#Dust was looking into it because despite outward appearence he actually felt bad for this guy

[somegrumpynerd]

I'm actually super curious about Horror's over eating problem like, in the first two weeks? I'm kinda wondering how Nightmare helped with that!

In his defence, after what he went through pretty much any eating would have been too much.

Like Horror hadn't eaten in years, and suddenly he finds himself in a place where food just exists. Like it's just around and he can take it - he's encouraged to take it because after the other two Nightmare was making a point of saying you must eat to his henchmen when they joined.

So he did the only reasonable thing and went hog wild.

There was no problem as far as the others were concerned - Nightmare was honestly relieved to see he'd chosen a mortal who would feed himself, and hearing him rip into an entire loaf of bread dry like an animal was the right first impression to leave on Dust and Killer. (Not that either of them would kill a teammate for fun, but without any LV and no kills Horror was lacking the intimidation factor they had. It's amazing how after you watch a guy shovel dry pasta shapes into his mouth by hand like his life depends on it you want to give him a bit of space to settle in).

The problem really was that going from eating nothing for years to eating half a kitchen all at once is a terrible idea, and he ended up making himself pretty sick from it. But the next time he went to the kitchen he just did it again, because the fear of going back to starvation told him to just eat it all now so it couldn't disappear. This went on for days, to the point Nightmare was considering doing a tour of aus to find a doctor who could find out what was wrong (and not rat him out to Dream), until Dust came forward with the suggestion of building him up slowly.

It was rough having to limit him, Horror has never been as grumpy as he was in those first few weeks (it turns out he didn't need the pasta to match the others on intimidation, hunger mood swings work just fine.) But eventually he was able to keep food down, and by then Nightmare had made a schedule to make sure they weren't fed too much or too little which was useful for all three.

So he finally had all his henchmen eating properly! And it only took like 2 years c:

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC’s Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar

(Part 3! Starring Mini Mammon and Mini Asmo!)

Part 1 Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Underground Tomb special Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Part 4

MC names:

Lucifer’s kid=L!MC | Mammon’s kid=M!MC | Asmo’s kid=A!MC

Why did bad things happen to good people? Well... Lucifer being a good person is up to interpretation. He hadn’t done anything too heinous recently, his instruments of torture were collecting dust for goodness sake! So why oh why was he staring down two half demon children who looked suspiciously like two of his brothers?

The first kid to step forward was Mammon’s without a doubt, but their general demeanour was very different from their father’s. Perhaps their other parent had done a good job-

“What the fuck was that?!”

Never mind. The kid had Mammon’s pottymouth.

The other child surveyed the scene with a nervousness that their suspected parent never possessed. The kid’s gaze fell on Lucifer, their eyes began to glow ever so slightly. “Uh-um...” the kid cleared their throat. “Someone explain what’s going on!”

Was this child seriously trying to use manipulation powers on Lucifer? He almost laughed at the mere idea of someone trying. The child didn’t even seem to be aware that they were doing it. When their question was met with blank stares, they instantly shrank back and practically hid behind the first half demon. Despite the severe self-esteem difference, this kid was Asmodeus’.

Lucifer’s own child cleared their throat and smiled. “Welcome to the Devildom!”

The Uncle That Looks Like he Has his Shit Together but he Leaves the Reunion Drunk off his Rocker (Lucifer)

Ah shit here we go again-

Okay- okay. Normally he’d scold L!MC for taking Diavolo’s line, but Dia had recovered from his shock and was now gushing over the new exchange students like an excited puppy.

“Okay... L!MC you’re going to need to share your room.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Unless Belphie is willing to give up the attic as a nap spot-”

“OVER MY DEAD BODY!”

“You’re sharing your room.”

RAD was buzzing with gossip for the entire first month of the second attempt at the exchange program. The threats of being eaten were once again stamped out very quickly.

(Special thanks to L!MC for being a good bodyguard)

Now, Lucifer didn’t exactly know what to expect when it came to the child of his favourite brother. Mammon was a dumbass, but this kid... this kid...

Was smart.

For the first time in Lucifer’s very long life he felt compelled to place someone in a higher echelon than himself.

Mammon’s child managed to successfully budget that dumpster fire of a house. On the first fucking day. Not only that. This kid managed to skim FIVE THOUSAND GRIMM OFF THE TOP AND THE BUDGET STILL WORKED! WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT-

Lucifer and Mammon thanked whatever spirit was watching over them because they truly believed their financial woes were over.

Shame that M!MC also spent their money on dumb stuff they didn’t need. Like father like child.

It’s no secret that Lucifer does have a bit of a soft spot for Asmo, I mean, who doesn’t love Asmo? But A!MC was a blessing sent right from the Celestial Realm.

They were just... too sweet. Way too sweet. Lucifer was actively getting cavities just being near them.

Anyone who bothered A!MC and M!MC during the first month ended up getting... uh... suspended.

(We can assume the threat of suspension would have extended to those who bothered L!MC but all the lesser demons were already terrified of them.)

Normally when Lucifer called someone into his study it was to lecture them for at least four hours and then send them to their rooms, but he was having quite the difficult time actually being upset with M!MC and A!MC.

A!MC looked close to tears and M!MC just stared right back at Lucifer with little to no fear in their eyes.

“Starting a fight during the first week of school is not how I expected the exchange students to behave.” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose, and prepared to continue the lecture, when he heard a sniffle. There wasn’t enough Demonus in the entire Devildom...

“I-I’m s—sorry...” A!MC sniffled, quickly wiping at their eyes. “Th-they were being r-really scary and we did-didn’t know what else to do...”

“So you threw them out of a window?”

“I threw them out of the window.” M!MC huffed. “They were bein’ a dick.”

“So you threw them out of a window?”

“That um...” A!MC mumbled. “That’s not all... I may have... told them to stick their head in a toilet first...”

“You made them stick their head in a toilet,” Lucifer turned to M!MC. “And then you threw them out of a window?”

“Yes.” M!MC and A!MC replied. Lucifer downed the rest of his glass of Demonus and debated whether or not it would be a show of weakness to slam his forehead into the desk in front of the children.

Lucifer looked between the two for a moment, then shook his head and sighed. “It’s my job to deal with threats to the exchange students, not yours.” Lucifer stood in front of the two, he rested his hands on their heads and gave them a quick pat, before knocking their heads together. “Next time someone bothers you, tell me. If I hear even a whisper of you two getting into another fight, I’m hanging you from the ceiling. Is that clear?”

A!MC and M!MC looked at each other, then back at Lucifer and nodded. “Yes sir!”

“Good.” Lucifer removed his hand from their heads. “Now shoo.”

Flying lessons for the two of them went way quicker than it did for L!MC, mainly because L!MC was a way better teacher.

As much as Lucifer loved his newly found niblings, he couldn’t show it too much. Outward softness was reserved for L!MC and L!MC only. M!MC and A!MC were stuck with silent acts of affection.

Every once and a while a little present or two would end up in M!MC or A!MC’s possession. Some ice cream money for M!MC when they blew their part of the budget on fancy sunglasses, a multiplayer video game that the three half-demons could play together, new shoes when A!MC accidentally ruined their’s...

He’s a good uncle. A scary uncle. But a good uncle. ^_^

(Don’t tell him I said that, I’m still in trouble for advertising Mammon’s escape Go Fund Me and I don’t want to have to write the rest of this HC hanging upside down.)

He’s Not Like the Other Dads, he’s a Cool Dad! (Mammon)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (Fear)

He’s a dad?! HE’S TO YOUNG TO BE A DAD! Hang on- he’s over five thousand years old...

Oh would you look at that! His kid pulled out a calculator.

...his annual income? Uh... why do you- HEY! WHAT’S WITH THAT FACE?!

M!MC puffed out their cheek as they continued to add the ever growing list of numbers into the calculator. Mammon was trying to get a peak at what they were calculating. M!MC suddenly looked up and practically lit up the room with their smile. Aw, their fangs were growing in!

They had a devilishly charming smile, just like their pop! A real chip off the old block! It almost brought a tear to Mammon’s eye and he actually felt compelled to give this kid all the money he had on him. Maybe even his Rolex too!

“Mammon, Avatar of Greed,” M!MC said sweetly. “My... dad.”

“Yep! That’s uh... that’s me!” Mammon awkwardly ruffled his kid’s hair, the kid laughed good naturedly.

M!MC’s sweet as honey smile flipped from elated to malicious in a manner of nanoseconds. “You owe over thirteen years of child support. Dad.”

Everyone say thank you to Lucifer and Diavolo for getting M!MC to compromise and not try and sue their father.

If you thought Mammon spoiled L!MC you’ve got another thing coming. Mammon’s wallet never stood a chance against his kid.

Poor Goldie, press F to pay respects.

Mammon also tried to teach A!MC and M!MC to drive, M!MC has no regard for their safety, the safety of others, or the laws of the road, buuuuuuuut they manage to get the car back with no dents and no property damage bills are being delivered to the house sooooo...

A!MC can drive fine... it’s just that they adhere to literally every law known to demonkind, which means neither Mammon or Asmo are allowed to open up the sunroof and do that movie thing where they pop their heads out and yell something. ITS NOT SAFE!

Our beloved dummy also tried to teach his kid how to play poker, with... limited success.

“Aw, come on kiddo.” Mammon smirked, flicking his kid on the nose. “Your poker face is awful, I can also see your cards from here.”

M!MC growled and held their cards closer to their face. “My poker face is fine!” It was in fact, not fine.

Mammon scratched his head and thought for a moment. Was he sure that this kid was his? I mean, they weren’t good at poker, had terrible luck in blackjack and roulette, and could barely understand the rules of craps. Craps! While he was lamenting the loss of possible gambling winnings, an idea hit Mammon at a thousand miles an hour.

“Hey kid, you’re damn good at math like your great and amazin’ father, have you ever thought about learnin’ how to count cards?”

Fancy outfits on, hair done (sorta), car ready, the two were off to the casino after quite the intense training montage. It appeared that casinos in the Devildom allowed children inside... Diavolo should really fix that.

“Okay M!MC, you remember what to do, right?”

“Yes. Remember the signal, and if someone catches on, deny deny deny.”

Mammon gave his kid a slap on the back. “Damn straight! You got this, bud.”

As the night dragged on, M!MC and Mammon had made their weight in money, paper money, they had made a SHIT ton is what I’m saying. Tragically, neither the Avatar of Greed or his child had any sense to leave before their luck crashed like the Stock Market in 1929.

They were both Icarus, and they were playing chicken with the sun... and by 3 am they were also playing chicken with security.

“GO GO GO!” Mammon shouted as he and M!MC sprinted towards the car, the night’s winnings in hand.

“I think I lost a shoe!” M!MC gasped as they scrambled into the car, security on their heels.

“I’ll buy you new shoes JUST PUT ON YOUR SEATBELT!”

Re-enacting every Fast and the Furious movie in twenty minutes was how that lovely night of father/child bonding should have ended... until they got home and realized they were locked out.

“The window to my room!” M!MC whispered, pointing up at their window. “It’s usually unlocked, we can climb up to get to it.”

“Good idea!”

M!MC tucked the bag full of their precious money under their arm and began the climb to their window, their father close behind. They had almost made it, they were so close, M!MC could literally touch the window-

The window swung open and the smiling faces of L!MC and A!MC greeted them.

“Oh my, it looks like we have some delinquents breaking curfew~.” L!MC cooed, resting their head on their hand.

“You shouldn’t be gambling this late! A-and your accessories don’t match!” A!MC huffed.

“Oi! L!MC, A!MC! What are ya doin’ up this late! It’s not good for ya!” Mammon whisper-yelled.

“My sleep schedule should be the least of your concerns right now, right A!MC?” L!MC elbowed A!MC, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Yep! Those who break curfew are hung from the ceiling by their toes.” A!MC shuddered.

M!MC rolled their eyes and stuck out their hand. “Come on L!MC! Let us in! You should listen to your older cousin!”

Upon hearing M!MC pull the older cousin card L!MC smiled deviously, grabbing both of M!MC’s hands. “Of course, dear cousin.” They leaned in. “Long live the king!”

L!MC shoved M!MC downward, Mammon caught them, but lost his own grip and they both lost hold of the money, which fell out of the bag and onto the ground like snow. Paper snow...

Oh well, at least Mammon and M!MC landed in some of the bushes...

“Ya know,” Mammon said as the money fell around them. “I’ve had dreams where this has happened.”

“Wow,” M!MC smiled. “Me too!”

Yep. This was his kid alright.

Not all his father/kid time revolved around money, it also revolved around both of them trying to avoid horror movie night without making it look like they were chickening out.

“Okay, I’ll fake a medical emergency!”

“Kid, no! They’ll never believe that!”

Since A!MC had their father’s eye for fashion and none of the judgemental comments, the kid became Mammon’s unofficial style coach.

“U-um... I hate to say it but those shoes don’t match with the rest of the outfit, the silhouette is confusing...”

“What’re ya talkin’ about? I look fantastic!”

“Are you blind? You look like a thrift store threw up on you.”

“Who invited you, Asmo?!”

“I’m here to support A!MC! You’re doing great by the way, sweetie!”

He may have cried a little when M!MC was able to fly without help... sniffle... they grow up so fast...

Oh- oh fuck they both crashed into the tree-

Oh My God he Actually Showed Up?! (Levi)

That... that couldn’t be real life! A shut-in’s worst nightmare! More people he needed to talk to!

Considering Mammon and Asmo’s track record with taking care of his things, Levi was incredibly hesitant to invite the two to binge anime with him and L!MC.

It seemed that the two normies inherited their fathers’s level of respect for closed doors. What I’m saying is the two crashed anime night.

“I have never seen such bullshit before.”

M!MC’s hands were stuffed in about five pairs of socks each, effectively turning their hands into useless nubs.

“You be quiet! This is to make sure that you don’t take any of my things and try and sell them on Akuzon!” Levi hissed, turning back to make sure his figurines were safe from the mini Mammon. A!MC was standing awkwardly next to L!MC, who was sitting in Levi’s gaming chair reading manga.

“So what are we going to watch..?” A!MC piped up. “I haven’t really watched much anime but I did watch Digimon...”

“I was more of a Beyblade kid.” M!MC hit their sock-stumps together to make a thumping noise.

Levi looked like he was ready to have a stroke. “L-listen! Those are gateway anime! You two need to watch proper anime! Non-dubbed anime!”

A!MC let out a shriek and stared at their reflection in a very shiny looking gundam figurine. “Have I been wearing off colour lip gloss the entire day?! O-oh no... I’m a mess!”

Levi let out a strangled wail and snatched the gundam out of A!MC’s hands. “D-don’t touch that! It’s worth more than a house!”

“It is?!” M!MC perked up and tried to wrestle their way out of their sock-gloves.

“Don’t make me stick you in a straight jacket...” Levi growled. He turned to L!MC with a pleading look on his face. “Please make them stop...”

L!MC grinned deviously and closed their book. “Of course I’ll help you, if we watch season two of The Promised Neverland.”

Levi shrieked and nearly pulled out his hair then and there. “It’s manga divergent! MANGA DIVERGENT! THEY SKIPPED SO MANY ARCS!”

M!MC and A!MC continued to wreak both purposeful and accidental havoc on Levi’s room, he was just about ready to summon Lotan then and there when L!MC shrugged.

“The ball’s in your court, Levi.” L!MC leaned back in the chair and resumed reading their manga.

Levi’s willpower shattered the moment he heard something fall off one of his cabinets. “WE CAN WATCH WHATEVER YOU WANT JUST MAKE THEM STOOOOOP!”

Quick as a flash, L!MC was out of the chair and had both M!MC and A!MC by the ears.

“HEY!” L!MC growled. “STOP ACTING LIKE IDIOTS OR SO HELP ME GRANDFATHER YOU TWO WON’T LIVE TO SEE GRADUATION!”

M!MC and A!MC became the most well behaved children in the Devildom after that... and L!MC and Levi got to watch their anime in peace.

Okay, Levi wasn’t heartless, he loved his lame normie niblings. They were just very very loud...

Though, M!MC was very good at finding merch for way lower prices... and A!MC actually really liked some of the anime they watched... Maybe they weren’t so bad.

M!MC’s attempts to budget that financial dumpster fire of an otaku was not going well, at least until M!MC convinced Lucifer to dangle concert tickets in front of Levi like a carrot on a stick until he agreed to do his best to stay within the monthly budget.

Levi had learned his lesson from L!MC’s flying lessons and steered clear of them, but luck was not on his side. The ONE time he willingly stepped outside of the house...

Both M!MC and A!MC crashed right into him.

The Uncle With the Cat You Never See and Aren’t Really Allowed to Pet. (Satan)

Oh fuck him sideways the house was going to be so much louder... Say goodbye to his quiet reading time...

On the bright side, the look of pure disbelief and exhaustion on Lucifer’s face gave Satan the biggest rush of serotonin he’d ever had in his life.

To be honest, he got on well with Asmo, and he... well it’s Mammon.

Could have been worse.

Could have been ANOTHER child of Lucifer.

“So... who do you think did it?” M!MC asked as the opening to the fourth episode of the murder documentary they were watching began. “I think it was the sister.”

“On what evidence do you make that assumption?” Satan asked.

M!MC shrugged. “Chick’s shifty.”

“I um... I think they disappeared on their own accord.” A!MC murmured. “I mean, so far it seemed the two’s home lives sucked...”

“Good theory.” Satan nodded to himself. “But both of you are wrong, it was very clearly the mother and the neighbour.”

“On what evidence do you make that assumption?” L!MC asked, imitating Satan’s voice. Detective Toe Beans was sprawled out on their lap.

Satan glowered at L!MC and leaned over to scratch Bean behind the ears. “The step-mother and neighbour are backing up each other’s alibis and they have a motive, access to a possible murder weapon, and a way of disposing of the corpses.”

L!MC rolled their eyes. “That’s a load of crap. It was just the step-mother. The mother had the motive, she and the father were on the outs, she wanted the father’s inheritance all to herself so she got rid of his kids.”

“How many more episodes of this are there?” M!MC asked. “This seems like a really dragged out way of just saying: I don’t know.”

“Sh! They’re explaining possible corpse disposal methods!” Satan hissed.

The four of them traded theories until the documentary series eventually ended with an unsatisfying ‘we dunno’.

“This is such shit...” M!MC muttered. “How have they managed to fill eight episodes with all these leads and evidence and the case is still unsolved?!”

“It’s because everyone involved was incompetent and stupid.” Satan sighed.

“You know,” L!MC smirked. “With all the true crime stuff the four of us watch, we could create the perfect crime.”

“We really could.” M!MC nodded in agreement.

“Using A!MC’s powers no one would suspect us...” Satan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Uh...” A!MC shifted uncomfortably. “On an unrelated note... I’m going to go...”

As A!MC scampered out of the room, L!MC turned to Satan and M!MC.

“There’s always the one weak person in the group who’s not down with murder.”

“A sad truth.”

“Hang on I thought we were talking about theft or something-”

Satan and M!MC are surprising study buddies, hell, they even help Mammon study. Or... it’s more accurate to say that they try to help Mammon study.

A!MC is good company, they’re quiet when they read, unlike most people in the house who felt the need to provide commentary on every single event that occurs in the book.

After proving to be quite useless in L!MC’s flight lessons, he just reminded the two new half demons to wear protective padding.

The Hot Single Dad That’s In Every Romcom That Features a Child (Asmo)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (excitement)

Oh... his... father... HE WAS A DILF NOW-

He practically vaulted out of his seat to coo and fuss over his new found hellspawn, they were just SO CUTE!

Their wings were just like his! So adorable! Oh and those little horns! They were so cute Asmo just might have combusted then and there.

Of course, he couldn’t combust without finding out which of his flings had made such an adorably shy mini-him.

“Ah! I remember that party!” Asmo squee-ed as he looked at a picture of A!MC’s parent. “They looked so hot in that outfit I swear I was completely-”

“Asmodeus.” Lucifer grumbled. “That’s a child in front of you.”

“Oh! Right! Mind if I call your ren, A!MC?” Asmo asked, ruffling their kid’s hair. “I want to see if they remember me fondly!”

As Asmo chattered with A!MC’s parent about just how adorable and perfect their kid turned out, Asmo leaned over to A!MC to ask a question.

“A!MC, I know this is sudden but how do you feel about getting a sib-”

“ASMODEUS IF YOU FINISH THAT SENTENCE I WILL FEED YOU TO CERBERUS!”

“Tsk. Rude.”

It’s safe to say Asmo adores his kid. I mean, they’re 50% him, how could he not.

He didn’t exactly have experience with the whole... being a big part of his kids’s life thing. Sure he held the unofficial record for most kids but that was because effective birth control hadn’t been invented at the time when he was allowed to run rampant in the human world, not because he was an A+ dad.

None of that mattered! He was going to be a 10/10 dad to A!MC!

They were so shy... so... mouse-like...

“Um... dad?” A!MC awkwardly twiddled there thumbs as they stood in the doorway to their father’s room. The sweet smell of whatever essential oil was being spread with the diffuser did next to nothing to calm the poor half-demon’s nerves.

Asmo popped his head out of his walk-in closet with a sparkling smile. “Yes, child of mine?”

“I um, just wanted to ask...” A!MC was desperately trying to stave off an oncoming stutter-spiral. “H-h-how- *ahem* how do- ugh...”

A!MC steeled their face and straightened their posture.

“How do I be confident like you?!” They blurted that out a little too loud for comfort, but Asmo’s near-immediate joy quashed any embarrassment A!MC was feeling.

“You want to be like little ol’ me?” Asmo gushed, clearly trying to hide just how flattered he was. “Well, of course you do! Your dad’s got your back. So first what we’re going to do-”

The Avatar of Lust had done the stereotypical early 2000s movie makeover many times before, but never with so much enthusiasm. His kid’s style was fine, it wasn’t a lack of pizazz either, it was the lack of confidence in the pizazz.

“Okay, now stand up straight.”

A!MC straightened their back as much as they could.

“Perfect! Chin up, shoulders back, and there you go!”

A!MC didn’t look too different on account that Asmo felt like their fashion sense was perfect, but dear not-old dad coached MC on a new walk, better posture, and Asmo filled their arms with about seven boxes of self-care supplies.

“What’s all this for?” A!MC asked, shifting the weight of the boxes slightly so they could actually see their dad.

“That, A!MC, is all the stuff you need to have confidence.” Asmo explained. “It’s not required of course, but it sure does help.”

“I’m not sure I follow...”

“Oh sweetie, it’s simple really. When you take care of yourself, you feel better, and when you feel better, you look better, and when you look better and feel better, your confidence skyrockets!” Asmo shifted some of the boxes A!MC was carrying around so they could stand up straighter and not be held down by the weight of the self-care arsenal. “Good posture stops your back from hurting, dressing decently helps you feel better about your appearance, as does taking care of your skin, aaaaaand all this will culminate in you being your best!”

A!MC still looked a bit skeptical, but they nodded anyway.

“Remember MC!” Asmo said as he led MC back to their room to help them sort their new stuff. “Confidence in yourself doesn’t happen overnight, so don’t let Mammon try and sell you a fix-all potion because it’s just boiled Gatorade.”

“O-okay- wait did you just say-”

“Yes, boiled Gatorade.” Asmo shuddered. “Let’s not talk about that.”

Dear uncle Asmo? A financial dumpster fire?! It’s more likely than you’d think.

Sure, Asmo’s got a job and makes his own money, but Geez Louise... one demon does not need that much hand cream! Or that many questionable Akuzon packages that everyone is too afraid to touch...

M!MC had their work cut out for them is what I’m trying to say.

Of course... once M!MC realized what a lost cause getting Asmo to stop with the obsessive bath bomb purchases was and a few too many insults were thrown at M!MC’s dear dad... some of Asmo’s things went uh... “missing”

But would you look at that! No one went over-budget!

Even though their dads have a fierce party related rivalry, A!MC and M!MC get along great. It’s very wholesome.

The Uncle That Helps You Pester Whoever is in Charge of the Food at the Family Reunion About Dessert (Beel)

Yay! More kids :)

Do you think any of them know how to cook? No? Okay... :(

Beel adores his new niblings with all his heart and soul, and Belphie’s out of the attic and is able to meet them with everyone else this time! Yay!

I didn’t mention this in the other parts- but Beel totally gave L!MC piggyback rides whenever they asked, but now that two more kids have arrived... it’s now a fight to be tall.

But yea- kids like uncle Beel. Strong contender for favourite uncle.

“Do you think this is right?” A!MC asked as they fiddled with the settings on the stovetop.

“No clue. Do we put the cheese on while the meat is cooking or do we wait until after?” M!MC asked, they flipped through multiple cheeseburger recipes on their DDD, their frustration growing. “Hang on- do we have a deep fryer?”

A!MC rummaged around the cupboards and shelves for a good fifteen minutes and came back empty handed. “No, but I’ve seen videos of people making fries without a deep fryer, I think we just need to heat up vegetable oil and drop the potatoes in.”

After setting up the make-shift deep fryer, the two cousins carefully dropped the first fry into the oil, then screamed like banshees when some oil splashed close to their hands.

“Did you get burned?!” M!MC asked, A!MC shook their head.

“No, you?”

“Nah...” M!MC eyed the oil warily. “We should do this one at a time to be safe...”

It was an awkward process, grab potato, place potato, scream, make sure no one is burned, repeat. As... decent as the process was, with both of them manning the deep fryer, no one was manning the patties that were now completely charred.

“What’s going on in here? It smells like Solomon’s cooking.” Beel poked his head into the kitchen and saw two very upset children and the world’s messiest kitchen.

“We’re failures. That’s all...” M!MC murmured.

��We wanted to make lunch for all of us and we ruined it...” A!MC added.

Beel’s heart was set to explode then and there- but his stomach growled. “You tried your best, don’t feel too bad. Let’s get cheeseburgers somewhere else with Belphie.”

M!MC and A!MC nodded enthusiastically as the three of them left the destroyed kitchen behind them.

After Beel had to sling a sleeping Belphie over his shoulder, the now four of them were halfway out the door before they heard L!MC scream bloody murder.

“YOU IDIOTS COME BACK HERE AND CLEAN THIS MESS UP RIGHT NOW!”

M!MC and A!MC made eye contact, then sprinted out the door. “CHEESEBURGERS FIRST!”

A!MC and M!MC probably go to all of Beel’s games like the little super fans they are. Beel is very grateful for the support! :D

Flying lessons? Nnnnnot again. He’s here for moral support and moral support only. And to catch the two babs when they inevitably fall.

The Uncle Who Was Like... Really Racist the Last Time You Saw Him But He’s Not Anymore (Belphie)

So he uh... he didn’t try and kill these two. That already gave the two newbies a better first impression than what he gave to L!MC.

The Anti Lucifer league ALSO grew, just by one member though. A!MC was very easily persuaded to snitch on whatever prank the group concocted.

The attic nap club gained two new members, but Belphie still had to deal with wings hitting him in the face and waking him up. He’d usually return the favour with a swat from his tail.

“M!MC I swear I will throw you out of the window if you kick me again.” Belphie murmured, mashing his face into his pillow.

“Mmmph.” M!MC threw a pillow in Belphie’s direction.

“Quit whining, Belphie.” L!MC huffed. “You’re doing better than me.”

A!MC had attached themselves to L!MC like a sloth to a tree and would not let go or stop drooling. Ah schadenfreude, the best feeling in the galaxy...

“Stop with that look.” L!MC hissed, Belphie snickered. “I’m telling you to quit it because you’ll wake up Beel, and Beel is solving your M!MC problem.”

Belphie turned to see Beel practically crush M!MC into a bone breaking hug in his sleep.

“Should we do something about that?” L!MC yawned.

Belphie smirked his little douchebag smirk. “Eh, let them stew for a few more minutes.”

“Help me...” M!MC rasped.

Out of the three, A!MC is probably the best nap buddy, they bring in their own pillows and don’t hog the blankets.

Belphie is once again at the forefront for taking videos of the flying lessons, at least till M!MC accidentally broke Belphie’s DDD.

Just a friendly reminder, the sleepy cow man would kill for these kids.

Look at them funny and no one will find your body.

Okay! That’s part 3 done! I had to cut Belphie’s and Satan’s short because of post limit stuff, but the stuff with the side characters is coming soon! Also, Mammon would like me to inform all those who donated to his Go Fund Me that you will NOT be getting your money back, he has a kid to deck out in full Gucci now, he needs the cash!

[alecmagnuslwb]

Time Doesn’t Love You Anymore

Read on AO3

Day One

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!” his phone rings out from the makeshift nightstand that’s actually just a stack of old yellow pages.  

Zatanna groans reaching out in an attempt to silence the damn thing, not even lifting her head from under the covers. She pushes out a little too hard dislodging one of the yellow pages from its Tetris style stack nearly knocking them all to the floor. Sometimes she really hates staying in one of John’s so-called safehouses.

Above her she hears a deep sleep addled chuckle and feels the warm press of skin against her back as John stretches for the phone. The motion moves the covers down past her shoulders and she grumbles as the sunlight rudely hits her eyes.

“What?” John says answering the phone, she grumbles again moving her pillow from under her head to over her ears. The conversation goes muffled after that until she hears the distinct snap of John closing his ridiculous drug dealer flip phone.

“Zee?” he says rubbing a warm hand up slowly up the back of her oversized Star City tourist t-shirt. With his other hand he slowly pulls the pillow from her grasp she only yields when his fingers start trailing up and down her spine slowly, a touch she always just melts right into.

She flips over and John’s hand stays put on her skin resting on her stomach. “What?” she says finally opening her eyes to look up at him.

“That was Chas, a friend of a friend gave him a tip on that cup Midnite’s been after,” he says slowly moving his thumb back and forth against the delicate skin of her abs. Zatanna hums in response. “It seems it’s right here in New Orleans and in a mausoleum not far from here.”

“Good for it,” she says and pulls the blankets up over her head again. John chuckles again tugging at the covers a bit just enough to uncover her eyes again.

“We should go check it out, last thing anyone needs is for Midnite to get his hands on yet another magical artifact to hold over everyone else,” he says. Zatanna sighs cracking open her eyes once again and lifting herself up to lean on her elbow mirroring John’s position.

She concedes his point, any chance to have something over Midnite and actually be able to bargain with is a good thing. Especially for her boyfriend, he’s always getting himself into tangled deals with the man.

That being said she has no intentions of leaving this bed just yet, they were out far too late last night dealing with some League business that had been floated her way by Diana. She was happy to do it, she’s has to keep that Justice League membership card up somehow, but that doesn’t mean she’s not going to catch up on her sleep in the aftermath of it.

She trails her fingers along his collarbone and starts traveling down, down, down until her fingers trail through the dusting of hair on his chest.

“Okay, but five more minutes here,” she says trailing her finger and eyes lower and lower.

John’s breath catches when her fingers move the cover even further down and she reaches his belly button.

“Your hand gets much lower and it’s gonna be a hell of a lot more than five minutes,” he says not trying to stop her in any way.

Zatanna shrugs lifting her eyes up to his and showing him an innocent little smile. “And that’s a bad thing?”

John lets out another stuttering breath as her fingers stop their path downwards bypassing the spot he wants them most. She trails to the side lingering back and forth at the top of one of his thighs.

“And everyone thinks I’m the devil in this relationship,” he says with a smile shifting so that her back is pressed into the mattress. He situates himself so that he’s comfortable between her legs and she smiles lifting a hand to run through his hair.

“Not my fault you’re such a sucker for me,” she says cupping his cheek with her hand and running her thumb along his lower lip. John moves just a bit taking the digit into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it slowly once, twice. Zatanna’s breath hitches this time.

Slowly he releases her finger and her hand drops as John leans down placing slow open-mouthed kisses on her neck trailing a line down, down, down.

He doesn’t mention going to a mausoleum for a long, long while.

It’s the latter half of sunset by the time they reach the mausoleum, the bright summer sun low in the sky minutes away from welcoming night. The outside of the crypt is warded, but not too heavily at all; John places one sigil on the weather worn stone and it all drops.

Inside there’s not a single protection, Zatanna steps in first and waves a hand across the air forming a trail of glowing lights along the ceiling to illuminate the space. The place is largely barren, no caskets empty or filled, nothing but some broken down old gates and a few hundred cobwebs.

And there in the center sits the cup nothing special or seemingly magical about it. It looks like a normal silver chalice, worn and aged by however many years it’s been sitting in the same exact spot for. There’s not a whiff of magic in the air, unusual for any corner of the entire city.

“That’s it?” Zatanna says scrutinizing the thing, her arms crossed.

John shrugs stepping closer to the stand where it rests, “Chas says it is.”

Zatanna hums, Chas is usually right and despite its outward appearance and its lack of any sort of energy signature this wouldn’t mark the first time Zatanna has seen great power come from something so mundane.

“What’s it supposed to do?” she asks.

“Supposedly drinking from it will grant one powers unknown,” he says continuing towards it. “Sounds like a bunch of shite to me, but Midnite doesn’t think it is and I’m always happy to have one up on Mr. chose no sides himself.”

He tilts his head and smirks over his shoulder at her before he takes the final step right up to the stand.

John doesn’t even touch the cup, just hovers in its space his foot still a full inch from the base of the stand but before he so much as lifts a hand fully over it, before Zatanna can even say a single backward word John goes up in flames. The sick crackling of skin and the unnatural falling into ash happens in an instant, he doesn’t even have the chance to scream.

Zatanna rushes to his side but it’s far too late not even a full second has passed and as soon as her fingers reach him she brushes through ash drifting in the air, his bones shattering to the ground with a loud crack in the quiet echo of the empty mausoleum.

Zatanna falls on her knees to the floor alongside what’s left of him eyes wide, breath heavy, she’s fairly certain she feels the track of wet tears from her eyes, but mostly she just feels nothing. She feels vacant, like she’s not even here like this isn’t even real, like this is some horrible nightmare she’ll wake up from at any moment. She digs her hands hard into the cobbled stone beneath her the ash of the man she loves, loved, seeping underneath her fingernails.

She’s not sure how long she stays there, she’s not sure how much time passes, but eventually she’s not alone. Doctor Fate settles by her side taking off his helmet and then it’s just her friend Khalid settling a heavy sorrowful hand on her shoulder. She’s so out of body she’s not certain if he asks her what happened or just figures it out for himself, she vaguely hears him say something about feeling a surge of magical energy and tracing it to her, but none of it truly registers.

A dark gloved hand that belongs to some bat settles on her shoulder in passing and she replays the morning when everything had been okay. A red cape flits past the corner of her eyes and she thinks about how she should have not let him step inside this place without checking it more thoroughly. A ghostly energy with a flash of red hovers around her tentative and frantic at the same time and she finds herself replaying the last milliseconds of John’s life and hollowing out a little more when she realizes just how similar it is to when her father burnt to a crisp in her arms as well.

Another pair of fishnets kneel down beside her before leaning in and placing strong arms around her shoulders, blonde hair brushes against her cheek and that’s what breaks her from her semi-catatonic state, the proverbial dam breaks and she just sobs and wails and she’s certain it’s a horrible sounding affair.

Eventually between the trauma, crying and dehydration she tires herself out passing out between one last hiccupping sob and the next.

 Day Two

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!” his phone rings out and Zatanna twists and bolts upright. She looks at her hands first, clean and not marred with the ashes of the man she loves. To her left the covers rustle and John curves an arm around her gripping the phone with is fingertips and flipping it open.

“What?” he says his voice muffled by his face still buried half in her pillow. Zatanna just looks at him as he talks to whoever’s on the other end of the line waves of shock and relief washing over her. He slowly sits up as he talks noticing the way she’s staring at him; he raises an eyebrow moving the conversation along before shutting the phone and dropping it somewhere in the tangled sheets around them.

“Love?” he starts and she doesn’t even give him a chance to breathe before she’s on him, the kiss is a little desperate and John hesitates to return it at first, no doubt a little worried about her sudden reaction but between one press and the next he gets with the program responding to every movement.

She pulls back after a few more beats and touches her forehead to his.

“Whew,” he says and she feels the puff of his breath against her lips still so close, warm and real and alive. “What was that for?”

Zatanna just shakes her head. “Bad dream,” she says raising one had to rest over his heart, happy to feel the steady beat underneath her fingertips. “Very bad dream.”

Because that’s what it was, no matter how real it felt, she’s had some doozy dreams like it before so she’s not unfamiliar with the feeling. She lingers close for a few moments coming down from the shock of the nightmare before pulling back.

“You gonna be okay?” John asks quietly reaching out to brush the hair that’s fallen into her face away. She nods feeling the tension that the nightmare left behind exit her body, her shoulders loosen. “Want to talk about it?”

She shakes her head and gives him a small reassuring smile. Maybe later, right now she just needs the distraction of seeing him right in front of her.

John smiles one of those rare bright smiles he lets out and kisses her on the cheek.

“So, what was that phone call about it?” she asks.

“Chas has a lead on that artifact Midnite has been after, right here in the city,” he says and starts going on about it. Zatanna listens carefully and a little worried, it’s exactly the same thing that led to that horrible nightmare.

It’s a coincidence though, definitely. He’s been talking about this cup a lot lately so of course it was on her mind, of course her dream latched on to a thing that’s been near the top of their to do list for weeks now. It’s purely coincidental.

But just to ease her mind Zatanna plays things out differently, she doesn’t talk him into lingering in bed. John makes them a late breakfast; she puts on a completely different outfit than the one that ended up covered in ash and convinces him to walk through the city to the mausoleum instead of portaling over.

There’s a weird air of deja-vu around it all, a weird lingering of the nightmare at the edges of her mind. Everything is playing out differently than the dream, but only because she made it that way and when the mausoleum comes into view her uneasiness grows. It looks exactly like it did in her nightmare and she’s certain she’s never seen it before.

They get in just as easily, there’s still barely any sort of magical signature around it. John puts one sigil on the stone and it falls away like there was never a thing in the way in the first place. It’s the same as it was in her dream she just doesn’t brush it off this time.

“Wait,” she says tugging John’s coat before he can step inside of the crypt. John raises an eyebrow in question. “I’ve got a bad feeling, my bad dream it was just like this and it didn’t end pretty.”

“How not pretty?”

“Like you dead not pretty,” she says eyes lingering over his shoulder looking into the mausoleum, it’s just as dark but she’d bet money that cup is sitting in the exact same spot on the exact same pedestal.  

“You think it was a prophetic kind of dream?” he asks turning fully towards her his hands on her shoulders.

“I mean that’s not usually my thing, but it’s way too similar,” she says reaching up and holding his forearms a sense of urgency in her voice. She does not want him going inside of there.

“Okay, then I won’t go in,” he says easily. Occasionally stubborn as he can be sometimes he just listens to her and she’s never been more grateful for those moments until now.

She breathes out a sigh of relief tugging him further back from the entrance.

“Let’s run a few more spells over it, make sure nothing’s off,” she says hand already outstretched to start a few more scans.

John nods his head. “Alright, I’ll take the back you take the front,” he says with a wink as he turns back to shut the mausoleum gate he’d easily broken into. He shuts the gate fully and winces.

“John?” she says turning back to him and he pulls his hand away and looks down.

Flames crackles at his skin and not the bright orange ones she’s familiar with him carrying.

“Shit,” he says and just like in her nightmare they take him over completely.

This time she screams his name when his body succumbs to the flames to the ashes, she screams because this time there’s no way it’s not real; this time she won’t wake up and it’s a nightmare, maybe it never was in the first place.

When Khalid shows up this time she’s sitting with her back to the mausoleum her fingers gripping into the grass tightly. She’s crying still when he leans down and reaches an arm out to comfort her, crying because she could have stopped this, she saw this coming. Something out there gave her the foresight and she brushed it off as a dream. She knows better than to ignore something like that, goddammit she knows better.

She knows better and now John’s dead because she didn’t listen to it.

When Khalid takes off his helmet Zatanna can’t bear the look of sorrow, of pity on his face so she shuts her eyes tightly and curls her fingers even tighter into the grass.

 Day Three

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!”

Zatanna sits upright in an instant watching as John stretches out behind her for his phone clumsily.

“What?” he answers it and Zatanna snatches it from his hand.

“Chas?” she says confirming it for herself.

“Hey, Zee,” he starts and she cuts him off hanging up the phone immediately. She moves to throw it to the end of the bed, but changes her mind flipping the phone over and taking the battery out for good measure. Her phone is somewhere around here and she vaults from the bed to give it the same treatment for when Chas inevitably tries her next.

She can’t blame him if he does after that display of panic she just provided, but she has good reason to be in a panic.

She finds her phone in a pile of last night’s clothes and dismantles it as well. She lets out a breath as she tosses the battery to the other side of the room.

“Um, Zee?” John says voice filled with concern and confusion. She turns standing to a full height to look at him, him alive and well at least for now.

“I think I’m stuck in a time loop, and that cup you’ve been trying to find, well Chas found it and it started this whole thing,” she says running a frustrated hand through her hair.

John runs a hand across the stubble on his jaw and nods as he works to get out of bed himself.

She’s not sure if it’s the worry in her voice, the no doubt look of fear on her face or just his unstoppable faith in her, but he doesn’t question it, doesn’t second guess it or think she’s crazy for a beat. He just simply says, “Tell me about it.”

So she does, she settles down at the kitchen island a cup of coffee in her hand grounding her to the now and not to the what could be and tells him everything about her past two Wednesdays.

“So we don’t go to the mausoleum,” he says easily when she’s done. He curls a hand around her wrist stroking the skin lightly.

“John I don’t think that’ll work, it’s all connected to there, so there is where answers might be,” she says moving her hand to link their fingers together.

“It is, but the only way to know if breaking it is just not going is to not go,” he says. “I don’t die maybe it’s over.”

Zatanna shakes her head. “You know it’s not that easy, it’s never that easy.”

John shrugs, “Maybe just this once it will be.” It sounds borderline optimistic which means it must be really bad, she’s the optimist not him.

“But the day doesn’t reset when you die, trust me I have to live with it for a while,” her voice cracks a little when she says the last part. John shakes his head and rounds the counter pulling her into his arms.

“I know this is gonna be hard, but it’s the only way to know for sure that it’s not this easy,” John says. He presses a kiss into her hair. “If the day starts over again whether I make it through today or not then you tell me all about it again and we figure it out together.”

She pulls her arms around his middle tightly and takes a deep breath.

“We need to look up more about that cup, I need to know everything I can about it no matter what,” she says pulling back and looking up into those deep blue eyes she’s seen burn up right before her twice now. She can’t stomach seeing it again.

They spend the day buried in a few hundred books she conjures up from every library she has access to and a few she doesn’t but can’t be bothered to ask permission for right now. This is a time sensitive situation she can deal with the fallout if the day doesn’t restart.

The cup has barely made a peep in its years of existence, most of what they find correlates with the vague knowledge that John had given her on the first day.

It’s surrounded by myth more than fact. No one’s ever had it in their presence for longer than a few minutes. It’s powers, if any are largely unknown. Most of the accounts even the ones from some of the greatest magical minds in history have chalked it up to nothing more than a totem of luck at best. She disagrees, she’s had the opposite of luck since they came into contact with it.

She hovers over him a bit more than she should brushing her fingers across his skin or through his hair every time he passes by. They make it all the way to 11:50 without incident and for a bright hopeful moment she thinks that maybe he was right, maybe this will be easy to get through.

So of course, just as she thinks that it all goes to shit. They’re sitting on the couch surrounded by books and Chinese takeout boxes John has a cigarette hanging from his lips his focus on an old weathered book when the window rattles. Zatanna notices it not eager to brush it off as something as simple as the wind. She stretches out her hands magic already brewing at her fingertips.

The weather picks up lightning strikes and thunder rolls, the window shatters and Zatanna ducks. The last thing she hears is John shout.

 Day Four

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!”

Zatanna groans into her pillow and reaches out an arm shoving over the entire makeshift nightstand. She doesn’t know what the fuck happened last night, or this night last night, whatever the hell it is, but she’s pretty sure John wasn’t going to survive or if he had midnight was going to trigger a restart one way or another.

“Damn luv,” John groans leaning over to look at the tossed about stack of yellow pages and his phone. She lifts herself up and flips over rubbing a frustrated hand over face as she looks at the ceiling staring angrily at the crack that’s streaking along the discolored white paint.

She turns her head looking him in the eyes with a sigh. “We need to talk,” she says praying to someone that this will be the last go around.

This time they decide they have to go to the mausoleum, staying at home didn’t achieve much. They scan and spell and do a million little ward checks and safety sigils on John before they even get within a hundred yards of the place.

This time he makes it all the way in, even picks up the cup, only to end in ashes and flames.

***

Ten days pass much in the same way. She wakes up, screams bloody murder at John’s phone, tells him everything and then they get to work. For ten days they call friends for leads, friends of friends, even a few friends of friends of friends much to no avail. Very little new information comes their way about the cup itself and as for time loop well every time loop spell is different every time loop spell has its own eccentricities and lessons to be learned.

Every day she watches him die, sometimes it’s just like the first time, sometimes like the second, every now and then they don’t even get inside and he still bursts into flames. Once they spend the whole day going through the entire graveyard, checking for anything that might have a connection to their mausoleum and somehow a zombie pack rises from a corner of graves tearing into John’s flesh and hers before midnight even hits.

Every day that passes she feels a little more broken, a little less hopeful.

 Day Fifteen  

She doesn’t even stand a chance this time, John’s dead before breakfast. She ignores the phone ringing; she just stays in bed and lets John kiss her and slip out the door by himself this time. She doesn’t feel like explaining the time loop, she doesn’t have it in her to watch him burn today.

Just one day, she needs just one day to try the one thing she hasn’t, to reach out to the one person she hasn’t yet.

Tracking down Doctor Fate is never an easy thing to do and he never appreciates when people just summon him up without warning, but she’s beyond caring about that now. She gets dressed quickly and pulls her hair into a ponytail and moves the couch and coffee table out of the way to draw the sigil to summon him on the living room floor all while trying not to think about John dying alone.

She says the words and the sigil lights up gold and blue with an angry Doctor Fate floating in the center, or she assumes he’s angry it’s not like he has facial expressions.

“You know I don’t like to be summoned this way Miss Zatara,” the voice inside the golden helmet booms. “I have no-“

Zatanna raises a hand, her eyes cold and hard cutting him off.

“Listen, you can give me the whole respecting the laws of my magic and interference speech later,” she says knowing there won’t be a later. “I don’t need the all-knowing Doctor Fate to tell me he can’t tell me things right now; I need my friend Khalid. So, if you could drop the helmet and let me talk to him that’d be great.”

Fate tilts his head in consideration. “That’s quite demanding of you,” he says his feet finally settling to the ground.

“Yeah well I tend to feel pretty demanding when Constantine keeps dying,” she says frustrated, she doesn’t have time to argue or listen to his philosophy.

The glow around him settles and finally the helmet comes off at that. Khalid looks at her concern overtaking his young features. She’s seen that look on a lot of faces lately and suddenly she’s missing the unfeeling glow of a golden helmet instead.

“Keeps dying?” he asks stepping outside of the sigil and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Time loop,” she says and tells him everything, well not everything, there’s a lot of useless information she’s learned over the last few days. He listens to it all and she’s pretty sure the helmet does too.

“You’ve learned a lot,” he says when she’s done. “And you’re certain no one has specifically placed this curse on you, it’s the cup?”

She nods. She’s already gone through the list of usual suspects; Midnite stays neutral so it can’t be him even if he wants to get his hands on the cup, Nick is locked away tight, Faust isn’t clever enough for something like this and anyone she’s fought with the League is preoccupied with trying to destroy other League members or the world at large not just fucking with her.

Khalid is thoughtful for a moment his arms crossed, the helmet glows from where he’s sat it on the coffee table.

“I don’t have any answers that you haven’t already found, but he might,” he says gesturing to the helmet. Zatanna sighs, Fate tends to be more ominous than helpful, but she relents.

Khalid puts his hand on her shoulder one more time giving a comforting squeeze before he puts the helmet back on. A burst of light and Fate is once again floating before her.

“You know as well as anyone, that sometimes you cannot fight magic. Sometimes you must let it take its course,” he says and with another burst of light he’s gone. She shields her eyes as he goes, dropping her arm when the bright white light fades.

She huffs angrily at the space where he’d been.

“That’s all he’s got, let it take its course,” she says flopping down onto the couch. “Fuck that.”

Letting it takes its course will get John killed and she’s not about to let that stick anytime soon.

***

The days start bleeding into one another from there. She can’t remember what number day things happen on, but she remembers every excruciating detail. She tries to act like she doesn’t know just how many days it’s been on the ones where she decides to tell John what’s been happening, but she can tell he sees right through her.

She knows exactly how many days it’s been; she knows exactly how many times she’s watched John die. She remembers when the hellhound showed up and tore him to shreds, she remembers every flame that’s burned him away, she remembers the day he slipped in the shower and cracked his head open bleeding out and she didn’t even know it and for as long as she lives she won’t ever be able to forget the sight of him taking a magical lance to the heart to save her from another Faust scheme.

Every day she’s given some new horrific memory that if she ever does manage to get out of this will haunt her for years to come.

 Day Twenty-Five

She feels stuck, he always dies and it’s not always the cup anymore. Today she lets it happen doesn’t even fight him to stay in bed a moment longer he picks up the cup and he’s gone just like that. She doesn’t scream or cry this time; she just freezes and clenches her fists so hard that she feels the skin break and blood drip down through her fingertips.

She turns her phone off and covers herself in enough glamours that no one will be able to find her unless she wants to be found.

She wanders through the city, aimless and uncertain for hours, blood drying on her hands. She just walks and walks until her legs are as tired as the rest of her. She falls heavily onto a bench and watches the people pass by. Couples hand in hand pass her and she wishes so desperately that could be her and John. Today, the first today, should have been an easy day off in a city with good food and instead it’s become all this.  

A girl in all black and a boy in a trench coat pass by her and it’s too much, she opens up a portal, not even caring if anyone sees and rushes through. She doesn’t realize where she’s sending herself until her feet land on cobbled sidewalk and she literally walks right into a familiar yellow cab.

Chas must hear the thump of her running into it from the driver’s seat because he’s out of his seat in an instant, already standing before her.

“Zatanna!” he says happily, that big smile of his she’s always glad to see. He wraps her up in his arms in a big bear hug that she easily returns lifting her off the ground a little. She smiles a little sadly wishing she could be just as happy to see him. He’s always been, and always will be, her favorite of John’s seedy friends. He’s a good man, maybe the best man she knows choosing to help and stay good even if he’s not really superpowered in any way.

Any other day she’d smile right back, she’d ask him about Renee and Geraldine and they’d laugh about whatever new stupid thing John’s gotten himself into. But today something about his warmth about his joy makes her break immediately.

It’s been quite a few days since she let herself have a good cry she guesses it was inevitable the dam would break again. She sobs into his chest as he settles her back down on the ground, his arms go around her a little tighter.

“Woah, Zatanna, you’re okay,” he says reaching his hand up to brush against her hair soothingly. “You’re okay.”

She’s not sure how long she stands there crying into Chas’ flannel shirt making it a mess of tears, fading makeup and snot. She calms down eventually pulling back a little but he keeps her close his hands rubbing up and down her arms comfortingly.

His face isn’t pitying, she’s gotten a lot of that over the days, it’s just kindness and care.

“I’m fine,” she says hastily wiping the tears from her face.

“You’re not,” he says lifting her head up with a gentle knock under her chin and a smile. “And that’s okay.”

“I should tell you,” she starts sounding the most tired she thinks she’s ever sounded.

Chas shakes his head. “Only if you want to, you sound tired darlin’ and you sound like you don’t want to have to say it all right now and that’s fine.”

Zatanna smiles gratefully brushing a hand uselessly across the damp spots on his shirt.

“Sorry I ruined your nice shirt.”

Chas snorts looking down at it for a moment, “I think being with John all these years has made you forget what a nice shirt on a man looks like.”

Zatanna starts to laugh, but it comes out with a small sob. Just the mention of John gets to her now, especially from someone who loves him as much as she does. She’s glad he’s okay with her not talking, she doesn’t have it in her to break his heart too.

He notices the slip and reaches out again taking one of her hands between his own.

“Hey, so what do you need? Need to cry some more or would punching me in the face relieve some of that heaviness you’re carrying even, I’ll let you have three good hits for free,” he says and Zatanna smiles a little. “Or maybe we can take a drive and just be, I’ll only charge you for half on the meter even.”

Zatanna laughs at that a real genuine one.

“A drive sounds good,” she says and he squeezes her hand once before walking her over to the passenger seat. He opens the door for her and she soaks in the familiar comfort of his cab while he gets in. He turns on the radio, some oldies station that he’s obsessed with and they just drive.

He doesn’t push her for answers about her behavior he just hums along with every song that’s on and drives.

“I’m totally not paying the meter,” she says long into their drive, the sun has gone down and she’s starting to nod off. Being comfortable like this she’s staring to wonder how much sleep she’s actually gotten through all this, if she’s gotten any.

Chas chuckles warmly and that’s the last thing she hears before drifting off with her head against window. When midnight comes she doesn’t know not until she wakes to the loud ringing of John’s damn phone the next morning.

 Day Thirty-One

She beats him to the phone; it’s been a month, a full month and she’s so tired. She’s tired of losing him, tired of fighting to stop it for it to only happen no matter what she does. She’s tired of going to everyone she knows for help and coming up empty on answers. She feels powerless, like her magic is a waste of time and space right now, like she’s just a waste of time and space. What good is magic and being a supposedly all-powerful witch if she can’t even save the person she loves most in the world.

She talks to Chas longing for the day she had with him where she didn’t have to go through explaining all this to someone; she nods and agrees with what he says at the right spots leaning far enough away that John can’t hear a single thing he says on the other line. She parts with a cheery goodbye and lies straight to John’s face making up some story about his cab that won’t get John moving to go anywhere.

She wants to make the most of this day, it’s a depressing time loop anniversary for her and she wants to forget for a little while, forget with him.

They waste away the morning in bed, if the sex feels a little more desperate than usual, a little more intense John doesn’t say a thing. They have breakfast in bed, feeding each other in the sappiest ways. She glamours a book that has some stories about the cup into the latest novel in a mystery series she’s been into and sits on the couch all afternoon. John lingers reading something of his own and giving up eventually choosing instead to rest his head in her lap with a cigarette in his mouth. She runs a free hand through his hair tickles of sparkling blue magic playing across her fingertips. They walk down the street to a little bar that makes a damn good veggie burger for dinner and she pulls him back into the bedroom as soon as they’re in the door.

Soon enough he falls asleep. She watches him sleep for a while, his sandy hair tousled, the eyeliner he fell asleep in from the night before still smudged under his eyes and only half his nails painted black. She wants to sear this into her memories, not the horrific visual of him burning to a crisp in her arms.

He shuffles in his sleep a bit, instinctually rolling just a little bit closer to her. She reaches out running her fingers through his hair slowly before she glances at the phone that has become her greatest enemy seeing that the time still gives her an hour till midnight. She slips from bed quietly and waves her hand over John letting some sparkles of peaceful sleep fall all over him to make certain he doesn’t wake.

She gives him one last lingering look as she slips out of the room, he may not remember each day but if there’s any lingering pain when all is said and done at least this time she hopes he won’t even wake up to feel whatever takes him from her this time.

She goes to the mausoleum alone, she shouts backwards words and walks in without a single check, she steps up to the cup and just stares at it.

Nothing happens. No fire, no brimstone. At least not to her, maybe she unknowingly just lit her boyfriend on fire in bed which feels and sounds terrible even if she’ll get another day to stop it.

“What do you want from me?” she shouts at it the sound echoing into the empty mausoleum. Nothing, it just sits there like a boring old cup.

She picks it up from its stand curling the stem hard in her hand.

“Tlem yawa dna ekat lla ruoy cigam htiw uoy,” she snarls at it and nothing happens her magic just fizzles out around the cup. It’s not the first time she’s tried something of this nature, but it’s the first time she’s been here alone.

She lets out a frustrated shout and tosses the cup into the nearest wall hard, it doesn’t even crumple. That’s not new to her either, she’s tossed it into walls, sidewalks and everything in between. It doesn’t even seem to care if she takes it out of this mausoleum the same thing always happens and it never even bends. She picks it up tossing it again and again until her arms are tired, until she feels her phone vibrate in her pocket the five-minute warning till midnight she’s started setting each morning letting her know her time is up.

She uses it wisely taking her frustrations out on the cup again and again and again.

***

She tries to save him every day and fails.

So one day she just leaves. The phone rings and she’s up out of the bed in an instant, tossing on the first pair of pants she can find. John chases after her ignoring the phone that keeps on playing that same damn song.

“Love, where are you going?” John asks hastily following her. She’s barely dressed and she’s already halfway out the door, she just has to get out of here.

She sighs pressing her forehead to the half-opened door before turning back to him.

“I just need to get out of here,” she says and it comes out a little more desperate than she intended.

“Alright, well just give me a minute and we’ll leave town if you want,” he says already turning to get ready and get the hell out of dodge with her. She appreciates his unwavering loyalty to follow along with her no matter what more than he’ll ever know, but she just can’t be with him today.

“No, John, I just need to go alone,” she says grabbing his hands that are reaching for his own discarded pants from the night before. He looks at her his face a mask of worry.

She steps closer and cups his face in both of her hands.

“I swear I’ll explain everything when I get back,” she says knowing that she won’t be coming back and even if she did he won’t be here when she does. She leans in kissing him soft and slow, she savors them all a little more these days, fearful that one will become the last.

“Just trust me, okay?” she says when she pulls back from his lips. He lifts his arms up holding her wrists and rubbing his thumbs into her skin.

“Alright,” he says letting her go. She slowly runs her hand down from his cheek and along his chest before she turns away.

“I love you,” John says. He doesn’t say it a lot, but when he does he pours everything into it and it breaks her heart and pieces it back together at the same time.

She turns quickly to meet his eyes, making sure he knows she means it just as much. “I love you too. I evol uoy oot.”

She catches sight of a small raised smile at the corner of his lips before she shuts the door behind her. She portals to San Francisco, smashes her phone into a hundred tiny little pieces, puts up a glamour spell to protect her from being found and spends the whole day in her old bed. She doesn’t know if it’s the cup or something else that kills him that day, she doesn’t want to know.

She stares at the bright red numbers on the clock beside the bed until it turns to midnight and the day starts all over again.

 Day Fifty

“What if it’s me?” she asks studying the ash underneath her fingertips. It was the cup again this time, just far earlier in the day than usual. She ran before any Justice Leaguer could show up not needing to once again see and feel their sadness and pity alongside her own.

She still had four hours till midnight so she’d wandered and wandered until she ended up here in the House of Mystery leaning back against the bed that’s sometimes theirs, a bed she hasn’t gotten to wake up in in fifty days.

Boston found her there about two hours ago and settled down beside her the best he can. He hasn’t said a word, he’s just listened as she’s spilled out the condensed version of the past fifty days to him.

“What if what’s you?” he asks.

She sighs dropping her hands between her knees. “What if it’s me, what if I’m the one who’s supposed to die?” she wonders, it’s not the first time it’s crossed her mind. Aside from the zombie incident she’s never even been physically scathed on any of the days so maybe it’s her. “Maybe if I die, he doesn’t. Maybe this finally fucking stops.”

She’s so tired, so fucking tired.

“Tanna,” Boston says with so much pain in his voice. John’s his friend and he’s dead and here she is talking about her own death so casually. Just because everyone else gets to start over every single day with no memory of this doesn’t mean they don’t still hurt in the moment.

“He’d never want that, he’d never want you to die for him,” he says. He reaches out hovering his hand over one of hers, the closest to a touch he can muster in this form.

“He’d die for me,” she says and she feels the tears coming, she keeps thinking she’ll run out, but she never does.

“Yeah, well the bastard is a hypocrite that way,” he says with a chuckle and for a moment Zatanna smiles. “Plus on a selfish note, I’d miss you.” She turns her head to look at him, his white eyes look serious and caring.

It’s a good reminder that she has friends in all this, even if she feels completely alone.

“No dying okay,” he says holding her eyes. “You’ll sort this, or the universe will or something, you’ve never been beat and you never will be.”

Zatanna smiles a sad smile his way and lifts up her hand her palm hovering under his, very nearly holding hands.

“No dying,” she says as she leans her head back onto the bed keeping her hand steady beneath her friends. She stays put like that till midnight feeling a little bit lighter just for having him there.

 Day Fifty-Six

She’s decided that this is hell. Knowing the fate that awaits someone you love and not being able to do a damn thing to stop it. Despite the pickup of Boston’s optimism days ago, she still feels too defeated. She’s done a few thousand spells, played the day out fifty-six different ways and she’s still got all that’s left of John under her fingernails.

She’s sitting in a bar on the far side of New Orleans well on her way to finishing a bottle of whiskey the bartender has kindly left for her.

She doesn’t even flinch anymore at the bit of ash at her fingertips she catches sight of as she tosses back her latest glass, she’s becoming more and more numb to it all which is more than concerning. Problem is there’s no one to be concerned about her anymore, anyone who is will just forget to be when the clock strikes midnight.

“Hey, gorgeous,” a voice beside her says sliding into the stool next to her like he belongs there. Zatanna eyes him, he looks like his name is Chad and she’s instantly annoyed by his presence.

“You look lonely, maybe I can help,” he goes on and yeah she may have infinite time these days, but she doesn’t have time for this. Her patience is thin at best fifty-six days into the same day.

She gives the man a fake joyful smile and for a moment she can see he thinks he has a chance.

“The love of my life has died in front of me fifty-four times and this bottle here,” she pauses pouring herself another glass. “Isn’t for sharing.”

He looks like a deer in the headlights and opens his mouth surely about to say something that will just make her more annoyed.

“Og yawa,” she says flicking her fingers in his direction. A blasting magical wind takes hold of him flinging him across the bar and out the door. Everyone in the bar freezes and stares, she ignores them turning back to her bottle and sliding an extra twenty towards the bartender for his troubles. He just shrugs pocketing the money and moving along.

Slowly the other people in the bar decide she’s not a threat to them and go back to their own business. She slowly sips on her refill until someone else slips into the stool she just flung Chad from.

“Well that was quite the show,” Papa Midnite says tapping the bar once signaling the bartender. He slides a drink in front of him without hesitation.

She hums in agreement, she’s not surprised to see him, this is his bar after all.

It's the second time she’s seen Midnite since all this started, the first time had been confrontational Zatanna still holding on to some little bit of hope around day twenty. She’d confronted him fast and violent with John’s blood still drying on her hands from where he’d been mugged of all things. She’d held magic flames close to his face, a thing she usually wouldn’t do, and forced answers out of him about why he wanted this cup so bad.

“Because I like the illusion of power, even if it’s just an illusion,” he’d said. He knew less about it than she did at that point. Whatever that damn thing is it’s not an illusion of power at all she knows that all too well now.

This time though she’s not here to fight him she’s just here to drink.

“Don’t worry I won’t throw you out a door too,” she says taking another sip and looking at him from the corner of her eye. He raises his glass to her in appreciation.

They sit side by side quietly for a few beats before he puts down his drink and turns to her.

“So, where is your lesser half?” he asks.

Zatanna swallows the last of her drink hard. “Dead,” she says feeling her heart lurch at the word.

Midnite’s head drops a little and he hums. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says running his hand over his goatee. His tone is surprisingly genuine, so much so that she has to turn and look him in the eyes. He looks genuinely sorry, maybe even a little sad with the glow of the bar lights in his eyes.

“He was a right bastard,” he continues on raising his glass and tipping it to her empty one still tight in her grip on the bar. “But he always kept things interesting for me.”

He takes a sip of his drink before turning back to face forward.

“You don’t want to know what happened?” she says refilling her glass.

Midnite shakes his head and waves a hand dismissingly in her direction. “Why bother, you’ll find a way to fix it.”

Zatanna snorts. She wishes she had the same belief in herself that Midnite seems to have.

“Not this time I don’t think,” she sighs running her fingers along her glass, a bit of the ash slips into her drink and she feels bile rise in her throat pushing the glass away from her fast.

Midnite laughs a deep, smooth thing that sounds like how French press coffee would if it could chuckle.

“Bullshit,” he says. He twists a ring on his finger and hovers his hand over Zatanna’s glass. It disappears in a cloudy whisp replaced with another fresh clean one already filled for her.

“Stubbornness is the thing you two have always shared in common,” he says tilting his head thoughtfully. “You show it in different ways, different reactions, but when it comes to each other it’s the same. He’s slipped through hell for you and you’ve put a beat back in his heart against the better wishes of the universes magic, he’ll be back annoying me soon enough.”

Zatanna shakes her head gulping down the new drink in one go. He will be back, that’s true, but it won’t matter because it’ll just end the same way it always does again and again. She doesn’t have to tell him all that though, she doesn’t have the energy too, so she just deflects.

“Is the neutral party encouraging necromancy?” she says trying to make it sound teasing, but it falls flat. This time loop has beat all the humor from her.

Midnite lets out another low chuckle. “Not encouraging, just being smart enough to know to stay out of your way if you choose it.”

He downs the last of his drink and pushes up and away from the bar leaving her to it. She’s drunk enough this time to not even realize when midnight comes.

***

For a brief unexpected run of days, she’s given some new fight. Somehow encouraging though without context words from someone who’s not a friend gives her new drive to fight.

But that drive turns into anger eventually.

One day she just snaps and the only person around to take it out on is the person she’s trying to save. The phone rings and she tosses it against the wall immediately shattering it into a hundred pieces.

John looks at her like she’s gone crazy and before he can even so much as question her she’s railing into him.

She doesn’t know why, it’s not like he planned this, it’s not like she blames him, but she’s just so angry.

Angry at the world, angry at this curse she can’t seem to break, angry at Midnite and Chas and everyone who’s ever mentioned this cup. Angry at John for dying. Angry at herself for not solving this yet. So she picks a fight, yelling at the cup isn’t cutting it anymore evidently, she doesn’t even know what she says first to provoke it, but it’s something harsh enough it stuns John silent. She shouts and says things she doesn’t mean and walks out eventually with a loud slam of the door.

It hurts her to hurt him, but she’s just so damn angry.

The upside is tomorrow she’ll get another shot. She’s not worried about running out of chances to redo this anymore, she can say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, act as out of character as she wants because tomorrow she’ll be the only one who remembers it, the only one who has to live with it.

She’s out of fight, she’s out of answers, she’s just out. So when the phone rings the next morning she’s determined to just make the most of every second even if it means she’ll lose him again before midnight strikes no matter how hard she tries not to.

 Day Seventy-Eight

Seventy-eight days, seventy-eight deaths most of which she’s seen and she’s finally decided to listen to what Doctor Fate said to her what feels like a lifetime ago.

She lets the magic takes it course. She’s done everything she could think of, she’s altered every course she could and the result is always the same. So this time she just lets the magic dictate the day.

She just accepts fate, destiny whatever the fuck it wants to call itself, she accepts she can’t save him even if it breaks her heart.

The day goes much like the first had just with a few different bumps and changes here and there. She doesn’t fight anything, she doesn’t argue. She just takes it all in in ways that she hasn’t allowed herself to on any of these repeats.

She doesn’t bother checking the time on her phone, she slips it in her pocket out of sight and out of mind. She just keeps her fingers twined with his and listens to him rattle on about finally having an upper-hand against Midnite the next time they have to see him.

She soaks in every word, every bit of his accent, the way he says her name and the way his chuckle sounds when a cigarette is dangling from his lips.

She just soaks it in, accepts whatever this day brings. She’s done being reckless, she’s done fighting. This day has been the closest to the original one yet and she’s letting it go.

It’s a little closer to midnight than usual since they decided to shower together after breakfast when they finally walk into the mausoleum, easy breezy just like it always is.

She lights the place up and feels her minutes to midnight reminder vibrate in her pocket. She ignores it, silencing it quickly as John investigates the space. He steps up to the cup and Zatanna closes her eyes, just because she’s accepted what’s inevitable doesn’t mean she has to watch it.

There’s no sound. No shouts or screams, no sick burning flesh, no ash floating in the air. Just the sound of John making the start of a humming sound.

She opens her eyes as John touches the cup and nothing happens, just nothing. He picks it up and passes it around between his hands back and forth, back and forth like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s breathing, he’s whole and he’s humming a fucking Metallica song under his breath tossing an ancient magical artifact around like it’s a tennis ball.

She pulls her phone from her pocket and there in bold letters across a picture of her and John from that day they borrowed the Wayne mansion pool for themselves is the time.

12:01 A.M.

It’s a new day, it’s Thursday.

She doesn’t know if she should scream or cry or laugh, but evidently her body chooses for her, chooses the thing it thinks will be the most cathartic for her. She laughs, hard and loud and frankly maniacal. She feels like the final girl at the end of a horror movie, like she’s riding off in a stranger’s truck as a man with a chainsaw can’t quite catch up, like a girl who just watched the rich bastards who spent all night trying to kill her explode one by one. She won, she fucking won and she doesn’t have a clue how and it feels impossible, but she did and all she can do is laugh.

She probably looks and sounds crazy, cackling like the witch she is, tears of joy? Relief? She’s not sure which, streaming down her face. John freezes with the cup in hand staring at her a look of worry on his face. Something about the look on his face makes her double over in laughter even more, she crouches closer to the ground head down and hands on her knees.

John comes over to her side a gentle hand on her back.

“Luv, you alright?” he says sitting the cup down on the ground. She catches sight of it and falls further to the ground flat on her butt, her legs kicked out on the ground purposefully kicking the cup away from them.

“I’m fine,” she says through hiccupping laughs as she finally starts to calm down. John settles down beside her a hand on her thigh. “Best I’ve been in seventy-eight days.” She giggles a little lifting her head to the ceiling. She wipes under her eyes clearing her face of the tears that fell during her unexpected laughter.

She curls a leg under herself and turns to him lifting her hands to his shoulders.

“I need to tell you something,” she says shaking her head in disbelief.

And tell him she does, everything. She tells him all the little details from day one to day seventy-eight. She tells him the good, the bad and every bit in between. She tells him about the days she didn’t handle it well and the days she made the most of.

She tells him the things she regrets, even if he doesn’t remember them. She even tells him about the day Boston talked her out of letting herself die to save him and he holds her hands a little tighter. She lets it all pour out, seventy-eight days of heartache, frustration and anger and he takes in every word.

It’s well after midnight by the time she runs out of steam, runs out of things to tell him and he pulls her in close. He presses a soft gentle kiss to her forehead.

“You are the strongest woman I know, strongest person I know,” he says his eyes looking a little glassy. “I never could have survived all that, I never could have handled losing you so many times.”

He’s said that before, he doesn’t remember of course, but it’s more comforting and fulfilling today than it was before. Because today he’s alive and she won’t have to go through this same damned day again.

“Let’s go home,” he says rising from the floor. He holds out his hands that she accepts immediately and pulls her up alongside him. “Forget this cup ever existed.”

The cup. Yeah she’s not leaving without dealing with it first.

She drops his hands and raises one of her own putting a protective wall around John. He opens his mouth to argue about it and she silences him.

“Nope, this thing has killed you, so bubble boy it for a minute for my peace of mind,” she says turning and picking up the cup from the ground. She doesn’t bother with trying to destroy it, it’s never worked before and she has an inkling it won’t today either.

She sits it back where it started and closes her eyes. She twists her hands in a complex movement and speaks loudly echoing across the mausoleum.

“Dnes siht raf yawa dna reven tel enoemos eb deppart nihtiw s’ti sehctulc niaga!”

A swirl of her magic, a kaleidoscope of colors swirl around the cup and lift it into the air and in the next second it’s gone puffed out of existence, or at least her existence, in an instance.

She breathes out a sigh of relief waving a hand to drop the protective bubble from around John. She walks over to him and wraps her arms around his waist.

“Home now?” he says rubbing his hands up and down her back. “You need some rest.”

She nods her head into his chest, her nods matching up with the beat of his heart.

 Day Seventy-Nine (aka Thursday)

“I got the magic in me, every time I touch that track it turns into gold!”

Zatanna shoots up immediately from where she’d been curled comfortably in bed her head against John’s chest. No, this can’t be happening.

No, no, no, no, no.

She saw the time, it passed midnight, John’s alive. It’s a new day and this can’t be happening.

John grabs his phone from his own nightstand, not hers where it usually sits, and silences it quickly.

“Sorry, luv, I should have changed it, I didn’t think,” he says reaching out and putting a tentative hand on her shoulder. She deflates with his words and his touch, reaching up to curl her fingers around his.

“Never use that ringtone again,” she says turning towards him. “I never want to hear that song for the rest of my life.”

“Consider it done,” he says moving their joined hands to his lips and kissing the back of hers softly.

 Day Eighty (aka Friday)

She spends more of Thursday, Thursday god isn’t that a nice thing to be able to say, than necessary trying to work out what exactly it is that broke the time loop.

John never leaves her side as she pours over her memory and over the books she’s already memorized but nothing quite adds up. All she can chalk it up to is the cup protecting itself, why it cursed her instead of John who got closest first she’s not certain, but it’s the best she’s got. Hopefully the spell she cast on it will keep it from ever putting someone else through what she went through.

She eventually decides to settle on what Doctor Fate said all along, sometimes you can’t fight magic. And maybe when she finally stopped fighting the fight stopped for her.

She wakes on Friday to a normal alarm and John’s arms around her. He presses kisses across her shoulders, he indulges her need to be a little more cautious and her occasionally overprotective moments as they come one by one.

He definitely doesn’t complain when they shower together and only snorts a little every time she bubble boys him. He even doesn’t bat an eye when she won’t let him use the toaster. She already saw that electrocute him once and she’s good without witnessing that again.

John’s in the kitchen now flipping some stir fry in a pan over the oven’s open flame. Zatanna had only flinched a little when he lit it and the protection spell she sent his way when he did, well it was a small one.

She uncurls herself from the couch and joins him slipping her hands up under his barely buttoned shirt. She warms her hands rubbing them slowly across the light trail of hair on his chest. His skin is always borderline fiery and it’s soothing against her cold hands. She’s so glad she won’t have to go without this anytime soon. So glad he’s breathing and still just as hot blooded as he’s always been.

She drags her nails just above his waistband and his breath hitches a bit.

“So handsy,” he says with a wink over his shoulder to her his focus still on the food in front of him. She shrugs, she’s going to be very tactile for the foreseeable future just to remind herself this is real.

She’s also going to need to make a few of those therapy sessions she’s been skipping up, but that’s a job for Monday. Because there actually will be a Monday, and every day of the week after that. It just feels refreshing to think about.  

A few minutes later their food is done and she backs away from him slowly still trailing her hands across his back. They curl up comfortably on the couch with their plates in hand and some cheesy Godzilla movie on tv, Zatanna’s legs thrown across John’s lap.

When she’s done she leans over to sit her empty plate on the table alongside John’s just as a flame appears on the coffee table. She pulls her hand back quickly and John’s grip on her thigh tightens as the flame dies out a piece of crisp burnt at the edges paper appearing in its place.

Zatanna grabs it slowly and brings it up so that she and John can both read it.

The note is written in delicate, old style cursive that she doesn’t recognize.

‘Thanks for getting that cup for me, New Orleans and its superstitions happen to be all too true for me. Too much hallowed ground and all that, especially with an artifact so shrouded in mystery. Sorry, the process had to be so daunting, they do say that cup can be unpredictable, but hey acceptance is important, right? – your favorite enemy, Circe.’

A second piece of the flaming paper appears on the table as they finish reading the first and she snatches it up.

‘P.S. I’ll let you know if I figure out what it does, or if it’s really good you’ll just hear about it ;)’  

Zatanna turns from the notes in her hand and meets John’s eyes.

“Midnite never did say where he heard about the cup from did he?” John says. He takes the notes from her hand where she’s started to grip them a little too tight. He crumples them up and tosses them into his half-filled glass of water.

“She whispered in his ear and he didn’t even know it, she knew you’d find out and want to beat him to it and she knew that I’d help, she knew we would make it safer for her,” Zatanna says gritting her teeth. This whole time she’d been so angry at so many things and it never crossed her mind that Circe would want something so inconsequential. A cup that for all intents and purposes is nothing more than a trap.

“I’m gonna kill her next time she makes her way to this dimension for putting you through that,” John snarls.

“Imprisonment seems more fitting,” she says in response drifting her hand up and into his hair. She moves her fingers along his scalp and feels his anger simmer down just a bit.

John turns from where he’d been staring at the soaked notes in the glass and looks into her eyes. He leans in and kisses her hard.

“I’ll hunt her down,” he says fiercely pressing another quick kiss to her lips.

Zatanna smiles resting her hand at the base of his neck. “Okay, but can you do that tomorrow?” she says because the word tomorrow won’t lose its novelty any time soon. “I just want to keep basking in your aliveness for now.”

“Tomorrow,” he whispers into the space between their lips. Tomorrow. Isn’t that a beautiful thing?

[ms-maj]

Ever So Sweet

Many thanks to the AMAZING @theheavycrown for this spectacular graphic and for just being an incredible human being. On to the emo cupcake fic. (Song 4-A song that reminds you of someone you’d rather forget- Ever So Sweet- The Early November)

Ever so sweet

You baked it in cakes for me.

What you left behind,

It hurts my teeth.

Bring in the past

With the postcards you sent for me.

Every line,

It brings me right back down.

“Relax, Jug, it’s just a cookie. It’s not gonna bite you,” Toni teases the cookie in front of his face for a few seconds before retracting it back, rolling her eyes and taking a bite of the treat herself. 

Sweet Pea, pulling the wrapper off a delicately frosted white cupcake moaned as the strawberry center spilled onto his hands. “Yeah man,” he says through a mouthful of confectionary. “I didn’t think you EVER turned down food. Especially food as good as this,” his point articulated by shoving the remainder of the cupcake into his mouth.

“I just don’t have much of an appetite for sweets at the moment,” Jughead replies, picking his bag up off the floor. He tries not to look across the cafeteria, at the table laden with perfectly baked delights, decorated meticulously in blue and yellow, raising funds for some Vixen related expense or other. 

“Your loss, man.” 

(If that isn’t the understatement of the century, Jughead Jones didn’t know what is. And it has nothing to do with cupcakes.)

Well, it has something to do with cupcakes. A flour-handprint map of her body. Batter-tinged kisses. Frosting in more places than was sanitary, they came to find out. Every cookie—brownie, cake, pie— now turning to dust in his mouth.   His once overwhelming penchant for all things sweet went out the door around the same time he asked Betty to stay behind hers.

Jughead shakes his head and makes for the doors, averting his gaze so he misses the blonde beauty watching his back as he slinks from the caf. 

He knew it would be hard coming back to Riverdale, especially considering the circumstances of their separation, but he didn’t realize they’d be walking right into a bake sale. A Betty Cooper bake sale, no less. He knew from the first sign that she was organizing it, and from the first whiff of sugary-decadence, knew she was behind the treats actualization. 

He tries to do what he told her to do, move on, but every day he’s back in these halls he wonders if the reasons he presented are even valid anymore. Nothing in this town was “safe”. Realistically, the petty crimes of the Serpents were a drop in the collective nightmare bucket that was Riverdale but he still resolves to keep her firmly away from any such activity.    

Before he knows it he’s back at the cafeteria. He hasn’t intentionally walked his way back. (It’s not like he’s forgotten the layout of the school he lived in) It’s just now, every turn leads to more stares and hushed conversations about the weird loner who picked up a gang when he crossed the tracks.  The leather jacket that felt like armor on the South Side feels more like a straight jacket, suffocating and choking the parts of himself he once knew to be true. A swatch of gold across the room distracts him, almost as if she knows he sees her with how slowly she turns around to face him. He finds himself helplessly rooted to the spot as their eyes finally meet. 

They look more blue in this light than the green he knows them to be. Lips, as pink and kissable as ever, quirk into a facsimile of a smile as she lifts her hand to him. He nods tersely in response, stepping back and turning to get away from anyone else who dares walk by him with something she baked in their hands. 

Without meaning to, again, he finds himself standing in front of a familiar door. He’s only gone in once when she was there, finding the memories too hard to bear when he has to see her face and smell her perfume but not be able to reach out and touch her. 

The door to the Blue and Gold opens with ease; crossing the threshold is much more difficult. 

Once inside, the onslaught of memories is tamped down, or drowned out, by whoever is screaming through his headphones. At this desk, the one that was his before his world turned upside down, words flow from his fingers as though they’re meant to do nothing in this world but create.

He isn’t sure how long he’s been in there exactly, he has a free period after lunch that he usually spends writing anyway, today the words come freely, without hesitation or question. He stops only when in his periphery a dainty hand appears, holding what looks to be the biggest chocolate cupcake he’s ever seen.

Jughead slides the headphones down so they rest against his neck, not bothering to pause the noise spilling from them. “It didn’t look like you ate much today,” Betty says, still holding the cupcake out to him. Closing his laptop he moves to take it from her, careful not to meet any part of her skin with his. 

He wants to say he isn’t hungry, but she knows him too well. Regardless of what their relationship is now, he refuses to lie to her. More carefully he says, “I haven’t had the appetite for sweets.”

She nods, hands wringing in front of her now that they’re empty. “I know the feeling.”

Part of him wonders if it’s something to do with Alice, Betty’s aversion to food in general, it seems to stem from her. He looks at the cupcake and tries to remember seeing any more on the bake sale table, or in anyone's hands, but he can’t seem to place them. He clears his throat. “Maybe if I’d seen these I’d have been more inclined to help the Vixens…”

“Raise money for the South Side Rec Center.” she supplies, eyes shining brightly when his head snaps toward hers. “Toni mentioned something about the roof needing repairs so we figured this was the best way, not only to raise the money but to show some outward communal unity. Who can resist a bake sale?” She shrugs as if any of what she’s just said was nonchalant. Something bubbles in his chest, a mix of pride and hope and it feels so, so good he doesn’t even try to fight it. 

“Who can resist a Betty Cooper run bake sale is the more apropos question,” her smile falters a little as his own mouth softens into one. 

“It didn’t seem too hard for you to stay away. Once upon a time, it would have been impossible for you to resist. And for the record,” she takes a deep breath, straightening her spine so she seems impossibly tall in front of him. The sun is streaming through the windows now, lighting her up, her ethereal beauty never more appreciated than at this moment. “You didn’t see those because they weren’t for sale.”

He holds the cupcake in question up, it seems innocuous enough, chocolate cake, chocolate frosting. He bets it tastes amazing, exactly like he remembers from when they’d make them together. There are a few other things he remembers as the chocolatey aroma assails his senses: how much richer the batter tasted between their fused mouths, the way her tongue swirled around his finger in her attempt to remove every last drop of frosting he’d try to sneak when her back was turned. He shivers despite feeling like he’s burning under the layers of flannel and leather. 

“That seems like a bad business decision, Betts. You could raise the money with these alone,” he says setting the cupcake down on his laptop, not missing the way she winces when the old nickname slips out. She recovers quickly though. She always does, he tells himself knowing full well that’s not entirely (if at all) true. 

“It is my best cupcake. Cheryl tried to put them out but seeing them, well,” her head shakes as if she’s trying to rid herself of her thoughts entirely. “Turns out you’re the only person I want, to have one.” The pause between ‘want’ and ‘to’ sets his teeth on edge. He wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around her, taste the indescribable sweetness that is Betty Cooper, press pieces of the cupcake to her swollen lips and feel her sharp tongue caress his rough, ready skin once more. It doesn’t make it any easier that she’s standing in front of him in her Vixens uniform, hands worrying the hem of her skirt.

But that day won’t be today. It can’t be, not yet. Not until he’s on steadier ground with the Serpents, not until he knows she won’t have to wade through the muck just to stand at his side.  Instead of saying any of this he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “Thanks for thinking of me, Betty.”

He watches her swallow, jaw clenching before she softly replies, “It’s all I do, Juggie.” She turns away from him quickly, crossing the room and closing the door quietly behind her. It’s only fair, he supposes, that it’s his turn to watch the person he loves walk away. 

There’s wetness on his cheeks that wasn’t there a moment ago and his sniffles seem louder than should be allowed to be in the stillness of the room. His eyes find the cupcake and his stomach rumbles in response. He knows that even one taste will be too much, like she was, and he’ll be ruined all over. He stares the cupcake down until the bell rings knowing he can’t throw it away but isn’t able to bring himself to eat it either. 

After he packs up his laptop, he finds a roll of paper towels and attempts to wrap the cupcake. (It might be a little squished by the time he gets home but he’s sure FP will appreciate it nonetheless.) It’s like a brick in his hand, on his mind, on his heart, even as it sits in his locker waiting for the day to end. Nothing this good is supposed to hurt this badly. He knows that’s patently untrue; his relationship with Betty was the best thing in his life and when it ended, both times, he felt utterly unmoored.

He’s trying to find his bearings, to balance life and the Serpents and his own expectations without hurting anyone else. He has to get his head on right before he falls on his knees and begs her to take him back. 

She deserves that much. All of him. It’s not like he’s waiting to meet some impossible standard he thinks she deserves, he knows she’ll accept the broken parts and help him piece them back together. But he needs to be able to do the same for her, and right now he simply can’t. There are too many variables out of their control. 

When she walks out of their shared class at the end of the day and stops to look back at him he knows it isn’t over. She still looks sad, there’s a slightly red hue to her eyes that wasn’t there earlier, but she still smiles at him. He can’t help but return it.

Later, after he finally gets home, the now deformed cupcake sits on the counter. When he took it from his locker it felt lighter than it had going in, something delicate that deserved treasuring rather than needing to be lugged. Instead of leaving it for his father he decides to eat half, now that he’s had a minute to get over himself. He’s realized that even if it’s symbolic or too reminiscent of a past he’s desperately trying to get back to, that it’s just a cupcake. That Betty Cooper made especially for him, and that can never be a bad thing. 

Surprisingly, the chocolate doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as he thought it would.

[glasswingsndreamz]

(Sexual) Frustration

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Felix x Reader

Rating: NSFW

AO3 Link

Summary:  The cold hearted, poison tongued Felix ends up at your door past everyone's bed time. You have no idea what he's doing there. He's not about to confess why either.

Felix was a warrior. His heart belonged to his sword if he even had one at all. While Sylvain flirted with girls he studied the blade. Repeatedly Felix had denied having any attraction or interest in anyone regardless of gender. It didn’t matter if someone had feelings for him. He’d reject them without batting an eye. In fact he had broken countless hearts of both boys and girls who were unlucky enough to fall for his looks. They certainly wouldn’t fall for his charm or lack thereof. 

You knew better than that. Having watched him throw away countless love letters without opening a single one. So when you felt that butterflies forming in your stomach you quickly crushed them. Felix would make a better partner in battle than one in life.

Maybe that’s why it was so easy being his actual friend. At least you considered him to be a friend. It would be no surprise if he didn’t return the sentiment. Most likely he saw you only as a sparring partner. Knowing he was incapable of having romantic feelings toward you made it easier to squash your own. That didn’t stop your heart from skipping a beat when he decided to remove his shirt during training when it was especially hot. Nor did it stop that spark of arousal coursing throughout your body when he pinned you down during hand to hand combat, a smug smirk on his face. Instead of giving into the urge to drag him down and slam your lips against his you make a move to knee him between the legs. As always he is quick to stop your advances before you can follow through.

What you felt wasn’t love. Of that you were pretty sure. Lust, however, was very plausible. 

Guiltily you had played around the idea of giving into Sylvain’s advances just to get rid of some of the pent up desire building up. It wouldn’t feel as bad if you were knowingly using each other. Still you weren’t that desperate. Yet. The idea that Felix would find out was also a worry in the back of your mind. Not that he would feel jealous. No you suspected his view of you might change. That he’d come to the conclusion that you’d rather spend your time with a hand down Sylvain’s pants rather than sparring.

Never in this life time did you expect Felix to show any romantic interest in anyone. Not when he cherished the company of his sword over that of a companion.

So it came as a big surprise when Felix came to you outside of the training grounds. When you heard a knock at your bedroom door you had been expecting Annette, Mercedes, Ashe, Sylvain, anyone but Felix. 

At first you thought you must be asleep. It was late after all. Too late for anyone to be wandering the monastery. Only in your dreams would Felix come to you first, to your own bedroom. It was hard to really make out the expression on his face with only the moon shining outside. You hadn’t even bothered to light a candle with your brain still clouded with sleep. When Felix remained silent without bothering to explain why he was at your dorm in the middle of the night you began to feel a lot more awake. At that point you were wondering if perhaps you might need to assist in getting rid of a body tonight.

For a good three minutes you waited in silence until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“It’s a little late to want to train isn’t it?” you said, head tilted in curiosity. Despite the worry flooding your mind you kept a calm, outward appearance in case it only pushed him away. 

“...That’s not why I came,” he finally spoke. Patiently you waited for him to continue only to be greeted with more silence.

“Felix?”

“Can I…. come in?” he gritted out the words as if it was painful to speak. Without a word you opened the door further to let him in. Silently he entered, entire body tense as you shut the door behind you.

With eyes adjusted to the darkness it was easy to find and light the lamp on your bedside table. It wasn’t intense enough to light the whole room but now you were able to clearly see the expression on the swordsman’s face. His eyes wouldn’t meet yours which wasn’t unusual. It was the light blush dusting his cheeks that caught your breath. It had to be the lighting. There was no way Felix Hugo Fraldarius was blushing right now. Not in front of you.

Cautiously you watched, not making a move so you didn’t spook him. As curious as you were to know why he was visiting your room in the middle of the night, you were fully aware that he would just as easily leave and deny this ever happened. You might even believe it too. It could easily be a dream.

“Fe-”

He cut you off. His lips were rough against your own and you decided this must be a dream after all. Just as quickly he was pulling away, seeking out your expression to gauge your response. Too stunned to move, you could only stare back in confusion. Apparently this was not what he wanted to see. Without a single explanation he was turning to take his leave.

That would not do at all.

Grasping the back of his shirt, you turned him back to you. He looked surprisingly vulnerable as he faced you again.

“What?” he snapped. If it were anyone else maybe you would be offended, but you knew Felix. Or maybe you didn’t considering how badly he had taken you by surprise.

Bracing yourself both physically and mentally, you gripped at his shoulders to keep him in place. Felix looked like a feral stray, alarmed and ready to claw your face off before bounding away. You didn't take the time to really consider the consequences. In fact you couldn't think at all as you slammed your lips against his. For a moment he was frozen, seemingly surprised with your choice of actions. Quickly he recovered, arms wrapping around and pulling you tightly against him as he returned the action.

His kiss was clumsy, so unlike his precision with the blade. You suspected that it had to do with the lack of practice in this specific field. Even the way he reached down and grabbed at your ass seemed so uncertain. Offering some guidance, you pressed back against him, urging him to be rougher. Felix responded in kind, squeezing hard.

It was difficult to move with his tight grip keeping you in place, barely allowing you to grind against his hips. The guttural groan he let out in response had you grinding even harder. It had him tensing up and pulling his lips away from yours to bite back any more noises that tried to escape.

Of course he couldn’t let you have control. Not for very long anyway.

The high pitched noise you made when Felix picked you up was downright embarrassing. Even more embarrassing than the way you clung to him, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. There was amusement on his face which did not help the blush on your face. It only grew a darker shade when he carried you over to the bed and pressed you down onto the sheets. There was no time to gain back control. Not when he immediately had you pinned down and straddled. It would have been less humiliating if your skirt hadn’t ridden up to reveal the color of your underwear.

He stared down at you, really taking in the sight before him. You watched as his eyes met yours and slowly trailed down. They lingered on your lips which were most likely swollen from his earlier attack with his own mouth. It had you wondering if he was going to kiss you again. Not that you would complain. However, his amber eyes continued their trail down your neck to your chest that rose and fell faster with your growing arousal. There his gaze stayed, as if he could see right through your blouse and flesh to the heart beating fast beneath.

He looked like he was going to devour you whole.

“What do you want?” you asked as if you were in any position to be asking questions. You didn’t care. You needed to hear him say it.

“Isn’t it obvious? I didn’t take you for an idiot,” he said, pressing his hips down and goddess. You can feel him through the layers of clothing and you can’t even begin to comprehend that he is this hard already. You swear you must be dreaming. There’s no more hesitance now. Instead it has been replaced with his usual confidence and arrogance because he knows that you’re as badly affected if not more so.

“I can’t... understand you,” you managed to get the words out in between gasps when he grinded down against you. He’s rubbing right against your clit and it’s so fucking good you can barely think. At this point you’re sure you must be so wet that you’ve soaked right through your underwear. Fuck you can smell how aroused you are and there’s no doubt that he can too.

“You don’t need to,” and then his lips are upon yours.

It’s shameful, the way you’re clawing at his clothes. You’re absolutely desperate in your attempt to remove him of his clothes and he’s not being very helpful either. The man barely removes his mouth from yours to pull the shirt over his head while you’re working on his belt. He even has the nerve to growl at you when you attempt to pull away to do so, which is incredibly hard when he already has you pressed into the pillow.Those next few minutes are a blur of tearing clothes until you’re both remaining in your underwear. His reaction when he removes your shirt is hilarious. For whatever reason he seemed to be under the impression that you’d be wearing a bra to bed. Instead he was flustered and unprepared for the sight of your bare breasts. You resisted the urge to tease him and instead pulled him in for another kiss to distract him. It’s at that point that he begins to hesitate. His hands, which were so eager to rip your blouse off your torso, paused when the only thing left covering your body was your panties. You save him the trouble and remove them yourself.

Despite the bold move, you can’t help the way your face burns when he stares. His amber eyes widen a fraction as he just stares down, not moving a muscle.

Several seconds pass by and you can’t help the feeling embarrassment flood your mind as you consider pulling your underwear back up and pretending this never happened. 

Then he finally moves.

His hand reaches out, fingers experimentally running along your slit. That has you shivering and arching forward.Curiously he pushes your lips apart, still staring in that scrutinizing way that makes you want to bury your face in your hands and hide from embarrassment. Then he’s pushing a finger inside and you can’t help but moan. It’s easy, so incredibly easy for him to push in until he’s knuckle deep inside. The slick noise it makes upon entry has your face burning. When he pulls it back out you can clearly see that his finger is covered with your arousal. He seems to be studying it just as intensely when he pushes it all the way back in, this time curling deep inside. You have to bite down on your lip hard to keep back the moan. The pleasure is clear on your face as well as in the way your body arches towards him. He takes it as affirmation to continue, pumping it in and out of you at a faster pace. It’s extraordinarily easy to add a second finger to the mix with how soaked you are.

“Get on with it already,” you finally snapped. Not that you weren’t enjoying what his fingers were doing to you. However, you would much rather prefer his dick at the moment. Especially when you’re not entirely convinced that this isn’t a dream. If you’re having a wet dream then you better damn well get fucked by his cock before you woke up.

It’s odd to see someone so confident falter for once. It lasts only a second before Felix is shedding his own underwear and let it drop onto the floor beside the bed.

You can’t help but stare, leaning back onto your elbows to really settle in and get a good view. It almost pisses you off that his determination to beat anyone in battle isn’t a compensation for this. You are, however, entirely grateful that you’re wet enough that it shouldn’t be too painful to fit inside. The smirk on his face showed exactly how proud he was of his own size. You’d probably smack that look off his face if you weren’t so eager to have his cock buried inside you.

Thankfully he didn’t keep you waiting for too long.

Settling down between your legs, he gave a subtle buck of his hips. Your head is thrown back against the pillow when he glides between your lower lips. Your arousal coats his length, making the movement even easier when he does it a second time and then a third. You’re not entirely sure whether he doesn’t know how to put it in or if he’s teasing you. Most likely the latter but it could still be both. 

You take matters into your own hands. Literally.

Not wanting to wait any longer, you grab his cock. Before guiding it towards your entrance, you give it a few swift pumps which has him growling. However he does seem grateful for the guidance as he finally pushes his hips forward, his cock sinking into you. Both of you moan at the same time as he fills you up. It’s faster than what you’re ready for and there’s a dull pain accompanying the satisfaction of being filled. Without realizing it, you’re clinging to him, the palms of your hands flush against his back.

Felix’s hands grasp at the sheets on either side of you and you swear you can hear a tearing sound when his nails dig in. There’s no way to read his expression when he presses his face down against your neck. You can tell it’s gotta be a sight with the way his body slightly trembles beneath your hands.

Seconds pass and finally he moves again, drawing his hips back only to slam back into you. You hiss out in pain, still not fully adjusted. As retaliation you dig your nails into the flesh of his back. The action does nothing to deter him as he bucks into you again and again. He’s quick to find a rhythm that fits him well. Hard and fast. The pain quickly turns to pleasure as you grow used to the rough movements. One of your hands slipped between your bodies to furiously rub at your clit. If this was a normal occurrence maybe you would have turned this into a challenge, determined to hold out until he came first. Right now you were too desperate and so damn close that you couldn’t find the time to care. The closest thing was the way the two of you muffled your own noises. 

One especially hard and deep thrust was enough to shove you right over the edge. Your nails dug down further, practically clawing down his back as your orgrasm wrecked you. Your vision blurred as the sensation of Felix pounding into you only intensified your own climax.

Even after you came down from your high, he wouldn’t let up. If anything he seemed even more determined. Only for a few seconds did he pause just to pull your legs over his shoulders. Finally you could see the way his face flushed in pure pleasure. His eyes were narrowed in focus as he returned to his previous pace. Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head at how deep this angle allowed him to go. The sound of skin slapping against skin is too damn lewd and has you growing even wetter than you already were. Already you could feel another orgasm rising to the surface. The way you had soaked his cock in your cum only made it that much easier for him to slip in and out. 

This time it was his teeth sinking into the spot where your shoulder and neck met that sent you crashing over the edge. Tears pooled at the corner of your eyes as you cried out. It only got better when he gave a few more quick thrusts before spilling inside you. That’s when he broke the skin with his teeth.

Both of you are breathing heavily when he finally pulls back to stare down at you. You’re sure your hair is an absolute mess and that blood has begun to form where his bite punctured your flesh. There’s probably a blotchy, ugly blush on your face, but the way he’s looking at you right now makes you feel like the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

“You know. I never thought you’d need help training with sex,” you attempted humor when you could no longer stand his quiet stare.

He pulled the pillow from beneath your head, letting it thump against the sheets only to smack you over the face with it.

“Shut up.”

[turn-your-gaze-on-this-dumptruck]

His Past, His Present, His Future: Chapter 4 - The Answer

After Germany returns back to Italy's house after his visit home, he receives an unexpected visitor and a difficult conversation.

In other words, Romano is finally here!

Fanfiction.net

Ao3

*********

Germany drove back to Italy, excitement filling him from head to toe. He had chased Prussia out of his room, Prussia cackling as he left. Germany was grateful for his brother. But dropping that bomb on him was a bit much before he was to be hanging out with Italy for the next several days. Just the two of them. Alone. Germany let the windows down, enjoying the warm breeze. He gelled his hair down before he came, glad to finally have it out of his face. He made sure to pack it and checked his bags several times before he finally left an hour after he arrived at his house.

He parked at Italy’s house, opening the door and pulling out his luggage. He took the opportunity to shut his eyes and face the sunlight for a moment, taking a deep breath of warm, fragrant air. He opened his eyes with a close-mouthed smile before he took a slow walk up the door and admired Italy’s garden. It truly was lovely. The sun baking the fruit in the garden let loose a myriad of fragrance that enchanted the senses. He unlocked the door and stepped in, wondering if Italy was home. He knew it was too much to hope for. He was likely in the middle of a very difficult conversation. Ludwig toed off his shoes and remembered why he was here. It was not just a vacation, it was to make sure Italy was okay. 

He wheeled the luggage back to his room, wondering how he could make Italy’s return welcome. He remembered that Italy enjoyed that apple cake that Germany made sometimes, and resolved to make one for him to enjoy when he came home. He pulled his apron out of his suitcase and tied it as he paced back to the kitchen. He rummaged around the kitchen for the ingredients, measuring them out in advance. A couple of countries close to him would admit that he has mellowed out in recent years (no recent wars will do that to a nation), but he was still as orderly as he was during the wars, and he still ran a tight ship. It was just fact that measuring out your ingredients before you started made for an easier and more pleasurable baking experience.

An hour and a half later, Germany was cleaning the kitchen. The air smelled of warm, delicious apple cake. It sat on a cooling rack by the stove, and the batter pans were soaking in warm, soapy water. All there was left to do was wipe down the counters, then apply a thick dusting of powdered sugar to the top of the cake. He finished with the powdered sugar and was just admiring his handiwork as he heard the doorbell ring. His mind immediately flashed to Italy, but then decided that he could just open the door himself. He concluded that it was the mail and considered making a pot of coffee to enjoy when Italy came back. He heard the doorbell ring again and frowned. Perhaps it was a fellow country coming to check on Italy? Or maybe Prussia was bringing something Germany forgot about. Germany was halfway to the door when the doorbell rang four times, as if someone were pressing into quickly and furiously.

Germany opened the door and saw Romano standing on the step, his concerned expression souring into one of disdain. “Oh. Potato Bastard. Where’s my idiot brother?”

Germany stepped to the side, allowing Romano in. “Visiting France.”

“Ugh.” Romano untied his shoes, leaving them on the welcome mat as he looked up at Germany. “That blue-eyed, bad-breathed, bimbo bitch from hell.”

Germany raised his eyebrows at the creative insult. “I suppose…”

“Something smells good.” Romano migrated to the kitchen, his feet slapping against the floor.

“I made apple cake.” Germany explained, joining him in the kitchen as he untied his apron.

Romano hummed skeptically. “You made that?”

“Yes…”

“There’s no way. Looks too good.”

Germany hummed back, wondering if that was Romano’s version of a compliment.

“Well? Are you going to get me a slice?”

“If you want one,”

Romano scoffed. “I wouldn’t be asking for one if I didn’t want one. Mio Dio. I knew you were blonde, but I didn’t expect it to actually affect your brain.”

Germany hummed again, not really knowing what to say.

Romano strode over to the coffee pot, grunting at the coffee beans. “God, who grinds their own coffee?”

Germany found a cake slicer. “Your brother and I were talking about that earlier. I don’t understand why he enjoys his coffee that way.”

“Me neither.” Romano got out the bean grinder. “Bean water is bean water either way.”

Germany let out a small smile at that as he plated a slice of the cake and put it on the counter with a fork.

He cut one for himself, figuring that it would be strange if he didn’t eat a slice with Romano.

“How is my brother, anyhow?” Romano asked, his voice slightly less aggressive. The bean grinder whirred, and Romano poured the grounds into a coffee filter. “Spain told me what happened yesterday. Did he really beat up the wino?”

Germany nodded, pulling down two coffee mugs. “He’s okay. Last night he acted… withdrawn. But he seemed a little more cheerful today. He was excited that I was spending a bit of time here.”

“How long?” Romano asked, pouring two mugs of coffee.

“Six days.”

Romano nodded, taking a seat at the table.

Germany joined him, worrying about an awkward conversation.

Romano took a bite out of the cake, chewing it thoughtfully. “Hmm.”

Germany waited for his thoughts, not sure why he was so intrigued by Italy’s brother. Though they had their disagreements before, he wondered if they perhaps had more in common than he initially thought.

“What do you know?” Romano swallowed. “The Kraut can make something other than wurst.” He sounded almost resentful. Like he was looking for something to be mad about.

“Thank you.”

“I never said it was a compliment.”

“Of course not.” Germany replied, taking a bite of the cake. Good as always.

There was a long silence as the two ate their cake.

“So what, you’re not going to ask me what it was all about?” Romano asked skeptically.

Germany shook his head, taking a sip out of his coffee. “No. Italy told me he would tell me when we were both ready, whatever that means.”

Romano appraised him with what looked like an approving eye. “Hmm. What did you do with him last night? To help him?”

“Japan took care of him mostly. For whatever reason, he didn’t want me interacting with Italy that much. But I made him something to eat and drink and made him eat a little until he told me to leave him alone.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Listen, shit-stain.” Romano pushed away his plate. “I came into this house with the intention to hate you more than I already did. And, surprisingly, I only dislike you.”

“… thank you?”

“Don’t mention it. Really, don’t. Here’s all I have to say: You’re shit at being subtle about how you feel about my brother.”

Germany felt his face heat up. He absently considered the absurd amount of blushing he had been doing these past couple days.

“And I guess I don’t hate it. You can cook, and you want to take good care of him. I can tell. You help him be more orderly, and he helps dislodge that giant stick up your ass. But the next few days are going to be harder than you think. It won’t all be sunshine and all-night fucks if that’s what your perverted mind has been thinking.”

“I haven’t-!”

“Let me finish.” Romano interrupted. “It’s going to be hard. But if you’re willing to take care of him, you need to know a couple things… well? Aren’t you going to get something to write it down?”

“I can remember it,”

“You literally asked me if I wanted cake after I asked for it. I don’t trust your brain as far as I could throw it. Which would be pretty damned far, considering how small it is.”

Sighing through his nose, Germany stood up and wandered back to Italy’s office area. He opened the door and swiped a pad of paper from a cluttered desk. As he walked back, he flipped through various pages of drawings until he found a blank page. He grabbed a pen from the jar of writing utensils that sat on the counter and sat back down at the table. He noticed that while he was gone, Romano had swiped the rest of his slice of cake. He chose not to comment. “Ready.”

“Okay. His favorite gelato place is Amalo Gelato E Passione. Be prepared to spend at least twenty minutes there, because he can’t choose just one flavor for shit.”

Germany wrote this down, surprised at how specific these instructions were. Despite what outward behavior might have suggested, it appeared that Romano really truly cared for Italy.

“If you’re going to the beach, do it on Tuesday. Damned tourists will always be in the way, but it’ll be least crowded then. His favorite is Bagni 77. It’s open for a few more weeks, so you have plenty of time. Expect to stay there for several hours. It’s relaxing during the day, but at night it’s a party beach. Veneziano loves to party, so expect to stay whether you like it or not. God knows that’s what I did. He holds his alcohol almost as well as you do, though, so look out for him.”

Germany nodded and made a note about watching him.

“You have to visit Rome. No question. Expect him to bring his damn sketchbook and bring a book or something. He’ll want to draw everything… Let’s see… that’s about all I can think of. The rest of the time he’ll be willing to just meander and sightsee, probably. Maybe do a bit of shopping. You really want to make my brother’s day? Buy him a flower. And make sure it’s a lily. That’s our national flower, and he likes it when you remember stupid shit like that. Got it all?”

“Ja. I think so.”

“Let me see your notes,” he slid the notebook toward himself, appraising them. “Hmm… okay.” He took one last long drag out of his coffee. “I should probably be going. Spain wanted me home by lunch.” He stood up, and Germany stood up with him. “You walking me to the door, starch head?”

“If- yes. I am.”

Romano hummed. “So you were paying attention.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned and led Germany toward the hallway. He stopped at the door and tied his shoes back on, standing to his full height. Germany noticed that Romano was about five centimeters shorter than Italy. He stuck out a hand. “You impressed me today, Potato bastard. Take good care of mio fratello.”

Germany nodded. “I will. Thank you for stopping by, South Italy.”

Romano raised his hand as a goodbye before he slammed the door behind him.

Germany walked back to the table, clearing the dishes away. He considered what had just transpired. Unexpectedly, Germany had come to like Romano. Maybe it was the grudging respect they had for each other, maybe it was that he figured out just how much Romano cared for his brother. Either way, it went better than he had expected. This day was shaping up well indeed. He considered what he would do when Italy returned home.

Perhaps they would relax at home, then he would introduce the idea of going to Rome tomorrow. Then perhaps they could take a day at the house, then they could go for a day of shopping and sightseeing. They would meander one day, then take a break at the house the next. He was happy to have it all figured out. As he loaded the dish washer and scrubbed the pans, he considered what he could do next. He figured he would officially start his vacation when Italy returned home. Until then, perhaps he could straighten things up around here… there wasn’t much to do, though. The only fault was that perhaps Italy’s house was overcrowded with décor. Everything was kept clean and orderly. Germany knew that Italy had great pride in his art and house, and he spent a good deal of time making sure everything was clean. It was not organized, but it was clean. So, he settled for organizing all of Italy’s DVD’s alphabetically. This was more from a lack of something to do than anything else.

He heard the door open and heard shoes on the floor. “Germany?” Italy’s voice called.

Germany got up off the floor. “Hello, Italy.” He stood and looked over to the older nation. He looked tired but satisfied. “How did it go?”

“It went well… I understood what he said. He really had no choice. I forgave him, and he forgave me for breaking his nose.”

“You broke his nose?” Germany asked, surprised.

Italy nodded, his brow furrowed. “I feel really bad for it now.”

“Well what matters is that all is forgiven.” Germany said dismissfully, hoping to distract Italy from his worries. “I made some apple cake.”

Italy brightened immediately. “Really?”

Germany nodded. “Want a slice?”

“Of course! I love it!” He followed Germany in the kitchen. Germany was relieved to see that Italy was feeling better. “Why is some missing?” he asked.

“South Italy stopped by earlier and took a slice… and half of mine.” Germany answered.

“Really?” Italy sounded surprised. “Why was he here?”

“He wanted to check on you, but you weren’t here.”

Italy hummed, taking the slice of cake Germany gave him. “I wouldn’t have expected him to stay when he found out I wasn’t here… how did that go?’

“Awkward at first, but he didn’t hit me.”

Italy giggled around a bite of cake. “That’s good,”

“He said he didn’t hate me, he just didn’t like me.”

Italy hummed, swallowing his cake. “High praise.”

Germany smiled, pouring Italy a cup of coffee. “I suppose so.”

The two were silent for a moment, Italy enjoying his dessert.

Germany noticed that Italy’s shoulders were tense. His eyes were firmly planted on his cake. Different from his usual habit of locking them with Germany’s as they made light and easy conversation. Italy almost seemed… nervous. “Is something wrong?”

“Hmm?” Italy looked up, still looking fearful. “Um… do you remember how I said I would tell you what was wrong when you were ready?”

Germany’s heart raced. “Yes.”

“Do you think you’re ready?”

Germany paused. “Well how can I know if I don’t know what you’re going to say?” He sounded slightly aggravated. Could people stop being so cryptic and just explain what was going on?

Italy went silent. Germany was just about to apologize when Italy spoke again.

“Let’s take a seat on the couch.”

Italy led the way, his back ramrod straight. Germany followed, wishing he could soothe Italy in some way. But his curiosity outweighed his ability to dismiss what he was going to be told. He sat, on the opposite end of the couch from Italy.

Italy took a bite of cake. “Germany, how much have I told you about my childhood?”

Germany looked down at the couch cushion as he thought. He barely knew anything, and what he knew was just from passing mentions. The two had never really sat down and talked about it. “I know you grew up with Austria and Hungary for a while. You and Romano were separated and he lived with Spain. Nothing else comes to mind.”

Italy nodded. “That’s all right, I’ll tell you. When I was very, very young, I lived with my brother, and France, and this little boy named Holy Rome. He kept wanting me to join his empire, but I always said no.”

Germany was surprised. They were getting into Holy Rome territory already? He thought he would be later in the story.

“One day, my grandfather Grandpa Rome wanted me to live with him. I did, and I loved him, but I missed my friends so much. I watched Grandpa Rome conquer and defeat and grow more powerful. He was truly an amazing man.” His voice was muted with sadness. “You were looking for him, you know. When you found me.”

“I remember.” Better than that, Germany met Rome’s ghost once… or he thought so. It could have been an extremely vivid dream.

“But anyway, as he grew and conquered, he became so powerful that he would come home with these huge scars and scrapes. And I would heal them.” Italy looked down at his hands. “I wasn’t even six physically, Germany. I remember how small my hands looked on those bloodied scars. I remember how he would put on a brave face and hide his grunts of pain while I tried to figure out how to apply bandages. It took me a while, but with how many injuries he got I can still do first aid really well.”

Germany tried to imagine a tiny Italy healing giant bloodied scars. It was a sickening thought. He pushed it away quickly as it came.

“Eventually, as you know, Rome fell. He just… died. I was left to find somewhere else to live. I went back to my family and tried to live with them, but… they all were so mean… even Romano. They all fought to get pieces of my land for themselves. And Holy Rome? He was one of the worst. Eventually I lived under Austria as a servant. I was still a young child, Germany. I couldn’t paint, I couldn’t play like a normal child… all I did was clean.”

Germany was frowning at this point. He hadn’t realized how rough Italy’s childhood was.

Italy had a small smile. “I make it sound like it was so bad… Miss Hungary was my best friend at the time. She took care of me. She would dress me in her old dresses, but I didn’t really mind. Even now we’re close. She’s still family. But as the days passed, Austria still kept me as his servant…” He appeared to have noticed Germany’s angry expression. “I’m not upset at him, Germany, he apologized so many times that I couldn’t help but forgive him! He really feels bad for what happened, and now we get along pretty well.”

Germany grunted, not entirely satisfied. But he stayed quiet to hear more of the story.

“But days went on, and I continued to clean. I ate the terrible food I was given. I was so bored… one day I found an old brush and a can of ink. I painted a big old bushy moustache on a portrait of Austria.” Italy cracked a reminiscent smile at this. “Austria locked me up for a day with no meals. Or that’s what he said he would do. But someone slid a plate of food through the door. I would look up and there would be these piercing blue eyes looking at me through a mail slot. I knew they were Holy Rome’s, but I was still terrified. As time went on, I recognized Holy Rome’s acts of kindness more. We spent more time together. At one point, I tried to teach him how to paint a rabbit. He said it was awful, but it was kind of cute in an ugly way. Eventually, there was political unrest and France’s boss at the time, Napoleon, was planning on conquering the world. Just like Grandpa Rome did. Just like Holy Rome wanted.

“One day he came and asked me to join his empire. He wanted to unify. He said we could become the most powerful empire in the world. I said no, of course. After I watched Grandpa Rome in all that pain just for him to die… there was no way I could. But he went to the war anyway. But just before he left, I gave him all I had – a little push broom – to remember me by. He said he felt bad that he had nothing to get me and asked what people did where I’m from to show affection. I answered that they kissed. And so we did.” Italy took a shaky breath and looked away, down at his hands in his lap. “And he left. He promised he would come back to me. I… I promised to make him some desserts and snacks for him to enjoy when he came back.” He smiled regretfully. “The foolish musings of a kid, I guess.

“We traded letters. We only got a few to each other before I stopped receiving responses… I think a part of me knew. Just the tiniest part. But I ignored it. I hoped more than anything in the world that he would come back. But… he never did. It was about thirty years later. I was older then, biologically… maybe sixteen or seventeen… and France came and told me that Holy Rome had died. He told me to forget about him… of course, he never mentioned that it was he who had killed him. He had always treated me so kindly after that. Like an older brother.” He looked back up at Germany.

Germany had no idea what he was supposed to say. He knew this happened ages ago. He heard Italy say that he had gotten over it. But hearing the details made it so much more real. So much more present. No wonder Italy was still emotional about it. “Italy…”

Italy shrugged. “France explained to me what happened, though. Holy Rome was already so weak… that was Holy Rome, though. Holding out to the very end. He was going to die soon anyway. Napoleon told him that Holy Rome had to go either way. Either France could kill him now and spare the lives of many of his people, or he could let it drag on and lose even more. So, he did what any good nation would do on behalf of his people. He killed him.” He said this matter-of-factly. If it weren’t for the tears in Italy’s eyes, Germany would have thought he were talking about something as inconsequential as the weather. Italy took a shaky breath. “Nobody ever told me because they were worried I was too weak to handle it. Or they worried it would break me. I suppose they were right, weren’t they?” He to

“Italy… that’s not true. You clearly are not too weak, and you clearly are not broken.”

“I’m not done with my story yet, though. Can you believe it? There’s already so, so much more.” Italy said, looking at him. “Germany… what comes next will be scary. It will be confusing, and long, and… I’m not exaggerating when I say that it will change everything. Are you ready for that?”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? How could anyone be ready for that? Against his better judgement, Germany nodded.

Italy sighed. “Around 60 years later, there were rumors about a new country. I was vaguely aware of it, but I didn’t really pay attention. I was still trying to get over what had happened with Holy Rome, and I was developing my own culture at the time. Not to mention I was involved in a minor war. It wasn’t until 1914 that I met this new country. I was hiding in a tomato box…”

Germany smiled a bit at that. He remembered that day. It had seemed like such a cumbersome curse at the time, finding Italy. But he looked back on that day, when his only friends were his brother and a literal stick. Where all he had known was pain and heartbreak and pressure. And he compared it to now where he had two great friends, a relaxed but loving relationship with his brother, and a life where he had a hilarious argument about avocado socks over coffee. Where he baked apple cakes and made plans to tour Rome. Meeting Italy was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

“At first you terrified me.” Italy admitted as if it were a big secret.

“I know.” Germany scoffed. “You begged for your life by telling me you had relatives from my country.”

“I have Germanic blood, you know.” Italy replied with a watery smile. “Could’ve been right.”

Grateful for a bit of a lighthearted break, Germany smiled with Italy at his sentiment.

“You scared me at first. But as we spent more time together and became friends, I began to wonder. I felt like I had seen those icy blue eyes somewhere. That blonde hair that was always combed so neatly. Holy Rome had always led with his heart and passion more than with his head, but he had the same temper and led the same tight ship that you do. It was almost as if you were what Holy Rome would be if he had the opportunity to grow up and mature. And I wondered… were you somehow Holy Rome?”

There was a long pause.

“You realize that is impossible, right?” Germany asked, frowning. But something about what Italy had said unsettled something deep within him.

“I thought that too, Germany. But then I began to ask around…”

Germany felt an icy spike of fear. Could it be why people looked at him with such high expectations from his very unification? No way. It was impossible. “Who did you ask?”

Italy hesitated, as if what he was about to say would have been the point of no return. “It… I asked Prussia.”

Germany’s eyes widened. “What?” His voice was quiet. Brittle.

“He said… he said that much of what Germany is now was part of Holy Rome’s territory… all of Germany was in his territory. After Holy Rome fell apart, his body should have dissolved. But it went for years and didn’t change even one bit. 64 years exactly. Until 1871, when Prussia organized the German colonies to form the German Empire. The sword wound healed, Germany. And you… you were the result.”

“No.” Germany said, his thoughts spiraling. “It’s impossible.”

“It’s true, Germany.” Italy looked at Germany directly, trying to get in touch with him.

“He- Prussia would have told me.” Germany protested, looking for any reason why he couldn’t have been Holy Rome.

“He planned to, Germany.”

“But why would he wait so long?” He asked.

“Germany, you’re only 148 years old. At your age, I was still biologically a baby. Time is strange for nations. For how long Prussia has been alive, 148 years is almost like a week.”

“Who… who else knows?” Germany asked.

“Only the European nations, as far as I know.” Italy answered, looking away. “Everyone was so preoccupied at the time with whatever they had going on. New nations are born and dying all the time.”

Germany sat back in his chair. He smoothed his hand over his hair as he just tried to make sense of what he just heard. He scanned his mind for any clues, any hints of what happened. “I… I have a memory.”

Italy faced him, his expression a blank canvas. “What?”

“That one valentine’s day. During World War Two.”

“I remember.”

“The evening afterword, I had a dream… I- I saw a little girl. And my own arm, in a black sleeve tucked a flower behind her ear. That… was that you?”

Italy’s eyes were swimming with tears. He nodded, appearing to have run out of words.

Germany scrubbed his hands down his face. “I… I need to call my brother. This conversation isn’t over. I need to know everything, but first I need to call Prussia.”

Italy nodded again. “Okay. I’ll… I’ll try to remember.”

Germany frantically sat up and fast walked back to the guest bedroom, his thoughts reeling far too quickly for his mind to make sense of them.

[theashofwkm]

Red & Blue & Gray

Summary: Dark releases Y/N, but it’s too late.

Warnings: I change the color of some text? It’s angsty, as usual. That’s about it.

Prompt: “2, 3, and 7, Dark/DA” by @miss-meg1710

2: “Not you again.” 3: “Leave me alone.” 7: “I thought you loved me.”

———

It’s so quiet, so still.

The only thing that changed was the wilting flowers and settling dust.

And your thoughts can only keep you entertained and sane for so long before it shuts off and leaves you to the stillness, to the horrible nothingness you’ve been succumbed to.

No matter where your mind wanders to, or how long it sits and tries to not exist, it always returns to the same thing.

The last person you saw.

The betrayal that trapped you here in the first place.

The man lined in the only two colors you can see.

red and blue,

leaving everything else a hopeless, despairing gray.

And you find it oddly fitting- that the world is awash in gray, but the monochromatic streaks, muted, dull and rare as they are; always draw all the attention back to them.

You remember seeing them in the black exapanse after you got shot.

Celine, red and beautiful and so, so calm. So deceiving. Abe was right, you shouldn’t have trusted her, but what choice did you have?

And Damien. Pure, loyal, blue Damien. So trusting in the girl who shared his blood, so, so angry at the brother who stole from him. You trusted him, but maybe trusting the Seer’s brother was as bad as trusting the Seer herself.

You guess that makes you the gray you see. The gray that stained everything, that lies in every nook and cranny, but is overlooked in favor of the much more dazzling and beautiful red and blue.

The shimmering, squirming, beautifully deceiving streaks of red and blue. The pretty lies and fake trust that you only doubt after you’ve lost everything to it. After you’ve given everything to it.

The gray is much more honest. Bleak and blunt in the harsh reality of the world. The normalcy everyone wants and gets trapped in.

So, you suppose it’s all very fitting. Because you’re sure that wherever Celine or Damien or whatever that thing was, is, you’re sure it’s continuing the trend it started when it was born.

Lying, Deceiving, Betraying.

But, you think, whatever it is doing, wherever it is; it must be more exciting than this... waiting for nothing. This endless wait for an end that will never come.

It- or they, whatever - are living a life, however cruel and careless a life it might be leading. And you- you’re stuck. A fading consciousness, in a shattered mirror in a forgotten home on forbidden land.

Stuck, and just wanting it to be over.

You were so angry, at the start. So hurt by the betrayal when you looked into Damien’s face as he glared at you. His audacity! He was the one that shoved you out, and that was your face that he stole.

It wasn’t fair.

But nothing is, you suppose.

The broken Mark in the blackness was right about that, at least.

None of this was fair.

But you weren’t really angry anymore, or hurt.

You were just tired. Numb.

You just wanted this to end already.

You don’t know how long it’s been; if it’s been hours or days or years, but it’s been too long. You’re done. You just need a way out, and there was only one way to do that.

To sit

and stare

and think

And wait even more.

.

•

.

• . . . . . \/\/ /\ | T

.

•

.

• | |\| G . . . . . .

.

•

.

When you see the doorknob turn, you don’t think it’s actually turning. You think you’re just imagining it, that your deprived brain is just conjuring another fake escape in order to keep its sanity, if what you are can be considered sane.

You think nothing when he - it? - walks in. It’s so easy for your mind to slip when it has no distractions, no rest from the never ending numbness your prison has turned out to be.

But, just because this happens, just because you know it’s just your brain, doesn’t mean you’re any more ok with it. You just want to forget you exist and these... occurrences... make it difficult to do so.

“Not you again.” You’re not sure if you actually say the words, or if you only mouth them. You’re only able to hear the ringing and you’ve also lost your sense of touch, so you don’t know if your throat vibrates with the words or not.

The thing’s eyebrow raises, so maybe you did say it. Or maybe it just read your lips. You don’t know, and frankly, you don’t care either. You just want it to be over.

“I’m here to free you.” You’d like to think you would’ve jumped, or laughed bitterly at his words, at the sound of them, but you think you’ve been here for far too long, you’re too numb to everything for an outward reaction; for anything besides the quiet, chugging processing of your mind.

“Leave me alone.”

He - It - blinks at you. “Don’t you want to be free?” It questions, voice low and layered.

You lift a shoulder halfheartedly. It’s a more complicated question then that and you don’t have it in you to give the long, complex answer. Yes, you did. But it sounded like more effort then it was worth. You had no body, the thing standing in front of you - Celine and Damien - had taken it. You’d need a new one and it just didn’t seem worth it anymore. Escaping just didn’t sound as nice anymore. You think you’ve been here too long to live any kind of a life.

“I want to help you,” it insists.

You give a slow blink. It can do what it wants - you have no energy to stop it, either. Whatever happens will happen and you will deal with the fallout when the times comes to do so.

It approaches, feet filling the same spot they resided in all that time ago. It appears to be uncertain, nervous.

You want to ask why. Why now? But you don’t have the energy to make the thought a question. You’re so tired. A sigh slips through your cracked lips as you shrug helplessly, sending a silent ‘I don’t care’ it’s way.

It’s taken back by your uncaringness, getting your silent message loud and clear, twitching it’s eyebrow so subtly that you would miss it if this room and his face wasn’t so perfectly etched into your faded mind. It is silent for a moment - except for the incessant ringing, but you’ve long since learned to tune that out - as it thinks.

It places a hand to the mirror, it urging you to do the same.

“Please,” it asks, flexing its fingers against the cool glass. You blink at his colorless hand before lifting your own to lay over his.

He holds your hand. His fingers fill the gaps left between yours and you almost feel it. Almost. And he tugs on your hand. And you fall forward, through the mirror, and you land on the floor with a thud you can hear.

The floor is cold and dusty and dirty but it’s the first thing you’ve truly felt in years. You feel a twinge in your chest that you think is an emotion - relief? joy? excitement?

This isn’t in your head.

You head can’t make you hear things, or feel the dust caked on the floor or the warm twitch in your chest.

You’d long since forgotten all of that.

The thing - you can’t see it as a person. It’s done too much for you to call it that - helps you onto the feet you shouldn’t have. It has your body. How are you standing? How are you out? .....better not to question it. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

It takes a step back from you and despite the loose, tall posture, you think it might still be nervous.

You look into it’s eyes. You say the first thing that comes to mind.

A cruel thing, words aimed to stab, to wound, to harm.

“I thought you loved me.”

It physically recoils at the words and the twinge I’m your chest is back, but stronger now, less warm. It takes a step back from you, like you’re the monster of the two of you and think the sight of him - it - scared of you makes you happy.

It’s eyebrows lift and it doesn’t really look like Damien. It has his face, yes, but he was always kind. He kept his composure, lost it only behind closed doors. You don’t think it looks like Celine either, she always kept her calm composure much better then Damien did. Hers always seem rougher, more rigid. You remember her eerie calmness in the dark.

Is this something else now? If it’s not Celine or Damien, does that make it something else? Are they truly gone? you wonder, taking in the shocked face before you. You decide to continue your words.

“Working alongside you, I thought you might.” You wanted Damien to hurt, you remember. For what he did, for the look he gave you, for the pain he made you felt. You’re not sure if you want it now, but you forge ahead anyways because what else are you to do? “Then you shoved me into the mirror and that idea evaporated.”

You think over your next words carefully, seeing his face sink the more you speak.

“Because what you did was cruel, and you betrayed me and I didn’t recognize you as Damien. He was far too kind to inflict that kind of pain on someone.”

You let the silence take over for a moment, let him -it- process your words some before you continue.

“I still don’t,” you add on, an afterthought. You look up into the monochromatic face that’s forever etched into your memory. “I don’t really care who you are, to be honest. You missed your window on me caring a long time ago. I don’t care if you love me now, or if you did then or if you never did. It doesn’t matter anyways. Because whoever you are, Celine or Damien or something else, I don’t care about you, whatever or whoever you are; I don’t care.”

There’s two of him, all of a sudden, he’s being split into two. And one is staring at you stoically as the other screams. You should be scared of him, you know. This is not natural, not a human thing. You’re curious, not scared. So, you sit and wait for him to settle, for him to go back to being one person before you leave. Something tells you that he will soon.

“I’m Damien,” he whispers eventually, desperately, with a hint of something that seems like wonder to it. You notice he’s mostly lined in blue now, the red all but gone. His face is so much softer now, seeming so sad and kind. So like the Damien you remember from before. “And I did love you. I do! I pushed you out to save you.” He moves to grab your hand in his as he speaks.

“I don’t see how that saved me,” you confess, staring at him blandly. “I was stuck with nothing but the image of you glaring at me in my head to keep me company. Nothing but the disgust you looked at me with. You didn’t save me and you sure as hell didn’t love me either.”

He winces at your harsh tone, loosening his grip on your fingers. “Don’t,” he begs. He glitches and his face becomes angry for a moment before it goes back to its solemn state.

You soften a little, at the sight of his defeated face. “You broke me, Dames. You left me to rot and I’m sorry, but I can’t just forgive you for that, regardless of if you thought you were saving me or not.”

He’s silent for a moment and his eyes shine and it’s suddenly hard to look him in the face, so you don’t. You had wanted him to hurt, but you didn’t think it would hurt you as well. “Does this mean we’re over, then?” He questions in a small, broken whisper, terrified of the answer you hold. His control slips, as his fear grows.

“We never started, Damien. You can’t end what hasn’t begun.”

Then you turn,

And walk,

And leave the broken man you used to love.

———

My Masterlist

Hey guys! Hope you like this. I do. I’m a little miffed at it because of the text post limit so I had to compress some paragraphs into one, but it still worked out, I think. And it didn’t save so I had to rewrite it. I got a little into the color symbolism with the red and blue with Dark. The parts that are red and the parts that are blue are not random, I have reasononing for it. But anyways, hope you liked it!! I had fun writing it. Still taking requests, doesn’t have to be from the prompt list since that’s buried. Have a great day! (also low key thinking of adding onto this. thoughts? like a part 2 in Damien/Darks pov?)

TAGGING:

@pleaseletthisjimbetaken @electricprincess888 @berrie-b @mackenziplier @gerardwayslips @risiskifi @cawestad @theinvisiblespoon @californiakxng @just-another-starfish @superawesomeamazingname @moonstonefox12 @bones-and-tomes @am-i-heaven-or-am-i-hell @itsbumblebunnybee @cosmic-frapuccino @harmonyofstars @jmweezy (tags are open)

[sophiehadder-blog]

In which Tink goes to a meeting in disguise || (Sophink)

[In which the plan is put into action, and Tink bites off more than she can chew]

This makes no sense! Part 1: In which Sophie leaves Swynlake in several directions at once

[tws: uh, slimy witches, some bad thoughts, uh, hypnotism, nothing too graphic or anything]

@tink-bell

TINK

For the record, Tink did not absolutely hate this plan. It wasn’t even a bad plan. She thought it was pretty good, honestly. Going to the Witch of the Waste to find help for the one thing she hadn’t been able to fix was doable. Hell, it was even believable. Because, yeah, Tink really did want her wings fixed. They were the one part of her that really made her feel like a fairy. Without them all she had was tinkering and she’d never considered that much of a talent. Anyone could turn scraps into something else. It wasn’t a fairy trait. Not like some of the others.

Those thoughts swirled around her as she made her way through the town of Ingary. Just like before she couldn’t help but marvel at all that was around her. It almost seemed like everyone in the town had magic of some sort and not a single one of them were afraid to flaunt it. And again it made her wish for magic of her own. Something more than two broken wings and a knack for tinkering.

Grandma had told her where to go, she had told her what to say. Tink had even practiced it in the mirror as she got ready that morning. Before she’d put her tattered shirt on and let her mangled wings slip free from the holes in the back. The broken fairy had tried her hardest not to look at them as she pinned her hair up and lined her eyes perfectly. She’d even given Grandma the brightest smile she could muster before making her way from the room.

All of that brought her up to this moment. The moment of truth she was calling it. Her fist knocked on the door, three rapid knocks, and then she took a step back, attempting to look as forlorn as possible for when the witch inevitably opened the door.

THE WITCH

There was always something about Ingary’s air early in the morning. It brimmed with possibility, and fright. Yes, you see, air could be afraid. When you thought about it, it wasn’t really that surprising, either. For everywhere that it was, for all it heard, no wonder the air was afraid. It knew when things were about to happen, it could guess better than most on the outcomes.

This morning, the air was afraid.

It coaxed forwards the tattered fairy who walked on early. It ignored the glances she got from the passersby, the ones unaccustomed to such a sight, because Ingary was not Swynlake. Rarely ever did the magic here get out of whack. Rarely here did things ever go poorly. The air knew this wasn’t true.

It lingered when she knocked on the door. It willed the noise to go unheard, the halls to be unroamed, but it knew the outcome of that too.

The door creaked open, and behind it the terrible woman with a gorgeous smile.

The Witch raised an eyebrow, tilting her head and jostling her wiry hair at the fairy on her doorstep.

“I don’t take appointments on Sundays. In fact, it’s very rude for you to be here but--” She purred, her eyes narrowing. Intrigue, was the look. “You are not a regular customer, are you? I can see it all around. Who might you be, exactly?”

TINK

No matter how much Sophie and Tink had talked about this exact moment, nothing prepared her for the feeling she got when the door opened and the Witch appeared before her. In that moment Tink wanted to doubt their plan because this woman was… She was nasty. The fairy could feel the evil coming off of her.

But they had a plan and Tink wasn’t going to fail.

She squared her shoulders, held her head high despite her broken wings and her secret wish. This Witch wasn’t going to shame her for doing what she wanted. She wouldn’t let her.

“I apologize,” she started with, looking to the Witch apologetically (or as apologetically as she could knowing who and what this woman was). “I heard about you… About how powerful you are and how you might be able to help.” It was an embellishment, only meant to get the Witch to want to allow her in. Flattery was always the way to a sorcerer’s heart. Especially one like this.

“My town… someone summoned a demon around April Fool’s.” Just the thought of it made her eyes water as she thought back on what happened in that strange apocalyptic event. “One of the things he created did this. She--- It ripped off my wing over and over and over. It never healed.” She turned partially and showed off the one wing that was more a half formed stump now. “And the other-- I don’t remember exactly. It was… Some man. He-- He got off on it. On mutilating me.” This time her tears did fall and she wiped at them and drew in a shaky breath. “Please… Please fix them. Fix me. I’ll do anything.”

THE WITCH

Now, the Witch was wily. The air knew that. They knew she was unkind, and stubborn, but it also knew she was curious, like a bird drawn to shiny things. She looked over the fairy’s wings with muted interest, like she was something that could be added to a collection.

And she was. Despair, sorrow, pain, pixie dust, these were all potent things with many many different uses. It wasn’t the first time the Witch had come across someone like the fairy, though every time felt like it. If she could brim with anything at all, maybe it’d be delight at such a sight. That being said--her glass was undoubtedly half-empty.

The corners of her mouth curled up into a tight-lipped smile, masked and brightened by her own magic so as to look sincere. She peered down at the fairy like a school teacher might a malnourished student; with concern, and a job to do.

“It’s not everyday i make exceptions like these, dear, but come in,” At once the door swung open further, and the Witch stepped aside to reveal the sprawling mansion behind the glamour of her outwards townhouse. “Please, take a seat. I’ll assess, we can discuss your situation. And it’ll be--all sorted. You’ve come to the right place.

TINK

It would be a lie to say that a small sense of relief passed through Tink as the Witch invited her in. It would be an even bigger lie to say that it had only to do with the fact that so far the plan was going well. A small part of her had truly hoped that the Witch would be able to fix her broken wings. That maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to fly again. It didn’t matter that she knew this woman was evil and terrible. That she cursed people for no reason at all.

Hope was a silly thing like that, you know.

Still, Tink followed the Witch in easily and sat on the actually very comfortable seat. It was exactly the kind she’d want for her office. Probably not what she should be thinking about in that moment but it was true. If she made it out of this (she was only fairly certain she would), she would buy ten chairs like these.

“Have you dealt with a lot of fairies like me?” She asked after a moment of settling and looking around. The mansion was filled with interesting and terrifying odds and ends. Everything you expected to find in an evil witch’s home. It made Tink’s skin prickle, thinking that maybe she’d end up one of those little trinkets on a shelf.

She let her gaze find the Witch’s again, eyes wide and almost doe like. An attempt at innocence. “I’ve always heard there’s deals that go with these kinds of things. Is--- Is that true?”

THE WITCH

The walls of shelves, row upon row of them, stacked all the way to the ceiling, all the way down the hall, shuddered in some sort of recognition, and at once, jars began to fly off of them. The Witch meandered around the room, glancing about, concerning herself far more with what was going on in the air then the fairy behind her. She already knew everything she needed to know.

It wasn’t a matter of who, let alone what or how just--when.

Those jars glided down and landed on the bar counter up against the parlour wall, in its very own space carved out amongst the shelves. A bottle of absinthe floated up from out of the cabinet under the little table and settled itself among the jars, a single solution in which to mix solvents.

It was a misconception, actually, to associate Witches with cauldrons or bonfires. Some still preferred those methods--your local kitchen witch wouldn’t be caught dead without a large pot in which to brew--but the same magic could be done in a tumbler. The higher society preferred cocktails, and if you wanted to be a Witch of the highest society, you learned to adapt.

“It is true, and it is untrue, child.” Replied the Witch. A chair floated her way, and raised slightly to catch her descent. She sat, finally peering at the fairy once more. “It depends on the case. Some Witches fancy themselves doctors, others are more nefarious in their purposes it is all… Relative.”

She tilted her head to the side, glancing at the bar. A lone spoon turned in it’s glass, stirring nothing.

“But in your case--for such a tragic predicament--some kind of… Deal, to use your words, would be necessary, yes. You must understand, girl, that I’m not your everyday Witch. You have come to the right place indeed, and right places are not often cheap. And now, my prices are my own, of course, and perhaps… Perhaps you have not come prepared. I tend to the likes of kings and queens, diplomats, and celebrities, and they--know better than to disturb me on a Sunday.” She raised an eyebrow, taunting. “Since you were unaware, how am I to assume you know my prices, see, that would be silly, wouldn’t it?”

TINK

Everything about this read ominous and a sliver of that feeling was beginning to churn in Tink’s stomach. This Witch wasn’t like Howl. She wasn’t like anyone Tink had met. Of course, Tink had never come to a witch or a wizard for any sort of help like that. Her problems were her own and if she truly needed something she went home. There wasn’t anything like fairy dust and the skilled hands of a nurse talent fairy.

But even the nurse talent fairies hadn’t been able to fix her wings. After everything they’d done all they could give her were sad looks and apologies. It was shitty for Tink but it had helped in formulating this plan.

Tink ignored the feeling for now, instead focusing on the way everything seemed to come alive as the Witch moved. Jars flying from the shelves, different bottles following it. She even caught sight of the bottle of absinthe; the sight of which still made her throat incredibly dry simply from the want of alcohol.

“I’m sorry… for disturbing you. I didn’t— I didn’t know. They just told me to see you. That you could help. And I didn’t want to wait. It’s been months since I was able to fly, to feel like a fairy.” Her words came out softly as she looked towards the Witch. “As for cost or.. or deals, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes. Whatever the cost. I just want to fly again.”

THE WITCH

“I know what I want.” The Witch replied, lips pursed. “Or rather--I know what I could take. You may not see it, but you have a lot to give, little fairy.”

She glanced lazily to the side, and at once the jars on the table slid onto the little cart that matched seamlessly with the set. The spinning spoon set the beat, one jar, then another, then another, the bottle of absinthe, until everything was precariously placed on the cart. The spoon counted in its own movement, and the moment it was settled, the cart began to glide forwards. It skirted around the two chairs, and settled in the middle of the rug, equi-distance between the fairy and the witch.

“But that’s no fun, see--” She leaned forwards in her seat, bringing a hand up to rest under her chin. “I believe I’ve already made it quite clear that this isn’t a normal business venture, so name your price.”

She paused, the spoon continued to twirl.

“Tell me what you think is worth your flight, and if I agree, I’ll grant it to you. If I don’t, you have to sweeten the pot. And--if you think you’ve nothing to give, we can go over my own terms.”

The Witch crossed her legs, leaning back in her chair once more, a real queen on her throne.

“Go ahead.”

TINK

From the beginning Tink knew that this was going to be a tricky encounter to navigate. Her and Sophie hadn’t really rehearsed any sort of dialogue, any possible terms. Something that seemed sort of silly now that Tink looked back on it. But there was nothing to be done and she had a strong feeling that no amount of rehearsing could have prepared her for this witch.

Her eyes fixated on the spoon, watching it almost curiously as it spun around and around; it’s pace never speeding up or slowing.

The Witch spoke and Tink listened, wondering just what she should offer. She knew nothing of regeants or even what a witch would want. She wasn’t like the fairies back home. Didn’t have a talent like speed or light or anything. All she had was her tinkering ability. What value did that have in the grand scheme of things? None, in her opinion. All she really had were her earthly possessions. The things she’d brought to Ingary with her.

Round and around the spoon went.

“I-- Uh. Well. I have my talent. I’m a tinker fairy. But I don’t know how interesting that would be. Or if you’d even want it.” Her eyes never left the spoon. “I would trade my talent for my flight. Or-- if you want something more physical I have things I could part with. Things with sentimental value. I’ll give anything to fly again.”

THE WITCH

The jars on the cart in the middle of the room began to shake ever-so-slightly, as if the momentum of the spoon was rocking the cart, or the earth, itself. But it wasn’t. Those were special jars you see, magic jars, hermetically sealed to keep and seek the finest purest regents. They could tell something was brewing. This fairy, judging by the glassy look in her eyes, could not.

Pity for her.

The witch narrowed her eyes, barely giving the fiary any inkling as to her thought process. The moment dragged on, perhaps she was letting it do so on purpose. To see. To test.

Nothing shifted, the spoon kept spinning.

“Anything?” She echoed, unimpressed. People always said they’d give anything, but this was rarely ever true. Anything could mean a lot of things.

“I want the amulet around your neck.” She replied, thin lips curling into a smile. “Seems to me it’s not even yours to begin with, is it?”

TINK

There was a voice in the farthest part of Tink’s mind that screamed ‘NO!’ at the Witch’s words. It was the part of Tinker Bell that knew she couldn’t let go of the amulet because of its importance. Without it Sophie wouldn’t be able to break her curse. They wouldn’t be able to start their life of adventure. Without that amulet that had steadily been gathering magic from the Witch, nothing would change and this entire trip would be for nothing.

But that voice was so faint, so quiet, that it was just barely a whisper. Drowned out by the Witch and by Tink’s other thoughts. Thoughts of having her wings and being a proper fairy again.

Unconsciously her hand went to the amulet around her neck, fingers playing over it’s smooth surface slowly. “No… it’s— it’s my girlfriend’s,” she gave a soft smile at the mention of Sophie. “She loved flying, you know.” As she spoke her hands drifted to the back of her neck, her fingers fiddling with the clasp until she was able to pull the chain from around her neck.

“I think that’s the first thing I’ll do once you’ve fixed me. Take her flying again. She’ll love that.”

THE WITCH

It all clicked into place, and the Witch stood from her seat. It creaked like a wretched thing, both the seat itself and the floorboards under her weight, but she paid no mind, eyes dead set on the amulet in the fairy’s hand instead.

She plucked it from her fingers without any fuss, the chain sliding out of her loose grasp. Her attention was elsewhere, you see, and the spoon still wrung around the rim of the glass, ringing and intoxicating from afar. She held the amulet up to the light, watching as her own magic pooled inside of it, growing in colour at her touch, swirling like the dust in the air. It grew and it grew until it nearly eclipsed the small flicker of green that had been there before. It didn’t go unrecognized. The witch knew what to expect. She had known since the two girls had come to town the other day, foolish in their plots and lazy in their disguises.

“Something tells me that that won’t be case.” She said, finally pocketing the amulet somewhere in the folds of her dress. She turned, then, back to peer down at her stunned visitor. “Fairies make fine pets, you know. I suppose even if your girl’s the coward I know, this might still be worthwhile to me.”

The Witch laughed, shaking her head as she skirted around the edge of the chair.

“Worthwhile, worthwhile, nothing’s ever worthwhile. Nothing. And you’ve been played for a fool if you think otherwise.” She stopped in the doorway to the parlour, glancing back over her shoulder. She laughed. “Now, stay here. We’ll see how this pans out before the day is done. And--if you’re nice, maybe you’ll earn yourself a drink.”

[lokifiction]

Run to Me, Runaway

Category: F

Rating: M

Notes/Warnings: This chapter is actually pretty clean. However, I feel obligated to apologize because I had intended for this to be posted last weekend, but my best friend introduced me to Yuri on Ice and I kind of disappeared into a hole. Oops. I hope this proves worth the wait!

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Chapter Fourteen

           I opened my eyes slowly, blinking several times to adjust to the blinding light that shone in through the towering window, the pine-hued drapes bunched up at the sides. After shielding myself from the brightness for a few moments, I let my hand drop, toying with the hem of the sheets, contemplating the night’s events.

          Why did Frigga need to enchant that jewel to contact me? Loki needed her more than I did. With my thoughts, the necklace grew heavy on my chest and I picked it up, holding it between my fingers and studying it intently.

            As I riddled through the issue backwards and forwards, I felt the bed shift next to me as Loki began to kiss my hair softly.

            “Good morning, love,” he murmured hoarsely.

            Despite my confusion, I turned to face him and conjured up a smile. “Morning, handsome.”

            “You were stirring in your sleep last night,” he commented, wrapping his arms around my waist to pull me closer. “Were you dreaming?”

            “Mmhm.” I attempted to worm out of discussing the subject, but my uncharacteristically short reply didn’t fool Loki.

            “What’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare?”

            “It’s not that.” Relenting, I pulled myself into a sitting position. “Loki, I dreamt of Frigga. Well, it was more of a vision, actually. All of a sudden, I woke up and she was here, sitting on the edge of the bed. I tried to wake you, too, but you were completely frozen in time. She and I spoke for a bit and it turns out that this necklace-“ I closed my fingers around the emerald, “-allows her to communicate with me from Valhalla. That must have been why she wanted me to have it. But I don’t know why she would need to communicate with me; she was your mother, and you need her more than I do.”

            Loki rose up to join me and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Yes and no. Of course I miss her and wish she was here, but I think she wants me to learn to live with the absence of her presence. If she was communicating with me from the afterlife, I would never move on and would constantly live in the past. It is hard to hear that someone else is receiving attention from her, but I know she has a reason for what she’s doing. She was quite an accomplished seer, so perhaps she’s foreseen something you’ll need her help with.”

            “Oh.” I bit my lip. “I was worried you’d be angry or upset with me.”

            “I have no right to be. Those visits aren’t your doing.” He cupped my cheek. “Though I must admit that I hope you feel bad enough to pass along messages and information to her for me.”

            “All you have to do is ask,” I assured. “Although, the thought of what she might have prophesied frightens me a bit. I hoped I was past the difficult part of my life.”

            “So did I. But we’ve no idea what will happen, so all we can do is hope for the best. Today I hope to distract you from your fears.” Loki pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’ve a few very special events planned, and we can begin as soon as I’ve taken care of a few things around the palace.”

            “Well, you go attend to your kingly duties and I’ll get ready.” I promptly stood up from the bed, straightened my silken, shift-style nightgown, and made my way to the bathing room.

            “Are you so eager to be rid of me?” Loki teased, crawling out of the bed to follow me. “Why have you bid me to leave so soon? I never said anything about those tasks being urgent.”

            “I want our day to begin as soon as possible, and,” I ducked behind the door and grabbed the handle from the inside, “I’m going to be taking a shower. I don’t want you getting any ideas.”

            I shut the door, waited a few moments, then opened it again.

            “I’m not taking my eyes off of you until you’re out of here.”

            Loki chuckled as he relented. “I’ll be here when you’re ready to go.”

            I watched him intently as he exited the room, then made sure he was truly gone before stepping fully into the bathing room, which was reached by a door past the washbasins. The shower was a spacious chamber in the far-left corner of the room, and parallel to that was a wooden yet luxurious tub, along with a many-rowed shelf stocked full of towels, soaps, oils, perfumes, and a few basic healing remedies.

            I approached the shelf to collect my a vial of rose-scented soap and placed a couple of towels on a warmer beside the shower before shedding my nightgown and stepping into the chamber, where I needed to only push a red button as opposed to a blue before water spilled out of the wide spout at just the temperature I wanted it.

            Once I finished showering, I made my way to the wardrobe, flipping through countless rows dresses that did not at all capture my eye. They were all undeniably beautiful, and I was eager to wear them some other time, but for an unknown reason, none of them seemed quite right for the day. Just when I was about to become frustrated, however, I was distracted by a subtle shimmer of gold. I rushed to find where it came from, and discovered a gown of the deepest green. The neckline had a slight pinch and extended outward so that the sleeves began past my shoulders, fitting razor-slim to my arms; and the skirt had just enough body to give the waist a flattering shape. The gown was free of any beading or embroidery, but that made it no less gorgeous, for some sort of gold dust seemed to be embedded into the fabric, so that when the dress was still, it appeared the most beautiful shade of green one could imagine, but the moment it came into motion, the entire thing seemed alight with golden stars.

            Elated at the concept of wearing something so enchanting, I hurried to dress and continue on with the day’s preparations by styling my hair and applying my makeup. When that was finished, I put on my circlet, arranged the emerald so that it rested nicely on my chest, and draped a black hooded cloak over my shoulders, then declared myself ready and strode over to the main door of the chambers.

            “I know you’re out there,” I announced as I departed into the hallway and found Loki leaning slyly against the wall, dressed in casual armor. The grin on his lips indicated that he was preparing some wisecrack or prank, but it faded when his mouth parted as he took in the sight of me.

            “Gods,” he gasped, approaching me slowly. “You are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

            “I’m flattered that you think so.” I felt a flush creeping up my neck as I waited for him to say something else, but he merely resumed staring at me. Eventually, I broke him from his stupor.

            “If you keep standing there looking at me, we’ll never get a start on our day.”

            “Oh, yes. My apologies.” He offered me his arm, and as I took it, he guided me on the long walk out of the palace and its gates, into the eyes of the people of Asgard.

            “Loki!” I gasped quietly as I came to a realization. “The citizens- they still believe Odin is king, not to mention that they’re under the impression that you’re dead! What will they think when they see you strolling around the city, perfectly alive?”

            “Don’t fret,” he assured. “I’ve cast a spell on us. To the people, we appear to be a visiting lord and lady, concerned for the health of the old man.”

            “Alright.” I breathed a sigh of relief. “Where are we going?”

            “I’m taking you to a few of my favorite places in Asgard. All of these locations were havens of a sort for me, and hold very special memories of my childhood.”

            “That sounds wonderful. Where first?”

            “This way.” We turned sharply and he led me down an empty pathway that snaked into a lush green forest. “My hiding place was at the heart of these woods. Every time I was upset, I would gather my books and come out here to be alone. I’ve never shared this spot with anyone, not even Frigga. This pathway was even created by me, and is only accessible to someone that’s in my presence.”

            As Loki pulled away branches so that I could duck under them and pushed aside plants to clear my path, it became apparent that he had visited this spot many times and knew it perfectly. After a few minutes of walking, we reached a small yet beautiful clearing, dotted with yellow wildflowers despite the winter weather. A gushing stream was also visible in the background, the sound of the babbling water providing an air of serenity. A wide stump resided in front of a large tree to create a chair of some sort, and Loki’s large grin was enough to add magic to the air.

            “Loki, this is amazing!” I threw my arms out and spun. “I wish I had a place like this when I was a child.”

            “When I was here, I would always pick bouquets of flowers for Mother,” he knelt down and plucked up a few blossoms to hand to me, “and practiced magic by carving things into the trees.” He waved his hand, and on the tree supporting the stump, an invisible hand whittled out “L+C.”

            “I know that’s childish.” He gestured at the carving, ducking his head sheepishly.

            “A childhood spot is a place to do childish things. I love it.” I sat down on the forest floor and encouraged him to join me.

            “Then you wouldn’t object to a picnic?” Loki conjured up a beautifully weaved wicker basket with a white cloth covering the contents, a bottle of wine protruding from the side.

            “Of course not.” I grinned. “As a theme of the day, I’d love it.”

***

            After our lunch, Loki led me back into the city and directly towards the belly of a bustling marketplace.

            “Despite my dislike of crowds, the market was always a treasured experience for me,” he narrated. “I used to always come here for meals when I didn’t like what was being served at the palace, which was often, as well as to practice new magic on unsuspecting citizens.”

            I gasped through a laugh. “That’s naughty.”

            “I think you’ll come to find, love, that nothing has changed on that count.” Loki chuckled, then approached a booth where a weathered old man sold large cups of a rich brown liquid. “Two, please.”

            The man prepared and handed us our cups as Loki produced a leather pouch filled with coins. Once my glass was handed to me, I raised it to my lips and took an eager swig. The drink was warm and chocolatey, with a hint of some sort of berry, not unlike hot chocolate on Earth, but much, much better. Smacking my lips, I took in another generous swig.

            “How fares the king?” The old man inquired as Loki counted counted out coppers.

            “Not well,” Loki replied, wrapping his arm around my waist. “He is bedridden, and could barely speak to us.”

            “Poor man. The death of his queen must have sent him over the edge.” The vendor began to clean an empty cup. “If Prince Thor has abdicated the throne, who is to be his heir?”

            “His second son,” Loki replied coolly. I stole a glance up at him, shocked that he was making that confession right then.

            The man’s eyes widened. “Is he not dead?”

            “That was recently proven to be a false report. Loki is very much alive, and legitimate heir to the throne.”

            The vendor slammed the cup down. “Then Asgard is doomed.”

            Loki stiffened beside me. “For your information, I have just spoken to Asgard’s next king. He regrets the mistakes he’s made, and is trying his hardest to rectify them. He has only good intentions, and I believe he will put Asgard in the best state it’s seen in years.”

            The man only scoffed. “That is deception. His conquering ambitions will drive us to a universal war, and once that’s started, he’ll simply sit back in all his wealth and power, using us as his puppets to play tricks on whilst we all die for his poor choices.”

            “He will only do so if you don’t accept him. He is truly trying his hardest to become the best king he can be,” Loki spat. “Now, tell those who share your opinion that, before they go along judging things that are none of their concern, and making the same mistake you’ve made.”

            “Let’s go someplace else,” I whispered in his ear, wrapping my fingers around his tensed arm to lead him away. Surprisingly, he complied quickly.

            “I’m sorry you had to witness that,” Loki murmured as we fled the marketplace. “This was supposed to be a happy day.”

            “It is!” I insisted. “One bitter citizen can’t ruin it. You and I know better, and it’s only a matter of time before the people start changing their minds about you as well.”

            “You’re right.” Loki molded his face back into a pleasant expression. “I can’t let him make a mess of our day, especially when I’ve more things to show you.” He began to lead me back towards the palace.

            “What’s next?” I asked eagerly.

            “My secret library.” Loki smirked.

            I cocked an eyebrow. “You have a secret library?”

            “In fact, I do.”

          Once behind the palace’s doors, Loki led me into a small servant’s closet in a corridor just beyond the main entryway and began to probe the wall.

          “I discovered this chamber by happenstance when I was a boy,” he said, brow furrowing in his search. “It was quiet and comfortable, so I decided to fill it with books and hide there to escape Odin’s frequent wrath.”

            He finally located a miniscule latch and pulled it, a concealed door sliding open to reveal a dark, narrow staircase. Loki paused at the top to ignite a torch, then took my hand to help me down the steep steps, pulling me to his side as the staircase opened into a wide chamber, every inch of the walls covered with books. He stepped over to light the fireplace with the torch, and two plush chairs appeared out of nowhere for us to sit.

            “Each one of these was cherished by me.” Loki began to browse the seemingly never ending rows, running his fingers along the aged volumes. “I took them gradually so that no one would catch onto what I was doing. The librarians did notice things going missing, but luckily they just thought that one of the staff members was negligent with organization and never seriously looked into anything.”

            “I’m so envious.” I settled down in front of the fire, warming my hands. “When I was on the run, if I wanted to read something, I had to hide out in a bookstore all day. If I came across anything particularly long, I’d have to leave before I finished, and by the time I’d get to another place to finish it, I’d have lost my place and be forced spend precious time trying to find it before I could even continue.”

            “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” Loki selected something off of the shelf and came to sit next to me. “This spot is yours now, too.”

            After Loki showed me the book, worn in a well-loved sort of way, containing all of his favorite childhood stories, he led me out of the library and to the very top floor of the palace, contained in a tower like a fairytale. He guided me to where a glass door opened to a large balcony, which was so beautiful that it drew a gasp from my lips.

            Rose bushes curled around every surface, a small marble fountain gushed in a corner, and the entire city was visible from our spot. Dark had fallen, and the night sky revealed stars and planets and galaxies, more than I could ever dream to witness with my own eyes, and small golden orbs the size of berries twinkled as they floated around the area, and from somewhere resonated ethereal music. Awed, I shed my cloak and dazedly stepped out to join Loki.

            “Where is that music coming from?” I questioned, not able to contain my smile.

            “It’s the orbs. They play whatever you’d like to hear.” Loki gestured a few over with a wave of his hand, and they circled my head playfully for a few moments before dissipating back to nestle amongst the flowers.

            “What do you hear?” I whispered.

            “I hear something romantic.” Loki pulled me to him, one hand at my waist, another lacing around mine. “I hear something to dance to.”

            And so we began to dance to our eternal music, no words needed to express our feelings. He held me gently, as if the slightest touch could break me, and I let my head fall on his shoulder as he nuzzled my hair. After I became dizzy with love, he put his hand under my chin and kissed me deeply, then leaned down to whisper in my ear.

            “There’s one more thing I must show you.”

            I regretfully followed Loki out of the beautiful garden, but soon grasped his hand in excitement as to what our next destination could be and wonderment of how it could possibly compare to where we had just come from. When we stopped in front of the entrance to our chambers, however, I glanced at him in confusion. He simply smiled reassuringly and guided me inside and towards our bedroom, biting his lip in anticipation as he opened the door.

            Candles were lit around the vicinity, and rose petals were scattered around the turned-down bed. The lights were dimmed, and a few of the orbs from the balcony were hovering near the high ceiling, playing the same song as before.

            “Loki?” I tilted my head to the side as he came up behind me and began to kiss my neck. “What is this about?”

            He spun me around and pressed his lips to mine before pulling back to stare at me with dark eyes.

            “My love for you is so deep and true that words cannot express it,” he breathed, “If I have your consent, I’d like to attempt to do so through alternate methods.”

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