#I almost tacked this onto it but then I started rambling soooo

[breezy-cheezy]

Some Mob Psycho 100 Gen Fics

So call me inspired by this post by @guttersnipequeen because I’m always overjoyed to be seeing gen works getting some appreciation, and I wanted to share a few of my favorites! :’D So here are a few (with an emphasis on Mob and Reigen or Dad!Reigen, since their dynamic is my favorite ;v; ) And sorry most of these are pretty short or oneshots, I tend to have a very short attention span;;;

Also heed the warnings on these fics! They’re not all pure fluff...no romance/sex/shipping or anything like that to be found in these fics though.

I’m just going to start on @sukikobold ‘s works, because she’s a wonderful writer and literally all of her works are beautiful gen. All of them. Some favorites include:

Thorns   (one-shot)

The thorns that surrounded him were red and twisted. Every plant was so intertwined with the others, it was impossible to tell where one ended and the next one began. Or maybe they were all one plant. It didn’t make much difference. 

(Such a beautifully symbolic piece for a beautifully symbolic picture, I’m extremely fond of them, oh my goodness...)

Hospital Flowers  (one-shot)

It was bad enough for Ritsu knowing that his brother had been kidnapped. He didn't think finding him would be so much worse.

(It’s nice seeing how many people worry about Mob, and I also like seeing Ritsu learning to trust Reigen a bit more :’) )

One Afternoon  (multi-chapter)

A possible answer to the question, "What would have happened if Mob had asked someone else for help with his powers?"

Aka: An AU where Mob and Reigen don't meet until the present day.

(Not finished yet, but it’s already plenty heartwarming and I’m very interested to see what this story is building up to!)

Now as for some other gems I’ve found in this awful mess of an AO3 tag:

Three  by Ravenesta (multi-chapter)

The staff of Salt Middle School consider Kageyama Shigeo's third emergency contact.

(First gen fic I found and liked for this series! It’s really interesting seeing character studies from the outsider POV of a well written OC. Plus the ending is precious <3 )

 99  by entrenched (two-shot, part of a series I haven’t made it all the way through yet but it is indeed all gen)

In which Mob & Reigen ask the same question: Will you forget me?

(Oh mannnn...really sweet but melancholic fic, this one breaks my heart in all the best ways ;~; )

Symbiosis  by  ruthwrites (multi-chapter)

In the aftermath of the night fighting Claw's 7th Division, Mob's powers return to him. However, something unknown is left behind with Reigen. Something that doesn't want to remain there. And someone begins to take notice of the strange psychic activity coming from the Spirits and Such Consultation Office.

(Or: in which Reigen is saddled with ???%, and things go poorly for all involved.)

(Woo, okay, REALLY COOL fic here, full of some interesting headcanons and theories (some horror too, be careful) The last few chapters kept me on the edge of my seat! I love the descriptions and characterizations soooo much, and I was also happy to get a sort of Psychonauts-ish vibe from the end scenes which I don’t wanna specify because spoilers lol)

On Glass Shoulders by NotHereForIt (two-shot)

Mob is not answering his phone.

And Reigen really does not want to be the one to tell the Kageyamas that he lost their kid while on an exorcism job.

(Admittedly, I was a liiittle iffy on the premise at first glance, but after reading...dang I think I’m in love with this one really. Wonderfully in character, protective Reigen, good fluff, the return of Reigen lecturing bad guys and being awesome in general...plus a surprise follow up chapter update recently to nicely wrap things up! What more could I ask for really? )

When You Need Me  by SpiritusRex (multi-chapter)

Five times Mob hugged Reigen, and one time Reigen hugged Mob.

( Gosh this one’s so good and sweet, and I can see these happening in canon too! They actually fix/add a few scenes that I think should have happened; all very good, I’m always excited to see a new installment :’D Annnd I know it was already mentioned on the linked post, but @ghoststrawberries​ /SpiritusRex and @starsfadingbutilingeron​ /GlowingArrowsInTheSky also made the adorable  A Cat Named Milk fic series, SO precious and pure, oh man...I had to put it here still, I had to ;v;)

Lysis  by caratcake (one-shot)

The boy stared, his eyes holding the immeasurable depth of black holes, empty but all-encompassing. He lifted his hand, and the man tightened his grip on his charm. The boy did not reach for it. Instead, he splayed his hands palm up, eyes directed upwards -

“There is no rain.”

(Super short but super beautiful Serizawa-centric fic, I loved reading it!)

Influential  by macrauchenia (multi-chapter)

Alternatively, "Five times Reigen inadvertently adopts an esper and the one time he actually realizes what he's gotten himself into."

(There’s only one chapter of this so far but it already looks very promising, so I’ll go ahead and put it here! :’D)

As for @phantomrose96 , I feel like her angst fics get talked about alot, and for good reason too (I’m sure you all have seen me yelling about A Breach of Trust at some point or another asdhureiregh), but I sometimes like to remind myself she can write some really good fluff when she wants to...this is one of those times. A compilation of my faves of her gen fluff ficlets (these are Tumblr links btw): The Butterfly Test ,  A Condensed Guide to Living With Psychics: by Arataka Reigen ,  Scribbled-Out Shopping Lists ,  Gold Stars ,  The Business of Telling Lies ,  Smoke 

Chiasmus  by fireflysummers (two-shot)

In the end, Mob can’t protect other people from himself. In the end it all comes to a head, and when he wakes up people have died. It doesn’t matter who they were or what they were trying to do. It doesn’t matter that his life, and the lives of those most important to him were at stake. All that matters is that he failed.

So, in his despair, he builds a cage and willingly walks into it.  His vessel sleeps, and he knows that the others may mourn him for a while, in the end it’s better this way. The others, however, aren’t going to let that stand.

Even if they have to go in after him.

(Another tumblr link, it’s not on AO3, but I definitely felt like I should put it here; rather short, but very beautiful and extremely heartfelt. Also accompanied with amazing art!)

#breezy babbles #mp100 #fic rec #long post #LOTS OF FIC RECS #because there are alot of gross fics in this fandom's ao3 tag #and I've never been a big fan of romance #like #ever #so here #there are some quality gen works #even more in the post I linked at the beginning #I almost tacked this onto it but then I started rambling soooo #separate #there were some I almost put here but had to take off #because on another read through #I realized the author snuck in some shipping I didn't notice :T #I feel like the author was trying to imply some Shou Ritsu in 'Three' too #but it's only like one sentence while the rest is absolutely gen #so I'll leave it #may change my mind later we'll see;;; #I'm really fond of that one as one of the first I read ;v; #I have alot of respect and love for gen fic writers #thank you guys for all you do #also sending lots of love to my friend who wrote me amazing gen fics during a very very bad time in the AO3 tag #you know who you are girl I love you so much thank yoooou!!!! <333

[dearlazerbunny]

Lie to Me (Ch 1 of ?)

Pairings: Loki x Reader

Genre/Ratings: M eventually (aiming for a slow burn here); warnings for kidnapping and subsequent anxiety/PTSD (will be marked before every chapter)

Words: 2200 

Summary: If you had to guess what the captured, traitor, trickster god Loki Laufeyson wanted or needed at this moment, a babysitter would be far, far down on the list. (Set after the events of Avengers 1.)

If I don’t post what I already have it’s never going to get finished soooo have some Loki. Hovering around 20k rn But I still have a looooot left to write. If anyone is interested in beta-ing/helping me flesh out ideas hit me up! 

“You.” You look up with a very good impression of a deer caught in headlights. The woman beckoning to you is clearly high up in the SHIELD hierarchy; her suit probably costs more than your entire life is worth. “Are you free?”

You glance down at the coffee you were supposed to be delivering to your coworkers. That could probably wait. “Um, yes ma’am?”

“Come with me.” She starts off in a brisk walk down the corridor, her heels clicking sharply on the floor. You follow without question, trying not to tug on your uniform too harshly in an attempt to break it in a little better. You still aren’t used to the issued clothing, considering you’ve worn the default uniform of hoodies and jeans of a college academic most of your life.

She herds you into a bare bones room, just a table and a few chairs. You stand until she gestures for you to sit, not sure why she’s even glancing your way. You’re a lackey, nothing more. Certainly not worth the attention of Maria Hill.

The woman tosses a folder onto then table, and it impressively lands squarely in front of you. “I’m assuming you’re aware of recent events?”

You raise an eyebrow. “If you’re referring to Manhattan, then yes. It’s been a bit hellacious around here.” Like there wasn’t a person on earth who hadn’t seen the footage of monstrous black aliens pouring out of a glowing portal in the sky. Everyone has been scrambling to control the situation that is blatantly so far out of their control they might as well be fighting sci-fi aliens with Neanderthal tools. It’d be amusing if it wasn’t so terrifying. “Are you with the clean-up crew?”

“Sort of.” She gestures to the folder and you open it. Inside are crystal-clear photos of Earth’s newly minted heroes and a horde of special agents escorting a raven-haired man into a transport vehicle. “Look familiar?”

You release a small breath. Intellectually, you know this is the man- god- who just tried to make himself king of humanity and threatened the entire Earth to do it. But that doesn’t stop the wonder and amazement from washing over you. Loki, Norse god of mischief, real and in the flesh. In the background you can see the golden-haired Thor, swinging his mythical hammer. Well, not exactly mythical, is it? It’s real. They’re real. All the gods and realms and monsters and mayhem that have captivated you since childhood and ultimately lead to multiple degrees on the subjects- they’re real. It’s absolutely incredible. “Yes,” you say, probably a little more wondrously that you mean for it to be.

“We’ve got Loki in custody.” She says his name so nonchalantly, like she isn’t referring to a thousands of years old immortal demigod of the golden realm of Asgard. “And we have no idea what to do with him.”

“And this has to do with me somehow?”

“Yes and no.” She sighs heavily, like she needed to be done with this shit a decade ago. “SHIELD is treating the prisoner with kiddie gloves. Fury wants every single loophole filled and locked down three times over. So we can’t just throw him in a deep dark hole and forget about him- he needs to be afforded certain… rights.” The tone of her voice implies she doesn’t agree with this sentiment.

“Like what?”

“Like company, while we sort out all the red tape so we can prosecute him properly.”

“Company.” You’re completely lost. “He needs a babysitter?”

That makes a small smile flick across her lips. “If you want to call it that. We’re not happy about it, believe me. It’s an undeniable risk. But the lawyers are demanding it, and god knows we have to keep the lawyers happy.” A pinch appears between your eyebrows. You don’t like where this is going. “So. Will you do it?”

“Me?” You squeak, then immediately try to get yourself under control. “Why me? I was literally hired a month ago, I have no qualifications to do anything like this-”

She holds up a hand. “We know. That’s the point. All you need to do is sit in his cell for a few hours every day and pretend to look interested in whatever he’s rambling about. If he talks; he’s been completely silent since we picked him up. Take a book and a few snacks with you, don’t let him schmooze you into doing anything traitorous, and you’ll be fine. Plus,” she continued, “with your background we figured you’d be at least mildly interested.”

Damn. They’ve got you there. Several masters’ in mythology along with years of a childlike fascination means you’ve been ridiculously curious about Earth’s new visitors ever since Mjolnir landed in New Mexico. The spark in your eyes must have been obvious, because Agent Hill holds out a slender hand. “Have we got a deal?”

And so, not hours later, you find yourself wandering into the depths of SHIELD’s base. “Hi there.”

The room is depressingly stark and sterile- you thought you’d gotten used to being surrounded by the chrome and weird futuristic plastic that are apparently now the only two building materials left on Earth since starting at SHIELD, but this place takes it to a whole new level. And it’s newly constructed, based on the smell of drying concrete and fresh shavings peeling up around the screw holes in the corners. There’s a small, utilitarian metal desk and chair that’s been provided for you in the center of the room, so you drop your notepad and pencil onto the tabletop with a clang and pull out the chair. It screeches painfully against the floor, making you wince. Okay, no more of that. You suck in your stomach and slide in between the table and chair so neither have to move. A little tight, but you can make it work.

The other man in the room, framed behind a wall of glass, has not reacted to any of this.

He looks exactly how he did on TV, minus the leather armor and extravagant gold horned helmet. It’s all been replaced with the thin grey uniform SHIELD deems prison garb. You have to admit, he looks a lot less intimidating sitting pale and silent against the wall, handcuffs glowing faintly around his wrists.

“Um- can you hear me?”

Still no response. He doesn’t even seem to notice you’ve entered the room. Uuuuuuum, okay... There’s a microphone attached to the desk. You lean into it, frowning, fiddling with a few of the dials at the base. Then you tap on it and speak directly into the mic. “Can you hear me?” The man flinches wildly, a radical break in his composure, and his eyes dart to you angrily. “Oh, gosh, sorry, okay, let me-” you turn the dial down a few notches. “Better?”

The volume doesn’t seem to be at max level anymore- he doesn’t flinch again- but he also doesn’t say anything else. “I’m going to need verbal confirmation that you can hear me.”

He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t seem to be looking at anything. His gaze is focused on some middling thing opposite of him, something invisible on the horizon, but he’s hardly glazed over- emerald eyes are bright and sharp, flickering lightly. They are not the eyes of a defeated man, far from it. More like one who has about fifteen thousand and twenty three plans all running through his head at once.

You suppose that should scare you, but SHIELD has reassured you that the cell is one of the most technologically advanced cells they’ve ever constructed. Also, those cuffs have some sort of magic-diffusing abilities, so no funny business there. Then again, he did basically destroy all of Manhattan, like, less than a week ago. You hadn’t even been in that part of the country at the time, SHIELD had called you in from D.C., but you can still feel the horror grip your chest in a vice watching skyscrapers fall to tatters on the news-

“Yes.”

His voice is so soft you almost don’t catch it. It pulls you from your thoughts nonetheless. “Oh. Okay, great.” You pull your pencil to you and neatly label the first page of your notepad with today’s date in the top corner. If you were going be stuck with him, you might as well take notes. Think of the papers you could publish! “Can you please, uh, state your name for the record?” That sounded professional, right? You’ve heard it on Law and Order a lot, anyways.

The prisoner raises one eyebrow slowly. “Really?” He draws out that one word into a three-second attack of sarcasm, but you simply shrug your shoulders.

“It’s protocol.”

“I am Loki Laufeyson, Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief and Lies.” With every title he spits from his mouth, his eyes flash dangerously.

“O-kay.” You jot that down on your notepad, giving it an underline for good measure. “And how would you like to be addressed?”

“Your highness.” He says it as easily as he might’ve said Bob or Ricky.

You blink. “Um. Not sure that’s within my pay grade, but we’ll see how it goes.”

“Where am I?”

“A very secure holding cell,” you answer confidently, and the god scowls at you. He’s apparently waiting for more information, but you shake your head- “that is literally all the information I’m allowed to give you about that.” You glance up at the camera tacked to the ceiling of the room. “Also, you’re being recorded at all times. Gotta tell you that for legalities sake.”

“SHIELD has always so been worried about legalities.”

That gets a small snort from you, and you tap the end of your pencil on your paper. “So-”

“Who are you, exactly?” He suddenly sounds very, very tired, and a little angry, like he’s already done humoring you. “And why are you bothering me?”

“Y/N.” You give him a little wave, since you obviously can’t shake his hand. “I’m a, well- archivist, of sorts. SHIELD brought me in to talk to you.”

“And you’re, what? Fury’s pet?”

“Hardly. I’ve been here less than a month. I don’t think this uniform has even been washed yet.”

Another eyebrow raise. “An interesting choice to interrogate their most wanted prisoner.”

You tap a little more frantically. “I think it’s so if you end up getting into my head, I won’t be able to give anything up,” you say thoughtfully. There’s a huff over the speakers you’re hearing him through. “Also, this isn’t an interrogation.”

“No?”

“Nope. I’m not really qualified for that.”

“Then what are you qualified for?”

“Jeg snakker norsk,” you offer, honestly wondering that question yourself. The look he gives you is a mixed amount of horrified and amused. “They thought it might be helpful speaking in a familiar language, I guess?”

“They do know I can speak literally hundreds of thousands of languages spanning any galaxy you care to name,” he says, apparently stunned by the new heights of SHIELD’s stupidity.

You sigh. “Yeah. I thought it was a stupid idea too.”

“This is laughable.” He’s on his feet now, close to the glass and staring you down threateningly. “Why have I not been removed to Asgard? They will presumably want to prosecute me for my crimes.”

“Um, I think they’re planning on it. But they want me to, um, talk to you first.”

“About what.”

“Well. Anything you want, really.”

“I have nothing to say to you mortals,” he spits, and the word splats on the ground like it’s a curse.

“That’s cool, I get that. But right now all the bureaucrats are running themselves in circles trying to figure out what to do with you, and all that red tape is going to take some time to untangle. In the meantime, they want to make sure you don’t go crazy from the solitude or something.”

“Since when has SHIELD cared about my well being?”

“I mean, you’ve still got rights and stuff. You can’t just sit here for who knows how long with only yourself for company.”

“And why not?”

“Wouldn’t you get lonely?”

“Forgive me, but I hardly think you are going to provide any sort of adequate mental stimulation.”

Geez, way to hit below the belt. “You can request someone else if you want. They pretty much just picked me out of a lineup and threw me on you, I don’t really think they care who sits here with you.”

“What would be the point? SHIELD only hires imbeciles and fools.”

“Well, then. I guess you’re stuck with me for a while.”

The man slumps back, apparently not encouraged by your words. Then he punches the wall with one of his restrained hands and screams angrily in clear frustration.

This is going to go so well.

A/N: Jeg snakker norsk = I speak Norwegian 

#marvel fic #avengers fic #avengers fanfiction #loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki x reader #loki x you #reader insert #Thor Odinson #tony stark #clint barton #natasha romanov #bruce banner #maria hill #nick fury #odin’s a+ parenting #odin #frigga #nicknames #lie to me #dont lie to me #loki fluff #loki smut #loki imagine

[bluegreenamber]

The Prince (4/4)

((AN: So um. Hi? Here’s the ending to the story that literally no one ever wanted nor asked for. It only took me like two years to finish the last chapter. Oof. Sorry about that. Completely lost my inspiration and my obsession with the fandom. Not really an excuse, but I doubt anyone will really read this soooo. If you do read this, I hope you enjoy the story at least. It’s kind of a mess of two different writing styles cuz me and my writing have changed so much since 2017. Regardless, this is probably the last fanfiction I’ll post here, especially for EW. Idrk why I’m doing it now after so long of a hiatus, but I kind of wanted some sort of finality I guess. I honestly hated having an unfinished work published. Whatever, I’m rambling into empty space. I’ll cya ‘round. Who knows, maybe I’ll find another reason to dive back into a fandom here someday. But for now, Kat out.))

One of my dads would have nightmares sometimes.

No one had ever really been surprised by this. Most people with PTSD ended up with a couple of bad dreams at some point. 

My dad’s were very serious. Often, he would wake up in the middle of the night paralyzed or panicked or even violent. He’s sleepwalked once or twice. The medicine he takes helps, but there's nothing better for him during all those times than my other dad. 

My dads have always loved and cared for each other deeply and unconditionally. They have always been each other’s everything, their support and advisor and comforter and partner. They've always been able to solve each other’s problems, when they themselves weren't the problem, that is. 

We kids tried to help best we could, and we succeeded to some extent. Our parents loved us as much as they did each other. But they kept some things from us. We didn't know all the things they were going through, so of course we couldn't do as much as they could for each other. 

But there was the rare occasion when we had to step in. 

My dad hated the war. He hated talking about it, dreaming about it, thinking about it. It was the source of a lot of his problems, so naturally he despised it. The only thing he owned that could have reminded him of that time was the medals he had earned, and even those he kept locked in a small box hidden in the bottom of a dresser drawer. 

That's why we were all so surprised when he bought a rifle. 

When questioned about it, he excused it as wanting to “finally face his fears head on” and “not letting his past trauma keep him from all the possibilities of his future.” 

We bought it for the moment, but we all kept a close eye on him. And we were not disappointed.

He started acting funny, doing things he never would've normally done. He stopped taking his medicine. He took his medals out from their spot and laid them out on the mantle. He could regularly be found cleaning his gun, paying it a lot of attention and caring for it. He watched the news, specifically political things, and even war documentaries. He barely talked to any of us anymore, even my other dad. 

This was going too far for a simple epiphany. 

Then, he started disappearing. He just left sometimes, not telling anyone when or where he was going. And he had always told my other dad everything when he went out. 

I had to find out what was going on. 

I watched my dad very closely in the following days. Finally, I saw him sneaking out the door while everyone else was gone or in their rooms and decided to follow him. He took the car out towards town, and I followed him secretly on my bike. 

After about twenty minutes, we arrived at a strange building. It didn't look neglected, but it certainly wasn't new. It didn't have any labels or decorations on it, despite it being in the middle of the city. 

My dad parked right in front of it and walked up to the door confidently. He looked like he was definitely comfortable here. 

I chained my bike around the corner, watching him from the shadows. He opened the door without any hassle. Apparently it was just unlocked already. 

After a beat, I slipped inside as well. The interior was dark, the hallway I had stumbled into plunging into a twilit darkness as soon as the door clanged shut behind me. I realized then that I had no plan, no idea what I was doing, and no way to navigate this strange place. The only thing guiding me at this point was the fairly straightforward hallway illuminated only by a few flickering bare bulbs… and the faint sound of voices coming from the other end. 

When I finally crept up to the room where the voices originated from and peeked in, what I saw made me do a serious double take. The first thing I zeroed on was my dad, who was standing at a long, round table with several other people. All of them looked a little rough around the edges, though some had more subtle tells that only a child of a war veteran could really see. I knew instantly, instinctively that all of these people had served in the military. That should have been reassuring, should have made me think that my dad had just started going to some sort of veteran group meeting, but something felt off. Maybe it was the guy at the head of the table, the obvious leader of the group. He had a metal arm. 

Normally, prosthetics wouldn’t affect me. I had seen enough of them amongst my dad’s war buddies and viewed them with a sort of respectful reverence. But this… this was not a normal extension to work as a helpful tool for those in need. This looked like something straight out of a Marvel movie. This metal arm was a weapon, period.  

It also didn’t help that the owner of the arm was practically shouting his impassioned speech, his face radiating pure hatred and raw power. I had no idea what he was talking about, but that didn’t stop me from noticing the spittle flying from his rapidly-moving lips. His eyes seemed almost to glow red from utter rage. 

And my dad was listening with rapt attention. He was nodding and even loudly chiming in his agreement at some points. I felt vaguely sick. This wasn’t my dad. The man who had raised me to always be compassionate and patient and loving towards everyone and everything would never in a million years agree with whatever vile, twisted things were escaping this metal-armed man’s mouth. There must be something more to this. 

I took another look around the room to try to find the “something else.” The others around the table were much like my dad: listening to and agreeing with everything that the leader was saying, without question. Like soldiers to their commander. Was that it?

Before I could further ponder the state of these people’s minds, I felt rough hands grab onto my arms and lift me into the air. I cried out in surprise, kicking at my captor. It was no use, however. The person’s grip was like iron, and they effortlessly dragged me into the meeting room, stunning everyone within to silence. 

After a moment’s pause, the armless leader smiled at me with little warmth. “Well, well, well, what have we caught today?” 

“Let go of me,” I snarled, tacking on a few more choice words at the end that described exactly how I viewed the people currently holding me hostage. My protests were futile. 

The leader continued to stare at me, evaluating me, seeming to search my very soul with his piercing eyes. “You seem like a smart one. Which means that you know too much. Which, of course, makes you a loose end. A very disposable loose end.” 

A shiver of fear traveled down my spine. I couldn’t help it. Despite my desire towards defiance, I was in unknown (and quite possibly hostile) territory. What he was insinuating… I felt my stomach sink with dread. 

The best plan would most likely be to stall for time, maybe appease him just a little. “I don’t know anything! I don’t know where I am or what’s going on. I don’t know what this is or who you are.” And I didn’t even have to lie. 

He chuckled lightly. “Why, how rude of me. I am Red Leader, and this is the beginning of my army.” He swept his arm across the room, indicating all of the others gathered.

I narrowed my eyes at him, determined to play his game if it bought me any time. “Okay then. Does ‘Red Leader’ have an actual name?”

He seemed to find humor in me, at least, if his smugly amused smile was anything to go by. “Of course. This vessel was called… hm, I believe it was Nick. But you may call me Tord.”

The name immediately set off a million bells inside my head. This was the final one of the four boys in the photograph. Tord. Could he be The Soldier? Or something else? 

Also, did he say “this vessel”? Could he have meant… his body? Was he possessing someone else, someone named Nick? Questions whirled around in my mind, but they were interrupted when Tord raised his hand at the person still holding me.

“So now, I believe that you know too much,” he said to me before turning his attention back to my captor. “Motley, you know what to do.” 

My indignation at having been so blatantly tricked quickly turned into fear as I heard an actual growling sound come from the humanoid thing behind me that I still hadn’t gotten a good look at. Squirming desperately, I was about to resign myself to my fate when a shout rang out among the otherwise silent room. 

“Stop!”

Everyone’s head simultaneously turned towards the source of the loud cry. It was, of course, my father. His protective parental instinct must have broken whatever spell Tord had over him when he realized that my life was in danger. 

Something seemed to twitch in Tord’s smirk. “Oh? Is that insubordination I hear, soldier?”

My dad physically flinched. I started struggling again in the arms of who I assumed to be Motley. Whether it was out of anger for my dad or in an effort to draw attention away from him, I wasn’t sure. Regardless, it did nothing. There was no way I could escape by myself, and all eyes remained on my dad. 

The brief flash of fear in my dad’s eyes faded quickly into defiance. He only had to take a single glance at me, and his entire face contorted with the protective rage only a parent can truly experience. Tilting his chin up determinedly, he declared, “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Tord’s expression was utterly unreadable, and that was even more terrifying than the violent anger I was expecting. He opened his mouth to say something--perhaps to order the rest of his army to attack my dad, perhaps to order Motley to finally finish me off, perhaps to deliver a long-winded speech only storybook villains are capable of, perhaps even to grant us mercy--but never got the chance. Even from here, the entire room could hear the giant clang! as the door to the outside of the building swung open and hit the wall with great force. In the utter silence that followed, the rapid footsteps echoing down the hallway were almost as loud. 

To my somewhat surprise, my other dad burst into the room with all the grace of a hurricane. With me out of the line of sight, his eyes immediately locked onto his partner for life, and he rushed with open arms towards the collision of awkward limbs tangling. It was only when they were both wrapped up in each other that I realized that he was crying. I knew that there was going to be a hell of a conversation later, but it seemed that this moment required no words. 

The most interesting part, though, was Tord’s face. His mouth was open in a comedic “o” of surprise. In fact, he almost seemed close to tears himself, strangely enough. “Pat?” he whispered, his eyes locked on my tear-streaked dad. There was no acknowledgment of his quiet, almost fearful voice, but there was no need for it. 

Before anyone could react, Tord collapsed to the ground, glowing red eyes rolling into the back of his head. I watched in numb horror as a strange mist the same color as his eyes escaped out of his mouth and nose. Instead of rising like mist normally does, however, it sank into the floorboards. When the last of it had dissipated, I felt the huge arms encircling me finally loosen and release me. 

I dropped heavily onto the ground, my knees buckling underneath me from lack of use. At the loud thud, my dads finally unlocked their embrace properly and, at the sight of me on the floor, rushed over towards me. It felt like heaven when their arms wrapped around me--a sharp contrast to the arms that had been slowly crushing me not moments ago--and even them fussing over me incessantly was comforting instead of the usual annoying. 

Over their shoulders, I could see the rest of the army coming out of a sort of a daze. Many were blinking rapidly as if waking up from a dream. Many were reaching out and finding their own forms of comfort in human physical contact. Many were speaking lowly with one another, confused expressions on their faces. A few were even wandering out of the door already. Overall, though, it felt like things were going to be alright. Tord’s powerful influence had disappeared with the mist.

Speaking of which, I watched as Tord’s body rose from the ground, groaning and eyes widening with bewilderment. Nick, I think was his name. I half-expected the others in the room to remember what his body had done as Tord and be afraid of him, but they accepted him as fast as any other soldier. The moment I saw his first smile, I decided that things would most certainly work out after all. 

When we all gathered the strength to stand up, my dads practically carried me outside the dreaded building. They settled me in the backseat of the car while they put my bike on the car’s bike rack, speaking softly to one another as they did. I was so utterly happy to see their reconnection, the renewed spark of love between them, the one that had been missing for weeks now as my one dad descended into a war-crazed madness driven by otherworldly forces. 

We drove home to be greeted by my very worried brothers who had been waiting impatiently ever since my one dad had told them he was going out to track down the other. All of us exhausted, we ordered delivery and spent the evening on the couch in a great family pile. After what had happened that day, it felt like bliss. 

It wasn’t until I returned to my room to turn in for the night and saw the picture on my bedside table that I realized that the last of the four boys wasn’t in fact The Soldier. I almost laughed as I stared down at the finally clean photograph. My English teacher would be so disappointed in me; we had read through Machiavelli’s entire book during her class. Of course, the guy who craved power, who used fear to enforce it, was The Prince. 

Tord was grinning up at me, his hair pointed up into twin devil horns and a small crown insignia on the gun he was holding….

I was suddenly shaken out of my thoughts by muffled screaming. I was moving in an instant, speeding over to the other side of the house in the direction that the sounds had come from. Sticking my head out of the kitchen window, I couldn’t help but be surprised at what I saw.

The house next to us had a glowing green light spilling out of it, lighting up the entire neighborhood in the dark of night. 

I grinned, the small part of me not completely exhausted filling with relief. The adventure wasn’t over yet.

Because it seemed that our neighbors were having a bit of… paranormal trouble.

#writing kat #ew fanfiction