#it's nice to know someone keeps the MaW fandom alive

[emo-does-things]

Sleeping in Sunshine

So this is my Christmas gift to the ever fantastic @ace--writes and boy has it been an ordeal to write this. I started out thinking it would be 2000, maybe a bit more, words, and now here it is at... more than 10000, so... yeah, fair warning it’s long.

other things to note, this may be a fae au and set sometime in the past but i’m playing fast and lose with the rules of both of those... so...

and also, while I am not cis, i am not specifically a trans man so if anyone that is finds something insensitive or disrespectful please let me know and I will try and find a way to fix it! anygay~

Fandom: Thomas sanders

Relationships: Remile

Warnings: Emile’s parents are Not Great, an arranged marriage,  cursing, trans male character, misgendering, anxious thoughts,  please let me know if i missed something

Read it on AO3: here

Words: 12,061 it is longggg (for me)

The four times Remy asked for Emile’s name and the one time he gave it

1

Emily Picani was a smart girl. She knew how to read (after her parents had realised that she was basically blind and really did need glasses), and she knew a lot about people, and she knew not to go into the forest alone.

However, while Emily was generally a smart girl, she did not always make smart decisions.

She’d been told dozens of times by her parents, neighbours, and most especially her grandmother that she shouldn’t go into the forest. She knew they were afraid of it. She knew all of the stories- she’d read dozens of books telling sometimes delightful and sometimes gruesome tales, and she knew very well all the reasons why she shouldn’t.

That didn’t mean that she didn’t.

You see, the forest fascinated Emily, and so did the concept of The Others that lived there. Not that she would ever admit that anyone out loud.

Yes, her family’s little farm was all very interesting, but she didn’t much like the sorts of things her mother had her do or the sort that her father wouldn’t let her. So instead, she did exactly what she shouldn’t, and spent far too much time exploring the trees and hollows and hidden paths in the forest.

Oh, sure, she filled her pockets with iron filings and holly berries, to be safe, and copied the little rituals her grandmother practised for protection, but one is never truly safe with these kinds of creatures, only left alive for the moment.

But Emily had complete confidence in herself, in the way that only children could. She had explored the area of the forest nearest to her house inside and out over her childhood, and really, never found anything that mysterious, or dangerous, or in any way indicative of the strange creatures she’d been warned so much about, and secretly wanted to learn more of.

That was, until one day, when Emily suddenly wished she hadn’t been quite so bold.

She had been playing, enjoying a story of her own devising, where she was a great wizard with power over the elements. Her story called her to find sacred objects to return power to the land, (which in reality were different, particularly pretty looking rocks) and it also pulled her deeper into the forest than she had ever wandered before.

She was just mumbling to herself the dramatic, musical climax of her story, with various dums, dees and das, as she jumped around, when she noticed that something was wrong.

Suddenly, the area around her felt colder, despite the warmth of spring that had surrounded her just prior.

She froze in place, watching her breath puff out into the chilled air in front of her. She saw the briars, with thorns that looked as if they were coated in sharp, deadly metal, and the trees that seemed that much taller, now towering over her even more, and she heard the eerie silence that had overtaken the bird and bug song.

“This is fine,” she said, quietly but cheerfully to herself, forcing a smile onto her face, as she tried to decide what to do. Her hands found their way into her pockets, grasping at the iron filings

She heard a branch snap behind her, and she spun, a scream on her lips, not considering how much more sense it would make to remain quiet.

She expected to see a monster standing there- a beast with a large gaping maw, come to gobble her up, or one of the strange, ethereal moonlit beings of her fairy tales.

Instead, she saw a boy, about her age, although much stranger, grinning at her

“You know,” said the boy with a smile filled with too sharp teeth, “It’s kinda rude to lie in company that can’t.”

Emily felt her jaw drop and her body freeze up once more. This boy looked nothing like the tales she read. He had no skin woven of moonlight or eyes hewn of gems and blessed with stars. In fact, he looked rather like a normal person, but just slightly to the left enough to be unsettling. His limbs were just slightly too long, and his teeth just slightly too sharp, his ears were pointed, and twitching, and his curly red hair looked like it had strings of gold and amber woven through it. Had he not addressed her so, and had they met anywhere else, she may have thought him human.

“Staring is also considered rude in most places, but I’ll let you off with that one, considering I am particularly cute,” the boy spoke again.

Yes, his teeth definitely were far too sharp to be human.

“Um, Hello?” Emily said, finding the voice that had until then died in her throat, and trying her best approximation of a curtsey, the way she had seen her mother do it. (She only managed to trip over her feet and settled for a bow instead).

The boy’s smile, somehow, widened further, and he stuck out a hand for her to shake- his left hand, actually, which he didn’t seem to see a problem with. She shook it as quickly as she could, and then returned her own hands to her pockets, playing with the iron filings.

“May I have your name,” the boy asked, and he looked like he was trying to remember something he had to recite.

“You can call me Em,” she said after some deliberation.

He looked slightly disappointed, and Emily knew it was because she had seen around his trick, although, he brightened momentarily.

“Oh well,” he said with a grin and a shrug, “It was worth a shot. I didn’t really want to trick you anyway.”

Emily didn’t know how to respond to that, blinking owlishly at his sudden change of mood. This boy was very strange, she thought, and not at all easy to understand like most of the people she knew.

“What shall I call you?” she asked eventually, when she realised that he seemed to be waiting on her.

“Oh, huh, I hadn’t thought of that. You’re very clever,” he said looking truly taken aback. He paused a moment, sticking his tongue out through his teeth as he thought, “You can call me Sleep, I guess.”

“Sleep it is,” she murmured, wondering silently why he would choose something like that. She really shouldn’t wonder so much; she might start asking questions. And she figured, that by now that might not be a smart decision.

But then again, Emily Picani wasn’t known for smart decisions.

Although, it seemed she wasn’t the only one with questions.

“So, Em, what are you doing out here? The forest really isn’t safe for little girls, you know,” he said, fake-serious. He really should have been real-serious.

“What about little boys?” she shot back defiantly, delighted when this caused him to grin rather than glare.

“Well, little boys shouldn’t be out all alone either. Good thing we found each other, huh?” he said waltzing forward and grabbing onto her arm. He was surprisingly strong for someone who looked so gangly.

He was so strange.

“You’re not human, are you?” she found the question past her lips before she had even thought it over.

He laughed at her, bright and clear, “Oh you are clever. I like you. No, I’m not human, but why does that matter? I have a bright and charming personality regardless, which is what should matter.”

She was surprised that he would admit it so honestly, but then again, she had a feeling that perhaps Sleep wasn’t particularly normal by human standards, or his own people’s for that matter.

“I’m sure you light up some people’s world,” she said, the pun coming to her naturally, but surprising her with the ease that she spoke to him. The way that he laughed and smiled back only encouraged her.

“Oh, I do, I do like you little Em,” he crowed, “I think I should keep you around… It would be nice to have someone to play with.”

She frowned a little at that. She didn’t have any intention of becoming a plaything for the good neighbours. She had enough sense at least to try and avoid that at least.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind playing with you, Sleep, but you would have to let me go home, if you wanted me to come back and not simply pass out from exhaustion,” she said, trying to avoid any firm promises and also trying to sound smart, one thing she had learned from her grandmother, and one she was trying to convince herself of.

He looked for a moment like he was considering something very important.

“Well, I know that you come to the forest every day to play. If you agree to play with me whenever you come here, then I will let you go and do whatever it is you humans do for the rest of the time, no harm done.”

She looked him carefully up and down, trying to find any hint of malice in his face, or any twisted meaning to his words. Seeing none, she decided, as children very often do, to disregard most of her earlier concerns in favour of a new playmate.

“It’s a deal,” she said, grinning, forgetting one fundamental rule in that moment.

And she would not remember this mistake for some time, if at all, in favour of playing with Sleep.

Because, with him around, the woods, even the darker, sharper and more dangerous sections didn’t seem as scary. He had a way of putting the situation at ease. He lifted up the briars with a stick longer than he was tall, grinning and making a show of wounding himself, even as not one thorn scratched him.

He dragged Em the long way around a stream because he swore up and down there was ‘something in there out to get him’ that she ‘probably didn’t want to see if she didn’t want super super weird nightmares’.

Quickly, Em discovered he was quite the drama queen, and more than a bit of a scatterbrain, although that only made her laugh all the more when he fell out of a tree and complained that he ‘would never ever ever in all his life come back here,’ because he was ‘not going to put up with such dishonest and bullying behaviour’ from the tree.

At the same time that he was completely unlike any human she had ever met; he was also very much like every human child she knew. He was strange, but she couldn’t find it in herself to mind. Instead she was intrigued, filled with as many questions as she was ideas for games to play.

What felt like hours later, when the sun began to set, Sleep even helped Em to find her way home. It took a little convincing first, because he still wanted to play not even feeling a little tired, but at Emily’s insistence, he guided her through various paths from the darker, mysterious part of the forest, into the part where trees were just a little bit too big instead of dangerously so.

When they reached the edge, he stopped, not passing the line of trees.

“You’ll come back tomorrow?” he asked, eyes pleading.

She nodded, unable to stop herself from smiling.

“Then I’ll meet you here,” he said patting the tree he leaned against. “I’ll find you. I don’t want you to get lost in the woods and have one of my family find you instead. They care a lot more about those traditions and weird adult word games than I do, and I don’t want you to get hurt. So, it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to wander around on your own.”

Quietly, Emily thought that it hadn’t been a good idea for her to go out in the first place, or to meet Sleep again either, but she just nodded, and smiled, and ran towards her house ahead of her, in the setting sun, throwing a wave over her shoulder.

That night she was uncharacteristically quiet at the dinner table, not recounting the many adventures of her day and instead focusing on her meal far too intensely. Her parents barely noticed, too busy corralling her five other siblings. And she herself was too absorbed in thought to see the look her grandmother gave her over the tops of her glasses.

That night when all was quiet save for the shuffling of her sisters in the beds near hers, she thought she heard a whisper, from somewhere far away brushing against her ear.

“Sweet dreams,” it said, “Sleep well.”

 2

Emily Picani was a smart girl. She learned how to knit and sew far faster than her sisters, she could easily tell a liar from someone telling the truth and she knew that fae were dangerous.

Emily was not, however, known for putting her wisdom into practice.

If you visited the fae once or twice and still remained completely aware and not charmed or, more likely, dead, then perhaps you could be excused. But Emily didn’t just visit once or twice.

She found herself in the forest almost every day for three years.

She would finish her chores and her mother’s lessons as quickly as she could, (which was much faster than you would think, because Emily was a smart girl) and then she would run off to the woods before her parents could find something else for her to do.

They barely noticed she was missing, really- or rather, they noticed she wasn’t around but were grateful for the reprieve from her loud and boisterous manner and incessant questions and weren’t particularly worried that she would get hurt.

So, she was free to disappear and play with a friend that no one, especially not her grandmother would approve of.

This day was no different from any other. She had finished mending the boy’s clothes and cleaning the house and setting out things for dinner, before she bolted from the house, ignoring any calls her grandmother threw after her.

She got to their tree, as usual, earlier than Sleep, and rummaged around inside the hollow that had become her hidey hole for anything important. And, most important and relevant in that moment  was the pair of pants she kept there.

Her mother and sisters liked to insist that ‘she was a young lady that should dress like one’ and while she rather liked the pretty colours and stitching that complicated ladies skirts sometimes had, she did not like the fact they were… well… skirts, so she had stolen a pair of her brothers too small-pants, and had made much better use of them than he did, if she did say so herself.

She changed, and then slumped down by the tree, staring up at the pretty jade green leaves and daydreaming about nothing in particular, when she heard a thud and saw Sleep land, and stumble a little, in front of her, after jumping from one of the branches above.

Immediately she jumped to her feet, giving him a large hug.

“It took you long enough!” she exclaimed, grinning.

“Hello to you too, sunshine,” Sleep said with a laugh, “I’m sorry I was late, there were some… issues.”

His smile was too sharp and brittle to be real.

She looked at him, concerned, and frowned.

“With your family or The Others?” she asked, poking and prodding him, trying to check for injuries.

“It was fi-“ he cut off and frowned.

“Ok, maybe not but like, you totally shouldn’t worry about it,” He amended.

“Well, it’s clearly not fine if you can’t say it.”

“It is no longer a problem.”

She chewed her lip worriedly. It was always concerning to hear about drama with the good neighbours. Of course, she knew that it was perfectly normal with them, but she didn’t want Sleep to be hurt.

“Well, let it be known that I am concerned, especially because you can’t even say that it’s ok out loud, mister”

“You’re like, overreacting and stuff,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, don’t go getting into trouble again, then.”

He smiled a little, “I don’t think either of us could stop me if we tried, Em.”

“You know- you know what that’s probably fair.”

“Yes, exactly. Now!” he said, suddenly clapping his hands together, “I have an idea.”

“And what would that be, Sleep?”

“Well, it’s like, our third anniversary of meeting each other, did you know that?” he said grinning, “And I heard that you humans get gifts for each other on anniversaries or whatever, so I thought hey, maybe we could do that.”

“Well first off, that’s for people that are romantically involved, which we aren’t so jot that down, and second off, even if we did get gifts, that’s today and I don’t have anything for you,” Em said, frowning.

“You could always give me your name,” Sleep said, mischievously.

“I- oh so that’s what this was about you cheeky little- urgh! No, I’m not giving you my name!”

“But Emmmmmmm,” he said with fake puppy dog eyes that immediately told Emily he was kidding and found the whole situation hilarious, “Aren’t we friends?”

Her grandmothers warning danced through her head, as they did every time Sleep pulled one of his silly tricks, but she found herself listening to every one of them less and less. Especially, ‘You cannot be friends with the fae’.

“Of course we’re friends, silly, but I’m not going to give you my name any more than you would give me yours.”

“What if I did give you mine,” Sleep said, grinning wildly.

“Then I would probably have to eat my rock collection… Well, maybe not quite so extreme, rose quartz would not be a fun thing to try and eat, if you’re me- because yes Sleep I am aware that you eat various dumb things that I defiantly couldn’t”

“Oh, all right then. But, like, for real though I did have an idea for something that we could do, because, like, three years is a long time for you humans, isn’t it?”

“Well, I guess, but how long something is really is relitv-“

“Fantastic, that’s perf,” he says, grabbing Emily hand and pulling her through the woods.

“What exactly are you thinking?” Emily gasped between panting breaths and laughter.

“That we should totally,” Sleep said, picking her up to jump over a new fallen tree in one of the many familiar paths of the forest, “Build a tree house.”

He set her down not a moment later, in front of a huge, solid old oak tree, that would take several people with arms stretched right out to wrap their arms all the way around it.

It was not unique in a forest as old and full of magic as this one, but it was still pretty damn cool to look at.

Emily stared at it, stunned for a moment, then turned to Sleep.

“Is this in a part of the forest where you can like, change things easily?” she asked, “Because I don’t think I could manage to take very much from my parents, and I’d feel bad if I did, so I can’t really help much that way.”

“Nah, you’re fine Sunshine,” Sleep said, already climbing up the tree, and onto one of the huge branches, and beckoning Emily to follow, “You’re on ideas duty, considering you have all those fancy stories in your head.”

Emily clamoured up into the tree after him, already thinking a mile a minute. They sat together in the tree for ages, making countless plans and moving about, figuring out which branches would be good for what things.

When Emily went home that night, she was still buzzing with excitement, as sleep promised that for the next day he would have (somehow) found everything they could possibly need to make their tree fort.

And, as she had become used to over the past three years, that voice whispered into her ear, “Sweet dreams, Sunshine, and good night.”

And indeed, he did have the materials (mostly magical ones) the next day, and over the next several years, the treehouse became a safe haven for both of them. It was one of the only places deeper in the forest that Emily could get to reliably, with some exceptions, because they’d trodden the path solidly into the forest’s memory.

They upgraded it and added to it as their interests changed. They added back entrances, rope sings, blankets and cushions stolen from both homes and usually worn half to death. Sleep added glowing lights and pressed magical carvings into the wood getting more interesting and complex and strong as he learned about his magic (he was, after all, a child just like Em, even if a different kind). And Emily painted stories from her books of tales, (all now stacked in their hideaway, out there instead of in her room) and her grand imagination all across the walls, and they both often found they were more at home there than with their families.

It was a space that was truly theirs.

Emily might not have given Sleep her name, but some would say she’d shared something even more precious.

 3

Em Picani was smart- able to read, write, tell stories and charm people within moments of meeting them, but also intimidate them with that intelligence.

Because being smart wasn’t something girls were really supposed to be.

Em was a lot of things girls weren’t supposed to be. She was outspoken, loud, brave, and loved the outdoors. She was secretive, charming- but not in a sweet or demur way- a little cunning and bold. She hated dresses, but loved bright colours, and would rather wear pants than skirts, she wanted to be able to write and create and be smart without being written off.

Em was a lot of things girls weren’t supposed to be, and especially smart… Smart enough to realise that he wasn’t a girl. Emily Picani was intelligent and sharp and witty and… Not Emily Picani, he decided, but Emile.

He knew, that even if tomorrow the world was turned on its head, and everything that he was girls were allowed to be, he still wouldn’t be one. He was a boy, and he’d finally come to terms with it.

Emile was a lot of things that boys were supposed to be, except for recognised as one.

Because, yes, Emile was a smart boy, but he lived in a world where no one else thought that.

Well, he hoped that after today, there would at least be one somebody.

Yeah, sure Emile knew he shouldn’t be going into the forest, his grandmother had drilled that into him since before he could walk.  And sure, he knew better than to tell the fae secrets, at least in theory, but it had been years since he had kept anything from Sleep. He was his best friend, after all and he was often (if not always) more comfortable around him than the extended Picani family.

Sleep knew him better than he knew himself a lot of the time- and whether that was because he was fae or simply because they were friends, he would never be able to tell. But he trusted him. He trusted him to understand him when no one else would.

They’d done so much for each other. Emile had all but given up lying because it made Sleep uncomfortable, and he’d long since stopped carrying iron filings in his pockets. The only fae repellent weapons he kept were stored safely in a place that would not damage Sleep, but Emile could access if there was a squabble with another fae. Which had never happened yet, with Sleeps dutiful protection.

And Sleep, well Sleep had welcomed Emile with every single one of his quirks, his intelligence and interests. He’d found or made trousers and shirts that more suited Emile’s clothing sense, and made the tree house a safe haven for both of them. Even though he surely could have killed Emile in an instant if he tried, now, or tricked him into some other bond, he’d never tried.

Sleep wasn’t a child anymore, and neither was Emile, and yet against all odds their friendship persisted, even as Sleep’s power and Other nature grew, and Emile’s responsibilities pulled him away from the forest more and more often.

So yeah, Emile had little doubt that Sleep would accept him for what he had learned of himself, but that did not mean he wasn’t still hesitant to tell him.

The day he decided to commit to it, was a day just like any other for them- they met much later in the afternoon now, because Emile had to do the work of a proper ‘lady’ in the house, not just a child, which meant it was often not until into the afternoon that he could sneak away.

And it was indeed late afternoon that found him waiting as usual under their tree- not the house, but the one at the edge of the forest, where he’d wait sometimes if he didn’t trust the path.

“Hey babes, what’s up?” is the first thing he’s greeted to by Sleep, who appears as usual from nowhere. It was much harder to spot him in the late afternoons of autumn, with so much of him blending in. (Some of it was natural- his hair changing like the colours of the autumn leaves, shining and mesmerising, and some of it was the magic he pulled around himself to disappear and torment Emile).

Emile managed a slight grin, pushing himself from the tree and wiping his damp palms on the skirt he had no choice but to wear when coming from home.

He opened his mouth, ready to greet him, ready to tell him, ready even to say that he had something to tell him, but he found all the words died in his throat.

“I dunno. Just thinking about some stuff, I guess,” he said, and the lie felt like acid on his tongue. One would think he’d been cursed to tell the truth, rather than it being self-imposed.

“Uh-uh gurl that is an absolute indicator that we need to sit down and talk about stuff, don’t you try and pull that shit with me. If I say shit like that you jump straight to trying to solve my problems so now I’m gonna have to return the favour,” Sleep said, and linked their arms together, he didn’t seem to notice Emile’s flinch at the address.

He pulled Emile along the path, well warn between the tree line and their house. Em’s caution on that day was in fact proven justified, when they found part of it blocked off with the thorn bushes that looked made of metal and were still intimidating to this day. To Sleep, of course, they were nothing, banished with barely a wave of a hand, but Emile would have had far more trouble. And staying in one place that was not the tree house was decidedly dangerous in a forest like this.

There were no other issues however, and Emile found himself quickly ushered up the ladder of the tree house and pushed unceremoniously straight down onto one of the many pillows they had borrowed or otherwise relocated.

“So, babes, spill,” Sleep said, arms crossed.

“It’s not that much, really,” Emile found himself saying before he could help it. Lying really was second nature to humans, even the ones who schooled themselves so hard to be honest, it seemed.

Sleep scowled, clearly seeing the blatant lie. (Just because Emile could lie didn’t mean he was particularly good at it, you know).

Emile looked down at his skirts and then looked up at Sleep again.

“Do you know what? I’ll tell you, but you need to let me change first. I can’t stand to be in this a moment longer, and it is rather relevant,” he bargained, standing and moving towards one of the other small rooms they had created.

“Fine, but don’t think you can avoid this forever, sunshine!” Sleep sighed, slumping back against pillow and wall, absolutely undignified.

It always made Emile laugh a little when he did something like that. To the best of is knowledge, Sleep actually held some kind of importance in his court, and often had moments of that ethereal grace so often accredited to the fae, and yet there were plenty of other moments where he was simply all gangly limbs and ‘please believe I’m badass’ attitude.

He returned five minutes later, pants replacing skirt and hair tied back in a much more comfortable and personally acceptable manner.

“All right,” he said, sitting back down.

“Ok, gurl, what the Ef is up?” Sleep asked, staring him down.

Emile flinched again, just a little.

“Ok, yeah, uh here’s the thing. I’m not. ‘Gurl’ that is. I don’t consider myself to be a girl. I’m a boy,” he said, repeating himself, but not stumbling over the words.

Sleep looked at him blankly for a moment.

“So this is you like, asking me to use He and Him and seeing you as a boy, I’m guessing?” he asked and frowned at Emile’s hesitant nod, “Wait a minute, is this another one of those bullshit human things, do you guys not think people can be different genders? You seem like, far too nervous about this if that wasn’t the case.”

Emile felt something in him truly lighten in that moment. He hadn’t thought Sleep would completely reject him, but he hadn’t expected him to think it was so, well… normal.

“Yes, I would very much like you to do that… And, uh, no, not really…”

Sleep blinked at him owlishly for a moment, “Well, that’s stupid. But if humans don’t do that, then what made you realise if you don’t mind my asking?”

Emile shrugged a little sheepishly, “Well, I’d always felt something was a little bit off, you know. And, uh, it wasn’t all me really. Last week, when my family went into the village for the autumn celebration there was like, travelling performers there. And one of them- a sword swallower, he was a guy like me, and I had spoken to him briefly, obviously curious about his life, but then my parents pulled me away.”

He sighed a little, “They think that people like him- like me are sick, that they’ve been cursed or cursed themselves I guess.”

“Well, you know, this is just adding another tally to my ‘list of reasons why humans are dumb’ you know. If you say you’re a boy then you’re a boy, it’s not that difficult really. Like sure you guys can lie and stuff and that’s cool, but that’s just a total dick move. And we’re the ones with a reputation for being sadistic, honestly!” Sleep said dramatically, draping himself more horizontally across the pillows.

Emile laughed. It was just for a moment, but in that second he swore his heart would burst with love for his dramatic friend, he was so strange and funny, and the fact that he could say that with such confidence when he could not speak a lie, truly warmed Emile’s heart and calmed his fears. Emile loved Sleep and his ridiculous personality and ridiculously handsome face. Well. Ok, maybe that was a thought to categorise for later and Not Think About.

“So,” said Sleep, righting himself, “Babes, have you picked out a new name for yourself, I’m sure it’s super cool just like you.”

His grin was pointy and feral, and Emile laughed, shaking his head, so very used to his antics by now.

“C’mon Sunshine, you should totally tell me your name!” he was laughing now, clearly not even trying to be taken seriously.

“Real nice attempt there, buddy, perfect form, but no, not this time.”

Sleep made a show of being wounded, but eventually returned to a normal sitting position for him (which was to say, he splayed himself across the floor like some sort of cat stretching).

Emile laughed at him but ignored his antics in favour of picking up one of his books. It was a gift he had received recently, and he was yet to finish it.

“You know,” Sleep said, after a while of them sitting in companionable silence, “This probably means that even if you had told me your name before, it wouldn’t count anymore. And anyone that still knows you by that name has even less power over you than before.”

Emile looked up at him and smiled.

“That’s surprisingly good to hear… Thanks.”

There was another long silence.

“Do you like having long hair?” Sleep asked suddenly.

“What?” Emile looked up, confused this time.

“I said do you like having long hair, keep up Sunshine.”

“Well, I mean, no not really. I’d much rather have it shorter, but I’d be worried I’d make myself look ridiculous, and my parents would kill me.”

“Well, I can make it look good,” he said waving his fingers about in a gesture that Emile could only interpret as ‘look at me I’m special I have magic’, “And quite honestly your parents can suck it.”

Emile had laughed at first, but with even the barest hint of an agreement from his lips Sleep pulled him about and got straight to work. His first action was to chop clear off the braid Emile had been wearing, and hand it to him triumphantly, smiling at the rope of golden hair. Then, he had gotten to work, doing stars knew what, removing large chunks and small strands, fluffing, smoothing and running his too long and bony fingers all through it. When he pulled back and announced himself done, Emile was suspicious of the results, but upon seeing himself in the mirrored glass he was presented he couldn’t help but gasp. He hardly recognised himself- definitely in a good way. He looked, almost, like his older brother, with the curly blond hair now cut short, curling around his ears and just bushing his eyebrows when not pushed back.

He leapt from his chair at a moment’s notice, squeezing Sleep into a tight hug.

“I love it,” he said, slightly tearfully, “Thank you.”

“Then, I give you this gift,” Sleep said, resting his hands on Emile’s head, “No strings attached, no payment needed, that for as long as you wish it, your hair shall not grow any longer than this.”

That was another thing he knew he wasn’t supposed to do with the fae- thank them or accept gifts. But it was Sleep, and he’d honestly just done one of the most amazing things he’d witnessed in all his life, so it really would have been remiss of him not to thank him.

After a few more moments of Emile’s tearful hug, they honestly spent the rest of the afternoon as they always did, sitting around, talking and sometimes doing their own thing in silence with each other. And that night, even as dusk began to fall, Emile was unwilling to leave. He didn’t want to go home and have to pretend to be someone else again. He knew he had to eventually, but for now he wanted to hold on to that sense of peace one moment longer.

And so, without even realising it, he drifted off to sleep on the floor and cushions of a tree house that had always felt that much more like a home than where his family lived. Distantly, he knew his parents, and especially his grandmother would be furious, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

That night, for the first time, he knew he could truly hear the voice when it whispered in his ear, “Good night, Sunshine. Sleep well,” while the body it belonged to carefully covered him in a blanket.

 4

Emile Picani was a smart boy. All the people from the village asked him for advice on their problems, even though he was just eighteen, he could tell stories that enchanted the young and old alike and that was barely scratching the surface of the many, many things he could do.

Most people thought he was fantastic, if exceedingly odd. Of course, most people also thought that Emile was a girl, and spent his afternoons painting in the fields or reflecting in nature, which did detract from their opinions just a little.

And Emile was happy with that, mostly. He was happy to exist as he was, as long as he had the opportunity to escape, as he did as often as he could with Sleep.

Sleep, his best friend since childhood who he knew as well as he knew himself. Sleep, the boy he had watched grow from baby face to… strikingly handsome, and borderline beautiful. Sleep, the fae who strayed closest to the forest’s edge, and who knew enough about what he was to do it properly now, and still never used his magic against Emile. Sleep, who had done every single thing inside his power, which only extended so far out of the forest, to make Emile more like the man he was- who cut his hair, and found him clothes, and charmed his voice, and loved and accepted him as he was.

Sleep, who Emile had realised- or rather, admitted to himself- four months ago that he was in love with.

It was still strange to think about, that he’d finally owned up to it. (he hadn’t said anything to Sleep though, of course not, what do you think he was, an idiot?). It had taken years, and multiple thoughts that he had decided to ‘think about later’ and then never got around to.

But he was. He was hopelessly in love with his best friend, who also happened to be a fae of importance in his court.

He was in love with his beautiful face, freckled and sharp, his curly, autumn toned hair that shone in the sun, his perfect brow and his long, admittedly slightly gangly limbs. But he was also in love with the way he made him laugh, the way he didn’t always understand human things, but made an effort if Emile cared, the way he felt when he hugged him, and the sweetness he would speak to him with.

Emile could probably name any trait of Sleep’s and declare himself in love with it, because he was. And trust him, he knew this wasn’t a trick or curse. As soon as he was willing to admit it to himself, he tried every magical method he knew to detect or lift a curse, to learn about meddling magics and everything he could possibly try. And none of it helped, and he was forced to admit that it was all him, and his… feelings.

Usually Emile was good with feelings, though, apparently that didn’t apply to his own.

And after his brief tirade of trying everything under the sun to rid himself of a curse, he started returning to the forest again, and for every time he refused to answer Sleep on his absence, his heart grew a little heavier.

But he adapted, and accepted it, and internalised it, because there was no way someone like Sleep would be interested in me. I’m mortal. My friendship is one thing, but that was quite another. So, they went on as normal, and if Emile noticed the Sleep noticed that something was wrong, neither would admit it.

Emile wouldn’t dare to disrupt something that was already working so well. Why do that for some simple feelings when the friendship they already had was so important.

So, it was normal. For a while at least. And then Emile’s parents had to go and destroy all of it.

He’d been told on a perfectly normal winters morning. He’d just finished cleaning up the hearth from the night before and getting ready to light a new fire for the rest of the day, when his mother and sisters had pulled him away. They’d refused to tell him what for, wittering away between each other as they pulled him and sat him down at the kitchen table.

His grandmother sat behind them, frowning at their antics, and throwing worried glances his way. He wasn’t sure how to interpret that, his grandmother had never seemed to like him, until recently.

Eventually, his mother stopped dancing about, and grinned widely.

“Darling, darling we have such wonderful news for you!” she announced, practically dancing in place. “We’ve found you a husband.”

Emile felt cold. This was terrible. He had tried so, so hard to avoid this. He had walked out on more than one conversation about it and had done everything in his power to ensure that none of the men in the village would be interested.  

He didn’t want a husband, not just because he was in love with Sleep, but because he knew that they would want him to move away, to live in the village or some other farm, and leave his forest, and Sleep and everything that really mattered, and the only person that understood and accepted him as a man.

“Oh, look! She’s in shock, it’s so sweet!” twittered his youngest sister, Mary, who despite being only twelve had wanted a husband and her own family since forever. “Oh, I’m jealous, you’re so lucky Em, I thought we’d never do it!”

“Yes, it really is quite a miracle, it’s almost as if she’d been trying to avoid it,” Annie, his other sister said, with as much dry bite as she could manage, looking down her nose at him.

He squirmed in his seat.

“Now, girls,” his mother said, hushing them, “Emily may have made it a little difficult, with the short hair, and the pants, and the disappearing and the… general lack of approachability to suiters and…”

Emile knew that she was trying to find a way to say “and everything else” without sounding rude. And honestly, he was proud of that. Half of that was just who he was,  but the other half had been a deliberate attempt to ward off such suitors. And it had apparently worked until now.

“Yes, that is rather a lot of difficult things to contend with, isn’t it,” said Annie, primly.

“Oh, but it’s soooo romantic that he decided he wants to marry her regardless, don’t you think Anne? I’m sure she’ll just love him- He’s so handsome! And I think that he like, thinks he’s rescuing her,” Mary said dreamily.

From behind them, in the doorway, Emile’s grandmother spoke up.

“Do you girls plan on hearing what Em has to say on the matter, or are you content to continue gossipin’ about the engagement like village hens?”

Emile was surprised, he’d never heard his grandmother speak in his defence in that way before.

They all looked in shock at their grandmother, before turning back to Emile, now waiting for him to say something.

“I think,” he said, hating how his voice shook, “I think I shall have to spend some time contemplating this. In nature.”

Then he stood from the table roughly and hurried out the door, ignoring the many calls after him and the clattering of his chair.

He hurried past the tree line, into the forest, and down the path. He had no idea if it was safe that day, and he didn’t care. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, all he knew was that he needed to be not here and rather there. There, at the treehouse, there with Sleep, there away from that nightmare.

He stumbled along the path, basically running blind, and up, into the treehouse. The first thing he did was change out of his dress, the second was collapse in a heap on the cushions.

Not too long after, he felt a hand on his arm, and without thinking threw himself towards it. He could tell in a moment that it was Sleep, from just the touch, but even more so for burying his face in his shirt. He smelled of crisp autumn leaves even in the winter, and soft, earthy scents like mushrooms.

Emile barely managed to get his story out, between gasps for breath and his body shaking.

He was sure that Sleep could tell, just by listening to his thoughts. The thoughts screaming, I don’t want this. I want anything but this.

Sleep gently stroked his hair and listened to him speak. When he was done, he pulled him tighter against him, and calmed him gently.

“Babes, what do you want me to do?” he asked, seriously, his jet dark eyes glinting.

“There’s nothing you can do… I can’t… there’s nothing I can think of that will fix this- I can’t, my family will disown me if I don’t…” he sighed.

“You could stay with me, Sunshine?

“Don’t be silly, Sleep. They’d come looking and take me away. And then they’d be after you too”

“No, babes, I meant it. You could stay here with me. You promised me, back when we were kids, that your time here in the forest would be spent with me. If you stay in this forest, they can’t take you away from me, if you don’t want to go. Promises with the fae are binding, you know that,” he said, seriousness coating his features in an unfamiliar pattern.

“Oh,” said Emile, for a moment, hope blossoming in his chest, only to be crushed by reality. “Oh, I wish I could Sleep, but… I don’t belong here. I can come, and visit you- you’re not the problem, but I’m… I’m just a human. I couldn’t truly live out here…”

It hurt. There wasn’t much flowery language that could dance about that, he was, simply put, sad.

Sleep frowned.

“I’m sure I could find a way to work around that- I have magic, I have people who know magic. I could, I could find something. I could do something, anything. I would- I’d do anything to keep you here with me Em- Hell, if only you’d tell me your name I could end all this right now and-” he said frantically, hands dancing around, and voice clipped.

In that moment, Emile could really see the fae shining through- he wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t a little scary. He’d never really believed Sleep when he’d asked him for his name before, never thought that there would be a moment when he would actually fear the question, and it scared him. But after a second, he calmed, he breathed deeply like Emile had taught him for dealing with bad emotions and steadied himself.

“If it is what you want, Em, I will find a way to stop this. Be it keeping you here, or some other way of removing him I will do it- but only if that’s what you want. I will look into any option- What’s the point of being a prince if I can’t, find a solution to this- but I won’t use any of these options without you asking first. I swear it to you,” he declared, and the rush of magic this time was palpable.

Oh. Oh, he thought. Sleep is a prince, he thinks first, stunned. His second thought could not be distilled down into so simple a sentence. It was more a vague amalgamation of emotions- gratitude at the offer, regret at having thought he would ever hurt him really, doubt in his ability to do anything, and mostly pure, shining love.

“Thank you,” he whispers softly, “I- I don’t think that I can choose that but thank you…”

There’s a long moment of silence, and he realises in that moment that he can’t leave with these things left unsaid.

“I- Sleep, you’re my best friend in the world and it would hurt so much to be apart from you but… I couldn’t stand to be with you all the time either, because- because-”  he felt like he was choking on the words, like his throat was filled with precious stones that didn’t want to come forward, until they all spilled out in one moment, “Because I’m in love with you and I couldn’t stand to have you so close, all the time, and not, not have that, but I know I can’t, because you’re- you’re you- you’re fae, and a prince apparently to boot and I’m just the mortal boy who fell into every stereotypical trap. So, thank you for the offer, but I can’t.”

And then he turned and fled for the second time that day before he could even look at Sleep’s face. He cried, alone, in his room that night, when even his sisters were avoiding him.

When he fell asleep, he didn’t expect to even hear the voice that whispered in his ear, but he did. And it said, “Sleep well,” but it felt like it was calling him home. It felt like, “I miss you,” and “I’ll protect you.” it felt like his heartbreaking, and he couldn’t do anything to fix it.

 + 1

The day that Emile met his fiancé was not a good one.

It was freezing cold, but his mother hand forced him into the fanciest dress he owned, which was far thinner than was appropriate for this kind of weather, and they expected him to walk into the village with them.

The walk felt longer than usual. He tried to focus on something other than the cold air stinging his lungs or nipping his skin. So, instead, he thought. He thought about his fiancé, his fate, and future. And the niggling reminder of Sleep’s promise. Well, he tried not to think about that one, honestly. But out of all his concerns, that was the only one that didn’t leave him feeling as cold as the winter he walked in.

He still knew nothing about his fiancé, not even his name. There were a dozen eligible young men in the village it could be, and Emile would be happy with… none of them. Not a single one.

Once, he thought he could have accustomed himself to the idea. And then he realised two integral things to his whole… being, and suddenly he didn’t think he could.

These thoughts were such a dark, spiralling hole he barely noticed when they finally arrived in the village, and his mother and sisters pulled insistently at his arms to guide him.

There was only one other family at the village square, that morning, everyone else inside like smart people, and in seeing them- Well, if Emile had been cold before he was practically frozen now.

With no one else in sight, there were no other options, and the panic bubbled lowly in Emile’s stomach.

Fredrick Jackson, and his father, grandfather, mother and sisters, stood by the frozen village fountain. Fredrick, whose family were known for being hunters and trappers and their cold, cruel nature. Which was all well and, well, bad on its own, but the Jackson’s were also known for something else, something that Emile thought was easily worse, to him at least. They didn’t just hunt animals; they hunted the supernatural- and especially the fae.

Emile stopped dead in his tracks. The glare his sister threw him was withering, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

His mother grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him forward, pasting on a brittle smile between the jab to his ribs. He tried his best to school his features into…impassivity… he couldn’t manage sweet or happy and he knew it.  

“Ah, and there she is!” Fredrick exclaimed loudly, “The not-witch.”

Emile flinched at the name. He knew he’d been called it in the village for years, but not many were game enough to say it to his face. They didn’t want to risk his anger if he were a witch and didn’t want to feel the guilt if he wasn’t.

“Jackson,” he said, schooling his voice to neutrality.

“Oh, yes, yes, you were right Maria, you cheeky little minx. I can practically see the magic on her, oh she will be a challenge.”

Oh, Emile could hardly stop himself from bristling.

Fredrick’s mother, Lucinda, ran her eyes over him savagely, and then sighed pointedly.

“Yes- you can see it in basically everything- the hair, the voice- just,” she paused gesturing her up and down, “All over. Either she is a witch or has consistent contact with something else of strong magic.”

She said that as though it made a bad smell appear under her nose. Emile barely contained the urge to bolt.

“Yes, mother and that is what will make her a challenge. I’m sure you’ll make a proper Jackson spouse of her eventually,”

“I happen to be a person, not a challenge, Fredrick, and would appreciate if you would treat me as such,” Emile said, voice firm despite his mother’s glare.

Fredrick waved his hand dismissively.

“What are her hobbies, again, Mrs Picani? How does she spend her free time?” his sister, Maria, asked.

“Well, she’s quite good at painting and writing, and telling stories... and likes walks in nature and the like. She’s also quite skilled at embroidery.”

“I happen to be able to talk for myself!”

His mother jabbed him in the ribs again.

“Hmm. Well, we will have to teach her a few things- respect, namely it seems. And dispel that awful charm on her hair, but this could work,” Mr Jackson said.

“Oh fantastic,” his mother said, ignoring the slight in the words, “It would be an honour to join our families Mr Jackson. My husband would be happy to discuss negotiations with you, while I discuss wedding plans with Lucinda.”

Emile squirmed. He just wanted to be at home, with a book, or with Sleep or really, anywhere but here.

Mr Jackson nodded curtly.

“Wonderful. Girls, why don’t you return home and give your grandmother of the good news.”

Emile immediately turned to flee.

“No, not you Emily, you should stay and get to know your future husband,” She said tightly.

“Oh, it’s no matter. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other after the wedding,” Fredrick said with what he probably assumed to be a winning smile.

Emile shuddered internally.

“Indeed. In that case,” she said making a face but waving Emile off.

He turned on heel immediately. He walked as fast as he could without looking like he was running. There was something welling up inside him. He couldn’t tell if it was panic, disgust or something else entirely.

His sisters trailed behind him, gossiping between themselves and giggling into their gloves. It didn’t take long to completely lose sight of them.

When he made it home, he collapsed at the dining table, not even with enough energy to make it to his room.

“Is he as bad as his father?” a voice asked from the doorway. Emile looked up, startled by his grandmother’s presence.

“what?”

“I said, is he as bad as his father. Fredrick, I mean.”

“Oh… well, that depends on what you think is bad.”

“Abhorrent personality, stuck up, hates anythin’ magical unless it’s one of their own weapons,” his grandmother suggested.

“I mean, yeah, he’s all of that- wait, don’t you hate magic grandmother?” he asked, confused.

She stared at him for a long moment, her wrinkled face set in a mask. And then it broke, as she laughed.

“Hey- what are you- what’s so funny about that?” he exclaimed.

“Oh, oh you think that I hate magic, little one? That does explain some things, indeed. No, of course I don’t hate magic, how could I? I’m a witch.”

Emile stared at her.

“But- you- but when we were younger, you told all those stories and- and…” he trailed off, more confused than before.

“I told you stories so you could protect yourself from the good neighbours, and other people usin’ magic against ya, kid. Not that you listened to a single one, mind.” She said, pinning him with a knowing stare.

He squirmed.

“Why do you think I taught you all those ways to test for magic- they’re magic in and of themselves, boy. Anyone can carry iron and holly berries on them, but it takes magic and will to do the rest.”

Emile’s head spun. And then, he paused, and something stuck out to him.

“Wait, what- what did you just call me?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer, but hoping so, so hard.

“Well, I called ya boy, and I ain’t calling you man, because you’re still far too young for that, kid, but it’s what ya are aren’t ya- don’t think I can’t tell these kinds of things. I thought we just established that I use magic. An’ speaking of, I think it’s about time I knew what name to actually call you, kid.”

“How did you know? When? I never said anything and- why did you never say anything… I thought that no one would understand… I… I’m Emile…” he said, surprised, sadness and hope warring for equal place in his tone.

“I knew before you were born. When you mama was pregnant with you, I tested, just as I did for all your brothers and sisters, and the magic told me you’d be a boy. Your parents thought I was looney when you were born, but I haven’t been wrong before or since, I knew it was just a matter of time…”

“Then why didn’t you say something, if you knew, why didn’t you… help me?”

She looked at him, and laughed, “You wouldn’ta accepted my help if I’d offered boy, don’t think I don’t know that. You were scared of me for years, and weary and distasteful after tha’. I knew my place. An’ besides, that boy of yours in the forest seemed to do a damn good job of it anyway.”

“He’s not my boy- wait, you know about Sleep? I thought you hated the fae, how can you be so nonchalant about me- me being friends with one of them?”

As if that day couldn’t be any more confusing.

“Of course, I know about your boy- what kind of witch’d I be if I didn’t know about my grandson traipsing around in the woods with the prince of the fair folk. I was keepin’ an eye out for you. Now, this don’t mean I like them, mind, but he’s… he’d good for you, Em. I’ve seen him lookin’ after you, in a way that none of us here could. I don’t trust him… not for me, but for you… you help each other, don’t you?”

“I mean… I like to think so… but that doesn’t matter, anyway… I probably won’t be able to ever see him again, after I’m married.”

His grandmother snorted.

“I have no idea how your mother convinced the Jacksons to even talk to us- they’ve been out for my blood for forty years- but please tell me you ain’t actually thinkin’ of going through with this just ‘cause it’s what your mama wants, boy?”

“What else am I supposed to do, then? I can’t say no and stay here, and the only other option I have is… well…” he trails off, staring out the window at the forest in the distance.

“Ah, your boy has a way out does he?”

“He’s not my boy,” Emile repeated, “We’re just… friends…”

“Of course, you are, sweety, I haven’t seen you pining for months or anything.”

“Hey! I’m not that obvious- oh, oh darn…” he sighs, “I mean, yeah, he has a way, but I wouldn’t be able to leave the forest again, I don’t think… and he almost certainly hates me now, after my last visit.”

His grandmother levels him with a look for a very long moment, before sighing and resting a hand over his.

“There ain’t nothing here for you honey, I think we both know that. You’d be miserable with Fredrick, you ain’t no wife and you ain’t no Jackson, you’ve had magic in your veins since before you were born, an’ that boys only strengthened it… An’ if you ain’t either of those things, I think you’ll find it’ll be hard to be with the rest of this family, anyway. An’ that boy, he gave his word to protect you, if you wanted it, I can sense these kinds of promise’s Emile, an’ the fae ain’t gonna make them lightly. He loves you just like you love him,” her eyes were grim, but the hand on his was warm, and comforting.

He sighed, resting his head in his free hand.

“You’re right, probably- about the protection, not the liking me back- but I don’t- I can’t… what about you? and what about them they’ll come looking for me, I know,” he said, voice small.

“Don’t you worry about me, boy. I’m old, but I still got enough left in me. I’ll come an’ visit you in those woods of yours,” she said with a strange grin, before her features turn serious once more, “An’ we’ll deal with them others, don’t worry. I have a plan.”

 When his family returned that night, Emile joined them in their ‘festivities’. He pretended, as well he could when every lie still felt like a betrayal to a promise, that he was happy, that this was what he wanted.

He ate dinner with them and tried to ignore the burning the feeling of the letter in his pocket, that felt as though it would burn a hole through the cloth, and the thought of the bag, packed upstairs ready to flee.

He waited until both his sisters had gone to sleep before he dared enter their bedroom, changing as quietly as he could, pulling on warm, thick trousers and a coat. He took the bag, and crept downstairs, thinking his parents to be in bed. He laid the letter down on the table with the words, written as neatly as he could have in a shaking hand, face up, for the world to see.

Dear Family,

Know that I love you, and will miss you dearly, but cannot remain. I cannot marry the man you have chosen for me, and I cannot continue to live a lie. I love another, and am not who you think I am. Please do not look for me, you will not like what you find.

Your daughter, and sister, Emily

Your brother, and son, E.

He couldn’t bring himself to lie, in his final message, and that strike through was the only alteration made.

The letter was his goodbye to his family, and as he took a moment, to have what he knew would be one, final, look around the kitchen he had grown up in, he said his goodbye to that place, and walked out the door.

He left the warmth of his house in favour of the cold, dark, outside, and began his trek into the woods.

Perhaps if he had taken a moment longer to look around that room, he would have noticed his father watching from the doorway.

 Halfway to the tree, Emile heard noises. It was shouting, the yells of men and the bays of dogs. He turned and saw lights in the distance.

Oh. Oh, no.

He ran. Before, he had been content to walk, but now, he fled with purpose. The path was dangerous at night, and the thorns reached for him at every opportunity, but he ignored every one that made contact. He had to go.

His breaths came in loud, puffing gasps, sending mist spiralling into the cold, and the crunch of his feet on snow was just as loud in his ears.

But then, ahead of him- More lights, not the ones of pursuers, but ones of safety. He tumbled into the clearing with the tree, and threw himself inside the house, still so cold, and curled into a shape as small as he could manage, on the pillows.

He hoped with every shred of his being, that Sleep would come, that he would know, and he would find him.

He could still hear the yells, the cries to split up or stay together, but in some moments, his frantic breathing overtook it.

Stop this. He told himself. You know better than this. Breath. Breath properly Emile.

He focused and schooled his breathing into something resembling normalcy. He steeled himself. He could do this. He was strong enough for this. He would hide, and they would not find him, or they would, and he would refuse to leave. He could do this.

Then, there was a hand on his shoulder, pulling him up. He wanted to scream, but there wasn’t enough air in his chest. And then he saw Sleep, and he stilled.

“Hey, hey babes are you ok, hey babes c’mon, what’s wrong?” he asked fluttering his hands all over Emile, checking for injuries.

“I’m- I’m here because I can’t do it, I can’t marry him. I missed you and I hate him and there’s nothing there for me and I love you enough that I could- I could be happy to be with you even just as your friend, but I can’t go back. I won’t.”

“Oh, oh Em, sunshine, darling, I wouldn’t ever make you go back,” he said, a hand on his cheek, “Of course I want you here with me. However you’ll have me… because… I love you too, my Sunshine.”

Emile’s heart stopped. He loved him. Sleep loved him. He could cry. Gods, he wanted to kiss him so bad.

“Hey! Over this way, there’s light!” he heard a yell, in the distance. Even from here, he could tell, it was Fredrick.

“Oh, no- oh- Sleep, that’s him... he’s- darn, no. I’ll have to face him, convince him to leave,” he jumped and started to pace, thinking

“Absolutely not, I might look like a lanky bitch, but I am stronger than you! and besides-” Sleep was cut off as Emile whirled around.

“I am not a damsel in distress, Sleep, I came out here to save myself, and besides, he’s a magic hunter- He, if anyone, can hurt you, but he won’t touch me!”

“I was going to say- ‘besides, I told you before about your promise’. They can’t take you, it’s against the magic.”

Emile’s mouth formed a comically round ‘O’. For a moment, he looked relieved, and then he blanched.

“Wait, is that- is it as strong as gifts you gave me for my hair and my voice?” he asked cautiously.

“About the same, yeah, babes,” Sleep said with a cocky grin.

“Then that won’t work, he- His family seem to know how to dispel those kinds of things- I don’t know if it’s true but… I don’t like the risk.” He sighed, pacing again.

Sleep frowned.

“Well… then, babes… I was going to wait to suggest this… but… I- I was trying to find a way to, like, make sure they couldn’t take you if you did… come back, and to… be able to keep you with me, forever, after that.” He said slowly.

“And did you?”

Hesitance.

“Well, yeah babes… but, it’s a- it’s like a whole commitment and a half. It’s a lot. It’s a spell, old, fae magic. To take a human partner and give them the life of a fae while they remain bound to their… partner… only- only like super powerful fae can do it, and totally don’t like to brag, but I think that I can manage it… for you. No other magic, or dispelling, could remove that…”

“There- that has to be her, she’s not dumb enough to wander around in the dark out here,” the voice comes again, closer now.

“I’ll do it,” he says without thinking, not that he needs to.

Sleep looks startled, but nods and pulls Emile to the middle of the room, and laces both his hands through Emile’s.

“Here, in this moment, I call the world to witness me, as I ask you to join in my eternity. I ask of you three things, that I will return in kind, to bind us together, truly and fully. I ask first of you a proclamation of your heart, your feelings laid bare with no dishonesty,” Sleep didn’t waver in his clear recitation, staring directly into Emile’s face.

“My feelings… My feelings for you, with no dishonesty, are love, and trust, and loyalty. I love you, once as a friend and now as… whatever this is,” Emile’s voice did waver, as he tried to put to words the love he felt.

He also felt a little lightheaded, this was all so fast but nothing about it felt… wrong. On the contrary, it felt like exactly where he needed to be.

“You are, quite literally my Sunshine. You brighten my day and everything around you, you make me as happy as I’ve ever been and there is nothing, I’d have over you. I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known what love was, as a friend, and now… as this… My sunshine.” He takes a deep breath and continues to recite as the yells outside carry closer, “I ask second of you that you swear your life and loyalty to me, that will last as long as this bond.”

“I swear my life and loyalty to you, the love of my life, with no regrets,” Emile said, feeling almost bold as he could sense the magic coursing through the air around him.

It felt like it was digging into his skin, taking root, and pulling him forwards. He leans towards Sleep, feeling like he had his own pull of gravity.

“And I swear my life and loyalty to you, with no regrets, my cheeky little human, who clearly is trying to outdo me in dramatic declarations of love, which is quite clearly criminal,” Sleep laughs, releasing his hand to rest a palm against Emile’s cheek, tenderly.

Emile leaned into the touch.

“I ask, third and finally of you, your true name, freely given in exchange, to bind us as one,” Sleep said, face so close to Emile’s he could barely focus on anything else.

“My name- My true name,” he said, breathing deeply, “Is Emile Picani, and I give this freely, in exchange.”

The magic around him clashes then, sudden bursts of sparks along his skin, searing but not burning, and leaving pleasant warmth in their place. It surges, and surrounds him, and it moves and pushes, it pushes him towards Sleep and then in a moment- it freezes, and it holds, and waits, like a wave caught just before the crash, a second away from spilling over and waiting for the push.

“And my true name, freely given, is Remy,” says- says Remy, and the magic falls.

It’s like a tidal wave, and a tree falling, and a hurricane. It catches on every part of him and pushes them together, their chests touch, their fingers still laced and Remy’s other hand still on his cheek, and it’s almost like they’re falling into exactly where the world wants them to be.

Their lips meet, and it would be remiss to say that it was like magic- because it wasn’t just like magic, it was magic, zipping through them at every connected point, like sparks between their lips.

It was wonderful, and everything, and perfect, and just a little awkward to experience so much at one time. And then it was over, and the magic dimmed, and it was just them, and something between them that Emile could only assume was whatever… that had been building.

And their second kiss was just as good as the first, less signing fire and more slow, tender caring, and understanding.

“I love you, Remy,” Emile said quietly.

“I love you too, my beautiful Emile,” He smiled as if the taste of his name on his lips were like wine, “I’ve waited years to be able to say that, and now, no one will stop me again.”

Emile could still hear the shouting, but as he rested his head on Remy’s shoulder, knowing that this- this bond was unbreakable, he didn’t fear. He was strong, and standing side by side with Remy, he was stronger, and he wasn’t going back. He had everything he needed right there.

#remile #remy sanders #sleep/remy #emile #dr emile picani #fae au #trans!emile #fae!remy #cursing #friends to lovers #four and one #writing #fanfic #emo writes things #sanders shorts #cartoon therapy

[ask-venom-and-eddie]

The Microwave Incident™

Fandom: Venom Movie (2018) Relationships: Eddie Brock/Venom Symbiote/Anne Weying/Dan Lewis Characters: Eddie Brock, Venom, Anne Weying, Dan Lewis AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17297084 Additional Note: This primarily focuses on Dan and Eddie bonding*

Summary: In all of Dan’s years of life, he’d never quite expected to one day be cohabiting with both his girlfriend, his girlfriend’s partner and the symbiote that lived within said partner.

In all of Dan’s years of life, he’d never quite expected to one day be cohabiting with both his girlfriend, his girlfriend’s partner and the symbiote??? that lived within said partner. But as much of Life goes, nothing will ever be quite as planned and if there’s anything he’s learned to be good at by this point, it would be to go with natural progression. Things are much easier when one learns to acknowledge it and deal with whatever happens when it happens.

Besides, it’s not so bad. The total amount of time it takes to complete chores is effectively shortened down with proper delegation. There’s always someone present to take care of the cat, trips to retrieve groceries are shortened, household fees are equally split, and the amount of troublemakers around the area have mysteriously vanished....All things considered, Eddie is a pretty decent housemate. That is if one can get used to occasionally waking up to a black humanoid mass shoveling the contents of their fridge into their gaping maw, all the while making eye contact with them.

Okay so maybe Venom is a little bit as intimidating as they are fascinating to Dan.

But can anyone really blame him for that? Considering how their first meeting had resulted in Dan very nearly getting choked out by them...him?? How does the whole...symbiote thing work? Truth be told, he’s still not all too caught up with the details entirely. Of course, Anne had briefly explained Eddie’s situation after the whole... ‘Hospital thing’. The last he’s heard about Venom had been that the symbiote was presumed dead. And now, they’re alive again?

He still remembers the exact moment Anne had found out Venom was still very much alive and very much a part of Eddie. Boy, had that been quite the fiasco. Thankfully, things have more or less settled into a peaceful routine now. It’s clear that Anne and Eddie still have things to work out between the both of them and that is not up to Dan to fix. But the doctor is optimistic all the same that they’ll get there in their own time too.

For now, he’s content with the arrangement. Laughing together as they watch bad reruns on tv, dining out together at least once a week, watching Mr Belvedere and Venom get accustomed to one another, having fun and respectful debates with Eddie...it’s fun. It’s nice. Dan would even venture to call it comfortable.

With the occasional exceptions.

Namely now. Noticing the distinct smell of char and smoke wafting out of their shared apartment isn’t exactly something one looks forward to when returning home. Alarm converting into adrenaline, Dan breaks into a run, heart hammering under his chest. By the time he’s shouldered the door open and dropped his bags in favor of rushing inside, he finds a panic-stricken Eddie attempting to fan out the interior of the microwave that had erupted in flames with his hoodie.

“Eddie d-” He’s barely able to get a word of warning out before the ends of Eddie’s hoodie catches on fire too, leading to more panicked gasps from the other and a rushed attempt to stomp out the flames. Eddie probably would have succeeded if it weren’t for the fact that his frenzied attempts ensured that he got a little too close to the microwave that was still on fire and Dan could only watch in horror when he makes contact with it by the tip of his elbow and practically howls.

A little part of it might have been Venom’s doing too because Dan sees tendrils of black inky rope-like substance emerge, rapidly roping up Eddie’s elbow. Stray tendrils extended, attaching themselves beneath the kitchen table floor. Eddie is then bodily dragged underneath in an attempt to take cover. They’re protecting him. Dan dimly registers. But now isn't really the time to be making sense of things. He has a fire to put out.

Galvanised by determination, the doctor scrambles to put gloves on just in case. He takes a moment to ease his nerves before he slams the microwave oven door shut. Careful to keep a wide berth as he turns it off, Dan unplugs the power cord just in case. There’s very little one can do except to suffocate the flames, which is exactly what he attempts to do.

Eddie is still in the same location by the time Dan could safely declare that he has the situation contained. He’s hunched over in a futile attempt to fold himself in half, breathing erratically, the back of his hoodie sweat-drenched. An inky black substance, almost oily in sheen, oozes from his chest. Almost as if reflecting Eddie’s current state, the tendrils jitter, a seething mass twitching with agitation.

Whatever it was doing, if anything at all, captures Eddie’s attention enough and he’s just barely able to focus a wide-eyed gaze at Venom in a struggle not to hyperventilate. Shaky fingers grasped at the symbiote, tugging on them in an effort to pull him closer even as Eddie fought for air.

As Dan hurries his way forward, it’s becoming more and more apparent that the other is having trouble calming himself down. In retrospect, perhaps he shouldn’t have moved as quickly as he did because the sudden movement has Venom’s hackles raising and Dan is greeted with a furious bellow, fangs bared, claws extended. Oh boy oh boy.

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” His own heartbeat hammers in his ears when Dan raises his hands. Much like one would approach a skittish animal, the doctor slows his approach. Inch by gradual inch, Dan makes his way closer in what he hopes to be a non threatening manner.

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m-I’m not going to hurt him or you. I’m here to help. Let me help, Venom. Please.”

Pearlescent eyes narrowed into slits at his words and Dan resists the urge to gulp. Against his own wishes, he finds himself holding his breath when Venom appears to consider his offer. There’s something about finding yourself the sole focus of something so..otherworldly. Something powerful enough to snap your spine in one solid move if it thought to do so. It settles beneath his skin, all pins and needles.

It takes a while- Eddie may be the one looking worse for wear but Venom. Venom is a constantly shifting mass, shape inconsistent, as if it was compelled to stay close yet pull away at the same time. Dan might not understand the symbiote as much as Eddie or even Anne does, but it’s apparent even to him that Venom isn’t feeling all too good either.

There’s really no other way to describe the symbiote’s movements. But Dan would compare it to a drop of water against speakers playing at an unbearably loud volume. Nevertheless, a decision is finally made. With their last shudder, Venom oozes back. Whatever visible parts of it slithers back in quicker than Dan could blink. All that remains is a disembodied hand, fingers carefully interlaced with Eddie’s in a singular gesture that conveyed both a need for comfort and an effort to reassure.

Choosing to interpret that as assent, Dan wastes little time in shuffling underneath the table as well so that he would be seated next to Eddie’s hunched figure. “Eddie. Eddie, can you hear me?” It takes him a few tries before he’s able to get a response from his panicky companion. Eddie’s hands clenched into fists in a repeated pattern: squeeze, release, squeeze, release. Combating threats Dan can’t see, wisps of nightmares he doesn’t have access to. Not in the same way he does.

Eddie’s face is ruddy with exertion and emotional toil, breathing shaky and stilted. Dan watches as his companion thumps at the front of his chest in a manner that suggested he was attempting to dislodge something even though he knows nothing is there.

“Sorry.” Eddie’s voice cracks when he chokes out a coherent reply, pitched high and teetering on the edge of exhaustion. He scrubs at his face, still hunched up against himself. “I don’t-I don’t know what- What’s happening to me.”

And Dan could feel his heart break just a little.

“Experiencing emotional distress of sorts in highly stressful situations is a valid response, Eddie. Don’t apologise for that.” Though his reflex and instincts willed him to initiate contact as a means of comfort, the doctor hesitates and lifts away the hand that had been hovering near Eddie’s shoulder. Touch is grounding for some but it may not for others. The last thing Dan wants is for Eddie to feel even worse.

A little part of him wonders if it had been the fire or the fact that he’d failed to prevent it from catching fire that evoked such an intense response. Whichever it is, it’s not a question to be asking now. There’s always time to figure it out in the future. For now, what Eddie needs is the means to regulate his breathing and even out his physical reactions. Maybe get something for burns. That’s right-

“Eddie, may I?” By way of finishing his sentence, Dan gestured at his companion’s elbow only for Eddie to shake his head after comprehension dawns on him.

“No need.” Eddie manages to wheeze out with a measure of effort. “.Big guy’s...got it covered.”

“Oh.” A beat later. “He can do that?”

His surprise must have shown because the corners of Eddie’s mouth twitched upwards for the briefest of moments when he casts gaze on him. The edges of red-rimmed eyes may have crinkled just the tiniest bit with fondness.

“Yeah. He can-” An abortive gesture is made, aimless before Eddie sets his hand again the front of his chest, kneading. Probably uncomfortable from the amount of effort it took to keep breathing regularly. “He can do a lot.”

“Huh. Fascinating. What else can he do?” Maybe if they talked about Venom, it’d be enough of a distraction to ease his discomfort. “Uh. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, no pressure.” There’s virtually nothing Dan could, or would do, with that information anyways. Assuming the symbiote may be suspicious about that.

He’s met with yet another abortive gesture but Venom must not have minded much since Eddie answers him in halting sentences, pausing frequently to breathe deeper. They talk and Dan shares stories of his own when Eddie trails off: Teenage escapades, past pets, unfortunate haircuts, late night hospital antics with the staff, his ongoing struggles with the parking meter, stories that have Eddie looking less haunted. Eddie tells him about his investigative work, speaks jargon that goes over Dan’s head about motorbikes, captures his attention with descriptive details about the wild adventures he’d gotten into, reasons his opinions on current mysteries.

They don’t talk about the microwave and Eddie doesn’t come out from underneath the table when Dan excuses himself to answer a call.

But he makes space for him when Dan comes back with two cups of hot cocoa. Mr Belvedere slinks in to join them, shameless in the way they curled up in Eddie’s lap, purring louder than he’s ever heard. And Dan decides that Eddie’s a little bit like a cat himself when he slumps against his side, cheek warm against Dan’s shoulder, breathing finally even as he dozes.

They’re still there when Anne returns home. The question in her eyes were apparent when she finally catches sight of them. But she only nods when he mouths ‘I’ll tell you later’, eyes honey soft. Her lips are warm when she presses a kiss to his cheek and runs her fingers through Eddie’s hair, angling awkwardly just so she could press one against his temple.

Things are okay. They’re all okay.

Something in Dan relinquishes it’s hold with a soft sigh and he revels in it’s absence. He feels light, whole, good.

Yeah, they’ll be okay.

#symbrock #venom movie #venom 2018 #eddie/dan/anne/venom #dan lewis #anne weying #eddie brock #venom symbiote #Mod Sleeper

[amethyst-noir]

After Endgame, Stephen is off to go willingly embrace the sweet release of death after the traumatising experience he’s had in the two damn movies he’s appeared in. Seriously, he’s only been in two movies and has gone through enough torture to fill an entire timeline.

The first one came in exactly 9 minutes before that.

This is a conspiracy to break me and my fragile nerves, right? Because I really don’t know what else it could be. Or are you trying to motivate me to write a 100.000k novel about just how broken and in need of saving one Doctor Stephen Strange really is? Because I’d love to do that, really, but I’m not built for long novels. Love to read them, can’t write them, unfortunately

Let’s go into the first message here, the other one deserves its own answer. (Probably tomorrow. Not today. Sorry.) I just thought that they fit so nicely, nestled together in my inbox, and if I have to look at that condensed pain and misery so can you.😎

So, let’s put on some Evanescence (although I listened to the Gladiator soundtrack while typing this up), to get into the right mood, and enjoy a wild mix-and-match ride between meta, headcanon and idon’tknowhwhatthisis (I totally understand if run away from it. It ran away from me, as well.):

Okay, first: Anon, you forgot about Thor: Ragnarok! Okay, Stephen wasn’t in it for long but the scenes he had were absolute gold. And no pain and misery in sight! Instead he was having fun with two gods! I swear, the moment I don’t find the scene with Thor falling down the stairs, and Loki emerging from the eternal portal, funny, is the day I give up on myself. The whole movie was a much-needed breath of fresh air, anyway. Just like Ant-Man and the Wasp after IW.But, yes, Doctor Strange and Infinity War are brutal on our beloved wizard doctor and I think I haven’t made secret of the fact that I headcanon him as halfway suicidal since the accident. (There was not enough material in DS for me to form an opinion on this pre-accident. But after? Puh, it was pure luck that he managed to find Kamar-taj before death.)And after finding magic and purpose (again)? Even more pain, misery, torture and death xInifinty with Dormammu. Yay. Torture designed to break the strongest man. He seemed to be relatively fine (for his standards) at the beginning of IW but after Ebony Maw, the crash, the future scrying and the fight against Thanos? Done. And then giving up the time stone, enduring whatever it is what he has to endure until Tony & Co reverse the snap? (Because I’m totally sure that Stephen manages to find some way to suffer even while not existing. It seems to be in his DNA or something.)It’s going to break him, badly, even more than he already is. And we won’t see much of it onscreen because all the screen time will go to the still existing heroes, except for the very end. But there will be hints and some superb acting from which we, the fandom, can take our cues and fill in the blanks.So, Stephen, after Endgame, is done, done, done. With everything. But especially life. I see him as someone who’s so low that he doesn’t even think about slinking of and slitting his wrists or something like that, because that’s not his mindset. But quietly disappearing even though he’s badly wounded but not thinking he’s worth the trouble? That he can take care of it himself? Absolutely. Searching and finding fights he knows he can’t win alone? Justifying his longing for death to himself with the fact that it is for the greater good and that there was no other choice?Yes. Stephen thinks it’s his destiny to go out in freaking suicide attack on something or that he’s meant to suffer through his last few hours alone in some dark corner.And I would love, love to write a whole long story about this concept, and maybe I will, one day, but I have to see Endgame for that. Because if I do that I’ll put in Tony to save the day - and Stephen - but to do that I have to first know how Tony survives and in what state he’s in. Because judging from the trailer it won’t be good. 😭Let’s have little thought experiment:Endgame is done, most of the occupants of the universe are back where they belong, and some of the heroes have, sadly, fallen. Tony Stark is not among them, but he’s in bad shape. Weak, hurt and fucking exhausted in every way imaginable. But on the plus side: Peter’s back! There was a long, drawn out hugging session. There was joy and tears. Peter babbles, while Tony is too exhausted to do much more than listen with half an ear while trying to stay conscious. But he notices that the name Stephen Strange falls a couple of times. He looks around, trying to find the man that is responsible for a good part of the whole mess and the reason didn’t die on Titan, as he should have. (Tony totally thinks that. You can’t change my mind.) His resentment towards Stephen is still there, even if it’s dulled by time and the first stirrings of understanding. But Stephen’s nowhere to be seen.Tony doesn’t like that. All of his people, dead or alive, are accounted for, except for the sorcerer. Helped up by Peter he makes the rounds, asking people about Stephen. Most of them don’t know who he’s speaking about, the rest shake their heads. Finally they manage to track down Wong, who just looks at them. “Gone,” he says and while Peter needs a moment to understand Tony knows immediately that Wong doesn’t mean death.“Where?” Tony’s so tired and everything hurts and every cell in his body screams at him to finally lay down his amour and rest but he can’t. Not yet. He doesn’t understand why but he just knows that the has to get to Stephen.Wong takes one look at him and shakes his head but he conjures up a portal to the Sanctum. “Not the kid,” he warns and despite Peter’s protests Tony persuades him to stay behind and help the rest of the team in the clean-up efforts. He doesn’t want any witnesses between this meeting anyway. Tony’s so tired that he goes through the portal without thinking about the magic behind it.He’s determined to clear the air, to scream at Stephen and maybe hit him or something. He’s not clear on that yet. But the need to know WHY burns in him. Why was he important enough to sacrifice everything for? He would have died in space, if rescue hadn’t come in the last second, and he spent most of the time recuperating and barely did anything. (Not true, but that’s how Tony sees himself. As doing nothing more than anyone else could have done.)Instead of the snarky wizard he finds a broken, sobbing wreck wedged between a couch and a bookshelf. He finds a man so destroyed by his choices that his greatest wish is to just stop existing, to be put out of his misery. 14+ million possibilities, one more horrible than the other, are swirling around in Stephen’s brain and he can’t handle it.He could hold the knowledge at bay while they were planning and fighting on Titan but the interim between becoming dust on Titan and coming back on earth has broken him completely. Without anything to do, without a body, without the constant pain to keep him grounded, he was forced to contemplate everything. His old life and his new, all of his choices in all of the timelines.Stephen came up hating himself even more than before and he has the millions of timelines where he fucked up to fuel his self-hate for the rest of his life.Tony takes one look at him and can guess at least a tiny part of what’s going on in Stephen’s mind. The desire to scream at him flees, it’s obvious that Stephen’s much better at beating up himself than Tony could ever be.It’s also obvious that he needs help. Tony manages a quiet “Stephen?” before his body finally gives out and the collapses just a few meters away. It breaks Stephen out of his endless circle of self-ramification. It takes him a moment before he realizes that what he sees is real and not a product of his broken mind. It takes him even longer to finally move and get over to Tony. By then his instincts as a doctor have kicked in and after some basic first-aid he gets Tony into hospital and to the treatment he needs.He stays on the sidelines until it’s clear that Tony’s going to survive. He whispers a quiet “sorry” in farewell and vanishes back to the Sanctum. His mind is a little bit clearer now but still clouded by self-hate. He tries meditation to push everything down but it only works to an extent.When he’s not busy taking insane risks (and trying to die) he spends his days in solitude and self-hate. It’s Tony who, after having halfway recovered, searches him out once again, still in search of an explanation and closure. He arrives at the Sanctum just in time to see a half-dead Stephen come in through a flickering and unstable looking portal. Instead of finding answers he helps Stephen up and takes care of him. The answers can wait until Stephen’s no longer shaking from exhaustion. While helping him Tony sees the bruises and the dark shadows under Stephen’s eyes and begins to understand.There is a talk, later, when Stephen’s more coherent and awake. There are even more talks in the following days and weeks. Somehow, they never devolve into screaming but they get heated sometimes. The manage to form some kind of friendship, based on mutual understanding and the concept of self-sacrifice. Tony steps down from being Iron Man after Thanos since his body just can’t do it anymore but Stephen’s still an idiot with a death wish. Tony’s trying to work on that but it’s a one step forward two steps back kind of situation.But Stephen’s still alive so Tony counts his blessings and if he still always has one Iron Man armor, untested in battle, with him? It’s just in case. One never knows when he needs one to protect the ones he loves.By the time the villain of Doctor Strange 2 (whoever it may be) comes along, Stephen’s recovered enough and is in some weird kind of half friend- half relationship with Tony Stark that gives him enough strength and hope for the future to not seek death but life.When he comes back home afterwards Tony’s waiting for him and it goes on from there.

#well that escalated quickly #i had to put tony in sorry not sorry #amy imagines #Anonymous #inbox #stephen strange #ironstrange #kind of #they're my personal endgame

[littlebitoffanfic]

Never

Fandom: Little Nightmares Characters: Roger the janitor, the chefs, the lady Relationships: Roger/reader Request: could you write an x roger the janitor from little nightmares? I don’t know but something really angsty. Its totally up to you A.N: 1) I love little nightmares. I spent hours playing it and getting the hard to the core trophy so I am pretty familiar with them and I find roger to be rather endearing as well. the grannys purpose in this is from a theory I read a while back. She is Rogers grandmother who he bought when he came to the Maw and was originally the nanny for the children and was banished becuase she was abusing and/or killing the children. This is also based on the theory that the children are not eaten, but are kept to be turned into Nomes to keep the Maw running and that they are children who were abandoned in the ‘real’ world and were brought here to keep them alive in one way or another. If you want to read a bit more into this theory (and I highly recommended it) search for theory on the Granny and on the song that plays on the TV by the woman. There will be a part 2 You stepped into the elevator, pressing the button on the wall and turning to let the shutter close and the machine lower you into the lowest areas of the maw. It had been a long day to say the least. You were tired and a little sore but that didn’t stop you from going to see the janitor. Nothing could stop you from seeing him. You had first ran away to the Maw as a teenager. The world was cruel and unkind in every way to you until you heard of a place where strange things could go and call home. To this day, you weren’t sure if you came here voluntarily or if you were called. You liked to think the latter and that the Maw needed you for something. Like many of the inhabitants, it would only accept new ‘staff’ when it really needed them. When you arrived, the Lady was waiting for you, her porcelain mask immediately making you feel uneasy since you couldn’t read her expressions, but she welcomed you into the Maw nonetheless as her maid. Of course, this was a bit of a dated title, since you were more like an assistant to her. She was a very private person, and relied very little on you for things a maid might do, like helping her change. No, you were more of the run-around for her, making sure everything was running smoothly. She gave you quarters within her own, on the lower floor near the elevator that connected hers to the guests. You had a small bedroom, bathroom and living area, which was cosy and more than you ever wanted. The twins were the first two you met. Dee was the oldest and more intelligent of the two. He had a bit of a mood about him most days, but he was generally nice in a tolerable kind of way. His brother, Dum, was a little slow but kind and gentle. You had asked the Lady about their names and she simply answered that they had given it to themselves. She didn’t know if those were their real names or if they had changed their names when they ran away here. You normally got along with them both, often having to be a communication method between them and the Lady. Then you had met Roger. It was a little over a month since you had been there, and you had heard from the twins about the disformed janitor. He mainly kept to the lower levels, but would sometimes come up when needed. You weren’t that fortunate. The lady had ordered you to go to him and speak about the floorboard in the pantry of the kitchen, because the chiefs were complaining that the nomes were using it to come and take food. Of course, this had made you whole body shake at the idea of meeting another member of the Maw without the protection of the Lady, but you couldn’t say no. you had went and he had been waiting for you. You were a little relieved he couldn’t see, because it allowed you to fully inspect him for any danger and keep a close eyes on him. Although you were fascinated my his appearance, you were there for a reason. He didn’t speak, only nodding and tapping his fingers as if impatient. The lady then decided the best way for you to learn absolutely everything about the Maw, you would have to spend some time with Roger. On a Tuesday and Thursdays you would accompany him on his checks, learning the lay out of the Maw as well as how it runs. At first, he seemed to resent your company but slowly, he found himself waiting for you to return. You respected his silence and didn’t try to make awkward small talk like the twins. You would speak sometimes, telling him things about you or stories you found funny and he would chuckle. In fact, the first time he spoke to you, you were surprised. You had thought he couldn’t speak. But you had just finished telling him about how you were almost finished your book and you wondered about asking the Ferryman if he could bring you something. You had thought of the irony of maybe reading Moby Dick but then you admitted to Roger that the Ferryman scared you. There had been a brief moment when Roger had stopped, obviously thinking about something as he moved his jaw from side to side before beckoning you to follow him. He took you to his quarters and into his vast library. You had stared in awe and even more so as you watched Roger guide himself around the shelfs and reach up. His fingers trailed along the books, either counting or taking in the marking, or both, until he pulled down one and offered it to you with a long, outstretched hand. Moby Dick. You had let out an audible gasp, taking it out his hands and flipping through the pages. You had promised him you would return it as soon as you were finished. “Keep it.” He had said in a low, raspy voice. One which sounded like it hadn’t been used in years. From then on, a bond was formed. You went to see him most days after you were finished and you would sit with him in his living quarters. One room, which was a living area, had an arm chair and couch. You would often lie across the couch reading while Roger was content to sit in the chair, relaxing. You joined him for his evening meals, eating with him and helping him clean up. In the space of 6 months, you had become a common part of his life, a scheduled companion which he could rely on and it had been this way for years now. Roger would never have thought that someone might want to spend time with him, much less seek him out in their free time. Nor did he think he could become so accustomed to the company that evening when you had to work late seemed to be slow and boring. He started to crave your company more than he thought he ever would. But he was surprised when you seemed to mirror his own desires to stay with him. Some nights, you would fall asleep on his couch or you would find a way to go see him during your lunch. Roger had even started leaving all his lights on for you. He had little use for them, so you wouldn’t mind searching in the dark for the switch. But now, he kept them on just for you. After being on the Maw for the best part of 5 years now, you were fully comfortable and at home. “Roger?” You called out into the dark, a small smile on your face. He knew when you finished and often would wait for you at the elevator. Stepping out into the darkness, you couldn’t help but feel valuable. For the most part, Roger had done well adapting to have a companion around who could see. He kept most of the lights of, only really working in the dark if you weren’t around. You were about to call out his name again when something touched your back. You let out yelp as you twisted, about to try and stumble away from whoever had snuck up on you, only to come face to face with Roger. He was smirking, a soft chuckle filling the area. He had been in the rafters and had lowered himself behind you. “That’s not funny.” You pout, playfully pushing his shoulder but he could hear the small laugh you let out. When he stood at his full height, he was about 3 or 4 inches taller than you, but he normally sloughed so he could use his long arms and elbows for support meaning he was about the same height. He guided you into his living room, which housed a small TV, a sofa, armchair, table and a few piles of books. It was a little before his bedroom, which you had only been in a handful of times before. His quarters were different to everyone else’s because they seemed spread out across the level. There was a walk from the elevator to the loungeroom then from here to the bedroom and the library. You had offered before to help him move his things into a few rooms closer by, but he refused. He seemed to enjoy it this way. As soon as you were close enough, you collapsed into the sofa, your body exhausted. You heard Roger let out a small hum, often used to enquire about your actions. “With the guests coming soon, the lady has been more demanding and a little more irritated than normal.” You explain, a shiver running through your body. “Is the heating on?” Roger shook his head, a soft growl leaving his lips before he spoke. “radiator was broken. Fixed now, but will take time.” He explained, using as few words as possible. He didn’t like speaking, and his voice often sounded horse and sore so you never pushed him. Besides, after so long, you knew his replies by his body mostly. “damn.” You grumbled, a small part of you wishing you were in your room. The Ladys quarters were always rather warm and cosy. Roger went to his armchair and pulled the blanket he normally draped over his legs off the chair. On his way back to you, his reached his long arm out and to switch on the TV which was playing a children’s lullaby. Roger offered you the blanket, and you couldn’t refused. But when you took it, your fingers brushed against his own and you felt how cold they were. Jumping, you quickly let go of the blanket to grab his hand in both of your own, feeling how the skin was like ice. “You’re freezing.” You mumble, your eyes venturing up to look at Roger. He shrugged his shoulders, but his hand never tried to pull away from your own. In fact, he seemed to enjoy the warmth of your own. Standing up, you picked up the blanket. “I cant let you get ill. Not with the Maw surfacing soon.” You pulled him closer as one of your hands stayed in his own while the other reached out and maneuverer him to sit on the sofa by his shoulder. The sofa itself was low and close to the floor, so he didn’t have to use his arms to help him up. He sat at the end so one of his sides was against the armrest. You sat down directly beside him with your right arm pressed against his left and pulling your legs up onto the sofa, dropping his hand so you could lie the blanket across both your lap and his own. Once it was done, you moved his left arm up so you could crawl underneath and cuddle into him. You could feel how cold he must have been, judging by the chill in his clothes. His left arm quickly wrapped around you and made you smile. You enjoyed it when he did this, even though it was few and far between because his arm would go along your shoulder with his elbow bend about the same level with your own then down your arm and wrap around your legs, his hand rest on your bend knees. You smiled, taking his hand in your own to try and warm it up. His free hand pulled the blanket up himself a little as he slouched, obviously already comfy enough to fall asleep right here and now. you rested your head on his chest and closing your eyes as you felt his other arm come under the blanket and then to join your hands. You smiled, taking a hand in each of your own and squeezing, unable to put into words how right this felt as you drifted off to sleep. ------------------- You hauled the bucket over to the chute and poured the dead fish into it, a shiver running through your spin. It was Dee who had told you who was down there. The Granny, an older woman who was Rogers grandmother and had came with him when he arrived. She had originally looked after the children, but then she turned and started to hurt them. While the children’s fate on the ship was not to be considered the nicest, it was for a purpose and to keep the Maw running. It had to stay running. But the Granny was selfish, and she started to kill the children, whether to ‘save’ them or punish them, Dee didn’t know. But Roger had found out and had turned on his family, telling the Lady of her betrayal. She was banished to the bottom of the Maw. Roger had taken over he duties, caring for the children until they were old enough to ‘work’. He didn’t like it, because he grew close with a lot of the children, but he knew it was unavoidable. This was why the Nomes were often so fond of him, leaving little drawing for him to find. Although he couldn’t see them, he kept every single one of them. It made you smile at the thought of it. you took the bucket back to the kitchen but the chiefs hadn’t started working yet so you were able to remain in your thoughts. Last night, you had fallen asleep in Rogers arms and you couldn’t remember ever being more happy. It would be easy to just say you saw him as a friend, but you didn’t. He meant so much more to you. You were completely and utterly in love with the janitor of the Maw. Smiling, you realised that the feelings may never be returned and in fact, they may never be brought to light. But knowing you loved someone this much was incredible to you. You had never been around anyone enough to develop any sort of feelings, love or otherwise. So the fact that you were able to feel this emotion was more than enough for you right now. Especially because Roger seemed more than comfortable with your presences and touch, you could easily keep your feelings for him to yourself. You heard a bell ringing daintily from the upper levels and knew who was calling you. Washing your hands to rid any smell of the fish, you made your way up to the Ladys quarters. As you entered the entry hall with the stairs, you saw she was standing at the door which you had discover lead to shattered mirrors. She had her back to you so you cleared your throat. “You called me?” You asked, staying at the bottom of the stairs. You found she tended to react better when your head was below her own. Even now, after years of being by her side, she preferred it. You were the closest she could consider to a friend here, and she had certainly changed the way she treated you to be more favourably over the last few years. She was more caring, and treated you more like an acquaintance (or even friend) than an employee. But the last few weeks, she seemed a little on edge. You had just assumed it was because the Maw was going to rise again in a few weeks and she carried the stress on her shoulders. “You did not return last night.” She spoke, apparently not surprised by your presence behind her. “No, I fell asleep in the lower levels. I apologies.” You glance away from her, a little embarrassed she had even noticed. “Where?” She turned her head ever so slightly to the right, and you could just see the white of her porcelain mask. “In Rogers quarters.” You specify, wondering if she might have thought you had just passed out on the floor somewhere. “The janitor.” She said in a quiet voice, more like she was speaking to herself than to you. You frowned, unsure of where this line of questioning was going. You were free to roam the ship as you needed. You had once fell asleep in an empty guest bedroom because you and Dee had had too much wine and you didn’t want to wake the Lady. She had never asked you before. “From now on, you are to remain on the upper levels at all times. You may not go into the lower ones. You will not socialise with other staff, you may not venture into the kitchen or further without my prior request and you are to never see the janitor again.” She spoke quickly but with such authority it made you jump. She had not demanded something in this way from you in a long, long time. But as her words worked into your mind, you suddenly realised what her words demanded you do. “You, you cannot be-“ you were about to question her, ascending a few steps as you tried to process everything. “Do not question me.” She half snarled, making you jump as she started to walk up the stairs to the upper levels of her quarters. She was saying you couldn’t see the others again. But they were your friends, your family. And Roger, why him specifically? What had happened to warrant her to demand such a thing from you. When you first arrive, she had promised you as much freedom of the ship as you wanted. But now, she was stripping it away. you could never see Roger again. Never. Your heart broke in your chest as you gasped for breath as you looked up at after her. “Miss, please.” You ran after her, tears flooding your eyes and streaming down your cheeks as your voice broke. You reached out to grab her arm, to beg her to reconsider. That was when it hit you. Physically. She twisted, and then it felt like a wrecking ball had slammed full force into your chest and you were thrown backwards. Your back collided with the wall, sending the pictures of the wall flying. Your body fell to the floor in a wreck. you hadn’t realised but you had screamed from fear and pain. Your world was falling apart before your eyes as you looked up and saw the Lady. She was grasping onto the handrail of the stairs, gasping for breath and almost doubled over as she looked down at you. For the first time since you had first came here, she looked almost weak. When her eyes met yours, they snapped away as she twisted away from. “my orders still stand.” She called over her shoulder, but her voice wavered. One thing was for sure, you weren’t going to disobey her. Not after this. She could very easily kill you. She left you gasping on the platform between the two sets of stairs, your head against the wall as you tried to focus on something. But your head was spinning, your mind blurry. You heard the ding of the elevator and footsteps. The first to come into view was Roger then Dee then Dum behind him. You were too close to passing out to even process what they were saying, but you did feel Roger lift you up. You closed your eyes and the next thing you felt was the soft bed under you and a hand on your cheek. His long fingers asked a silent question which you couldn’t answer. then you heard her voice. It was screaming, like nails on a chalk board. “GET OUT.” She screamed, making you jump with fear and open your eyes. She said it three times in quick succession which was enough to scare the twins out of your room. But Roger stayed, growled as he turned his head away from you. She wasn’t in the room, but her voice and presence was. “GET AWAY FROM MY MAID!” She screamed again but Roger stayed close, not moving from you. “Go, please.” You reached out and grabbed his hand, begging him to leave you. The lady was angry, and this would only end in one way. No sooner had he shook his head in reply to you, he was thrown away from your bedside towards the door like a rag doll. You winced as you tried to move to him but your body was so weak you couldn’t even move out the bed. “Please, leave.” You cried to him, begging him. If she was willing to hurt you the way she did, you didn’t know what she would do to the others. You were by far her favourite. Roger turned his head towards you, faltering. “Leave.” You screamed at him, your heart breaking. This was the last time you would see him, and you couldn’t even tell him how you felt. You could tell him how much you adored him and why you wanted to stay by his side. You couldn’t even take his hands and rub then softly, a gesture which was reserved for only you two. It was too dangerous. Rogers hands found your bedroom door and he vanished out after the twins. You heard a distant ding of the elevator door closing and it descending with your family to the lower levels. you collapsed in a sobbing mess, occasionally letting out a soft scream of pain which felt like it was ripping your insides. You had never been this broken or torn before. Never.

#little nightmares #roger the janitor #roger #the janitor #the lady #the chefs #roger x reader #the janitor x reader #janitor x reader #roger the janitor x reader

[portraitoftheoddity]

Infinity War Reaction Post:  [SPOILERS]

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AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok, this hurt.

It hurt, but.... it wasn’t terrible? I was genuinely worried it would gut me AND be a massive shitty clusterfuck of a movie. And while it definitely had a lot of balls in the air, and it wasn’t perfect, it handled them I felt with a lot more grace than say, AOU. On the whole, it was a decent movie, which I am grateful for.

Loki. Auuuuugh. Pain. His face is haunting me.

I went into this a tiny bit spoiled just from the emotional reactions of other people who had been spoiled, so I was 100% ready for him to die. Am I bummed that it happened in the first ten minutes? Yes. But. My ‘best case scenario’ at that point was that he died being heroic and didn’t just join the Black Order and then get nerfed as punishment. Fandom’s ability to retcon character assassination is harder than its ability to retcon actual assassination. And there’s a LOT of avenue for fix-it fics.

I am.... weirdly glad that Loki’s jotun heritage at least gets called out, if not addressed. We never get anything real about it, but.... in his last moments, Loki acknowledges all of himself. He is Odinson. He is Jotun. He is of Asgard. None of these things are mutually exclusive. And he is willing to give his life to try to end Thanos and save Thor. That look he gives Thor when he’s getting ready to stab Thanos... he never believed he’d survive this. But he was going to try.

Seriously, Loki just-- first trying hard not to give Thanos the tesseract, then giving in in tears because Thor is being tortured and then WE HAVE A HULK. THAT FULL CIRCLE. AAAAHHHHHHHH. 

Thor’s pain crawling over to Loki’s body. MY HEART. I’m glad that Thor is actually mourning and his grief for Loki specifically is highlighted later, with Rocket, even after jokey banter happens. That Loki was the last thing Thor had left to lose kills me.

Even without spoilers, I kinda suspected Loki’s death would happen as a motivating force for Thor. And for all that, I am glad that Thor got a more emotionally-fueled arc than he did in Ragnarok. They let him have his humorous moments to keep some tonal continuity, but let his emotional moments breathe too.

Thor being mostly sure Loki is dead but in a bit of denial to hold out hope... 

NIDAVELLIR. FUCK. YEAH.

Seriously, we got more nine realms worldbuilding in IW than in Ragnarok.

Thor willing to die to hold open the aperture to make the ax, because at that point whether he lives or dies no longer matters

Thor being A GOD. The sheer badassery of his weapon BEING A BIFROST and then fucking LAYING WASTE to Thanos’ army. FFFFFUUUUUCCK ME.

“Sweet Rabbit”

Groot’s arm as the ax handle was a nice touch.

Rocket. Oh god. “I have a lot to lose” -- and then he does.

We all fucking called Rocket wanting Bucky’s arm but I’m glad we got it anyway.

Seriously, that Rocket & Bucky teamup moment.

Is it weird I found Proxima Midnight hot?

The Black Order were not really developed at all, but I’m pretty okay with that considering how much development Thanos got.

Honestly, I’m surprised by how much they fleshed him out? His motivation is a far cry from what it is in the comics, and that nerfs a lot of fic, but... It worked. It made him a lot more interesting. And more scary, I think, than a big evil purple caricature. I didn’t ask for this, but I appreciated it. 

(Of course, now I’m imagining Ebony Maw torturing Loki with those glass scalpel things...)

I liked Tony in this movie. I think putting him with characters more obnoxious than he is was a good choice -- In past Avengers movies, he’s been the immature, off the wall one, and putting him with Quill and Spidey suddenly forced him to be the Adult in the room and changed up his dynamic as a team member to do something new. 

The moment when Quill is talking about how his plan is better and Tony’s face just shuts down: I imagine he’s thinking-- “Is this what it feels like to be Cap? This is what it must feel like to be Cap. Fuck.”

Peter Parker is, of course, adorable. 

Is Avengers 4 gonna have the most depressing and awkward interstellar roadtrip ever as Nebula and Tony find their way back to earth?

Gamora giving up the location of the soul stone to save Nebula, and then Nebula realizing Gamora is dead, hurt me deep in my soul. 

Gamora. Ffffffff. Did not expect that. O_O

WANDA. WANDA WANDA WANDA WANDA. SHE IS SUCH A GODDAMN BADASS. SERIOUSLY. I am so glad they finally showed her as the fucking POWERHOUSE that she is. Holding off Proxima and Corvus on her own, and then later just fucking laying waste to so much of the alien army, and then SINGLEHANDEDLY holding Thanos off WHILE DESTROYING THE MIND STONE and breaking her own heart.

I actually even kinda cared about ScarletVision, which I didn’t think was possible?

Seriously, Wanda getting a major emotional arc. <3

Rhodey and Sam friendship and teamwork.

Rhodey basically telling Ross to go fuck himself.

Sam: “This is awkward.” (thank you for letting that be the end of BruceNat’s acknowledgement)

Shuri at Banner.

Bucky: “I love this place.”

M’Baku being there and calling T’Challa ‘brother.’ <3

“Wong, you’re invited to my wedding.”

After he spent a lot of Ragnarok as Hulk, I appreciate that Bruce spent pretty much the whole movie as Bruce for once?

“You’re embarassing me in front of the wizards!”

NATASHA & OKOYE TEAM UP I AM FUCKING LIVINGGGGGG

STEVE. Steve being gorgeous and stoic and good and sad. Steve facing off against Thanos and STEEEEEEEEVE.

I am actually amazed Steve made it through; I was so braced for him to die. But then-- fuck. When Bucky collapses into ash. I gasped out loud. 

Steve falling to his knees with that utterly lost look on his face in Bucky’s ashes. I AM REALLY WORRIED THEY BROKE HIM. 

SAAAAAAAAAM.

Okoye’s face. *sobs*

Wanda’s look of relief when she goes to ash. 

Thor being SO CLOSE. SO CLOSE TO STOPPING IT. The guuuuuiiiilt he has to feel of not being enough to save anyone. 

Okay, so, obviously everyone who got ashed is gonna come back. They killed Peter and T’Challa, and those are golden goddamn geese for Marvel. They’re gonna wanna make a Black Panther 2 and another Spider-man, so we’re getting them back.

(still hurts)

Strange gave up the time stone for a reason. There’s definitely gonna be some time-traveling/reality warping plan here.

I’m curious to see just how much gets “undone” past Thanos’ final act there. I know there’s speculation that anyone who was killed directly and not ashed will stay dead (Gamora, Heimdall, Loki), but I’m not sure Marvel will let Thor suffer that much, where EVERYONE else gets someone back except for him. Resetting reality gives them an opportunity to undo the destruction of Asgard, and get back all those characters and that setting for future franchise opportunities -- especially since Ragnarok made a fuckload of money and Hemsworth would be willing to return. 

If they don’t bring Loki back, fuck it, fandom will. OVER AND OVER.

WHERE WAS CLINT???? 

I get not bringing Scott in since he has his own movie coming up which is probably set pre-Infinity War. But COME ON, MARVEL. You left us with 5 of the 6 founding avengers alive at the end but no Clint anywhere?

He had better be like, the main character of Avengers 4.

Oh shit-- what if his whole family got ashed??? What if that’s his reason for going all Ronin in Avengers 4??????

There is a plot point that I am really fucking angry about because it fucks with a fic I’m writing. I can’t say which plot point though. But I have had it plotted out since fucking 2015 so fuck. that. I’m doing it. 

CAPTAIN FUCKING MARVEL. (I may have shouted out loud in the theater.)

CAROL, COME FIX EVERYTHING.

Carol Danvers shows up 20 years late with starbucks, punches Thanos into the sun, takes the gauntlet, fixes the universe, then goes out for burgers with Monica Rambeau because punching someone into the sun works up an appetite.

Overall, I have a lot of feelings. There were a lot of things the movie did really well and a lot of things I absolute loved. I am also absolutely gutted. But I am trying to have faith that a lot will be fixed in Avengers 4 -- and if not, it WILL be fixed by fandom. Loki dying is pain pain pain, but it doesn’t destroy his character, and doesn’t destroy fandom’s love of him and his story, or all the other stories we’ll still come up with. A certain amount of status quo will be restored, I’m sure. And fandom is forever. 

#infinity war spoilers #iw spoilers #lena has thoughts #infinity war #reaction post