#I was half a sleep writing this

[mrsaltieri-real]

Could you please write Mickey as a Dad?

Of course! I did it as hc I hope that’s okay!

Mickey Altieri as a Dad Headcanons

in my opinion, he’d be a fucking awesome dad

I feel like he’s definitely want a boy AND a girl

When he discovered you were pregnant with twins he was seriously SERIOUSLY excited

Especially when he found out they were a boy and a girl

Instantly started making a list of names, most of them based off of his favourite movie characters and directors

When they are born, he is completely mesmerised by them and grows instantly attached

He loved how they were the perfect combination of the two of you

As he held them for the first time, he decided he would try and change his life around but he definitely had a few slip ups

He genuinely enjoys spending time with his kids, feeding them, changing them, taking them on walks etc

It swelled your heart to see him this way, a strong contrast to how he was in college

He always wanted to have at least one of them in his arms and both of them always in his sight

He’d be fiercely protective of his daughter, whilst loving have a son he can teach and lead

God forbid his daughter ever gets a boyfriend when she’s older that hurts her in any way, shape or form

He’d be absolutely terrifing

It would be the last decision the poor kid would ever make

He’d be a very sweet and attentive father toward his kids, 100%

Completely different to how he is with other people (except for you, of course)

He’d demand family movie nights twice a week minimum and really get the kids into movies

Behind your back, he’d let them watch gory horror movies with him when they are far too young

You’d go absolutely mental at him but he’d just brush it off and basically say “but they love them!”

And they absolutely truly did, definitely getting that gene from him

Would absolutely let his daughter put makeup on him and style his hair in cute little bunches just to make her smile

Would go to all of his kids extra curricular events without fail, whether it is football, dance or his personal favourite, a school play

Would sit amongst the other parents with a huge smile and immense pride telling everyone “yeah, they’re my kids.”

Whenever you came home late from work, you’d usually find him fast asleep on the couch with movie credits rolling on the tv, one kid tucked under each arm, all of their mouth opened and snoring in the exact same way

You’d smile and leave them there, gently covering them with a blanket

Sometimes he’d sit in their room late at night and watch them sleep, terrified he was going to mess them up the same way he was

Would decide in that very moment that he’d protect them from what he knows is out there and completely reinvent himself

So basically, when he becomes a dad he will make sure all that bad shit he has done and there’s a LOT will never see the light of day

[hayatheauthor]

"Why do you care so much about accidentally leaving people out?" Because I've had friend groups where they were the planets and I was their Pluto.

I've had friend groups where our dynamics revolved around a Sun, with everyone vying for their attention if only to bask in their light for a mere moment. Where our thinly strung bonds collapsed the second our Sun left.

I've had friend groups where they bonded as Saturn's rings, finding solace in their shared shortcomings while isolating those more talented than them.

But I've also had friend groups where we bond as Neptune and Uranus—so similar we could be known as twins. Friend groups like Venus and Earth: so awfully different, yet it was those differences that kept us together.

And I would rather create a social system like the latter than the former.

[zephyrchama]

Living together in a big house with one (main) (shared) bathroom means that mornings can be tough.

When you first arrived at the House of Lamentation, it was hard to fit in. It was really hard to get into the bathroom in the mornings and fight six demons for use of the sink. If more than two others were in there at the same time, they practically formed a living wall that blocked you out, forcing you to wake up extremely early or risk being late for school.

That got better over time though. You gradually managed to fit into the house's morning routine.

---

Lucifer has his morning routine down to an exact science. Usually he's fully dressed and has his hair brushed before leaving the bedroom. He might be running on pure muscle memory though - one time you handed him a warm washcloth for his face and he just stared at it in confusion for several seconds with a furrowed brow. He has no problems getting it himself, but this break in routine gave him pause. It took Lucifer a moment to realize what it was and to thank you.

If you get the chance to eat breakfast together, Lucifer likes to ask about your day. "What do you have planned? Remember, we have that meeting at five. Did you prepare for the ancient hex exam?" He might slide a bit of his food onto your plate before he goes, a way of returning the pleasant energy boost you always provide for him.

---

Mammon can hustle. Which means that Mammon can get up early if it benefits him in some way. A part time job, an early bird discount, a chance to slip past Lucifer's defenses and borrow some cash.

That doesn't mean it's easy. Waking up takes some serious effort. Mammon will stumble into the bathroom to do his business first thing in the morning, yawning with his eyes half closed and tugging up whatever pants he just tossed on for modesty.

The tsundere part of his brain takes a few minutes to kick in if he's just woken up. If he spots you, Mammon will demand a good morning hug and wrap his arms around you, deaf to your cries of "Mammon! Go wash your hands before you touch me!"

---

Leviathan is always groaning in the morning. He's probably not aware of it. He's probably muttering complaints but is too tired to actually speak the words properly. His blankets are always a tangled mess, wrapped unevenly around his feet and contorted around his body, but Leviathan can easily Houdini his way out of them when it's time to get up. If there's no event or livestream to wake up early for, he'll sleep in for as long as he can before starting the day with a nice shower.

He finds warm running water to feel so pleasant and you can often find Leviathan spacing out next to the faucet. He'll greet you with a sleepy "ah, morning," and accidentally splash you in an attempt to wave his hand. The embarrassment and slight panic from getting you a towel to dry off with is usually enough to properly wake him up, and he sheepishly exits the bathroom and guards the door until you've finished changing into dry clothes.

---

Satan can hardly even put his shirt on properly when fully awake.

The man's a sleepy mess when he tries to get dressed in the morning. He'll stay up all night to finish a book he's invested in, then stumble out of his room "ready to go" when it's time for breakfast. His pants are unzipped and the button is coming undone. He's only got one sleeve on and it's on the wrong arm, or the buttons on his shirt are all misaligned and half have been skipped over.

He doesn't protest anymore when you tidy him up. Some mornings he'll doze off while you straighten his tie and fall forward into you, then try to play it off as a hug. Satan doesn't want to let go though, you feel so much warmer on a chilly morning.

---

Asmodeus is a rare morning riser. Too much sleep is bad for the skin, he claims. If he has trouble getting up, he'll either go soak in his private tub for energy or seek you out.

"You have to hear what happened last night," he'll say, strolling into your room while there's still ten minutes left on your alarm. He sits on the edge of your bed, and if you try falling back asleep he pulls you up into a sitting position. "Listen to this, you won't believe it!"

Asmodeus isn't afraid to get touchy if it means you'll wake up faster and he gets your attention. He'll sit you in his lap, or press you against his side, or run his hands down your face and squish your cheeks with a mischievous smile.

When the main bathroom is too crowded to use you're free to borrow his, with the caveat he gets to style you for the day and you might be late when he gets overzealous.

---

Beelzebub can also be found awake in the mornings. The quiet hours before everyone else wakes up are best for stretching, taking jogs, and grabbing a pre-breakfast appetizer. He'll get spooked if he hears footsteps approach the kitchen and slam the fridge door shut in a hurry, but all is well when he sees you enter the room instead of Lucifer.

Beelzebub is a big guy who takes up a lot of space. When you run into each other in the bathroom and are rushing to get ready, it's easy to bump into him. On days he's still pretty tired, he might not even notice you bonk your head against his arm. That's fine though - you don't want him to notice you until he's brushed his teeth. After all, Beelzebub's morning breath is a potent magical weapon.

If you need the bathroom sink while he occupies it, Beelzebub is kind enough to nudge you in front of him (once you've confirmed his mouth is minty fresh). You both get to use the mirror this way, and you can both see each other's smiling faces.

---

Belphegor is the king of oversleeping. The powers of you and his twin combined are hardly enough on some days, but mostly the responsibility of waking him falls to you. You quickly learned it's best to wake him from behind his head, if you can manage to maneuver your way into a suitable spot to do so. Anywhere his limbs can easily grab you will result in being pulled into bed. He's like a sleeping kraken.

You suspect that Belphegor wakes up easier than he lets on, but he feigns ignorance. He insists he was totally fast asleep when you struggled to physically drag him down the hallway towards the bathroom, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso with all your strength. And when he clung on to your waist and nuzzled his head into your stomach. And when Beel came to help free you from Belphegor's clutches, but he rolled you under him and muttered "mine now."

Definitely fast asleep, doesn't remember a single thing.

[izzystizzys]

When the 212th collaborates with the 501st, chaos is sure to follow in their footsteps. This has been largely true of every engagement since the start of the war, in Cody’s experience. Had he even an ounce more of a rebellious streak, he might question why and whether the success rate is worth the feral instinct for mayhem his battalion and Rex’ awaken in each other - as it is, he simply fills out the after action reports and then screams into his pillow, which is hard as durasteel and doesn’t warrant the name.

Or, on some days, he steps into the training rooms to work off some nervous jitters only for his foot to catch on someone’s armoured shoulder and faceplant straight into what looks like the entirety of both battalions piled together in a massive cuddle pile.

“What”, he manages between gritted teeth, heaving himself up with one hand supported on Crys’ arm and the other planted in places that make Boil jackknife up with a strangled yelp, “the kriff is this?!”

“We’re watching the Corrie Reality Special, sir”, his own voice calls from somewhere across the room. “The 91st is passing by, so we have satellite access to the Coruscant Broadcast network for a few hours, and we couldn’t settle on a specific show -“

“- so we decided to watch them all”, Rex finishes, sheepishly, where he’s fought his way through wiggling piles, hoots and badly imitated monkey lizard noises. The thought that he shares DNA with these degenerates is enough to drive Cody to the brink of a nervous breakdown some days. “Spopcorn?”

Ah. The Corrie Reality Circuit. When Cody first heard of it, he’d thought it was a prank. Then, they were deployed to the middle of bumkriff nowhere on the edges of Midrim space edging on Outer Rim, with a connection so spotty even classified military intel only got through about half the time, and the whole idea got shelved in favour of clankers and keeping his General’s lightsaber in his General’s hand where it belonged.

Now, a gaudy, glittery monstrosity of a logo announcing a Coruscant Rotational special appears on a rigged up screen, which means one of two things: either Fox is pulling the Galaxy’s greatest long con on all of them, or he’s been murdered and replaced with an evil clone (ha!), because there are no circumstances in which he would agree to star on Coruscant Reality TV.

Cody tilts his head consideringly. Rex smiles at him sheepishly. Tilts the spopcorn bowl at him, invitingly.

“Oh, dank farrik, sit your shebs down!”, someone (Fives, probably) yells out, fed-up…ly.

Cody sits his shebs down.

“Good morning and welcome all of Coruscant to the Great Coruscant Rotational Special: Our Boys in Red Edition!”, a bright red Twi’leki man announces on the screen amidst cheerful jizz music and loud hooting from the training room. “My name is Braham Horton, and I will be your exalted host for this fine, fine late night cycle!”

“And now, gentlebeings of the metropolis, I present to you the images that have driven us all to laughter, joy, and even tears at times over these past few weeks - whodathunkit, that the CSF media project would enthrall a whole Galaxy of viewers and cause the largest recorded peaceful civil protest of all time?!”

“The sorry what now”, says Cody, suddenly thinking back to the urgent meeting General Kenobi was currently in with Generals Windu and Yoda - passing by on the Venator in orbit. “Uhm”, says Rex. Braham Horton, unfazed by the commotion he’s causing lightyears away, chatters on.

“- many hours, so we’ve compiled an introductory little best-of for you, exalted viewers! And what better best of to start off on than the hottest entry of the most explosive bombshell into the villa - please give it up for Commander Thorn and how he stole all of our hearts on Love Island!”

A garish, club-tech jingle Cody has so far only heard buzz through the walls of establishments that generally didn’t allow clones thrums through the training room, followed by what can only be described as the sort of noises spiced up banthas might make. Thorn appears on screen, more oiled up and half-naked than Cody remembers, though just as bleach-blond, hair slightly longer than regulation and smile blindingly perfect.

“I’m Commander Thorn, baseline twenty-four years humanoid - during daytime I might be the scourge of Coruscant’s criminal underworld, but at night I don’t mind playing good cop for you!” He punctuates it woth a sleazy wink and fingerblasters that have Rex honest-to-god gagging, and Cody seeing his life flash before his eyes. If Alpha-17 finds out about this…

Suddenly, Thorn’s smile drops in favour of what might almost be called a scowl on even his handsome face, and the music cuts out. “There, got your soundbyte. Can I go back now? I’m supposed to be on shift.” Indistinct, off-screen chatter and a captioned oopsie… appear in a shower of glitter. Thorn’s face does something complicated. “For HOW MANY MONTHS?!”

Cut to a montage of what Cody can only describe as beaches, oil and abs galore, Braham Horton narrates and extremely close-up shot of what Cody tries very hard not to identify as Thorn’s crotch. His own crotch, in a way. Oh no, that’s weird, stop that train of thought immediately-

“Although our favourite bombshell’s entry into the villa wasn’t without its hitches and hurdles-“, emphasized by a zoom-in on Thorn’s form in a speedo huddled away from a partying crowd of softcore-kriffing contestants on a yacht, “- as well as all know, he would soon find his place in the villa - or places, rather!”

Two crying humanoid women appear on screen, with eyeliner smudges down to their knees. A hoot goes through the room. Cody watches with a sense of impeding doom. “You slept with her after I chose to match up with you instead of Chad?! How could you!”

Thorn, still oiled up with both blasters out for the world to see, winces. “I didn’t me-“

A hysterical gasp, a camera swerve. Three more people stand by the doorway, all clutching their chests with wide eyes. A broad, green Twi’leki man raises a finger to point accusingly. “You were sleeping with them too?! I thought I was the only one!”

“Dear Force”, Cody murmurs, unable to look away from the building speeder wreck on screen. Braham Horton laughs good-naturedly at his misery. “Ah, good times! And who could forget the all-out brawl of the following matching night, where a record number of every single other contestant attempted to physically fight the others for the right to match up with Commander Thorn! Including a somehow returned Chad, who nearly won thanks to the element of surprise. I wish we could show the footage, but then we’d have to slap several warnings on it and probably still get taken off the air.”

“I didn’t know Corries kriffed like that!”, someone (Fives, let’s be honest, it was definitely Fives) calls out into the room, receiving snickers and a well-aimed pillow to the throat for his trouble. He goes down with a choking scream.

“Someone who was less impressed by the hot’n bothered beach weather was Commander Thire, who found himself Less than Impressed by his co-contestants inability to keep it in their pants on Too Hot To Handle!”

Thire’s face, identical to Thorn’s in every way except the ones that matter, appears on screen. His black hair is cut in a cropped mohawk, arms folded over a button-up he’s carefully pieced together with… safety pins? Where are the buttons on it?

“These people are pathological and pathetic and I will spend not a second longer on this farce of an attempt at ‘entertainment show’”, says Thire, air-quotes so sharp they could cut stone. His scowl might be permanently etched into his face, Cody can’t tell. “Unlike literally everyone else, I have an actual job to do. Now move.”

A brief pause, in which cheerful jizz music plays over what is obviously a producer begging off-camera, followed by an eyeroll so hard it hurts Cody’s brain to watch. Thire throws his hands into the air in defeat, marching off into the sea behind him still fully clothed.

“When they didn’t find him until the last episode, I’ll admit, I thought he’d died too!”, Braham Horton cuts in cheerfully. “But would you look at his little lonely island lair - now that’s a fulfilled man, and too many coconuts for my taste! We’ve had to blur his hands out as he discovered the cameras just moments before these holos were taken, unfortunately. And, dear viewer, who could forget this exit-interview for the ages!”

A considerably more clothed Thire appears on screen, eyeing a microphone like he’s about to use it to stab out his own eyes. The reporter clears their throat in audible anxiety. “C-commander, how would you describe your reality experience in one word?”

“Demeaning”, says Thire, blandly.

Silence.

“Um, o-okay”, squeaks the reporter.

“Would you like some more words?”, asks a dead-eyed Thire.

“No, um, I think - I think we’re alright.”

“Because I have many words. Mostly for whoever the *bleep* thought this was a *bleep* good idea, and *bleeeeeeee-*”

“We’ve had to censor most of the Commander’s on-screen appearance, dear viewer, for your sensibilities”, says Braham Horton, eternally and painfully cheerful. “And speaking of sensibilities, who could forget Commander Stone honouring his name in several challenges on ‘I’m A Holostar - Get Me Out Of Here!’”

Soulful violin music fills the gym, overlaid with images of a bald vod Cody surmises must be Stone. Stone stares stonily into the void, glass of bright green something raised to his lips and already half-empty.

“Memorably, he downed a pint of acklay urine within seconds-“

Horrified screams are followed by an image of Stone chewing, yet another thousand-klick stare.

“- or when he ate Tauntaun anus -“

Rex doubles over gagging, and Cody slowly puts his handful of Spopcorn back down.

“- of course the ten minute worm-bath challenge cannot go unmentioned -“

“FORCE PLEASE NO!”, screams someone (Echo) tearfully. Commander Stone, buried to the chin in wiggling orange worms, looks less impressed.

“ - and who could forget his encounter with a horde of ginntho spiders and nests of vexis snakes!”

A remote goes sailing past the screen, missing by a mile, as images of Stone with his whole arm stuck in various boxes fly past. Someone is retching. It might be Cody.

“We would show the infamous butchery challenge wherein the Commander found himself drenched in nexu guts and sandworm brains, but once again, this is family friendly programming and we are not allowed. Nevertheless, a win well-deserved. And now, please welcome the one, the only, the awe-inspiring, the unbelievable: Marshall Commander Fox!”

Another Force-awful jingle, big, blocky letters, and Cody chokes on his own spit when Fox’s scowling face appears on screen. He’s thinner, greyer and angrier than the last time they saw eachother in person. Only the last one is really a surprise.

“I am neither naked nor afraid”, says Fox, arms crossed firmly, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. “I am, however, quickly losing my patience. Explain to me again the point of spending my valuable time undressing in the middle of bum-*bleep* nowhere on the Midrim instead of doing my job as the head of planetary security in the middle of a Galaxy-wide war?”

Several beats of silence follow. Fox grows less impressed with each. Cody knows that look well. Usually, it precedes handcuffs and a cold sonic blast to the face.

“Um… you signed a contract?”, says a producer’s voice uncertainly off-screen. Fox barks out a harsh laugh. “I’m legally classified as military property, my signature holds less weight than if I’d had one of the Guard’s massiffs shit on that contract for me.”

“Ouch!”, calls Crys.

“Gettim!”, adds Longshot.

“But… don’t you sign off military documents all the time for the Senate?”, sputters the producer.

Fox smiles with far to many teeth. It’s also a look Cody knows far too well, and even lightyears away it has a shudder going down his spine.

“Really makes you think about the technicalities of that definitely-not-slave-army, doesn’t it?”, he says, dryly.

“Although considerably less naked and afraid than all other contestants, Commander Fox left us with many memorable moments - such as when he saved the entire crew from an angry Acklay!”

Most of the next holovid is blurred out, though Cody can (unfortunately) guess at the why and how. So can most everyone else, judging by the collective groan.

“Down, boy”, says Fox, flatly, to a hissing Acklay twice his size. It rears its fanged head, and a shudder goes through the room. Fox simply crosses his arms and nails the beast with an unimpressed look. “You are making a fool of both of us. Cut it out.”

Chastised, the Acklay blinks at him, slowly lowering itself back down with a confused hiss.

“No kriffing wonder all the Corrie shinies are such hardasses”, mutters Rex, whom Cody is hard pressed to agree with. “I came from a tube and that look gave me daddy issues.”

“Yes, dear viewer, who could forget these heart-warming moments of good, quality television!”, sighs Braham Horton, dreamily. “Not Coruscant anytime soon, that’s for sure! We are now entering the twentieth rotation of the sit-in protest of a petition to allow the Commanders of the Coruscant Guard to compete on Dancing With The Planets, Coruscant Rotational’s epic dance competition!”

“Dear bum-kriffing Force”, whispers Rex, wide-eyed and awe-struck. “Does Fox know about this?!”

Cody, who’s already dialing the kriffer’s comm-code, wipes a singular tear from his eye. “Not a clue, but kriff, am I going to enjoy telling him.”

[harbingersglory]

hii could i req an soft dom arlecchino x sub/fem reader?? something w a really needy whiny reader n maybe like a mommy kink or thigh riding IDK tysm for ur time !

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes drabble, fem reader, sub reader {☆} warnings 18+ content

"Slowly, doll. We're not in a rush." Arlecchino reprimands lightly, squeezing your hips with just enough force to keep you unmoving on her thigh– she was still being gentle, but the subtle warning in her tone spoke to how easily she could push you against the desk and turn you into such a mess that you couldn't even remember your own name..just that you were hers.

But the barest hint of stimulation from her slacks pressed against your throbbing cunt had you twitching, barely able to form words. All you could think about was the scorching, twisting need building in your stomach, desperation for relief slowly climbing until you'd think she was doing this on purpose to drive you mad.

"Please– 'm a good girl, right? I've been good.." You choked out, only to be met with the rough, husky laugh echoing in your ear that made you feel dizzy with a rush of need, her nails gliding along the skin of your hips as she pressed you down even more firmly– you couldn't see her face but it was easy to imagine the crooked smile twisting her lips at the way you inhaled sharply and tried to buck against her thigh.

"Shh. I know, doll. I've got you, just relax." She murmured in that sickly sweet tone that always had your knees buckling, the raspiness of her voice sending shivers down your spine. It was almost impossible to relax with her so close, the notes of metal lingering on her skin despite how well she presents herself– but you trusted her, despite how you know you shouldn't.

"There we go. Good girl." Arlecchino's grip on your hips loosened just enough for you to move if you so wished, and oh did it take every ounce of restraint to not do just that..she hadn't said you were allowed to, and you weren't about to spoil her good mood by being a brat. Not tonight, anyway. "Do you want to cum, doll?"

The fervent nod you offer in place of words draws a laugh from her lips, one that is almost mocking, making your face flush in embarrassment– but the sudden tap against your hip makes your mind go blank to the point you forget it all together, focused only on the feeling of her thigh rubbing against your cunt as you bucked against her thigh, the fabric slick and wet against your inner thighs. You'd have half the heart to be embarrassed about that, too, if not for the sudden brush of her thumb against your aching, neglected clit. Just that small touch has you speeding up your movements, practically drooling as you whimpered like a dog in heat.

"That's more like it, doll. Such a pretty girl." Arlecchino hummed, her other hand trailing up your stomach, between the valley of your breasts and ghosting across your throat before settling on grabbing your jaw in a firm, yet almost tender touch as she tilted your head to the side just enough for her to pull you into a burning kiss. It left you lightheaded, grinding down against her thigh as she claimed your mouth as her own, her thumb still ghosting over your clit sporadically.

She'd spent so long teasing you, constantly touching you but never where you needed her, that you already felt like you were going to snap like a wire. She must've been in a really good mood, then, when she pulled away from the kiss with an almost predatory lick of her lips, yet she settled on pressing kisses to your skin rather then the usual sharp bite of her teeth as they sunk into the curve of your shoulder.

"Are you close? Go on. I want to see your face when you cum– you look the prettiest when you finally break apart, doll." Arlecchino mused idly– as if she wasn't talking to you while you continued to rub your aching cunt against her thigh, chasing your own release through shaky, strained breaths. Her thumb swiped over your lips, brushing strands of hair stuck to your skin from your face– at the same time as she swiped her thumb more firmly against your clit, creating a vicious contrast that had you both melting at the barest hint of almost softness from her and the touch of her hand between your legs, dragging you into an orgasm that leaves you trembling and, had she not shoved her fingers into your mouth, screaming, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes.

"All done, little doll. Take it easy." She murmured, voice so quiet you almost didn't hear it, thumb swiping across your cheek to wipe away the stray tear, her hands pulling away to settle on your sides. "You did well– good girl. Let me take it from here."

[toxintouch]

TOUCHSTARVED WISH LIST:

Leander kills one of his Bloodhounds for you.

One of Leander’s Bloodhounds is affected by your (the MC's) curse, and Leander has to kill them to protect you. He is strangely unaffected by this. All of his attention is on you and your wellbeing. He’ll give you an emotional reaction to his Bloodhound’s death if prompted - if he thinks you need to see that from him. But, at least while it's just the two of you, he seems much more invested in reassuring you:

It wasn't your fault.

Bonus points:

Leander purposely exposes one of his Bloodhounds to your curse… Not to exploit the power of your curse like others have, but to save you.

Maybe one day, Lowtown floods. You scramble to save yourself, find yourself hanging precariously onto higher ground, clinging desperately to the awning of a building as the torrent of water rushing below you threatens to wash you away with the tide.

The Bloodhounds respond immediately, working to save those they can. Leander finds you quickly–too quickly to be coincidence?–

You can see that Leander's face is set in determination, so different from the blushing man who holds your hands and whispers sweet words to you. You hear him calling out to the Bloodhound group closest to you, instructing one of them in particular to help you up.

Leander has seen that your safeguards (bandages, etc.) have been thrown into disarray, the bite of the stone building having ripped through any fabric previously covering your hands.

The Bloodhound, too, sees your cursed flesh. They can extrapolate that touching your hand will be as good as a death sentence, but still…

The Bloodhound doesn't even hesitate.

– (You do, though. You try and dodge the hand reaching out for you without losing your hold completely, but regardless of your struggle you find yourself hoisted up, a strong grip wrapped firmly around you, the Bloodhound's own hands tensing, gripping you tighter and tighter and tighter as you barely manage to get your knees under you, find the solid ground now below you, prepare to) –

Leander doesn't hesitate either.

Does not even wait to verify your curse has taken effect.

The magic he uses is swift, death instantaneous. The Bloodhound's dead body drops before you, a macabre tribute, a morbid testimony of Leander's affection.

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Once I was scrolling thru naruto fics and saw the tag "buisnessman!Kakashi" and all I could think about was Kakashi being a child businessman, owning all the konoha adults at doing business while wearing an oversized suit and tie. That idea is so fucking funny to me.

[ganondoodle]

"to even give people the mere chance of starting to understand how you feel about this character and this story you made up around them you have to actually draw that comic, you are at chapter 2, even just the rough draft for it took you a year despite your best efforts on being faster"

[chalkrub]

super fun trade with @charseraph !

[sad-leon]

Family Photo

Vs The Photo Casey brings back from the future

Im gonna throw hands with Splinter. Why is he so hard to draw ;-;

*sobs*

Anyways,

Little bit of context;

Donnie destroyed the photo (woulda destroyed the whole thing, but Mikey stopped him) after Leo abandoned everyone when he realized he caused the apocolypse. Casey never met Leo in the bad future.

This is for my seperated Leo Au that I'll post more about after the crossover :D

It does have a happy ending, theres just a shitton of angst first, of course

I spent so many hours on this so I wanted to share

[inkskinned]

will it ever be enough? when someone loves you, you feel something curl inside of you, sour and whiplike, angry at being unheard. they don't really love you, they love this facsimile you have ensconced in your rabbit body. they will chop up the bits of you looking for luck and never find the good soul you promise - their love slides off. you're viscera; you have spent a lifetime promising the blood is art.

oh but when someone hates you - well, they're right to. and you'd trip over your little grassknot legs for them. begging them to reconsider. you feel it all knifeedge, spinepoint straight through you. they're the ones who see the real you, after all; and if they can love you, you might finally feel worth something.

but if they do love you in the end, after all of that, after your heart like a fawn opens to gutter under them - you've fooled them, and it isn't worth anything anymore. they've just gone and fallen for it. the love slides right off.

once, you heard a line in a musical about being abandoned. you laughed at the time, unnerved. your voice a keen; too shaky to be candid.

will it ever be enough. will the love ever diffuse through your skin and sink into your marrow. are you even capable of feeling that - of feeling cared for - or are you still waiting, even right now, for the hunter to draw the bow and arrow. if you trust that love, even once, and are wrong, you know exactly what will happen.

and somehow you know - you'll never be able to fix that, once it's been broken.

[parchmentknight]

wheres the "be nice to kieran mod" asking for a friend

[happyk44]

Obsessing over the concept of Percy having so many dreams about Nico dying in front of him in different ways at camp or on quests and he has no idea what to do about them so he starts trying to get Nico to hang out with him and tries asking him in subtle ways about what's going on, trying to figure out if Nico is in dangerous without possibly freaking him out about Percy's dreams (who would feel safe if someone kept having dreams about them being murdered by faceless entities in orange shirts or killed by monsters)i

It goes nowhere. Nico is apparently fine, flitting between camp and the underworld and New Rome as he wishes. With more underworld kids coming into CHB for the summer, he's started spending more and more time there though, and all Percy can think of orange shirts and Nico's blood drenched in them

Eventually he caves and drives to camp, hunting down and cornering Clovis, who's passed out in a sunbeam like a cat. Percy steps into the grass and kicks him gently. Clovis wakes slow and tilts his face towards Percy. He stretches long, yawns loud. Percy stifles a responding yawn and squats.

"What's up, Percy?" Clovis hums.

Percy tugs at his fingers as he finds the right words. "I keep having shitry dreams," he decides on. Clovis arches a brow. Percy sits back and pinches the bridge of his nose. "What does it mean when you keep having dreams about someone dying?"

Baby blue blanket creasing, Clovis cocks his head. "Who's dying?"

Percy grits his teeth. "Does it matter?"

"Well, some dreams are just subconscious processing and some are my siblings being weird." Clovis blinks slow. People compare him to cows a lot, that baby softness on his cheeks and easy going demeanour. But Percy sees a cat more than anything. Domesticated and pampered. "And some are prophetic."

The grit of his teeth begins to hurt his jaw. "How do you know which one is which?"

Clovis hums and sits up slowly. He reaches down to his toes and flexes with a long groaning grunt. He gives a little sigh as he pulls away. "Well, I'd have to ask them if they're doing things. As for subconscious processing, that's just what's going on in your brain. And prophecies..." He hums thoughtfully. "I guess you wouldn't know until it happens." With half-closed eyes, he faces Percy. His head lags to the side. "So is there anything going on your brain to worry about this person dying?"

"Well, there is now," Percy says through gritted teeth. Clovis laughs, a trilling dreamy sound. Percy glares at him. "Clovis."

He shrugs. "I can ask around tonight." He picks at a blade of grass. "Who is it?"

Behind them, Nico is calling out to someone. It makes Percy's skin crawl. Kids laugh and Nico laughs and Percy wants to grab him and hide him. Clovis's bright orange camp shirt makes him feel like a bull, caged up with some idiot waving a red flag in front of him. He needs to rush forward and break the things bothering him. Skewer them and feel their blood drip down his skin.

He's starting to lose his mind.

"It doesn't matter." He too aware that the gap between question and answer was too long.

Clovis isn't looking at him but he feels watched anyway. "It could," Clovis says. "But at least I know it's not Annabeth. Or Grover." Percy startles and Clovis's grin is soft. "If it was, you would have said it before you even sat down." He gives another big stretch then flops back on his blanket, rolling over into a warmer brighter patch of sun. "Actually, you'd say if it was anyone." He tucks his legs up into his chest. "You'd keep quiet because you don't want to worry them. Which means there's probably some real concern there."

His eyes slide fully shut and he doesn't speak again. Heart pounding, Percy watches his serene face. He doesn't like that Clovis picked him apart like that. But not much he can complain or deny in it.

Knees whining, he stands slow. Part of him misses the Achilles' Curse for that reason alone. He liked it more when his body didn't hurt because of constant strenuous activity and the passage of time. He runs a hand through his hair.

What is he supposed to do? Wait for Clovis to tell him that his siblings were being assholes for no reason? To sit down and meditate about the reason his mind was focused in on Nico dying in various ways? Or worry unendingly that the universe was giving him a sneak peek at the future and soon he'd be standing at Nico's memorial, trying to figure out which person around him was the killer?

"Percy!"

He startles and turns. His skin crawls as Nico jogs up to him. There's a little boy practically pinned to his side. The closet they grow, the more Percy wants to shove Nico down deep where no one can find him. Ocean depths. He'd like the darkness, Percy thinks. Then he slaps the thought away as his arms begin to rise, his gut yanking towards the beach.

"Hey." It comes out breathless and wispy. "What's up?"

Nico's smile is gentle. It makes Percy's stomach cramp, the idea of it gone forever, bled out on forest grass. "Joel and I were seeing if he could summon ghosts." He gazes down at the little boy still tucked into his side. The kid is looking at Clovis. "Might be a bit of a trial for him though."

When the kid doesn't stop looking at Clovis, Nico pinches his ear and he tucks his face into Nico's side instead. He gives a ragged breath but Nico's easygoing look doesn't change.

It flits to the top of his tongue, but Nico answers before Percy has a chance to open his mouth.

"Ker," he says, "is his mom."

There is little Percy has forgotten from any of his underworld adventures, including being chased by those spirits while trying to stop Ethan from escaping with the sword. Violent death and disease. Feasted on human flesh. They couldn't kill, but they could harm and give death a jumpstart.

Percy's shoulder gives a phantom throb at the reminder.

"Didn't know she'd be interested in having kids," he says.

Nico's lip twitches and his arm curved around Joel's shoulders tightens him closer. "He's technically adopted." Joel's face tilts further away from Percy. "She thought he was cute."

There's definitely more to that story that Percy doesn't know how to ask about, so he just agrees passively that Joel is cute and they move on. Joel doesn't speak to anyone but Nico or make eye contact. He's a barnacle on Nico's side.

All Percy can focus on is his bright orange shirt and the violent death that thrums in his veins and how close he is to Nico. It would be accidental, Percy thinks, if Joel killed him. It's clear he likes Nico. It would be accidental if Nico was torn to shreds.

Percy wonders how easy it would be to get water into his lungs from the bottle he drinks from, how suspicious it would be if he drowned on dry land. Quickly he leaves with rushed goodbye. His hands are already plunging into pockets for his keys. He doesn't hear Nico's goodbye.

That night he dreads his dreams more than ever.

Joel is there this time. His face is wet, half hidden in shadows. Nico is front of him, sword out, protective. Then things slip and it's not Nico and Joel anymore, but one older girl and two younger kids behind her. The kids look terrified but the girl is enraged. Her obsidian sword slashes at someone rushing forward.

The world is too bright, Percy thinks. There are no shadows. It's like the sun is standing in front of them.

The girl shouts and beats off a pair of people who charge at her. With snapped necks, they fall to the ground in front of her. She yells and shoves her sword into the ground.

It splits so easily. The grass trembles. The earth rumbles. Skeletal hands claw out of the ground. Hazy spectres join them. The girl turns and grabs the kids while people fight the entities she summoned. The world is so bright, but there's shadows at the edge of the sunlight. She won't stop running. One of the kids runs alongside her. The other is held in her arms.

The shadows twist and flex towards them. It's unable to spread into the light. They're closing in. The first kid is closer, free of the weight of another person. The shadows greet her but she stumbles to a sudden stop, spinning around and staring pleadingly at the girl Percy realizes is one of Nico's half-sisters from long before.

Are the kids' Joel's half-siblings? he wonders.

"Go!" the girl shouts. The kid hesitates but the girl shouts again, "GO!"

The shadows swallow the kid with a wispy black maw. The girl is almost there when the ground creaks and groans. It rumbles violently, separating and splitting at the very seams. The earth opens before her.

Percy can see the decision she makes before she makes it, jumping over a gap in the earth before it splits too wide. She doesn't stop running even as she tosses the other kid into the air. He screams, a bloodcurdling thing that chills Percy down to his bones.

The shadows catch him. And he's gone.

The girl pants, gripping her knees as she bends over. The earth stops quaking. There's a few seconds where the only sound is panting. But as the people they were fleeing from close in, the girl laughs breathlessly and turns around.

"Isn't it fun when we chase each other?" she says. "I think we should do that more."

The leader of the little group is some tall boy who looks like he's never smiled in his life. He's bulky. Each muscle bulges and he glares. The girl is unphased.

"How dare you?" he seethes.

She rolls her eyes. "Well, my dad protects their parents." She grins, eyes dark like the void. Her hands flex at her side. "Why shouldn't I protect them? Especially since you refuse to listen to reason." She gestures widely. "Just because Chthonic is in the title doesn't mean it's bad. Chthonic means dirt, earth." She just her chin towards one of the kids. "You are technically Chthonic." She shrugs. "Besides, you fucking morons, they're kids. What kind of dipshit is scared of little kids just because their dad picks up dead people for a living?"

Her arms haven't lowered from where she's spread them. Her hands flex again, each finger tapping in the air, one after the other. Percy can't hear anything else that's said. It all goes muffled. It's obvious arguing. Judging from the pulled weapons, there are threats abound.

Then the earth breaks.

It's not the same as the earthquake before. This is a complete cave-in, the ground falling out from under their feet. She's the only person who doesn't look terrified to be falling. They all disappear into darkness. Like teeth chomping, the earth slams back together and seals itself over.

Then there's his ceiling. His fan is going in fast circles, a soft whrrrrr.

Sweat is sticky against his neck. Oh, he thinks.

Violent death and disease being present at every meal, every training, every campfire song. Someone was probably unnerved by it. Unnerved by him. Nico's protective hold was a wall in front of the bomb. It needed to be broken down so the danger could be disposed of, bomb defused.

He doesn't know when he grabbed his phone. Only aware of it pressed to his ear by the ringing. It goes for a while. His stomach churns.

A tired "H'lo?" passes through.

His stomach doesn't settle. "Hey, Nico. Sorry." He glances at his clock and winces. "Did I wake up?"

Nico snorts. "No," he grumbles. "I'm a vampire." Quiet breathing, tense silence. "Percy? Why are we on the phone right now?"

"I..." Percy pauses. Glances up to his ceiling fan, still spinning in fast circles. "I just. Had a weird dream." Nico makes a "go on" noise. Percy bites his lip and leans against the wall, drawing his knees up to his bare chest. "Have any of your siblings had to..."

Fight against other campers? Run with a pair of kids people wanted to kill because they thought they were dangerous? Commit suicide to stop those from going after the kids once they were safely away somewhere else?

There's nothing good in those questions.

He closes his eyes. "What was camp like for your siblings? Before?"

"Uh." There's some rustling. "Not good. Most campers didn't trust us because of the whole Underworld children thing. Lucky for them, my dad doesn't really go around spawning kids on a monthly basis."

Percy snorted. His fingers wove themselves into his sheets so tight they started to go numb.

"But we didn't have a lot of friends. People avoided us."

Blood on dark grass flickers through Percy's mind. "Or killed you," he blurts out.

His mind shuts down at the words. He can't process what he's said, barely hearing the whrrr of his ceiling fan or the sound of his own breath. His skin floats away from him. Then pulls back solid when Nico says, "How did you know that?"

He swallows thickly. "Like I said. Weird dream."

"About my siblings being killed at camp?"

Nico viciously protecting Joel comes to mind and sticks in place. "No," he says after a beat. "Technically I think she committed murder-suicide."

"Which one?"

Percy hates that question. Sourness floods his tongue and he answers with a gritted, "I didn't get a name. She was fighting off other campers, trying to protect a couple other kids from getting hurt."

A sarcastic little laugh echoes through the receiver. "Yeah, that's happen more than once."

The sheets unwind from his numb fingertips. "Fuck."

"It's been over five thousand years, Percy," Nico says. "Things tend to repeat themselves a few times." Percy doesn't know what to say to that. "Why were you dreaming about one of my sisters anyway?"

"I don't know," he says. It's the truth. He has no idea. But he has theories. And he has fears. "She was just there."

Nico is quiet. The sound of his breathing is steady, and Percy hones in on it. He matches each inhale and exhale with his own breaths.

When Nico does speak again, he almost sounds far away. "That's odd." There's a creak and a thump, like feet hitting the tile. "Is that why you were talking to Clovis?"

No. "Yeah."

"Interesting." His voice is faint, before suddenly loud and fast. "Hey, I have to go."

Percy's stomach churns violently. "But-"

His words speed fast together as he says, "I have to go do something, I'll call you back later."

There's no dial tone, just a loud clattering that makes Percy's heart drop directly into his stomach. Clovis's sleepy voice eclipses to max volume in his head. And prophecies... I guess you wouldn't know until it happens.

A dozen thoughts blur through his mind as he hikes up the window to the fire escape outside his bedroom. He should tell his mom he's leaving, he should call Grover, he should call Annabeth, he should make someone check on Nico.

He gropes around the top of his dresser for a spare dog whistle then blows through it hard and sharp as he clambours out through the window, shirtless, shoeless, and panicking.

Mrs. O'Leary barks up at him from the dark alleyway. Shadows still cling to her dark fur. He doesn't even bother racing down the stairs. Just throws himself over the railing. Nico's name echoes in his head like a broken record as he falls. Soft fur grips tight in his hands. He doesn't feel the pain of landing, shadows swallowing them both before he can even recognize that he did.

It's strange to appear just a few feet away from a gaggle of kids threatening your cousin and the kid he's chosen to protect. Behind the group yelling words Percy can't hear under the roar of blood in his ears, there's a couple other kids - twins of Erebus - sneaking towards them.

They get close.

But they get caught.

Nico snaps forward and Percy's hitting the ground before he understands what's happening. It goes by so fast, he can barely remember his own actions. Everyone's still breathing. But banged up heavily, or unconscious. Joel is crying wheezy little tears while his aunts try to comfort him, and Nico...

Nico is gripped so tight in Percy's arms that Percy worries he might've broken something. He relaxes slow. Nico detaches. Mrs. O'Leary's hot breath huffs against the top of his head. Nico gives her a pat on the nose, not looking at Percy as he turns to Joel and checks in on him.

Percy's watching the slump of bruised campers before him. His blood feels too hot. Sweat drips down his back but his skin is too dry. He takes a step forward. A hand shoves against his chest and he gazes down at void eyes.

The world slams back into place.

He breathes.

"You are ocean water," Nico says very quietly. "Not blood and human viscera."

His mouth is dry. There's something inside him that wants. "Water is water."

"Not like that," Nico says. Percy swallows and steps back. Nico lowers his hand. Then turns to face Joel and the twins. His voice brightens up, feigned cheeriness, as he marches towards them. "Joel, do you want to go live with my brother's cult?"

Distantly Percy feels like he remembers Nico saying something about that once, but he can't remember what, so his mind draws question marks he doesn't ask as he twists on his heel. Nico crouches, speaking in a steady soft tone. The girls are holding each other's hands. They spare looks for the people who were scared of their nephew, and spare looks towards Percy. It's the same look.

They look away when Nico says something to them, vanishing hand-in-hand into shadows. Nico whistles and Mrs. O'Leary approaches with heavy steps. Joel hugs her leg. His ragged breaths are wheezed tired and weary into her fur. Nico keeps a steady hand on his back.

There is no murder-suicide this time. Instead the shadows swell and deposits the twins, with Mr. D and Chiron beside them. Nico cuts them off when Chiron tries to question him. He takes long way out with the girls on either side of him towards the Apollo cabin.

He doesn't follow the girls back into the woods with healers on their tail. Instead he opens the door to the Hades cabin and sits on a wooden chair. There's a buzz of white noise from a nearby noise machine. Otherwise everything is quiet. Nico's phone sits where it had been dropped to the ground minutes before.

His blood still feels too hot.

It feels like hours later when Nico walks in. However, the clock on the wall says it's only been twenty minutes. Joel is tucked up into his side. He goes down without a fight into Nico's bed. Lets himself be tucked in and drift off. Then Nico pulls another chair around and settles down in front of Percy, straddling the chair backwards. His arms cross over the top. His chin rests on folded wrists.

They watch each other. Then Nico moves to rest his cheek on his wrists instead. "You've been having those dreams for a while?"

Percy makes an affirmative noise.

"They haven't really been about my siblings, have they?"

He doesn't answer that. Instead, he says, "If people kept doing things like this, why didn't you guys make your own place?"

"We did," Nico says. "A few times actually. But no one liked that they didn't know what we were doing. So they made us come back to be hated and suffer." He snorts. "The old adage - keeps your friends close and enemies closer."

Percy doesn't laugh. "Why did she adopt him?"

Nico lifts his head. "Some things had happened when she found him. She took an interest and gave him her blessing."

"What things?"

Nico looks to the ceiling. "Things that help her fill her fridge with food to eat." His eyes flicker back down to Percy. "Only Chiron and Mr. D know the specifics. But Joel is fine." He glances over his shoulder. "He's a good kid. No one needs to be scared of him." He turns back to Percy. "Now answer my question."

Blood still too hot, Percy stares at a spot just above Nico's head. Then grits his teeth. "I don't like watching you die."

"I'm not scared of dying," Nico says. "None of us are. It's why it's always been so easy to take care of them. Take the dislike, take the insults, take the threats."

Percy stares at him. Then repeats, "I don't like watching you die."

Nico stares back. "You're not going to."

It's hard to believe that. So he leans forward, reaching out to grab the top of Nico's chair and pull it down until he can feel Nico's cool breath against his skin. "If I keep having those dreams, I'm gonna take a page from your dad's book and kidnap you."

Nico's lips twitch, but his voice stays even. "Then I guess you should keep in mind to make room in your dungeon because I'll be bringing a few people along." He lifts a hand and strokes a thumb down the side of Percy's face. "I heard your siblings were pretty protective too." His fingers slip away. Percy's skin yearns. "Something about how the ocean drowns what it loves and drowns what it hates."

That's not protection, Percy thinks. It's possession.

But he doesn't say that outloud.

Not yet.

He slowly lets the chair fall backwards until it lands stable on all four legs. He wants to deny Nico's statement about drowning. But he has - at least what he hates. Ahkyls, the mountain lion that tried to attack Grover, those kids. Only one success. But the want, the need...

"I should head home," he says slowly. It takes him a minute to process his words and stand up, heading for the door.

Nico makes a low noise and stands too. "Sweet dreams," he says once Percy has walked out into the night, still barefoot and shirtless.

Percy climbs onto Mrs. O'Leary's back. "I hope so."

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Honors From the King: A Short Story

The sword felt strange in Mia's hand. It fit perfectly in her grasp, but it still seemed impossible that it was hers. A few days ago it had made her into a hero, but in the confusion of the battle, she barely remembered making the lucky blow that felled the giant who had terrorized the Southern Forest for ten years.

Now she, an ordinary eleven-year-old from Iowa, was the hero of a fantastical realm, waiting to receive honors from the king himself.

Elbera bustled around Mia in the antechamber-turned-dressing room of the village hall. The elf woman—barely taller than Mia—had served almost as a mother to her since the strange wind had left her in the elfin village. "Now, my dear, as you're being honored for valor in battle, it's right for you to carry the sword, but you must never put the point toward the king. If you're nervous about it, you'd best sheathe it."

Mia sheathed the sword before Elbera finished the sentence.

Elbera continued, "Since you've slain a well-known terror, it's customary for the king to offer a boon. If he offers up to half his kingdom, don't take it—it's only a polite phrase. Best to ask for something useful—perhaps a sum of gold to rebuild the bridge outside the village."

From what Mia had heard of the king, he'd do that anyway. No, if Mia was to get a boon, she would ask for only one thing.

She wanted to go home.

For nine long months, she'd been stuck in Athelor. The cheerful, dainty elves had been kind to her—sheltering, feeding and teaching her without complaint—but they weren't her family. Her parents had to be frantic about her. And her six siblings—what had they done when that strange summer wind took her away from them? An entire school year would be gone by now. If she stayed away much longer, she'd be so far behind, and it would be harder and harder to fit back into ordinary life.

The elves had been unable to provide any suggestions about how to get back home; they only told Mia to wait for the wind. But the elves had sung praises of King Edonniel's library, spoke with awe of his scholarly works about Athelor's history. If anyone knew how to get her home, the king would.

The door to the chamber opened, and a palace guard escorted Mia into sunlit wooden expanse of the main hall.

At the room's far end, the king stood among his guard. Though over fifty, he was tall and fit, with a reddish-gold beard and a noble bearing, resplendent in royal armor. He was like the good king in every fairy tale Mia had ever read, like her father, and she forgot to be afraid of him. The king was a great man—warrior, poet, scholar, diplomat—but Mia knew in an instant that he was kind enough to help a lost girl.

The assembled crowd—all the elves and talking beasts from the village—cheered as Mia approached the king. Mia tried to ignore them, instead focusing on the king’s kind face.

The king stared at her. He stood frozen for several moments, then stepped toward her. “Mia?”

Mia stumbled to a stop. "Yes?" This seemed an informal greeting from a great king.

In a blink, Mia found herself in the king's arms, crushed in a warm embrace.

"I can't believe it." The king's deep voice sounded right next to her ear. "I thought I'd never see any of you again, not here."

Mia tried to push him away. King or not, this was too weird to put up with. "Any of who? What are you doing?"

The king pulled away and looked into her face, drinking her in. "I'm sorry. Of course you don't know me. Mia, I’m Danny. Your brother."

*

In the privacy of Elbera’s good parlor, Mia sat alone with the king. Her brother. Her ten-year-old brother. Who she never in a million years would have connected with the great scholar, warrior, and king the elves, in their musical accents, called Edonniel.

She couldn’t doubt that he was Danny. He remembered their parents, their farm, all their family, even the dinosaur village she and he had created two summers ago. With only a year and a day between their ages, they had often been mistaken for twins, but Mia had always reveled in her superior age. Until now.

Danny seemed so dignified; he made Elbera’s soft chair look like a throne. His eyes had wrinkles around them. His red-gold beard hung down to his chest. He sat so steady, so still, gazing at her like she was his long-lost child—instead of the sister whose hair he pulled when she beat him at Mario Kart.

As Mia sat across from him on Elbera's other chair, the only thing she could think to say was, “You’re older than me.”

The king guffawed. “I’m older than Dad. But you—you don’t look a day older than when I last saw you. How long have you been here?”

“Nine months.”

“It’s been forty-eight years for me.”

Mia’s head spun at the idea. “How?”

“The wind that carried us into a different world carried us into different times. I landed on the shores of the Beryl Sea forty-eight years ago. Ever since I became king, I’ve made a study of Athelorian history, trying to find the rest of us.”

“Us?” Mia had been with her siblings when the wind had taken her, but she’d assumed they were back home in Iowa. “How many of us are in Athelor?”

“All of us,” Danny said with surprise. “Didn’t you know?”

Mia shook her head. “I couldn’t see much.”

“And when you landed here alone, you had no reason to guess that we weren’t all safely at home,” he said, understanding.

“Is anyone else here?” Mia asked, half-hoping another brother or sister would pop out from behind the furniture.

“I crossed paths with Thomas not long after I arrived, but you’re the only one I’ve met in person since. Everyone else, I’ve had to track down in history and legend.”

“You met Thomas?”

“He landed among the trolls of the northern mountains,” Danny explained. “Became a master smith—the greatest in Athelorian history. He forged that sword you carry. I have no idea how it got into the elves’ hands; I’ll bet there’s a story there.”

Danny never could stick to the point of a story. “Where is he?” Mia asked in frustration.

“He was a very old man when I met him,” Danny said. “A hundred and twenty-seven, by some counts. Some say his life was extended by working with the stones from the heart of the world.”

Was? Her little brother had been only six years old when she’d last seen him. He couldn’t be—

Mia sank back into her chair, stricken.

Danny, caught up in his story, didn’t seem to notice. “Jane lived among the centaurs and elves of the Skyveil Plains seven-hundred years ago. Became a legendary warrior and explorer, defender of the weak. Beloved by all the beasts. First to step foot on the Daybreak Isles and meet the talking mice.”

Seven-hundred years?

“Now Ben,” Danny said with a laugh, “has popped up all through history. Rarely seen for more than a day or two, but he always has some dramatic effect. Some scholars speculate he’s extraordinarily long-lived, but my theory is that time is playing with him in a different way than the rest of us.”

He said it all so calmly!

“Nora?” Mia dared to ask about their oldest sister.

Danny’s gaze turned dreamy, his voice hushed and reverent. “The legendary Queen Eleanor, present at the waking of the world.”

Danny was talking about Nora—bossy Nora!—like he was in awe of her.

Her sister—all her siblings—had become legends. They weren’t waiting for her at home. They were long dead, had been dead ever since she’d arrived, which meant they were gone forever, and there was no way home—

Mia burst into tears.

Danny reacted about like how she’d have expected him to react. He sprang up from his seat and hovered awkwardly over her chair. “Mia? What’s wrong?”

Through tears, despair, and frustration, Mia blubbered something that included the words, “They’re all dead!”

“Dead?” Danny asked. “Who said they were dead?”

Mia wiped her tears on her sleeve and glared up at him. “You did! You said Thomas was ancient, and Jane lived seven-hundred years ago, and Nora’s as old as the entire world!”

“That doesn’t mean they’re dead.”

“I’m not stupid! No one can live that long, not even here!”

Danny crouched down next to her chair. He placed both hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. “Mia, look at me. I’m telling you: they’re not dead.”

Before his fatherly gaze—even with the beard, he looked a lot like Dad—Mia’s sobs became mere sniffles. “Then where are they?”

“They’re home. Safe. I promise. The same wind that brought us here brought them back home after their adventures were over.”

Just like the elves had said. But when Mia had thought she’d have to wait to go home, she’d thought it would be a few years at most, not—

“You said Thomas was more than a hundred years old.”

Danny said, “I’ve done a lot of reading about people like us. We’re not the only people who’ve come here from Earth—or gone home. The stories all say the same thing. No matter how long we spend here, the wind takes us back home to a time only minutes after we left, and we’ll be just the same age we were then. Reunited from across history, as young we ever were. A foretaste of heaven.”

His voice had gone dreamy again. The elves had said he was a poet.

Mia dried her face and sat up straight. “We’ll all be together? At our normal ages? Like we never left?”

“Exactly.”

“You and me and Thomas and Ben and Nora and—“ Mia realized something. “You never said where Claire was.”

“She’s the only one I haven’t found in history yet. That means her story’s probably still in the future. Maybe we’ll run into her someday.”

That did sound exciting, but Mia didn’t like the idea of waiting decades like Daniel had.

“How long do you think it will be? Before we go home?”

Danny stood and walked toward his chair. “I can’t say. Whenever the wind blow lately, I get the strangest feeling that I won’t be here long—maybe five years.”

Five years—half her life—not long?

“For you,” Danny continued as he sat down, “I can’t say. But I have a feeling that your adventures are just beginning.”

“I don’t want more adventures,” Mia said, as another tear dripped. “I want to go home.”

“I know,” Danny said, his voice husky with sympathy. “The first year is the hardest, and you’re so young.”

The idea of Danny—Danny!—treating her like a little kid! “I’m older than you!” Looking into his very-much-not-a-kid face, she amended, “Well, I should be.”

“You will be again, one day. But until then...“ Danny leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and suddenly sounded more like an American kid than he had all day. “This sounds so weird, but if you like, I can adopt you. You can live in the palace under my protection, and I can show you everything about Athelor. Maybe name you my heir if you like the whole royalty thing.”

He was planning a whole life for her. Plotting out a future. Here. Even without the weirdness of Danny acting like her dad, it was too much.

Danny noticed her hesitation. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I know we’re all called here for different purposes, and I don’t want to keep you from your intended mission.”

“I thought the giant was my mission.” Mia had constructed such a tidy tale—and now it was unraveling. “I came here, I slayed the giant. The story should be over. I should get to go home.”

“It will always be waiting for you. Until then, you have Athelor.”

“Athelor isn’t home!”

“It can be,” Danny said. “It’s been a good home to me. It can be a better one, now that you’re here.”

Mia suddenly realized how old her little brother was. How long he’d been waiting, searching for his family through books. And now she was here, after all this time.

Maybe that was her mission. To help this great king while he was here caring for the people of Athelor.

“I guess I can try,” Mia said. Even if she had to stay a long time—well, Danny had managed to do some amazing things, and she couldn’t let her little brother outshine her. “When we do get back home, I don’t want you to have a better story than me.”

Danny grinned—and for just a second, he looked a little like the kid she remembered. “Mia,” he said, “I think you’re going to be fit for legend.”

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

the only You for Me

Captaineer drabble (Captain is reader) | Words: 381 | (fluff/sorta hurt-comfort?) | Read on AO3

From where he lies beside you, you feel a hand rest atop yours, calloused fingertips brushing your knuckles.

‘Can I ask you something?’

‘Mhm,’ you hum in assent, ‘ ‘course.’

‘Were there ever any of the other “me”s that you… liked more than, well, me…?’

‘What? No, Mark, of course not. Why would you–? No. You're my Mark. Hey,’ You take his face in both your hands, gently making him meet your eyes. ‘I didn't go halfway across the multiverse just to find any old Mark.’

He gives a small laugh and you press your lips to his forehead before returning your gaze to look directly into his.

‘I'm sure the other "me"s out there have their own "you"s that they cherish in their own ways, and some of them could be enemies, in a sense, or even strangers. But that's their business. I love you. This you. More than anything or anyone — and I mean anyone. I don't know how many times I have to tell you that for you to fully believe you deserve it, or truly understand how much I mean it, but I'll remind you forever if I have to.’

It's dark in the room and you can just about make out his eyes and other features, but you can feel the slight tingle of warmth on his cheeks, imagine the blush tinting his face.

‘Forever's a long time,’ he says, voice low and soft and undeniably adoring.

‘Yeah, well, I think we both know the meaning of “a long time” better than maybe anyone. And in all that time — all those lifetimes, all those universes, I would always choose you, no matter what.'

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, using your upper arm as a pillow. His arms wind around your torso, pulling you close. You wrap your free arm over his back, stroking his dark curls and winding them gently, comfortingly, between and around your fingers.

‘I love you,’ he whispers against you. ‘You’re my whole universe, my everything. You're the only you I want, too.’

You want to wrap him up in your heart, deep within the warmth of your chest. But since you can't, you settle for holding him tighter, every night, and you never let go.

[justaz]

once merlin puts arthur to rest, the world around him disappears and he’s in ealdor staring at his mother’s back. his sobs from the lake grow worse at the sight of his mother and he wails like he’s a child again, calling repeatedly for his ma. she spins around and finds him, without asking any questions she dashes forward and pulls him into a hug, holding his weight as he falls apart in her grasp, choking out nonsensical words and soaking her dress with tears, snot, and drool, his overwhelming grief causing him to ignore any sense of shame he might’ve felt at such a scene.

he doesn’t remember explaining anything to her, frankly he doesn’t remember much beyond the cries he pressed into her shoulder, but she says he’s been in ealdor for a week. she’s clearly worried and asks, no, begs him to eat or drink but he doesn’t feel the need or desire to, and even if he did, he simply doesn’t have the energy to bring the sustenance to his mouth. she cradles his head in her lap and runs her finger through his hair like she did when he had a nightmare when he was younger. it’s almost enough to make the entire thing seem like a horrible, horrible dream. but theres blood on his tunic where he held arthur’s body to his own so he knows it’s not true.

his mother doesn’t ask any questions, the look in her eyes telling him that she knows anyway. perhaps his nonsensical babble created a clear enough image for her to understand. maybe she just saw the broken look in his eyes and came to the conclusion on her own. she doesn’t mention him. merlin isn’t sure if he’s relieved about that or not. in the end, he brings it up, he asks how she was able to go on after balinor left. he asks how she was able to pick herself back up on her own two feet and carry on life as normal after receiving his letter informing her of his passing. she says sometimes she can’t, sometimes she lays in bed and listens to the birds sing and can’t help but hate them. she says she lives on for him anyway. she pushes herself up and makes food and works in the fields even when she hate the world around her.

merlin tries to relate, tries to understand, tries to imagine himself getting up every morning and living on in his name. he can’t. his parents loved each other, he knows that, but they were their own people and were able to stand the years apart. merlin…merlin is arthur’s, even in death. everything he is, everything he’s done, has been for arthur. he is half of merlin’s soul, the center of merlin’s world. how can anyone expect him to move on as if he’s capable of being alone? how can anyone expect him to function as if half of his soul, half of himself, isn’t dead in a lake? merlin can’t do it, he can’t imagine living a life without arthur. he barely got through the week and that’s only because he was passed out for a majority of it. how could he make it a year, much less another fifty?

he can’t. he can’t do it. he can’t breathe, he’s in agony, the world around him doesn’t exist anymore. not without arthur.

he’s back at the lake now, tears still streaming down his face despite the pounding headache from dehydration yet it doesn’t matter, not anymore. none of it does. he stumbles into the lake and sends his magic into the water to tug excalibur from the depths. he can feel freya pulling the sword back, but his magic overpowers hers easily and the sword springs from the lake, gleaming in the afternoon sun. freya’s face appears in the ripples of the water next to him, her expression pleading and sorrowful. merlin whispers an apology before turning back to the sword, staring at the sharp point of the blade. he brings it closer to hover just over his heart, the metal pressing against his skin but not enough to draw blood just yet.

peace washes over him. the sun warms his skin and the water cools him to keep it from being unbearable. the birds sing in the trees as the wind whistles through the leaves. merlin stares up at the brilliant blue sky and pure white clouds roll by, images of bunnies and birds and crowns and horses staring down at him. he wonders if avalon will be this peaceful, if he and arthur could lay out in a field for eternity, basking in the sun and laughing as they point out misshapen clouds that supposedly look like the other.

he plunges the sword into his chest, right through his heart, and falls back into the water. bubbles trail out of his mouth up towards the surface, blood spills from his wound and mixes with the water. he closes his eyes as he sinks further and further. he knows when he opens them, he’ll be with arthur once more. it’ll all be okay. he doesn’t feel his body hit the bottom before blackness fills his mind.

arthur awakens from his fitful slumber in a bed that is not his own. he squints at the room, or rather hut, around him and finds an old man hunched over a book in the corner. arthur tries to speak but all that comes out is a squeak of air, his throat too dry to speak. the man hears and whirls around to begin treating him once more, prattling on and on about how he found arthur in the woods outside his village donning shiny clothes which he discarded bc of the blood staining them yet he couldn’t find a wound. arthur’s hand reaches up to his side but there’s no stab wound there, not anymore, though he does sport the scar. he remembers how he got it, he remembers stumbling away from the battlefield, he remembers being found by merlin- merlin.

he asks the man about him but he seems confused and denies ever knowing someone by that name. arthur climbs out of the bed (the flash of golden eyes) and hastily pulls on his armor (“i’m a sorcerer. i have magic.”). he’s out the door before the old man can protest. he’s in a village he doesn’t recognize, they must not be anywhere near camelot (“i’m still the same person.”). he turns to the old man hobbling out of the hut and demands directs to camelot. the man stares at him oddly and scratches his ear before informing him that he’s never heard of a camelot before (“you’re my friend and i don’t want to lose you.”).

he instead asks for directions to the woods where he was found and sets off in that direction, the old man shuffling after him (“me, i was born to serve you, arthur.”). it doesn’t take long to reach where he was found. if the old man had carried him home it couldn’t’ve been much of a hike (“and i’m proud of that.”). he steps into a clearing where the man panted that he found him here (“and i wouldn’t change a thing.”). it’s no where near the lake where merlin held him as he took his last breath, it’s no where near camelot. the man didn’t even recognize the name of his kingdom (“it’s not why i do it.”).

arthur sits in the grass as he thinks on his next move and the man who watched over him sits next to him (“i’m not going to change now.”). he speaks lowly of a prophecy about a man from a time long forgotten sent on a journey, a quest, to retrieve what has been lost. he says how the prophecy led many to a sword lodged in stone (“i’m not going to lose you.”) but no one could pull it free. he points out arthur’s armor and calls it odd, he mentions camelot, a kingdom of which he’s never heard, and gestures around the clearing where he found the mystery man. he concludes that perhaps the prophecy spoke of him (“i can’t lose him.”).

arthur, with no other options, follows the man’s directions to a lake. not exactly lake avalon but close enough. theres a small island in the center that seems more like a hill. the sword, his sword, excalibur is buried in a stone covered in moss, misshaping it’s actual form. arthur wades across the water and climbs the hill. he wraps his hands around the hilt of excalibur and closes his eyes. he imagines merlin confident and reassuring expression as they and all his men stood in the woods around this damn sword in a different stone however long ago it was. he breathes in and out (“he’s my friend.”) and pulls.

excalibur comes free just as it did before. arthur watches the metal pull free and as it does, the moss on the stone falls away revealing its form. it looks like a collapsed figure, excalibur having been lodged in it’s chest, right where it’s heart would be. arthur squints at what looks like the head and feels a flash of familiarity. the stone slowly fades away from the hole where excalibur was all the way to the hill. as the stone fades, it leaves behind skin and clothes and hair and…merlin.

arthur drops excalibur and falls to his knees to hold up merlin’s limp form. he feels warm, as if he didn’t just spend however long with a sword in his chest as a stone. he’s not breathing. why isn’t he breathing? arthur grasps around, shifting his clothes out of the way to find the wound where excalibur had once been. the skin is stitching itself together with tiny golden threads. arthur looks back up at merlin’s lax face as the wound fully closes. he inhales sharply as his eyes fly open, glowing gold, and all around him it seemed the world finally inhaled after suffocating for millennia.

merlin exhales and golden sparks shoot from his lips to flurry around in the air. the grass under them grows longer and curls around both his and merlin’s body where they rest against the ground. the water around their island clears from the murky brown to a blindingly clear blue. the air is crisp and clean, the sun brighter and warmer, and one soul finally whole again.