasized by the flimsy, lace fabric. He admired how you glowed from the candle, and how the moonlight filtered through the windows of the common room, cascaded on the expanse of skin the firelight couldn’t reach, while your body was arched, ready, and willing for his and his eyes only. If you were a goddess, he’d worship you and visit your shrine for the rest of his life. No, scratch that, in Shouto’s eyes, no goddess or deity could ever compare to you.

“God, how is everything about you so perfect…” he breathed out, tone laced in utter affection. Your face blossomed crimson from his praises.

The candle at his side still offered him enough light to see the evident damp spot on the crotch of your panties. When he pulled them down, your slick strung from the lacey material to your lower glistening lips, which made him release a strained groan. You helped him remove the tainted articles of clothing by lifting your knees as he slid them down your legs, letting them pile in a heap on the floor.

“Even your pussy’s pretty…” he spoke the obscene words like they were second nature, but you couldn’t conjure anything in reply except a whimper when he dragged his fingers across your sex. He smeared your wetness on his fingertips, not even offering their full length into your heat.

“F-Fuck… please,” you begged, fidgeting in your spot to usher him to do anything more to stop the ache in your body.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he promised, leaning over you and tossing your hair to the side to smother kisses on the nape of your neck. He then trailed his mouth down your back at an agonizing pace while his fingers continued to toy with your wet cunt using touches that could never climb you to the peak of your high. Soon his lips arrived at your asscheek, melding the smooches against your flesh while he dipped toward his desired destination.

Shouto leveled his gaze to your ass, grasping it firmly in his hands and spreading you open. The scent of your arousal invaded his senses. Your exposure to his intimate eyes made your cunt twitch in front of him, slick gathering and sticking to your thighs.

“Mm, so so pretty...”

However, as much as he wanted to dive right in and drink all your nectar, your cute whimpers drove him to tease you once more, only granting you the sensations of his breath fanned on your dripping sex.

“Baby, what do you want?” You couldn’t believe he had the nerve to ask. Still, you played along, albeit not nearly as patient as the man behind you.

“Y-Your mouth,” you answered, and you felt the thin smirk on his lips when he kissed your ass one last time.

“A nice answer,” is all he muttered before his tongue finally reached your aching entrance. He licked around you, his hold on your flesh tightened to bare your pussy to his entering appendage. At the feeling of his muscle along your silky walls, your nails started digging into the arm of the green couch, voice singing out unhinged.

“Careful, love, everyone’s still sleeping. We wouldn’t want them to hear now, would we?” he warned when he detached from your sex, yet was quick to dive in again. Clasping your hand over your mouth to mute the airy noises emitting from your lips, you remembered where you were—in an open and publicly used space. It especially became very apparent when the squelch of his mouth against you reverberated in the vast, empty area due to Shouto becoming a man unshackled by his passionate desires for the woman he loved. The last thing you wanted was for the boys on the second floor to wake up. Or worse, accidentally alert Mr. Aizawa.

As Shouto continued tasting your cunt, the heat coursing through your body was slowly boiling and longing to burst, your mewls edging to heavy moans past your hand. When your pussy started grappling around his tongue, he realized you inched closer and closer to release.

“Are you going to cum for me? Soak my tongue with everything you got?”

You hissed a squeal of a yes, along with a speedy succession of nods that was enough of a response for Shouto to help you reach your high. His motions transcended faster, and he added to the revelry by inserting a long finger into you, easily touching the particular spongy area inside that made you quiver. The overflowing sensations hollowed the sounds in your throat to mere hoarse throes of pleasure. His bind on your flesh grew firmer, like his feast on your cunt was the ambrosia he needed to revitalize his body.

“Ah, f-fuck Shouto, I’m— I’m—”

“Do it, baby. Cum all over my face.”

The weighty lust in his words was the last fuel you needed to attain your peak. At last, your sex clenched across Shouto’s tongue, covering his mouth in your juices as your screams were suppressed against the couch arm you buried your face into, knowing your hand was too weak of a barrier to contain your loud, wanton cries. With you soon becoming limp due to the mind-blowing orgasm that coursed your body, you braced yourself on the couch’s arm. Turning your head, you observed the glistened sheen covering the lower half of Shouto’s face that he earnestly licked and then rubbed against his forearm. The heady sight resulted in your body growing hot and bothered all over again.

“Mm, you taste so delicious, love,” he told you before he eased forward across your form and captured your mouth for another searing kiss that allowed you to taste your flavor on his tongue. Shouto’s arms readily wove around your naked body, positioning you to lay comfortably flat beneath him on the couch while never leaving the fervid lip-lock. You hung an arm over his back, and a hand settled into his hair.

“Ah.. wait,” you managed to voice between the wistful union of your tongues, letting Shouto lean his forehead against yours to peer into your eyes.

“What is it?”

“You’ve been doing all the work tonight. The least I should do to repay you is give you some pleasure, right?” you said, attempting to reach lower toward the bulge keen on his sweats. Yet Shouto halted you with a quick hand on your wrist.

“It’s alright, Y/n. I want to use this night to appreciate and love you,” he stated, bringing your hand to his lips as his gaze never moved from yours. “And besides, we can do that next time.”

Next time? You wordlessly repeated the phrase, mind trying to fathom what this passionate night would spark in the aftermath for you two.

Even with everything ahead of him, he still desired to be with you—to love and cherish you. Now that you’ve both admitted to the feelings concealed within yourselves for so long, there wasn’t any way Shouto could just let you go. One way or another, he’d carve another path down his odyssey where you two would walk together, and he could forever bask in your light.

But for now, he needed to tend to you and satiate his lust that has thoroughly built up throughout the heaty progression of the night, his cock painfully taut in the bounds of his clothing. At last, he granted his body the small bit of freedom it craved by removing his shirt and sweatpants, leaving his skin bare to the air like yours. Raking your eyes over his form scrupulously, you bit into your lower lip at the expanse of firm muscle lining every inch of his frame. The light beside you seemed only to enhance every marbled crest delved across his features. Those three years of fierce hero training committed wonders on his body, and you were eager to put your hands all over him.

However, your mind was blanketed into a haze when he pulled down his briefs—soiled by a blotch of his precum—allotting you with an unhindered view of his cock standing to attention. Shouto lowly chuckled, noticing the speechless expression taking over your face. His hand wholly stroked his stout manhood.

“Like what you see, baby?”

Your response is reduced to a quick nod, still dumbstruck by the length of his dick and generous girth when knowing he was soon to be inside you in mere moments. Shouto took his position in front of you again. He spread you out with as much room as the green couch of the common room could offer you two. You kept resonating out whimpers from your lips, and he reveled in those sounds while preparing to align himself to your entrance, his eyes fogged with unrivaled yearning for you. To say he’s dreamt of this day—where you’re hot, needy, and naked in the wake of his lustful desires—would be an understatement. No kind of imagination could beat the real thing, with the genuine noises you produced and the way your slick felt against the head of cock as he slowly pushed himself forward. Watching each inch of his dick gradually slide inside and experiencing the tightness of him and his love coming together did many things to him. The sensation was beyond incredible.

“Mm! Fuck!” you cried out in a whisper of a yell, immediately anchoring yourself by wrapping your arms around him when he lowered his upper-body to you. The stretch of his girth induced a pleasurable burn in your stomach that threatened to seize your entire being.

“Argh… Love, I’m right here— Fuck, you’re so tight—” he cursed at your warmth firmly enveloping his cock, struggling not to let the heat of the moment devour his reasoning and just plow away at your body. No, he needed to go slow and not hurt you, let you adjust to his size. Thankfully the wetness simulated when he ate you out aided the process, and soon his entire length was sheathed inside you.

You laid there trembling over the deep sensation, but the pain managed to diffuse quickly. “I-It’s OK… I’m alright now,” you murmured to him, the circles he rubbed into your skin soothing a bit of the tension harrowed in your body. You tilted your head so your lips were sheer centimeters from his ear, whispering out in a soft, heady tone that was breaking his rationale.

“Please fuck me.”

That was all he needed to begin his hard succession of thrusts. His cock felt along all the crevices of your walls. He grunted out praises and affections for you in between each drive into your core. Fuck, every part of you was like heaven and he wanted—no—needed to indulge in all you could give him. You struggled to find your words, voice hoarse and diminished to frail moans that he heard every trace of from the proximity between you, practically instilling the harmonies into his mind.

“I love you, Y/n, fuck I love you so much.” His bewitching utterances spilled from his lips without a second thought for all he’s thinking about is you.

“You were always the light that— ah— guided me... Always the one I could come to…” His thrusts continued relentlessly even as he bent toward your neck to meld his mouth on it for a second. “You were always the one, Y/n. It was always you.”

At all his love rained down upon you, your grip on his body grew tighter while you attempted to muster out some coherent words, despite each deep impulse of his cock making you envision stars.

“Mm, ah, l-love you too— Mmph—” You cut off with a scream that was luckily muted by Shouto joining his mouth to yours the moment he reached your pleasurable spongy area again. He continued his onslaught in that spot, knowing it was the erogenous zone in your body that made you writhe and shriek for him. White began to shroud your sight every time he pounded there. It wouldn’t be long until the simmer you built to a boil would be ready to burst again, your pussy starting to clench around his length desperately.

“Shouto, I’m gonna c-cum..!”

“Fuck, me too,” he replied to your frantic pleas and savored the sting of your nails raked down his back, tightening his hold on your spread legs. “Together, baby. Cum with me.”

With you both teetered toward the edge of release, he began pistoning his hips forward at an unbridled pace, the smack of your skins echoing so vividly in the space. Spit gathered in the back of your throat as Shouto did his very best to snatch every mewl and moan resounding from your lips. The noises vibrated across his tongue while he groaned back, thrusting forward in each succession. Eventually, the final scream tore from your throat, ripping into his mouth. Your body convulsed in a fit of overwhelming pleasure across every nerve and your intense orgasm was the catalyst he needed to cum.

In a single deep, quick thrust following your peak, his climax surged through him, and he came undone. A low grunt reverberated in him as he buried himself in you and coated your walls in hot spurts of white, the lip-lock remaining fervent throughout his orgasm and his hand seeking yours at the last minute to twine together in love and passion.

Through the whirlwind of your fucking, the candle on the coffee table eventually blew itself out while you both came down from your highs with ragged breaths and sweaty bodies. Shouto lovingly kissed your temple, caressing down your sides in calming motions. You returned the gesture by pecking his chest and rubbing the muscles of his broad back. The two of you simply laid there, tangled together, basked in the glow from the intensity, with nothing but the glimmering moonlight descending your naked bodies.

“Mm, Shouto?” your voice is only a hushed murmur in the tranquil atmosphere.

“What is it, love?” His caring touch did not cease when he whispered a question back, eyes pinpointing your own despite the darkness.

“As much as I just want to lay here and cuddle with you, we can’t stay here mister,” you admonished, thankful that you recalled where you were before you ended up drifting off into sleep on this couch. It would be an absolute nightmare had you awoke the next morning from the screams of your classmates at the sight of you both naked.

He let out a deep chuckle, likely conjuring the same thought as you though not acting nearly as frantic as he should be. He lifted his upper body off the cushions. “Shall we go to my room then?”

You nodded. At that you both gathered your clothes that were thrown carelessly in heaps on the floor and got dressed. You made sure no suspicious traces of you remained, then silently took to the elevators to ascend to the fifth floor.

It’s in the confines of Shouto’s room that you reunited your bodies again underneath the comfortable blankets of his futon. His left side provided just the right amount of warmth to lull your nerves. You relished in his particular musky scent with him so close and being surrounded by all his familiarities, cuddling into him.

Perceiving the rhythm of your even breaths against him imbued Shouto with a sense of peace. He couldn’t help but pull you toward him to softly kiss your forehead. At the tickling sensation, you giggled and exchanged a delicate kiss of your own on his jawline. For a brief period of time, that calming silence you two were far too familiar with enveloped the mood as you wordlessly traded placid touches across each other’s arms and backs. Ultimately, the quiet is interrupted when you speak up.

“Are you.. still scared about the future?” You brought back the query that set off the steamy chain of events. Shouto didn’t speak for a moment, inhaling a breath until you indicated his resolution through his hold on you growing stronger.

“No. No, I’m not scared,” he told you, continuing without a single hint of uncertainty in his voice, “Because even when we move onto the future, we’ll find each other again. You’re my light, Y/n, and I’ll always come back to you.”

At his conviction, you finally let the weight of those harrowing notions lift themselves from your body that night, letting you sleep soundlessly in the arms of the man you loved.

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years ago

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Lie to Me

Prompts: Post Pof: Janus is not doing ok, everday he can taste Roman's lies, he can feel Roman's pain. He can feel the ego crumbling. Guilt plagues him as hes done the opposite of protecting the ego. Hey uh... could you write a fic when you have the time? - meltheromanstan

Roman is having issues trying to keep up his facade (and maybe struggling with his work cause ADHD makes everything difficult on top of everything because I love the idea of the twins having ADHD) and he is one bump in the road away from a full on meltdown. And Janus realizes a lie in a conversation that’s concerning and at some point in Roman begrudgingly gives a self deprecating reason and Janus is like heck no and Roman’s like why not and Janus is like because i care? And then Roman breaks down because no one has told him anything like that in a long time. Sorry that’s so long. You can write this whenever, or never if you don’t wanna. Anygay, bye and thank you! - anon

Thank you for the requests! oh this poor man. roman i'm so sorry you didn't do anything to deserve this and here I am hurting you. I'm so sorry bb you need to be wrapped up with a hot chocolate and sat far away from everything.

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-hatred, self-doubt, poor roman’s got so much internalized hatred this poor man, some things that can be interpreted as self-harm but nothing explicit

Pairings: main focus on roceit but it can be platonic or romantic you decide, background LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR

Word Count: 10,554

Janus hears every single lie in the Mindscape. It doesn't matter whether or not the liar believes it to be true or knows it's a falsehood; if it isn't true, he hears it.

Roman lies. A lot.

Or: 5 times Janus had to hide that he was taking care of Roman, and 1 time he didn't.

They never gave Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he can be.

The wedding is an absolute dumpster fire. The aftermath is a nuclear explosion. Roman sinks out in silence, long before the video is over. Virgil never shows up, neither does Remus. Logan is cut off before he can realize it.

Well, that’s not true.

Janus cuts Logan off before he can realize it.

Because he didn’t care about them, no. Patton has the most influence over Thomas. Patton is the one who influences the other Sides more than they realize most of the time. And Patton is the one who needed to listen.

So it didn’t matter that the others weren’t there when Janus had to talk to Patton and Thomas, because it worked. Thomas listened, Patton finally understood, and things could start getting better.

…or so he thought.

In fairness, the others came around…fairly quickly. He approached Logan with a book on philosophy and an apology on his lips, only to be swept up into a conversation that had drawn both Patton and Virgil into the living room by the end of the day. It felt…well, right isn’t the correct word, but…warm, perhaps. Yes, let’s go with warm.

Of course, Remus belly-flopping onto the couch—and the rest of them—near the end was certainly an additional factor.

But Roman…

Janus didn’t expect Roman to forgive him. Certainly not quickly. He certainly expected Roman to forgive the others for whatever little parts they played in harming the prince’s precious ego. And he absolutely expected the prince to admit that he was wrong, that it was indeed his fault that everything had gone so spectacularly wrong.

The first time Roman walks into the kitchen after the wedding, Janus flinches.

Virgil notices and all but jumps in front of him, snarling a ‘what do you want?’ in Roman’s direction. Patton had turned around and his smile had frozen, staring at Roman.

“Hello, Roman,” Logan says cooly, “may we help you?”

“Yeesh, aren’t you lot jumpy this morning?” Roman shakes his head and sighs dramatically. “I am not here to grace you all with my glorious presence, simply to grab a little food and depart on a quest!”

“Thank god,” Virgil mutters, too low for Roman to hear.

He pushes Janus behind him as Roman waltzes into the kitchen to take something out of the cupboard.

“…when will you be back,” Patton asks warily, “and where are you going?”

“Into the Imagination, my dear Padre!” Roman spreads his arms wide. “To see where the spirit of adventure takes me!”

“That answers only one of the questions.” Logan closes his notebook sharply.

“Time is a social construct,” Roman says airily, “but I suppose I shall try to return for dinner?”

“Don’t force yourself,” Virgil snarks, crossing his arms, “looks hard enough already.”

Roman just laughs and leaves.

“Goodness,” Patton mumbles, leaning on the counter, “I didn’t expect him to be so—so—“

“Roman?” Virgil rolls his eyes. “Princey’s got a head bigger than a fucking balloon—“

“Language.”

“—and he’s not gonna come down to earth for anything.”

“Roman is—or can be—remarkably immature when it comes to admitting his mistakes,” Logan adds, “it’s not to be completely unexpected that he is still in denial.”

Patton sighs. “I know, I just…expected better.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Virgil huffs, “what about you, Janus? Are you hurt?”

“I also noticed you flinch,” Logan says, standing, “are you alright? Did Roman…”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he, kiddo?”

No. No, Janus is absolutely fine right now.

The instant Roman had appeared in the doorway, the lies slammed into Janus.

They hate you, they never want to see you again.

Everything is your fault.

Virgil is right to try and shield Janus from you, you were so fucking cruel to him.

They don’t deserve to be burdened with you.

Leave. Leave so they never have to put up with you. You know they don’t want you.

They’ve never wanted you.

And yet, as clearly as he heard those lies, he heard Roman, the blustery, pompous Prince, loud as ever, spoiled as ever. He saw Roman, the swaggering adventurer, the cocky Creativity who was always right, always the center of attention.

The actor.

Janus had definitely given him enough credit for that.

“Janus?”

Right, they’re still waiting for an answer.

“I’m fine,” he says, a beat too late, “just caught off guard, that’s all.”

Virgil eyes him suspiciously. “You’re lying.”

“Well of course I am,” Janus sighs, rolling his eyes, “it’s not like Deceit is one of my primary functions, after all.”

“Kiddo,” Patton says, “you know you can tell us if Roman—if someone hurts you, right?”

Something pinches just under his chin. “I know.”

“…so?”

He shakes his head. “Roman hasn’t hurt me, nor has he threatened to.”

Virgil bumps his shoulder. “Just…keep us in the loop, okay?”

“Because it’s very likely that Roman will hurt me.”

The others chuckle or brush it off. Of course, they did. When they aren’t paying attention, Janus lets his gaze trail up the stairs, following the line where the prince vanished. The others have never paid much attention to when Roman returns from his ‘quests.’

Janus does.

Even if Janus weren’t consciously coming to the prince’s aid, he’s certain he’d be summoned regardless.

He waits, quiet in the shadows, for the telltale squeak of the lower hinge on the red wardrobe door in Roman’s room. He’s learned to keep still, keep quiet, not yet fully materialized, watching as Roman stumbles back through the door, one of his arms sagging in relief as the other holds him up. The door creaks shut and a shuddering breath leaves the prince’s chest.

His head bows.

Before the charade completely falls away, Roman pushes himself up and starts getting ready to sleep. His sash, normally laid so carefully over the back of his chair, is given barely a second thought as he throws his costume onto the floor. Janus winces at the slam of the bathroom door and again at the way Roman all but collapses into the bed with a miserable expression on his face. He doesn’t need to pry away the pillow to know that Roman is desperate.

Stupid, stupid, worthless prince.

Not even a fucking prince, not even the fucking squire.

Useless, can’t even do your fucking job.

Can’t even stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself even though you know damn well you don’t deserve it.

You don’t deserve anything.

Janus grits his teeth and waits. Waits for Roman’s lies to grow less vitriolic, more sluggish, waits for Roman’s breathing to even out, sagging against the pillow, before he moves.

His footsteps are silent as he crosses the room, keeping a wary eye on the door, lest someone else knock and wake up the now sleeping prince. He swallows, leaning down, his lips barely brushing the curve of Roman’s ear.

He doesn’t touch, doesn’t want to risk waking him now.

“You’re not stupid, Roman,” he whispers, barely loud enough to be heard, even by himself. “You’re not worthless, you’ve never been worthless.”

Roman shifts in his sleep. Janus freezes. He stills and he breathes out. Bends just a little closer.

“And you deserve to know that.”

Even if he can only even whisper it when Roman is too deep in sleep to hear him.

The lies don’t stop. They just get worse.

Fortunately, Janus’s powers aren’t limited by the physical space, not when the lies are particularly pervasive. For example, every time Logan insists that he doesn’t have feelings, or Virgil insists he doesn’t care about the others, or Patton says—particularly passionately—that everything’s fine, Janus hears it. These ones typically merit a scoff and a roll of the eyes, or a quip if he’s actually in the same room. These ones he’s used to.

Here’s the thing about the lies that Janus can hear; it doesn’t matter whether or not they’re lies that someone knows is a lie or whether it’s something they believe. If it isn’t true, Janus will hear it.

Case in point: Roman’s lies, and the lies that took Janus far too long to figure out were lies.

When he decides to tune into Roman’s mind, he’s normally greeted with statements lauding about how amazing the prince is, how he’s the best Side, how much he loves himself. Even when he’s not paying particular attention to Roman, he can hear those sentiments loud and clear.

The issue with that? He can hear them loud and clear.

Now, is it likely that these are things that Roman believes that aren’t true? The possibility exists.

Is it more likely, given recent…developments, that these are things that Roman has known aren’t true, and is intentionally thinking them in order to keep playing a role?

No, of course not, why would you ever think that?

They won’t go away. He can barely look at Roman now, can’t stop seeing, hearing all the lies he tells himself every day. The others are starting to worry, growing colder towards Roman, concerned about how much Janus tries to put distance between them. Virgil keeps shoving himself in between the two of them, Logan keeps pulling Janus into long conversations that Roman wouldn’t dare insert himself into, Patton makes sure the two of them are never alone.

Well, almost never alone.

The lies are the worst at night. When Roman is in his room, curled up under the covers, his head buried in his hands, they roam freely, coloring the red curtains with shadows, smearing themselves over his paintings, his drawings, his writing, his keyboard.

They’re right to be scared of you, right to hate you.

You don’t deserve their forgiveness, especially when you haven’t even apologized for the amount of things you’ve done wrong.

And you’re selfish enough to want a fucking apology from them?

Janus, waiting in the corner for Roman to fall asleep, winces, the strength and magnitude of the lie filling his mouth with bitterness.

Does he deserve an apology from Roman? Yes, perhaps, that would be nice. Laughing at his name in a moment of vulnerability was…perhaps not ideal.

But the idea that Roman doesn’t deserve an apology? From any of them?

Roman, the only one who consistently defers and gives and tries and hopes for them, the one who works nonstop to make sure they have something, anything to do, for Thomas, for each other, the only one who’s called out to apologize to them, who apologizes to them when he realizes he’s done something wrong?

Roman deserves an apology. If only to make up for the amount of times he’s been blamed for something that someone else started.

A noise.

Janus blinks, coming back to the present as Roman stirs. For a moment, he worries that the prince has woken up, that he’s discovered someone else in his room, only for a trail of sluggish lies to funnel into his mind.

Janus hates you more than anyone else and he’s right to.

You hurt Janus on purpose.

You never stop hurting Janus.

You will always be someone he can use, a puppet, until you are nothing more than an obstacle.

Before he can stop himself, he’s striding across the room to murmur in Roman’s ear again, chest aching with the weight of the lies.

“The others,” he murmurs, flooding the words with as much sincerity as he can, “they don’t know what I can hear, what they have never noticed, and that is what hurts me, my prince, that you are so quiet and so brave that you can convince the world that you’re not suffering.”

Roman clutches his pillow a little tighter.

“I don’t hate you, my prince, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me like that, and I know—“ he takes a deep breath— “I know that the hurt you caused me is nothing compared to what I have done to you.”

He closes his eyes and feels the guilt well up in his chest. He knows he can’t say the full apology that Roman needs—that he deserves right now. He can’t even begin to imagine all the little things he hasn’t even realized he’s done to Roman, how many things he’s done that he’s forgotten that were just another Tuesday to him, but rewrote entire chapters of Roman’s life.

He can’t begin to imagine how much of this could’ve been stopped if only he’d realized just how hurt Roman has always been.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry that I never realized how far I let this get.”

Roman is touch-starved, he realized, horrified one day when he walks into the living room to see Logan and Patton sitting on the couch, Virgil sprawled across their laps, and Roman in the corner, far away from everyone else, hiding such a look of heartbreak that Janus almost stops in the doorway as Remus brushes past him.

“Hey!” Virgil splutters when Remus lies down on top of him.

“Remus!” Patton pushes lightly at him. “You’re going to squish Virgil!”

“He’s durable, he’s used to it.”

Logan raises his eyebrows, looking to Janus for confirmation. Janus sighs.

“I can remember every single time I’ve walked into our living room to see the two of them on the couch,” he says dryly, “and I’m certain that all of them have started with Remus asking Virgil’s permission to lie on top of him for hours.”

“See?” Remus wraps his arms around Virgil. “He’s fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, Pat and L’s knees won’t be though.”

“Ooh! Did you know that some people have a third bone in their knee?”

“I would be more than happy to follow this train of conversation,” Logan mutters, “if you were to get off my lap.”

“Fine.”

Janus shakes his head again as Remus clambers off, landing cross-legged next to Logan on the couch and immediately info-dumping. Virgil sighs and scoots, laying his head in Patton’s lap and going back to his phone. Patton runs his hand through Virgil’s hair and wiggles his free hand at Janus.

“Come on, there’s plenty of room.”

Remus snorts, interrupting his tirade long enough to say: “Jan-Jan’s not a cuddler,” before going back to talking about…something to do with knees. Patton frowns.

“What?”

“’S true.” Virgil peers up at him. “He’ll hug you if you ask for it but he’s not big on cuddling.”

“O-oh.”

“He should still come sit with us, though,” Virgil says quickly, shooting Janus a very subtle look, “so get over here, J.”

Janus sits, pulling out his book and opening it. After a few seconds, Patton looks away, and Virgil tunes out again.

Good.

The lies were getting a little too hard to stand.

Here, behind his book, he can shift his attention to Roman, scribbling in his notebook and looking every bit the creative genius at work, dead to the world, couldn’t give less interest as to what’s going on around him.

As he said, Roman is a fantastic actor.

This time, it’s not even that the words are the thing hurting him now. No, these lies are the type he’s more used to, someone frantically muttering the same thing to themselves over and over and over, trying to convince themselves it’s true. The problem is what’s being carried with the lies, and how deep this need must run in order for it to make it to Janus.

I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.

Roman’s hand is trembling a little on his pen as his brow furrows, eyes skating back and forth over the page. The ache starts just under his chin, right where it meets his throat, and surges, rushing through his arms to the very tips of his fingers. All of them, even the hidden ones. His gloves twitch on the pages of the book.

He’s so cold.

I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it. I don’t need it.

The words start to blur together. It hurts. His arms ache. He risks looking more openly at Roman only for him to notice, looking back and quirking an eyebrow.

“Something wrong, Deceit?”

“He has a name,” Virgil growls.

“Janus,” Roman amends, shooting Virgil a glance, “is there something wrong?”

“Why’re you over there?”

He meant to ask why Roman wasn’t sitting with the other Sides. He meant to ask whether Roman chose to sit by himself and starve himself of physical contact or if the others had cut him off. He meant to ask if Roman wanted to come to sit with the rest of them.

Instead, Roman smiles.

“You’re right. It’s getting quite late. I must be off!”

Before Janus can say anything, Roman assumes his dramatic pose and sinks out, cheerily declaring his farewells.

Next to him, Patton lets out a shaky breath.

“Goodness.”

Logan adjusts his glasses. “Quite.”

“Thanks, Janus,” Virgil mutters, making himself more comfortable, “I thought he’d never leave.”

No.

No, no, no, this is all wrong.

“Why did you want him to leave?”

Virgil shrugs. “It’s harder when he’s here.”

“Harder how?”

“We do not know how to act around Roman,” Logan admits, fixing his tie, “he’s not—well, he seems content to behave as if nothing is wrong, and…”

“It’s not,” Patton says softly. He fiddles with his hands. “We can’t go back to the way it was before, and Roman…Roman doesn’t seem to know how to move on.”

Virgil snorts. “Not that he seems to care enough to try.”

Well, if the lies still plaguing Roman’s thoughts are any indication…

Why would they want to touch you? You ruin everything you touch, haven’t you ruined enough already? Haven’t you ruined them enough already?

They’re done trying with you. They hate you. It’s a wonder they only realize it now.

Broken, useless, toxic prince. Finally left out in the cold where you deserve to be.

Roman curls up under his thin sheet, the heavy blankets put away for the colder seasons too far away and too close to Patton’s room for him to get them safely. Janus watches as he twitches miserably, curling up tighter, turning over, hugging his pillow to his chest, trying, trying to feel warm. Every now and then there’s a quiet noise, quickly stifled. His arms start to ache again, not just from the cold, but from how much Roman seems to believe that no one wants to touch him.

He makes up his mind.

He sinks out to his room, quickly grabbing one of his weighted blankets from his own storage. Returning to Roman’s room, he waits with bated breath until Roman’s chest rises and falls at a steady rate before carefully creeping forward and spreading the blanket over the prince.

“Don’t make yourself cold,” he murmurs, tucking it into place, “stay warm for me, my prince, stay warm, it’s alright.”

Roman shifts, turning his head so it accidentally brushes Janus’s hand.

Janus freezes.

Roman hums slightly and falls back asleep. Shaking, Janus moves his fingers, letting them card through Roman’s hair. The prince mumbles and doesn’t wake.

He does it again, firmer this time. Roman all but melts under this, just this, just a proper blanket over him and someone running their fingers through his hair.

“Oh, Roman,” Janus murmurs, unable to resist cupping Roman’s face in his hand, “you’re don’t ruin everything you touch, far from it.”

He cups the back of Roman’s head, guiding it to a more comfortable angle.

“On the contrary,” he whispers, “you make us better.”

And maybe…maybe he can try and provide a little of what Roman needs. Even if they have to be stolen moments, felt only on the very edges of sleep, when Roman is conscious enough to remember them but not lucid enough to lie and say he doesn’t deserve it.

The time when Roman barely managed to stumble through the door in his room before passing out is the only time Janus seriously considers calling the others to help.

But no, he reminds himself as he rushes to the prince’s side, they would want to wake him up, to scold him, to figure out exactly what he thought he was doing, whether or not he’s considered whether this is hurting Thomas.

Janus bites back a growl as he starts examining the prince.

Perhaps if they were so concerned about whether or not hurting Roman hurts Thomas, they’d be more considerate about what they say to him.

He pushes that away for now, more focused on getting Roman’s tight collar away from his neck and checking the state of his bruises. From what he can see from the dirt on the costume, he’s fallen, from quite a significant height, and who knows what else might be hiding under here?

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he looks around for something to help, “but I may have to peel you out of these.”

Sure enough, he can get most of the costume top off fairly easily—and gains a newfound respect for how difficult it must be to put the thing on by himself, there are so many buttons—but the undershirt proves more difficult, especially as it seems to be stuck in places that it should not be stuck in.

…oh.

Oh, no.

Janus bites back a curse and moves quickly. One arm reaches for the first aid kit he knows is in the bathroom, one arm grabs a pillow and stuffs it under Roman’s head, two gently move his arms up and over his head, and two carefully, carefully take the edge of the undershirt and beginning to take it off.

He presses a gauze pad to the wound over Roman’s hip.

He holds an ice pack to the swollen lump on his rib cage.

He checks over the wound on his chest.

He tilts Roman’s head from side to side to see how far up the bruises go.

The pants have to come next and Janus grits his teeth, running his hand over Roman’s forehead as an apology before he shucks the article of clothing.

More bruises. So many bruises. Thankfully no more bleeding wounds.

He lets out a breath and sits back on his haunches, staring down at the injured prince.

The best thing about it, he decides, is that there’s no way for Roman to know that he would’ve been safe passing out and not taking care of any of these.

The wound on his hip has all but stopped bleeding as Janus tends to it carefully, wiping away the blood and soothing the angry skin with a balm, covering the whole thing with a bandage. The mark on his chest isn’t as bad as it looks, bits of dead skin that Janus clears away and brushes off Roman’s torso. The antiseptic makes him hiss a little and he rubs soothing circles into his tummy until he resettles, murmuring that he’s doing so well, he’s almost done, they’ll get him into bed and he can rest.

None of the bruises on his legs are bad enough to merit bruise cream, let alone keeping the poor thing from his bed for a moment longer. Instead, Janus quickly covers the one on his ribs and lifts the prince into his arms.

Roman jolts.

“Shh, shh,” Janus murmurs, stroking a free hand through his hair, “shh, shh, shh…”

Roman shushes, just in time for Janus to lie him down and tuck him in, one hand still in his hair as he sits on the edge of the bed. A furrow grows between his brows.

Should’ve gotten hurt worse.

Janus freezes.

Should’ve let them hit you more.

Got off too easy.

It should hurt more. You deserve it. Maybe if you pay enough it’ll get better.

“No, sweetie,” Janus whispers, reaching out before he can stop himself and cradling Roman’s sleeping head in his hands, “no, no, no, don’t ever believe that we want to see you hurt.”

Shouldn’t have come back.

Shouldn’t be a burden.

At least none of the others know about it, they would only complain and ignore you. Useless, worthless prince.

“You’re not worthless, sweetie,” Janus promises, still cradling the poor thing’s head, running his fingers through his hair to keep him lulled and asleep, “shh, now, everything’s alright, hush now…”

As the lies drift off into nothingness, Roman along with them, Janus’s face falls.

Roman is the protector. The prince that will always put himself between them and whatever dared to try and hurt them. He’s not meant to fight a war on two fronts.

Who protects the protector?

“I will, sweetie,” Janus whispers, so, so quietly as he tidies up Roman’s room and gives the sleeping prince one last pat, “I’ll look after you.”

Roman, perhaps more than any of the others, is essential to Thomas’s mental help.

Roman is Thomas’s hopes and dreams, the things he wants above all else, the things he strives for, the things he desires. He reaches and reaches and reaches for Thomas, holds every single one of his wants close to his chest, and keeps them safe until they can bubble up into reality.

Roman is romance, the reason Patton gets all fluttery and bubbly inside. He’s the suave, fabulous, gay disaster that encourages Thomas to be happy, to reach for who he wants, for who he desires.

Roman is creativity, the livelihood that Thomas has chosen. He works nonstop, tirelessly producing idea after idea for Thomas to film, to write, to create, so Thomas can live and be proud of what he’s doing.

Roman is the Ego.

What is the Ego, you may ask? Well, although Freud is largely considered bullshit by modern psychologists—or at the very least, upsetting due to the fact that his research was largely corrupted by the rich men funding it—there are certain aspects of his work that remain in the public mind.

Simply put, the Ego is the conscious mind. It is the sum of your thoughts, beliefs, and habits as they interact with your physical body. The tether that stretches into your awareness and consciousness and into your physical form. It is a combination of body-thoughts-feelings and the consciousness taken to activate it.

The Ego gives you a sense of self-worth. It is a mask, one you put on and play as a role.

Everyone and anyone, it seems, has been warned about the dangers of an out-of-control Ego. Overconfident, hubristic, arrogant, with no regard for others. A vapid complainer, sustained by the power of approval hoarded selfishly. You are encouraged, if not instructed outright, to learn how to live without paying any attention to your Ego.

Here’s what they don’t tell you.

The Ego is what you think of yourself. It gives you self-worth because that’s its job. To make you feel secure in who you are. It is sustained by approval because it lives in fear. It itself puts on a mask of strength, of imperviousness, that it is indestructible, because it is soft, malleable, and so very afraid.

It is true that the Ego is nourished by positive comments, because it isn’t a crime to feel good, or to feel proud, or to want to be validated. It is true that the Ego sometimes reaches too high, only to fall, because that is its nature, to want, and to hope.

They don’t tell you that when you turn your hatred inwards, your Ego doesn’t just bruise, it crumbles.

So when Logan constantly tells Roman that they can’t do something, or it isn’t a worthy use of their time, despite his best intentions, he’s not doing much other than snatching Roman’s dreams away. Roman learns not to ignore Logan, yes, but at the expense of constantly being told that it is his fault when Thomas feels crushed, never mind that Roman is crushed, too.

So when Virgil insults and belittles his worth, tells him he’s stupid and unimportant, despite the fact that Roman will snipe back at him, all he does is reinforce the idea that Roman is the only one at fault, that Virgil is allowed to sit and insult him to his heart’s content while Roman has to apologize for standing up for himself. Roman learns to stand quietly while Virgil tells Thomas he’s a disappointment until the time comes where he believes it’s true.

So when Patton decides that Roman is bad, after how much Roman has sacrificed for Patton, to do what would make Patton happy, Thomas happy, when all he needs is just someone on his side, something, anything, Roman has to stand there, alone, hurt, angry, upset, and be told that he’s wrong. Roman learns that he’s only here to give, not to receive, that no one will hold him when he falls apart.

So when Remus starts to show up, more and more, less and less restrained, no one puts it together that Roman literally does not have the strength to hold him back. Roman learns that the others don’t realize how little confidence he already has, only that their approval of him is directly proportional to how much they hate his brother.

So when Janus decides that Thomas needs to take better care of himself and that the only one he needs to focus on is Patton, Roman is the perfect tool, the perfect puppet, to be used and tossed aside when he no longer needs him, because it’s so easy to twist and turn the little prince so he dances in just the right way, never mind how much it hurts. Roman learns that no one ever cared about him, not really, and perhaps they never will.

As you might be able to imagine, destroying the thing that gives one self-worth is absolutely the best way to go about things.

Can any of you guess where the blame gets pushed when Thomas’s mental health suddenly plummets?

It’s definitely where it should be.

The thing that scares Janus the most about how that meeting goes is how resigned Roman is.

His hands are folded neatly behind his back. His face is politely blank. His mind is quiet.

When there’s a break in the conversation—if you could even call it that—he opens his mouth.

“What would you like me to do?”

“Have you not been listening?” Logan adjusts his glasses. “To…anything we have said?”

“Of fucking course he hasn’t,” Virgil grumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Kiddo,” Patton admonishes, crossing his arms, “Thomas hasn’t had any ideas or dreams lately and it’s stressing him out.”

“Which means you need to get out of the pity party and back to reality with the rest of us,” Virgil adds.

“Which means,” Logan sighs, crossing his arms too, “you are going to have to start talking to us again.”

Roman looks between them. “Are we not…talking now?”

“He means actually interacting with us, Princey.”

“Have I…not been doing that?”

“It means accepting that things have changed,” Logan snaps, “and working through it.”

Roman tilts his head. “How would you like me to do that?”

“Well—“ Logan adjusts his glasses— “let’s start with an apology.”

Something flickers across Roman’s face. Janus looks back and forth between Thomas and Remus. Thomas just looks a little confused as to what’s going on—which, when doesn’t he?—and Remus is staring right at Roman. There’s a strange expression on his face.

“What would you like me to apologize for?”

Janus winces when Virgil scoffs, turning away, and Logan’s mouth hardens into a thin line.

“Why don’t you try starting,” Patton says, “and we’ll see.”

“No, you know what? No.” Virgil points a finger at Roman. “I’m done holding your hand through all of this. Waiting for you to realize that you fucked up.”

“Virgil—“

“No, Pat!” Virgil gestures between the three of them. “You know how hard it’s been on us, waiting for something to change, and now he wants us to just…what, walk him through what he did wrong?”

Patton spares a glance at Roman before looking away.

Roman’s face twitches. He looks down.

“Perhaps Virgil is right,” Logan says, “when Roman can try taking the first step, then maybe this conversation will be more productive. Until then, I see no reason to waste time.”

“Great. Bye, Thomas.”

“Wait, you guys are just leaving?”

“I see no reason to simply stand here and be unproductive,” Logan shrugs, “perhaps if something changes, you can summon us back.”

“Doubt it,” Virgil mutters, grabbing Logan’s shoulder and sinking them out. Patton spares one last look at Roman before he leaves too.

Thomas shuffles a little. Remus keeps staring at Roman.

After a moment, Roman moves.

“…you want me to apologize?”

Janus definitely imagines the chill that goes through the room.

Roman raises his head. He does not look at where Patton stood, he does not look at where Virgil stood, he does not look at where Logan stood.

He looks directly at Thomas.

“I’m sorry, Thomas.”

Thomas splutters. “Roman—“

“I’m sorry that I sent you to the wedding,” Roman says softly, Thomas’s words dying in his throat, “I’m sorry that I made a decision that I thought you wanted. I’m sorry that I tried to put your friends above your own wants, because I thought that was right. I’m sorry that I thought I was doing what was right.”

Thomas’s eyes go wide.

“I’m sorry that you never had faith that you would win the callback,” Roman continues, never once looking away from Thomas, “I’m sorry that your dreams are always too far away, that you must always feel the need to crush them in favor of what is more practical. I’m sorry that you constantly feel like you’re set up to be one big disappointment.”

Janus’s arms drop in shock.

“I’m sorry that I can’t do what you want,” and by this point, Thomas looks on the verge of tears, “even though that’s supposed to be my job. I’m sorry that nothing I do is ever good enough on its own, that you feel so afraid, so scared of doing the things you want. I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel even the tiniest bit of my fear.”

Thomas stifles a noise.

“I’m sorry that I don’t know things.” Roman chuckles sadly. “I’m sorry that it takes me so much time to figure out what to do. I’m sorry that it always feels like everyone’s one step ahead of me, that you have to wait for me to catch up, even though I never, ever do. I’m sorry for not sticking to the plan.”

Something heavy presses against Janus’s throat.

“And I’m sorry that I’m hurt. I’m sorry that it’s been a little too much for me to handle. I’m sorry that my pain is an inconvenience to you.”

“R-Roman—“

Roman just smiles sadly when Thomas can’t finish the sentence. He spreads his arms, giving a little gesture to himself.

“I’m sorry that this is your Ego.”

Janus sees the moment the horrified realization dawns on Thomas’s face.

“I’m gonna fucking kill them,” Remus snarls and it’s only years of practice that makes Janus’s reflexes fast enough to catch hold of him before he sinks out. “Let me go!”

“You can’t hurt them,” Janus grunts, “you know you can’t.”

“Fucking watch me!”

“No, no, Remus,” Thomas splutters, “don’t—don’t do that.”

“Why the fuck not?” Remus snarls, spittle flying from his lips as he struggles against Janus’s hold. “You heard what Roman just said, they—they—“

“We did it too, Remus,” Janus says softly, glancing at Roman, “we’re not blameless either.”

Remus keeps struggling. “Let—me—“

“Remus.”

Roman’s soft voice still the duke entirely, his head whipping around. Roman just stares at him, resignation and acceptance written plainly on his features.

“It’s not fair, Ro,” he mumbles.

“Life isn’t fair.”

“I—I can summon them back, we can get them back, they can listen to you—“

“But they won’t,” Roman cuts off in the same soft fury, “they won’t listen to me.”

“Roman, they love you!”

Janus winces. Roman just turns to look at him. He can’t meet his eyes.

“Maybe,” Roman says eventually, “maybe not. Either way…”

He spreads his hands.

“Here we are.”

“Let me go, Jan.”

“If I do, will you stay?”

“Fine.”

Janus lets him go, only for Remus to lunge and wrap his brother in a tight hug. Roman stands there, immobile, until Remus lets out a howl. Roman just murmurs another soft ‘I’m sorry,' and sinks out.

Remus collapses to the floor, his Morningstar cupped in his hands.

“What—what just happened?”

“The twins share things,” Janus murmurs quietly, his eyes still on Remus, “including emotions when they are particularly strong.”

“So—“ Thomas shakes his head— “so Remus is feeling what Roman’s feeling?”

“No,” Remus snarls, still gripping the weapon tightly, “I’m feeling what Roman isn’t feeling.”

He stands up, eyes blazing.

“I am what Roman isn’t. To you. What Roman isn’t, I am. Which means—“ his knuckles turn white— “the fact that I’m feeling so strongly right now means that Roman isn’t.”

Thomas goes pale. “What?”

“Roman is numb,” Janus says quietly, “he’s closed himself off from…everything. To protect himself.”

“It means my brother, the good Creativity, passion, desire, romance, hopes and dreams, whatever you want to call him,” Remus growls, “is now numb, touch-starved, and too afraid of rejection to reach out for anything.”

“What do I do,” Thomas asks frantically, “how do we fix this?”

“You can let me kill the others.”

“No, Remus.”

“Talk to them,” Janus suggests instead, “I’m not sure they realize what Roman being the Ego means.”

Thomas nods. “Okay, we can do that. Should we do that…now?”

Janus opens his mouth to respond only for something very familiar to trickle into his mind, along with an all-too-familiar tug.

Stupid, useless, worthless, toxic, dumb, unimportant, bad, can’t do anything right, selfish, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong—

“Not now,” he manages, “get some rest. You need it.”

Thomas nods tiredly. Remus just gives him a look that says ‘you’d better not fuck this up’ and leaves, probably to go work out some of his aggression on creatures in the Imagination.

Janus sinks straight into Roman’s room and his heart breaks.

Roman is on the floor, pieces of his prince costume thrown haphazardly around him, sobbing hysterically. It’s so loud that for a moment, Janus worries that someone else will come, trying to figure out what’s wrong, before he’s hit with another wave of lies.

Broken broken broken broken broken broken broken broken wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless hopeless—

He aches.

Because he knows he can’t do anything while Roman’s awake. He’d never let him close, never let him see this. A sick feeling crawls into Janus’s stomach at the thought of invading Roman’s privacy like this but it wars with the knowledge that he’d be summoned anyway, and that Roman is falling apart.

So he has to wait.

Watching as Roman falls apart, believing himself unloved, unwanted, and unseen.

Slowly, far too slowly, the harsh sobs morph into softer cries, then sniffles, then Roman stills, slumping on the carpet as his breathing evens out. Tears of his own threaten the corners of Janus’s eyes.

The poor thing cried himself to sleep.

But as he moves closer, reaching out a hand to stroke back his hair, he lets out a coo before he can stop himself when he sees more tears.

The poor thing cried himself to sleep and kept crying.

“Oh, sweetie,” Janus whispers, moving to cradle him as gently as he can without waking him, “sweetie you come here, shh, shh, honey, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.”

He lifts the poor prince into his arms, moving swiftly to the bed and laying him down, tucking him in protectively and running his fingers through his hair.

“It’s okay, sweetie, you’re safe now, it’s okay, you’re safe…” He settles Roman’s head on the pillow. “Shh, shh, shh, that’s it, shh…”

Sleep-clumsy fingers curl around his arms. Oh. Oh, dear. Well…

“Oh, sweetie, are you—do you want me to stay?” Janus tries to pull away a bit only for Roman to grumble and hang on. “Oh—okay, sweetie, I’ll stay, just—just a moment.”

He snaps the fingers on a free hand and changes into something softer, something he can sleep in, something Roman can hold and cuddle. He slides into bed next to him, only to be immediately cuddled by a sleeping, still crying Roman.

“Shh, sweetie,” he whispers, nuzzling Roman’s head, “I’m right here, I’m not leaving, I won’t leave you.”

Roman mumbles something and snuggles into Janus’s chest. He makes another comforting noise at the evidence of more tears.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetie, I promise, I’ll look after you, I’ll take care of you.”

And when Roman lets out a little cry, still asleep, he breaks, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Roman melts.

“Oh, sweetie…”

Janus spoils him with kisses, across his forehead, down his tear-stained cheeks, running his hands through his hair, down his arms, over his back, soothing a particularly painful hitch with a hand on his tummy, rubbing gently until he lapses back into a peaceful sleep. He buries his face in Roman’s hair and holds him tight.

He swallows heavily, guilt and concern warring in his throat.

“I don’t want you to think,” he begins carefully, “that I’m only apologizing because I feel guilty over seeing you hurt and that it’s my fault.”

He tightens his grip on the sleeping prince.

“I am sorry, Roman,” he whispers with his lips against Roman’s forehead as if to speak the truth into the prince’s dreams, “for all the hurt I have caused you. For using and manipulating you, for dismissing you and letting you think you were useless, and for letting the others make you believe you were so unlovable.”

He shudders, his breath coming out shaky.

“But mostly…” he swallows, “mostly I’m sorry that I won’t be brave enough to say that to you when you’re awake.”

+1.

Janus blinks. There’s sunlight coming in through the curtains.

His room definitely has curtains.

Oh. Right. He’s in Roman’s room.

Shit, he’s still in Roman’s room.

He’s fallen asleep, he realizes, in Roman’s bed, with Roman cuddled protectively to his chest, after the poor thing had sobbed himself to sleep in the aftermath of that awful, awful meeting.

Unconsciously, he goes to tighten his grip on the sleeping prince before realizing that he should be doing the opposite.

He should leave. Now. Before Roman wakes up and sees him.

He definitely wants to be around for that conversation.

So, despite the ache in his stomach at the thought of leaving Roman alone right now, he grits his teeth and starts trying to disentangle himself from Roman, despite Roman’s best efforts to cling onto him. If he weren’t so afraid of the consequences of getting caught, he’d find it adorable.

Okay, maybe he still finds it adorable.

But Roman’s so soft when he sleeps, so lovely, so unabashed at chasing what he wants. He clings to Janus’s shirt with clumsy fingers, burbles soft noises of protest when Janus’s warmth leaves his side.

“Come on, sweetie,” Janus coaxes, gently prying Roman’s fingers off, “let me go, you don’t want me to be here when you wake up.”

“Mmno.”

“You say that now…” He still won’t let go. “Come on, sweetie, let me go…”

He leans down to press a kiss to his cheek, hoping Roman will melt and he can escape.

“That’s it, just go back to sleep, sweetie,” he murmurs, his voice low and hypnotic, carding his fingers through his hair and kissing his forehead, “sleep, sleep, sleep…”

“Stay,” comes the sleepy little mumble, its voice still lost in the dream, “take care ‘f me.”

The earnest plea brings a sad little smile to Janus’s face.

“If you knew who I was,” he whispers, “you wouldn’t ask that.”

Roman opens his eyes and stares right at him.

Janus freezes, his hands still caught in Roman’s hair, Roman’s hands still gripping his shirt.

“Stay,” Roman repeats, his tongue thick with sleep but awake, “don’t run away this time.”

This time?

Oh.

Oh, no.

Janus swallows. “How long—“

“You said you didn’t hate me,” Roman mumbles, still tugging on Janus’s shirt to get him back, “and that it hurt more that the others didn’t realize.”

“You were supposed to be asleep.”

“You were supposed to hate me.” Roman tugs harder. “Come back.”

Janus gets slowly back into position, letting Roman cling to him like a child with a teddy bear. Without permission, his own arms wrap around the sleepy prince, and Roman all but purrs.

“We c’n talk later,” the prince mumbles, already drifting back to sleep, “but stay. Want you to stay.”

And…well, if it’s the first time Roman’s asked for something he wants in god knows how long, what else is Janus supposed to do but obey?

“Alright, sweetie, I’m right here,” he murmurs, curling his arms tightly around the poor prince, “do you want to try and go back to sleep?”

“Mm.”

But his eyes don’t drift closed. Instead, they stay glassily alert, one hand fisted loosely in the slack of Janus’s shirt.

“Sweetie,” Janus calls after a little, “do you want to change into something easier to sleep in?”

He lifts one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug.

“Can I help?”

Another shrug. Janus tucks a loose piece of hair behind Roman’s ear, snapping his fingers to put the costume on the mannequin in the closet and replace it with a soft red shirt and boxers. He presses another kiss to Roman’s forehead and ruffles his hair.

“Why don’t you hate me?”

Janus frowns, pulling Roman closer. “How could I hate you?”

He holds a finger gently up to the prince’s lips before the lies can fill Roman’s head again.

“Let me rephrase: I don’t hate you, Roman, I promise.”

Roman’s disbelief is palpable. “But why?”

...maybe he is going to have to do this.

“I can hear lies,” he murmurs, “whenever someone says them or thinks them. If they’re not true, I’ll hear it. No, no—stay here, sweetie, shh, I’m not angry, I’m not disappointed. I can hear them when you tell yourself that you’re worthless, or toxic, or that we all hate you.”

He lifts Roman’s chin gently.

“They’re lies, sweetie, that’s why I can hear them. You’re not worthless, you’re not toxic.”

Roman whimpers.

“You’re not broken,” he continues softly, holding him still, “you’re not hard to love, we don’t hate you.”

He cups Roman’s face and pulls him in to rest their foreheads together.

“And I care about you, sweetie, so, so much.”

Roman’s breath shudders warmly on his cheeks.

“Shh, shh, oh, come here, sweetie—there you go, you can cry, honey, I’ve got you, I’m right here, shh, shh...”

The weight of the prince’s tears drying on his collar makes it hard to swallow. He tugs the blankets closer around them and lets Roman cling onto him as he cries.

“I know you don’t believe me,” he whispers as familiar lies start to drift across, “but it’s true, sweetie. It’s true, it’s true, I promise. I’m here to take care of you.”

“I’m—I’m sorry—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sor—sorry—“

“Shh-shh-shh, don’t apologize to me, sweetie, you don’t have to apologize, I’m right here, I’m not angry, nothing’s so bad.”

“I’m sorry.”

Janus hushes him gently with a kiss to his cheek. “I know you are...even though you don’t have to be, not like this.”

His chest aches when Roman won’t stop burbling apologies.

“Roman.” He takes the prince’s face firmly in his hands. “Roman, look at me.”

Roman’s glassy eyes fixate on Janus’s face.

“I forgive you, my prince,” he says, “I forgive you.”

Roman’s mouth stills.

“If that is what you need to hear,” he continues, softening his grip, “I forgive you, my prince.”

“You...you do?”

“I don’t want you to think that you need my forgiveness for me to love you,” Janus murmurs, “but yes, sweetie. I forgive you.”

Roman collapses.

Janus catches him. Of course, he catches him. He curls around his prince and murmurs sweet nothings, reassurances, anything he needs right now.

It’s messy, it’s frantic, it’s desperate, it’s human.

He can care for Roman while Roman lets himself be human. So he holds the poor thing while he cries himself out.

He doesn’t cry himself to sleep again, thankfully, just enough to slump against Janus’s chest and huff.

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, that was long overdue.” He runs his knuckles up Roman’s back. “Can we get you something to drink?”

Roman stiffens. “Does that mean going downstairs?”

“No, sweetie. Come on...”

He gets Roman seated on the edge of the bed with a glass of water in his hands. Roman drinks, blinking as Janus passes him a warm cloth, then a cool cloth, to clean his face.

“What do they want me to do,” he asks after he’s finished the glass and the cloths are hanging over the laundry basket, “now?”

Janus winces. Is he surprised? No.

“Shh, sweetie, I’m not angry,” he soothes when Roman tenses, “I’m concerned. You’re still—you still need to take care of yourself first before you worry about everyone else.”

But everyone else is worthy of the worrying, not me.

Janus hisses gently. Roman just sighs.

“It’s what you’ve told me,” he mumbles, “I don’t—I can’t just stop it.”

“I’m not expecting you to be able to just stop it, sweetie, it’s going to take time, but part of it is going to be recognizing what’s not true.”

“I know.”

Janus opens his mouth to say something else when Roman gasps, his hand flying to his chest.

“Sweetie? Sweetie, what is it?”

“I’m—I’m being summoned.” Roman clutches his shirt, staring up at Janus. “Thomas—Thomas—“

“I’ll go.” Janus gives Roman’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just wait here for me, sweetie, I’ll be right back.”

He can still feel the warmth of Roman’s shoulder tingling under his palm as he appears in the living room.

“I’m sure you have a wonderful reason for trying to summon Roman,” he drawls, raising an eyebrow at a Thomas.

Thomas looks up from his computer. “We were still filming.”

Janus stiffens. “You’re not thinking of trying to continue—“

“What? No, no, I’m saying that while Roman was talking the camera was still rolling.” Thomas points to the screen. “Which means we have it. All of it.”

Ah, now he sees where Thomas is going.

“You want them to watch.”

“They should, shouldn’t they?”

Yes, a bitter part of Janus growls, they should see how badly they’ve made Thomas’s Ego crumble.

“What do you think?”

Thomas rolls his shoulders back. “I think up until Roman said...all of that, I didn’t think the others were wrong either.”

He glances up at Janus.

“Did you?”

Janus huffs. “I don’t think we ever give Roman enough credit for how good of an actor he is.”

With that, the whole sorry tale spills out of him. He doesn’t reveal the exact nature of the lies, just the broad swaths of them and how many there are. To Thomas’s credit, he deals with it better than Janus expected. That is, he doesn’t burst into tears.

Thomas takes a deep breath.

“...yeah, we’re watching this now.”

“Right now?”

“Answer me this,” Thomas says, looking up at him again, “where is Roman? Right now?”

“...on his bed.” At Thomas’s pointed stare, he relents. “He’s not alright, Thomas, he hasn’t been for a very long time.”

“Then yeah. Right now.”

“Then I’m going to ask Roman if he wants to be here.”

Thomas nods. “Can you—can you tell him I’m sorry?”

“You can do that yourself when he’s ready to hear it.”

Understandably, Roman does not want to be there. Janus wraps him tightly in the softest blankets he has, tucked up with a pillow and a glass of water nearby if he wants it, along with the reassurance that if Roman wants him back here, at any point, to call. He’ll listen.

“Thank you.”

Janus leaves him with one last squeeze, appearing in the living room with the others. Thomas is back to setting up the computer so they can all see the screen.

“Thomas?” Logan adjusts his tie. “I was unaware we had something scheduled for today.”

“We didn’t. Spur of the moment.”

Remus shoots Janus a look. Janus nods. Remus shifts a little closer to him and his hand grips his Morningstar.

“Is this about the video from yesterday?” Virgil looks around warily. “Or is it something else?”

“It is about yesterday.”

“Shouldn’t we...wait for Roman?” Patton rubs the back of his neck. “He kinda—well, if we’re talking about yesterday—“

“Roman’s not coming.” Thomas keeps fiddling with the computer.

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Are we deciding how to film the video without Roman?”

“No.” Thomas glances at Janus. Janus nods. Thomas looks back at the others. “Roman’s not coming because he doesn’t want to.”

“What the fuck?”

“Language, kiddo,” Patton mumbles halfheartedly.

“Wait, so—“ Virgil doesn’t look so much as chided— “you’re just gonna let Princey throw his temper tantrum and not come work?”

“How much attention were you guys paying to what happened after you sunk out yesterday?”

“…not much, why?”

In response, Thomas just pushes ‘play.’

Their voices fill the room, telling Roman what he’s done wrong, why he’s holding all of them back, why he’s the source of all their problems. Lies, lies, and more lies. They get to the part where the other three sink out and Remus tightens his grip on the handle.

“…you want me to apologize?”

Virgil opens his mouth, presumably to make some quip, only to cut himself off with a strangled noise once Roman’s apologies begin.

Janus watches with a sick sense of satisfaction as Patton’s hands fly to his mouth, eyes wide at the hopeless tone coming out of the computer. Next to him, Virgil goes rigid, borderline catatonic. He looks as if one little push would send him toppling over.

He can’t see Logan’s face until Thomas stops the playback. It’s only when Logan takes his glasses off to clean them that he can see the tears on his cheeks.

Thomas looks up at Janus.

“Can you still hear them?”

“The lies?” Thomas nods. “Yes.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“Roman is the Ego,” Logan whispers, mostly to himself, “Roman is the Ego. Of course…of course, I understand—I understand now.”

“What does that mean?”

Logan takes a deep breath and looks up at Patton. “It means that Roman is Thomas’s sense of self-worth, more or less, and that he—he takes the brunt of Thomas’s reactions to…any sort of feedback, more than any of us. Good or bad.”

Virgil stifles a curse. “And we’ve taught him to hate himself.”

“Quite.”

“We—“ Patton takes a breath— “we need to apologize.”

“We all do.” Thomas closes the computer and sets it aside. “I don’t…I don’t know how we do that, though.”

“Breaking patterns of thinking is hard,” Logan says, “and…especially hard when you have been taught not to ask for help.”

“But there has to be something!”

“Touch-starved,” Virgil breaks in, staring at a spot on the carpet, “Roman’s touch-starved.”

Janus raises an eyebrow.

“…when I was still having trouble,” Virgil says after a moment of them all looking at him, “Roman—Roman would just come and ask me if I wanted to—to—“

He hunches his shoulders.

“Sometimes it’d be a hug. Sometimes he’d sit next to me and—and lean on me. Sometimes he’d just—you know, with the forehead thing—“

“Bonk.”

They all turn to Logan, who has…a surprising flush to his cheeks.

“Roman said that he—he wanted to be able to express affection for me and not disturb my work,” he manages, “so we…came up with a solution.”

Patton blinks. “Is that why Roman will just walk up to you and bonk his forehead against yours?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

“That’s adorable,” Thomas says quietly, “that’s—wait, hang on, that’s really adorable.”

“It was Roman’s idea.” Logan swallows. “Most of his ideas are good.”

“Yeah,” Thomas says, “maybe we should try telling him that next time.”

Janus looks around. The others look to be in various states of remorse and determination. With the exception of Remus, who still looks like he wants to bash a few of their skulls in.

“…can we go hug Roman now?”

“I wanna do that.”

“If he’s—“ Logan glances between Thomas and Janus— “do you know if he would be amenable to that? If he—would like that?”

“We can ask,” Janus says quietly, “but I don’t know.”

“And if he says no,” Remus growls, “you get out.”

“We understand, Remus,” Logan promises. He looks at Thomas. “Thank you, Thomas.”

Thomas shakes his head. “Don’t thank me. Not yet. We all have stuff to fix.”

Janus adjusts his cape. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”

They don’t sink right to Roman’s room. Instead, Janus knocks quietly on the door and waits for the soft ‘yes?’ from the other side to open it.

“Roman,” he calls softly, “hey, sweetie, why’re you over there?”

Because Roman, the poor thing, is at his desk, trying to work.

“I—um—“

“I’m not angry, sweetie,” he murmurs, arms going around the prince to pull him up out of the desk chair, “just concerned.”

“I figured that if I got to work they’d be less mad that I wasn’t there,” Roman mumbles, even as he lets Janus pull him back to the bed, “so I…”

“Oh, sweetie, no one’s angry at you.”

Roman looks up at him with such a heartbreaking look of disbelief that he lets out a soft noise, cupping his face.

“Would you believe me if I said they want to apologize and make it up to you?”

“No.”

He squints. “Have you believed anything I’ve told you since you woke up?”

“No.”

The lack of hesitation makes his eyes widen. Leaning forward, he rests his forehead against Roman’s as he pulls off his gloves, reaching up to cup the prince’s head.

“I meant every word,” he murmurs, doing his best to wipe away the bits of salt in the corners of his eyes, “every single word.”

He pauses, then leans closer.

“They’re sorry, Roman,” he whispers, “they’re so sorry and they want to know how to make it better.”

They don’t want you. They hate you. They’ve never cared about you. They don’t even want to touch you.

Janus hisses softly as he pulls Roman in for a hug. The poor thing still reacts like it’s the first time someone’s touched him in years.

“They want to see you, sweetie,” he whispers, “and I believe their exact words were ‘can we go hug Roman now?’”

“W-what?”

In response, Janus pulls away a little and nods to the door. Roman’s eyes widen.

“Can we let them in, sweetie?”

“They’re here?”

“Right outside.”

“They want—they want to—“

Roman’s desperate gaze flies to the door. He raises a shaking hand and lets it open.

Patton’s through the door before it’s even all the way open. Roman lets out a wounded noise as Patton barrels into them, his arms wrapped around Roman before Janus can blink.

“Pat—Patton—Pa—wha—?”

“I’m sorry, Roman, I’m so sorry, kiddo—“

Virgil follows not too long after, pulling Roman’s legs into his lap and reaching out to take Roman’s outstretched hand.

“Hey, Princey,” he says, the growl from not five minutes ago softened to a low rumble, “missed you.”

“Mis—miss—missed me?”

“Yeah, Roman, missed you. Didn’t feel the same without you there.”

Then Logan. As Patton and Virgil move to get Roman into a more comfortable position, Logan sits behind him so that when Roman leans back, his head rests against Logan’s shoulder. Logan reaches up to tangle his fingers in Roman’s hair, smiling softly at the low noise from Roman’s throat.

“Bonk?”

Roman nods, still blinking in confusion but lets Logan press his forehead gently to his.

“Thank you, little star,” he murmurs, smiling at the way Roman’s mouth falls open, “I didn’t forget, Roman, even if I haven’t been the best at showing it.”

“We don’t hate you, Princey,” Virgil says, squeezing his hand, “and we—well, we owe you one hell of an apology.”

“But we don’t have to talk about that now.” Patton adjusts his grip around Roman’s waist. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Remus picks this moment to not walk through the door and climb onto the bed but to sink down through the ceiling and land on top of them.

“Re!”

“Hey, Ro-Bro.”

“Re, get off, you—it’s too much.”

Remus rolls to the side, right into Janus’s lap, effectively making sure that none of them are leaving, not that they particularly wanted to.

Janus watches as Roman slowly asks if they can stay like this for a while, smiling when the answer is a resounding ‘yes,’ the cuddle pile closing in around their prince. Roman’s head rests against the crook of Logan’s neck, one of his hands wrapped in Janus’s, the other in Virgil’s. His legs lie in Virgil’s lap, Patton cuddling him protectively as Logan strokes his head. Remus and Janus keep watch, sentries over the resting prince.

For the first time, in a long time, as Roman drifts off to sleep, the only lie in his head is this won’t last forever.

They’ve got time to prove him wrong.

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