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howlingheartdemigod · 5 years

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Prompt: someone dangerous has taken Beau prisoner, and the M9 have to break in and get her back. Bonus points for angry/worried/protective Yasha and Beau being quietly surprised that anyone thought she was worth rescuing (gotta love negative self talk). Thanks!

Oh boo you know I’m here for some negative self talk. thank you for the prompt i really do love it

tw for mentions of violence, mentions of death, mentions of injuries

title from a poem by Christopher Poindexter

“I loved the wayshe touchedme

What more canI say?

her hands weremade from the thingswe all have trouble believing.”

Trouble Believing

The cell was small and dark, the air stale, smelling of piss and death. Bruised and bloodied, Beau was trying to accept the fact that she was going to die there. In addition to being generally horribly beaten, her nose was bashed, wrist probably broken, arms rubbed raw from the rusty manacles they’d put on her. She was fairly certain that her ribs were broken as well, and to top the Sunday of shitty things, she was becoming more and more lightheaded, like the air in the room wasn’t enough. Like she couldn’t get a breath right. Every gasp was a struggle, ripping through her painfully.

It had been days, probably. She’d been in the dark and the cold for so long, with no evidence that the sun even still existed, that she wasn’t totally sure. They’d tried beating the answers they were looking for out of her at first, and it had been a little easier to mark the days then, considering they stuck to some idea of meal times. But three went by, and they realized that she wasn’t going to talk, and had added starving her to the mix, coming in to tempt her with food, or kick the ever loving shit out of her, but she refused to break.

It helped that she didn’t know what the fuck they were asking about, shouting about some book and a thief. Sounded like The Cobalt Soul collecting intel, taking something with dangerous information out of the hands of those who would use it for chaos instead of order. Unfortunately it wasn’t her intel. So she was of no help to these brutes.

She kept thinking of her friends. Kept praying they knew she hadn’t abandoned them by choice. Kept wondering if they had mourned her loss. Kept hoping she’d get to see Mollymauk when this was all over.

And, inevitably, without thought or permission, her mind wandered to Yasha. Yasha who she loved. Yasha who she was too much of a coward to say anything to. Yasha who wasn’t even with them when she was taken. Yasha who would never know how she felt. Yasha who wouldn’t know she was dead for who knows how long, days, weeks, months maybe. Yasha who would never feel the same anyway. Who she was abandoning just like Molly had. Like Zuala had. She knew it was selfish, feeling how she felt, but she would have liked to say it, just once. It would have been nice to say.

There was a ruckus outside the door, loud shouting, the sound of a body being slammed to the floor, and the cell door opening. Must be a new round of beating coming for her. The guys who came in for that tended to swing on each other just as often as they did at her. When this all had started, she made a point of pushing to her feet, straining against the chains, trying to fight back. She didn’t have the strength for that now. She closed her eyes, curling into the corner. Maybe they’d think she was dead. Maybe if they did they’d leave her alone to rot.

She heard the door swing open, heard an oddly familiar reedy gasp of shock, heard steps draw close. Just whens he expected violence, soft, almost scared hands came to cradle her face, turn her away from the wall.

“Oh, Gods.” Beau knew that rasp, that accent, that beautiful incredible voice. Her eyes flicked open to see the most beautiful sight she had ever seen kneeling in front of her.

Yasha, eyes dark pools, incredible skeletal wings extended from her back, the ends of her hair turned black, was there. She was right there. She was real. “Yasha?” She rasped softly, the word straining her.

“Hush, love.” Yasha said softly. Beau watched the ends of her hair return to normal, watched her wings return to her body. Yasha’s hand moved over Beau’s body searching for injuries. Beau’s eyes tracked her, feeling warm white healing energy radiate from her hands over her ribs.

“Why?” Beau asked. “This is… So dangerous, you shouldn’t have…”

Yasha looked up to Beau’s eyes, head tilting. “You think we would have ever left you?”

Beau swallowed, and Yasha turned her head, calling behind her. “Jester, she needs healing.”

Beau looked past Yasha for the first time, seeing Jester standing behind, looking relieved, and beyond her, Caleb and Nott both looking grateful, but antsy. Jester came over, kneeling next to Yasha.

“Fjord and Caduceus are keeping a clear path out. Nila came with us. She walked us through a tree.” Jester explained, a little smile coming to her lips.

Beau stared at Jester, feeling the green healing light course through her. She took a breath, ignoring the sting of her bones resetting, ignoring the odd sting of the skin knitting itself back together, focusing on the fact that her friends had followed her into hell. “Jester, this is… these guys are dangerous.”

“Those guys are dead.” Caleb intoned from behind. He had a wild look in his eye, a shake to his voice, a twitch in her finger tip. There was the smell of smoke in the air, Beau realized, that hadn’t been there before.

Before she could fully process what he’d done for her, she was being lifted off the ground. Yasha’s strong arms were around her, cradling her. She felt all too weak and all too safe for her liking, but couldn’t really bring herself to care. They were here, they were protecting her. She was safe. After days of not sleeping, not eating, fighting to keep upright through beatings, after all of that, she was safe.

Beau curled into Yasha’s hold, closing her eyes, and letting the world fall away, content to focus on the pounding of Yasha’s heart, and the fact that she smelled more like home than any building ever could.

Beau didn’t realized she’d fallen asleep, passed out really, until she woke up in a warm soft bed, sore beyond words. She cracked open her eyes in the streaming mid morning light, cutting through the open window like a blade. She hummed her protest and squinted her eyes shut again.

“Oh, thank Gods, you’re awake.” The soft rolling tone of Caduceus voice came rolling across the room tp her, and filled her with joy. She didn’t think she’d hear that again. She tilted her head in the direction, giving a little smile. “Don’t strain, I’ll come to you.” She watched the Firbolg stand, a tea cup in his hands, and move carefully across the room, taking big steps over bundles on the ground.

Not bundles, she realized quickly, people, friends. Fjord, Caleb, and Jester were all spread out on the ground. The door to the room was open, so she could only assume Nott had tiptoed out for whatever reason, maybe to get food, hopefully to get food. Beau had never been so hungry in her life. Beau turned her head a little more, and found that Yasha had fallen asleep sitting on the floor, head tilted back against the frame of the bed. She wanted to wake her, tell her to rest in some way that wasn’t going to give her neck problems, but she didn’t want to pull her from sleep either.

Caduceus came to a stop, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You still hurting?” He asked, voice low enough to keep from waking the others.

Beau cleared her throat a little, trying to match his quiet. “Yeah.” she admitted, “I’m hungry as all hell. And thirsty.”

Caduceus nodded. “I’ll get soup on soon. No more injuries though?”

Beau stretched a little, testing things out. “Wrist maybe. But it can just heal, don’t waste your magic on me-”

Before she could finish talking Caduceus had reached to put a hand over hers, warm pink energy radiating out. She felt her bones set back in place. “It’s not a waste.” He replied, giving a little nod.

She stared at him, heart squeezing with concern. “You guys shouldn't have come. Those guys were bad news. It was stupid and dangerous to come after me.”

Caduceus blinked a few times, frowning. “But you would come after us. You already have come after some of us.” He pointed out. “We couldn’t leave you behind, Beauregard. We could never survive it.”

Pink eyes radiated warmth, then Firbolg pushed to his feet. He picked his way across the room, towards the door. Beau looked around, eyes trailing on the now stirring forms of her friends, and let that roll over her. She looked to Yasha, who had awoken, and was staring at Beau with tears in her eyes.

‘ Could never survive it,’ rang in her ears, forcing a nasty truth to surface. She’d been so ready to die for her friends she hadn’t even considered needing to live for them.

A moment of time passed, and her friends all woke, each one checking on her. A while later, Caduceus and Nott returned with food. Later still, once there was food in her, someone explained to Beau that they were in Nala’s tribes new home, they’d been kind enough to welcome them in their time of need for helping them in theirs.

Beau nodded, telling herself she’d have to thank Nala. That she owed her big time. She looked around at her friends, something hard blocking her throat. “You guys shouldn’t have come.” She said. “It was…”

“Beau.” Jester cut her off, a spark in her eye that told Beau that going on was a bad idea. “We aren’t going to leave you behind. Ever.”

There was a moment of quiet, when Beau tried to digest that, tried to understand that, btu she just couldn’t. Beau dropped her eyes, feeling the bed next to her dip. A large pale hand laid over hers. Beau flipped her hand into Yasha’s grip, and threaded their fingers together.

Caleb cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should let Beau rest.” He suggested, standing, shuffling towards the door, waving the rest of them out.

Beau didn’t really want to be alone, but she didn’t want to bother them either, not after all the trouble they went through. Gradually, they all trailed out. Gradually, Beau and Yasha were left alone. She expected her to follow, she expected to be alone, but Yasha stayed. She swept her thumb along the back of Beau’s hand, letting out a little sigh.

“You okay?” Yasha asked, eyes scanning Beau’s form. Beau kept her eyes on Yasha, her heart pounding in her ears. Yasha looked up to meet her gaze when Beau didn’t respond. “Beauregard?”

“I’m… It’s...” She said, shaking her head. “I… I didn’t think you all were going to come. I thought I was going to die there. I thought...”

Yasha lifted a hand to Beau’s cheek. “Why would you ever, even for a moment, believe that I would let you be left behind?”

Beau felt tears track down her cheeks before she even realized they’d started to pool in her eyes. “I’m not worth this much trouble.”

Yasha’s head shook, and she leaned closer. There was something earnest behind her gaze, something honest and desperate. “You are worth more than the world. If you were ever taken from me again, I will happily tear it apart to get you back.”

Beau let out a broken breath, collapsing over, her head falling on Yasha’s shoulder.

Yasha held her, leaning them both back into the soft bed. “I’ve got you.” she heard Yasha promise. “I’m here.”

Normally, when Yasha promised that, Beau would wonder for how long. Normally she’d scan the sky for clouds. But this time, she just tucked her nose into the crook of Yasha’s neck and breathed her in, smelling rain, and lightning, and lavender, and home.

Beau woke hours later, as the sun was setting, and she was curled into Yasha’s side. Which meant Yasha was still there, leaning against the headboard, fingers carding through Beau’s hair. It was new, it was unexpected. They didn’t do this. They danced around the issue. They didn’t talk about it. Beau didn’t push her to talk about it. It wasn’t important, really. Beau wanted to say something, but she was plenty happy with how things were. No need to complicate it. But this, the touching, the waking up in bed, the kind words Yasha’d spoken it was all new, it was all complicated. Beau stretched, and moved to sit up. “Hey.” She said.

Yasha moved to help Beau sit up, a small soft smile coming to her lips. “Hello.” Her fingers skimmed over Beau’s wrist, no longer broken, but faintly bruised, then up her arm, like she was trying to commit her to memory. Her fingers stilled to hold the back of her neck, but her eyes kept moving. Beau watched her, tracking her gaze as it skimmed over her shoulder and down the line of her back. Watched it come up the curve of her waist, and then caught on her jaw. Then she moved to her face, smiling a little when their gazes caught, before scanning down, sweeping over Beau’s cheek bones, tripping on her nose, settling for all too long on the smirk on Beau’s lips. Beau would have returned the favor, but she didn’t need to. She knew Yasha like she knew her own reflection.

Yasha sighed, hand drifting down her arm again. “I’ll go get Caduceus, you should eat.”

Beau flipped her hand to grab Yasha’s, gaze pleading. “Not yet.” She was scared, terrified, that Yasha would have to go again, that The Storm Lord would call her away. She understood why, understood that the sort of saving he’d done for her wasn’t something that could be ignored. Beau was thankful, even, to him for saving her. For keeping her alive. For bringing her onto the path that let them meet. But just once, she felt like being selfish, she felt like keeping Yasha as long as she could. She tried to convey all of that, with a gentle squeeze of their tangled fingers. “Stay.”

Yasha looked down at their entwined hands, nodding. “I will.” the promise wasn’t forever, Beau knew. Forever wasn’t something Yasha could give yet, maybe not ever.

Yasha swallowed, eyes trained on their hands. “I… I was so terrified. I followed the call of the Storm Lord, and… normally he leads me to people who need help, or people who have hurt others, so when he lead me to the Nein... He lead me to our friends, and I looked around, and you were gone, and I just… was so terrified that this was a mission of vengeance. This was going to be taking a life for the life they took from us. I told myself it wasn’t but… I thought you might be gone. I thought I may have lost another love of mine. And then I realized that despite all my work, all my trying to distance myself from you all, from you, Beauregard, it was too late. But it’s… It’s not something… It’s not fair to you, because I can’t… Zuala was my wife, and I’m not… I have not healed from that loss, and I don’t know if I ever will in a way where I can love you how you deserve. It is not fair to you to ask for you to wait.”

Beau stayed quiet through her words, she listened. Then she nodded a little. “It’s too late for me too, Yash. I thought I was going to die in there.” Beau said, tears coming to her eyes despite herself. “You know what I kept thinking of?”

Yasha shook her head.

“You.” There was a moment of pause, of Beau watching Yasha take a broken breath, then nod. When spoke again, Beau’s voice more earnest than she remembered she had the capability for. “I’m… I’m not good at waiting, but for you, I can. For you, anything. So, take your time. If you ever get to a place where you can love me how you’d like, let me know. If you decide that…” Beau sighed, dropping her own eyes to their hands. “If this aint it for you, that’s fine too. But, as long as you need, I’m here.”

Yasha’s gaze lifted, and Beau tilted her head to meet it. There was something defiant behind the multi colored gaze. “What if I never make up my mind?” She said, a little bit of a challenge to her tone, like she was trying to get her to reconsider.

“That’s fine.” Beau shrugged, regretting it with how it strained her sore form. She bit back the pain and focused. “Yasha, you’re it. This is enough for me. How ever you want me.”

Yasha stared at her. And Beau almost wanted to kiss her, to hold her, to feel her heartbeat against her fingertips. But she realized she was content holding hands. She would have been content just seeing Yasha with her own eyes.

Yasha nodded, squeezing their hands. “You should eat. I’ll go get something.”

Beau nodded her agreement, but didn’t let go. Yasha’s thumb traced a scar on the back of Beau’s hand, and they fell silent, feeling the one point of heat, of contact.

They stayed like that, quiet, content, until Beau’s stomach growled loud enough for them to hear, causing a roll of laughter through them. Yasha got up, and moved towards the door, only breaking their touch when the distance between them grew too far to reach. “I’ll be right back.” Yasha promised, looking over her shoulder.

Beau gave a little nod, a smile on her lips. “I’ll be here.”

#critrole #my writing #mine #beauyasha #am i happy with this? not really.#do i have the energy to figure out what exactly isn’t working? nope.#i really just. don't know #but i think i'm okay with it #Anonymous

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after-midnightmunchies-blog · 6 years

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I blame @ashessmashes and @strawberrylovely for bringing up gardening and overalls xD

Shiro rolled the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbow before grabbing the last sack of mulch from the garage and towing it out to the yard. Lance was already seated in the grass, face sheltered from the sun by the wide-brimmed hat gifted to him by his mama. Tan hands dusted with dirt worked to pluck the last stubborn weeds from the flowerbed.

“Almost finished, babe?” Shiro asked as he set the mulch down beside their newly planted palm trees.

“Yup!” Lance whooped with delight as the final weed gave, tossing the offending plant atop the pile of rejects. He turned to beam up at Shiro, dragging the back of his hand across his sweat-dampened forehead. “Ready for the plants when you are!”

“Perfect! They’re actually on the table inside if you don’t mind...” Shiro trailed off as Lance stood, dusting his hands off on the front of his overalls. The sparse fabric of the shorts had rolled even further up his ass after sitting for so long, Shiro giving an appreciative whistle as Lance attempted to tug them further down.

Shiro hefted the bag of mulch onto his shoulder once more as Lance retreated inside, dumping it in small circles around the young trees. Once the bag was emptied and he was satisfied with the spread, he took a moment to survey the yard.

Neither of them was a professional landscaper, but Shiro couldn’t help the sense of pride that washed over him at how incredible their new front lawn looked. They’d worked tirelessly all week to even the grass, clear spaces for flowerbeds, and set the stone path now lined with small palms. It was worth it to make their new house feel more like a home, and getting to see Lance in his overalls and pastel T-shirts was a great bonus.

Lance finally emerged, face obstructed by two crates of flowers and vegetable plants balanced precariously in his hands. Shiro rushed to relieve him of them, not expecting the ambitious brunet to have grabbed both right away.

“Why would you try to carry both?” he frowned.

“One trip,” Lance shrugged, like the answer should’ve been obvious.

Shiro wanted to be upset, but his eyes caught sight of a dark streak painted across his husband’s forehead. Dirt, plastered by sweat from when he’d rubbed his hand against his head. Ridiculous as it was, Shiro couldn’t help but burst into chuckles, Lance only cocking his head and giving him a confused look.

“Something on my face?” the brunet scoffed, setting a hand on his hip cheekily.

Shiro set the plants down to brush a thumb over the marked skin. “Yeah, actually. You’ve got a liiiittle something...”

Lance rolled his eyes and curled his fingers into the bib of Shiro’s overalls, dragging him closer. He swiped his thumb across the larger man’s forehead in an arc that reminded Shiro of The Lion King. He furrowed his brows and tried to look up the moment Lance’s finger left his skin, but Lance answered his silent inquiry with a snort.

“There ya go, Simba, now we match,” he teased with a giggle.

“If I’m Simba, that makes you my Nala,” Shiro winked before scooping Lance up and twirling him around.

“Shiro!” Lance squealed as they spun, a hand flying up to secure his hat.

Shiro dragged him down onto the grass a moment later, peppering kisses across his cheeks. He released him only when they were both out of breath, laid out on their backs and panting with flushed cheeks.

“Guess that’s one way to introduce ourselves to the neighborhood,” Lance laughed, rolling onto his side to face his husband. His hat had finally fallen off, little pieces of grass caught in chestnut waves. Deep cobalt eyes sparkled lovingly at him, framed by cheeks dusted with soil.

Shiro stroked one of those freckled cheeks lovingly, his heart fluttering at the tender expression mirrored back at him. Lance’s lips suddenly met his in a gentle kiss, Shiro eagerly kissing back. In that moment, they were standing in the middle of paradise.

#hooray for cheesy endings #i just really wanted some domestic shance #and i fell in love with the gardening idea so i just had to write a quick drabble #(I also love lance in short overalls and Shiro in a flannel)#vld #shance #shiro #lance #drabble #my writing #wrote this after 4 am so it's probably trash ngl

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lukeccrain · 6 years

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domestic!stanlon headcanons

in which after stan and mike get married, they buy a farm together and are incredibly happy.

Mike and Stan live on a small farm several miles out from the nearest town. When Mike first saw the “for sale” sign at the end of the drive whilst driving to work one day, he was tentative about bringing it up to Stan. While he enjoyed the convenience of urban-living, Mike yearned for the openness and serenity of country living. However, he wasn’t too sure how keen his husband would be on the idea. One evening, after a few too many glasses of wine, Mike finally mentions the quaint little farmhouse and how he’d like to at least look at the property. He is so surprised by how quickly Stan takes to the idea.

They fall in love with farm upon their first viewing, and Stan promptly sorts out the paperwork that will officially make the property the Uris-Hanlon Farm.

Mike builds birdhouses for Stan and hangs them in the tree just outside their bedroom window. In the morning, Stan loves to watch the birds swoop in and out, usually while nuzzling into Mike’s chest.

Stan is a huge cat person, and loves to sit on the porch and watch the barn cats skulk around the yard. In the fall, they have their first litter of kittens- a male and a female. Mike names them Nala and Simba, and Stan persuades him to let them be house cats. They follow Mike and Stan everywhere they go, and curl up together at the foot of their bed in the evenings.

While Stan is a coffee person, Mike loves tea. They’ll jokingly argue for hours about which is better, usually while cuddling on the couch after a long day. No matter how much Stan insists that tea is just leaf water, he’ll always have a cup of earl grey prepared and waiting for Mike in the morning.

On warm summer evenings, Stan and Mike will take their bikes out onto the back roads, just like old times. The crunch of the gravel underneath the wheels of their bikes serves as a backing soundtrack for the easy, directionless conversation that they carry on. Sometimes, if they’ve had a drink before, they’ll see who can still pop a wheelie, or Stan will get into the basket attached to the front of Mike’s handlebars. If they’ve really had something to drink, they come home with scabby knees and giggling furiously.

They have a small cluster of apple trees in the yard, and Mike’s favourite day of the year is the one where they take wicker baskets and harvest the fruit together. Afterwards, the two will make apple pie, and send the extras home with the losers whenever they come for a visit.

When Stan is upset, he likes to go out and pet the newly born lambs. The softness of their downy curls and the way they bleet at him never fails to cheer him up.

In the winter, the two will curl up by the fireplace, each with a book in hand. Simba and Nala will usually curl up in each of there laps, and it’s just so peaceful, and makes both Stan and Mike’s hearts feel tremendously full.

The two do a lot of the chores together, repairing fences and picking eggs in easy silence. Stan will sometimes pause in the middle of whatever it is they’re doing in order to watch Mike be immersed in his work. The way his eyebrows scrunch and he hums distractedly under his breath fills Stan with such a feeling of absolute adoration that he can’t help but break into a toothy grin.

Wildflowers grow around the sides of the barn, and Mike will sometimes pick them and leave them in a vase on the kitchen table when he knows that Stan is stressed out at work. Stan repays him with a long, passionate kiss.

When Stan was younger, he never in a million years imagined himself living on a farm. Now, he wakes up every morning thankful for the little “for sale” sign that his husband happened to notice on his morning commute.

#my hc #stanlon #stan uris #mike hanlon #the losers club #hopefully this is okay blegh #my mb #mine #headcanon

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ginnyweatherby · 6 years

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Man’s Best Friend

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @tubofskippy !!!! I can’t believe we’ve been buds for a year already! I’m so glad to be considered your friend and you deserve all the cake and ice cream in the world on your special day. I hope it was/is/continues to be a wonderful one.

You liked the last BoM fic I wrote, so I wanted to make another one for you... unfortunately, I don’t think this one is nearly as good because I’m bad at pacing, but it’s an idea I wanted to play around with, and I think it came out pretty cute, regardless.

For anyone else who wants to read this, please enjoy some Arnie fluff, with a healthy dose of his Best Friend and Girlfriend, of course.

Arnold treasured his home in Uganda more than anything.

He missed his family back in America, of course, but he wrote letters often, and even visited on rare occasions.

He loved the little house he shared with Nabulungi, and their “temporary” roommate Kevin. He loved the food, the friendships he’d made with the villagers, and didn't even mind what the humidity did to his hair.

… but if there was one thing he missed about Utah, it was his family pet, Chewbacca.

Chewbacca was a dog Arnold had grown up with, a fluffy little brown and white thing with spots on its ears. Arnold was never exactly sure what breed he was, but it didn’t matter. He was the best dog he’d ever met, and before he left for his mission, he promised little Chewy he would be home before he could even miss him.

But that was almost three years ago, and he hadn't come home. He stayed in Uganda.

He didn’t regret his decision to stay, not for a moment… but sometimes he wondered if Chewy missed him, or even remembered him. That dog had been there for Arnold since he was so little that he didn't even recall a time without him. He was Arnold’s best friend when he didn’t have any others; he slept in his bed (against his father’s wishes) and ate off his plate (against his mother’s). He was so well-mannered and quiet, and perfectly complemented Arnold's bold personality.

He knew his parents took good care of Chewy in his absence, but sometimes he really missed having his puppy barking excitedly, circling his feet. A day just didn't seem complete without a walk around the block, or a quick game of fetch.

Their Bible study that morning had derailed somewhere halfway through, something that was not unheard of during a Church of Arnold meeting - and now Arnold, Nabulungi and Kevin were spending their Sunday afternoon simply trying not to melt in the sweltering heat.

The three friends sat under a tall tree near their home, relishing the bit of cooler air the shade provided. They talked about everything, and yet nothing at all at the same time. Arnold was insisting Picard was a better captain than Kirk could ever dream of being, while Kevin and Nabulungi politely humored him.

Kevin's birthday was approaching, and Nabulungi asked if he was going to return to Utah to celebrate with his family.

Kevin shrugged. “Maybe… my youngest brother says he's grown another foot, and I have to see for myself if he's outgrown me yet.”

“Would you go with him?” Nabulungi asked, turning her attention to Arnold. “You have not seen your family in a long time.”

Arnold used his finger to draw pictures in the dirt. “I don't think this time. My parents are always so busy now that I'm gone.”

“You do not miss it, then?” Nabulungi asked, furrowing her brow.

“I miss Chewbacca,” Arnold admitted, and he realized his doodle was a crude likeness of his dog. He even included the spots on his ears.

“Your dog?” Kevin asked.

Arnold nodded.

“I have never had a pet,” Nabulungi admitted. “My father did not want animals in our home… I suppose I was rowdy enough on my own.”

Arnold laughed. “Maybe we should get a turtle or something.”

“I do not think I want a turtle,” Nabulungi decided. “Their shells are not soft to pet.”

Arnold couldn't argue with such solid logic like hers.

Kevin decided against going to Utah for his birthday, and was spending it with his friends instead. Nabulungi made him a traditional Ugandan cake, while Arnold attempted to bake a much sweeter confectionary. They all agreed hers was far tastier.

They were settled in the living area of their small home, (the couch devoid of Kevin's bedding that it usually wore), just enjoying the last few hours of his little party. Arnold was still wearing a party hat, and Kevin was picking at the last bit cake on his plate, while Nabulungi was asleep against Arnold's shoulder. It had been a good, but tiring afternoon.

“Did you have a good birthday, Best Friend?” Arnold asked.

“One of the best,” Kevin said, giving Arnold a flash of his too-white teeth.

“Which present did you like be-” Arnold stopped talking when Kevin slapped a hand over his mouth. “- Hey, what are you doing?”

“Shh, I heard something,” Kevin said, keeping his voice low.

“Naba, wake up,” Arnold nudged his snoozing partner, who opened her eyes and groggily muttered something.

“What would be around here making noises?” Kevin asked her. He had been in the village for years now, but was still always so jumpy and nervous at nighttime.

“What type of noises?” Nabulungi asked, rubbing her eye with the back of her hand as she woke up fully.

“Rustling leaves… there, I heard it again!”

Arnold didn’t hear anything, but Nabulungi apparently did. She tiptoed closer to the door, as her friends anxiously stayed behind.

She peered out of the curtain, before letting out a blood-curdling screech.

Arnold and Kevin screamed in response, certain some sort of jungle cat was about to make them its next meal, when Nabulungi turned back, doubling over with laughter.

“What's so funny?” Kevin demanded, standing to his full height, his hands resting on his hips. “What was it?”

“A mountain lion? A cougar? A bear?” Arnold asked, chewing on his pinky nail.

“Oh, my,” Kevin muttered.

Nabulungi wiped a tear from beneath her eye, still clutching her stomach in laughter. She seemed unable to speak, although Arnold couldn’t think of anything funny about mountain lions… or cougars… or bears.

“Unless there's a clown out there, I don't know why you're laughing,” Arnold said, scratching the back of his head.

Nabulungi finally got ahold of herself, and she put one finger up to silence them, before turning around to open the door.

“Naba!”

Nabulungi returned, holding something small and furry in her hands.

“This is your mountain lion,” She said, her laughter now settled, but a toothy grin still on her face.

Arnold and Kevin slowly approached her, and saw that the source of the sounds weren't exactly a wild cat, but an average house cat.

“A kitten?” Arnold asked, his smile widening to mirror hers.

She nodded, carefully placing the frightened-looking kitten in his arms.

It was so soft, and so tiny, with tortoiseshell coloring to its fur. A little pink nose sniffed Arnold's hands, but it seemed to like him well enough that it wasn't scratching, or even making much of an attempt to escape at all.

“Poor little thing,” Arnold cooed, stroking the kitten’s head. “Left outside all alone.”

“She is very cute,” Nabulungi said, reaching over to pet its back. “And very sweet,” she added, as the kitten began to purr.

They moved back over to the couch and sat down, Arnold still holding the kitten in his lap. “I’m gonna call you Nala,” he declared.

“You're going to keep it?” Kevin asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Of course,” Arnold said, with certainty. As if he was going to let this tiny thing back outside to be eaten by a bigger something.

Nala let out a long yawn, before curling up into a little circle on Arnold's thigh and falling asleep.

“She likes you already,” Nabulungi said, with a small smile.

“And I like her,” Arnold decided.

It wasn't the same as having Chewbacca, of course. He was a dog, and Nala was a cat… but there was still something special about having a little animal friend that brought a smile to Arnold's face. He needed this.

He continued to stroke Nala’s fur, as she purred in her sleep… maybe she needed Arnold, too.

“I think I figured out what my favorite present is,” Kevin said. “Seeing you happy like this.”

It may have been Kevin's birthday, but to Arnold, it seemed like he was the one who received the greatest gift.

#this is..... bad #but arnold and a kitten was too cute of an idea to pass up #the first paragraph reads so awkwardly #but i can't seem to figure out how to fix it #i didn't mean for this to come across as kevin/arnold/naba but here we are #it was just supposed to be arnaba with awkward roomate kevin #but if you want to read it ot3 i'm not going to be able to stop you #book of mormon #bom fan fiction #arnaba #arnold cunningham #nabulungi #nabulungi hatimbi #kevin price #random ramblings #weatherby writes

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lionkingloststories · 6 years

Text

The Outsiders - Chapter 1

Rain still fell across the windswept landscape. The dead trees swayed in the wind, as the long-dry earth was overwhelmed and flooded. To the east, the great river of the land was reforming, carving a path through the land. From the grassland birds to the great crocodiles, the denizens of the Pridelands had long since sought cover from the storm.

"Zira?" Her name startled her from her reverie. A lion was hovering at the entrance to her den, highlit by a flash of lightening against the overcast sky, his mane plastered against his fur by the pelting rain. Bristling, she lifted her muzzle to scent the air, before recognizing the scent of her mate, and that of the zebra drifting from the meat in his jaws.

He lowered his head to duck into the entrance of the den, shaking the water from his fur as he stepped inside. Any traces of the Pride or the kill had been washed from him by the storm, and only the crisp scent of rain remained. Once he had dropped his catch at her paws, he looked toward the rear of the den. Zira knew that without the zebra stifling his senses, he could smell the heavy odor of blood and death that hung over the den.

They needed to move, but they could not. Instead of telling him that, Zira met his gaze steadily and asked, "what news from the Pride?"

He groomed his muzzle, as if to drive away the scent of the den, as he answered. "Dwala suffered the worst wounds in the battle, but Rafiki thinks she will live. Simba has banished the hyenas from the Pridelands once more, and some of the herds are braver now." His tail motioned to the food he had brought to her. "How are the cubs?"

Terrified. Zuberi was very weak, but still had night terrors. He had woken up more than once shrieking at imaginary hyenas. Each time he became less responsive to her, and she had taken to sleeping with him between her paws so she could hear his heartbeat. For a time, Vitani had asked after Akono every time she woke up, and even now it took a moment for her to remember sometimes. Zira's heart ached every time the light in her eyes died. Kovu had never lost a littermate, and so Zira had to explain to him what death was, and why he would never see Akono again. Now he was frightened to let Zuberi out of his sight.

And every time Zira closed her eyes, all she could see was the hyenas fighting over the cub they had torn into pieces. She only wished it was Shenzi she had killed, and not her weak little brother.

Zira had no words, but she could see the concern in her mate's eyes. "They are as well as could be expected. Is there any word of Tama?"

"Not yet." When Zira made no reply, he ventured, "But Asali is convinced she will return."

"Sangiki lost too much blood in the birthing, and her cubs are weak." Zira looked down at the cubs asleep against her side. Her sister had not admitted it, but Zira had lost cubs before. If they did not regain strength quickly, they would not last the next few days. "Vitani and Kovu escaped without injuries, but I can only keep Zuberi's wounds clean and pray to the Great Kings that he lives."

"Do you want me to fetch Rafiki for him?"

Zira drew back, teeth baring in a snarl, "better for him to die of his wounds than to be given to the new king."

It took the lion a moment to find his voice. "Zira, Simba isn't a cub killer. Rafiki could bind his wounds, he has herbs to help with the bleeding, he can pray over him… here, take the zebra. We can talk once you and the cubs eat. Nala's hunting party caught this near the eastern border."

Zira jerked away from the kill, furious. She had not thought she took a lion as her mate who could not even catch his own prey. "I'll not touch anything caught by a murderer."

"Nala didn't kill anyone!" He protested, bristling, but Zira had faced buffalo. She was not afraid of a lion.

"She brought that lion back to the Pride. If not for her, Akono and Scar would still be alive!"

"Simba is the rightful king!" The lion towered over Zira, curled around the cubs as she was, but the lioness did not flinch. Her mate was not frightening, and she knew him too well to worry that he would harm her.

She was so tired. Bearing cubs during a famine had been difficult, but hiding from her Pride-sisters weighed heavily on her. A heavy sigh escaped her. "You don't really believe that, do you? She and Tama go off to find someone to murder the King, and she just happens to find the dead prince? Don't be a fool, she's only claiming that to gain the support of the Pride."

"The hyenas killed Scar, not Simba. You saw it yourself!"

Zira had seen little. She had fallen while revenging Akono's death, and Scar had been surrounded by hyenas and fire. Her paws were still singed, and it was only Asali's efforts that had seen she and Zuberi to safety. When she returned to the den with her son, to tell her mate the horrors she had seen, he had vanished into the Pridelands.

"Under Scar's rule, the hyenas never attacked cubs. If Nala hadn't brought that lion to the Pridelands, Vitani would still have a littermate, and Zuberi wouldn't be hurt!"

"No, we'd just be starving!" He snarled.

"Did you expect Scar to control the weather?"

"I expected him to take the Pride east with the herds! To prevent the hyenas from overhunting! Your milk stopped when the cubs were four months old and I gave you most of my food!"

"You're blaming me for that?"

"No! I only mean-"

"I'm the only reason your cubs escaped the same fate as Akono! The hyenas tore him in-"

"Chumvi! Zira! You're frightening the cubs." The shadows in the depths of the den shifted, and a second lioness appeared.

Zira's eyes shifted to the cubs at her side. Two pairs of frightened eyes met hers, and she leaned forward to comfort the wide-eyed cubs. "Hush, little ones. It's only Chumvi. You're safe."

"Mum, is Zuberi going to die?" Kovu asked, shaking as her tongue rasped over his head, purring gently.

"No, Kovu. Your brother will be fine." Zira assured him gently.

"He's quiet and still," Vitani whispered, whiskers twitching madly. Her huge eyes looked up at Zira, "like Adaeze was before she died."

"He's recovering from his wounds. He needs to rest."

Chumvi shook his mane out as Zira spoke softly to the cubs, not quite able to meet Sangiki's blue eyes. The scent of death clung to her. "I brought food."

"Sangiki, we don't want a murderer's kill." Zira objected, but her sister took the kill Chumvi prodded toward her and crouched to eat.

"Yes, we do. I have to stay with my cubs, and you're still limping." Chumvi's eyes drifted to Zira, who hadn't stood the entire time he was present. Hyenas didn't die quietly, but the sting in her leg was far less of a concern than Zuberi's injuries. Zira glared back until he looked away. "What did Nala do with the dead?"

"Simba let the Pride eat as much of the hyenas as they wanted, and what couldn't be eaten by us he allowed scavengers to take. Sarabi ordered that Scar's remains be taken to the Valley of the Kings, as was his due."

Hyena tasted terrible, but Zira could not blame her Pride. It had been many months since they had had a proper meal. As Nuka slunk forward to eat, stretching the stiffness out of his joints, Zira asked. "And what of Akono?"

Vitani's head lifted at the question. Chumvi looked at the cub uncertainly, then looked at Zira and shook his head slowly. Zira understood. There had been nothing left to bury once the hyenas were finished.

Vitani straightened from sniffing at the kill, "what happened to my brother?"

"Akono was your father's heir, he would have been taken to lay beside his father in the Valley," Sangiki explained, before Zira could find words.

Vitani looked up at Chumvi, who quickly nodded in agreement. "That's right. The royal family is always buried in the Valley of the Kings."

"Does this mean that Vitani is queen now?" Nuka asked.

Sangiki paused in tearing meat from the carcass. Vitani and sat up slowly, huge eyes staring up at Zira. Nuka received no answer from his father, so he too turned to Zira.

"She is not queen yet, but she will be."

#lionkingloststories #lion king #zira #vitani #kovu #lions of the outlands #chumvi #sangiki

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beaglelinefics · 7 years

Text

Shy, Shy, Shy

Jeno X Reader

Writer: Jaime

Request: Can I request a scenario with Jeno? Like, we're just watching a movie and the other members tease us? Just something cute and fluffy with comedy, I guess. Thanks for reading ❤️❤️

Masterlist

“Are you being serious right now?”

Your boyfriend looked at you pleadingly before glancing over at the door. Okay so apparently he was being serious right now. You guys had been planning this movie night for months, and now he was telling you that you had to scram because the other members were coming over? No, nope, not happening.

“Jeno, absolutely not! I bought popcorn and candy for this! And it’s raining!”

“Yeah, which is why the others are coming home earlier than I anticipated!”

“Sounds like a you problem.” You glared at him before plopping down on the couch. “Sorry, babe, but I’m not budging.”

“Y/N!”

“Jeno!” you mocked back. “I gave up a night with my friends for this, Lee Jeno, so do not play with me right now. We planned for a nice movie night together, so a nice movie night together we will get.”

“Ugh, but the guysssssssss.”

You made grabby motions with your hands and grinned when Jeno fell onto the sofa beside you and wrapped you up in his arms. You wriggled around in his hold until you could face him and also drag a blanket over the two of you.

“Well someone got real snuggly real quick,” you noticed.

“If I’m getting teased by the guys, I’m taking you down with me.”

“Jeno, I hate to break this to you, but I’m getting teased whether you hug me or not. They tease me just for being in the same room as you.”

“Then we’ll suffer together!”

Rolling your eyes, you pulled up the movie you two had decided to watch and got comfortable. Jeno dropped his chin onto your shoulder and sighed in contentment as finally the movie started and you were both completely relaxed. It really had been a while since the last time you’d gotten together for a date, and the fact that you had decided to watch The Lion King made the whole thing a million times better. A smile tugged at your lips when you heard your boyfriend start humming along to “The Circle of Life,” and by the time Simba was brought out, you were cracking quiet jokes and completely at ease within your boyfriend’s arms. So of course the other members had to barge in at that exact moment.

“Ooohhh, what do we have here?” Johnny asked as he caught sight of you and Jeno wrapped up on the couch. “Is our little Jeno on a date?”

“Wait, Jeno’s here?” Taeyong poked his head out from behind Johnny. “Oh, hey, Y/N. Didn’t know you were coming over tonight.”

“Yeah, we’re trying to watch The Lion King,” you replied. “Good to see you guys.”

“The Lion King?” And suddenly Ten was vaulting over the couch and taking a seat in front of you on the floor. “I love this movie!”

“Guys, I think that maybe we should leave these two alone,” Taeyong started to scold.

“But it’s The Lion King!”

“I’m with Ten on this one,” Jaehyun offered. “These kids also need some parental supervision, don’t you think?”

“Parental supervision?” you echoed with a worried look at your boyfriend. They weren’t actually going to stay and watch the movie with you… right?

“I’ve got some corn popping!” Yuta yelled from the kitchen.

Doyoung walked around the couch and took a seat right beside you and Jeno, giving the two of you a stern look. Yeah, they were actually going to stay and watch the movie with you. Within seconds all the other members were gathered around the TV, and you had no choice but to press play.

“You know,” Mark started, “I always wondered where all the other male lions were at. Like, seriously, I can’t see a single one! So does that mean Simba and Nala are actually, like, siblings?”

“Oh my god,” you muttered into your boyfriend’s shoulder.

“Awwww, look at how cute!” Win-Win hissed to Jaehyun as he smacked the other boy’s arm.

“Look at our little Jeno!”

“Oh, he’s all grown up now!”

“No public displays of affection while I’m trying to enjoy this cinematic masterpiece, please and thank you!”

“Hey, shut up, they’re cute, okay?”

“Kill me now,” Jeno groaned as the members threw in their two cents. He’d just wanted to watch a movie with you, but now he was subject to this torment in front of you, his girlfriend. “Can we just watch the movie?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“So grumpy…”

“He’s trying to seem cool in front of Y/N.”

“Oh, please, she knows better than any of us how uncool Jeno really is.”

“Savage.”

“OH I JUST CAN’T WAIT TO BE KIIIIIINNNGGGG!”

“Dude, shut up!”

“OH I JUST CAN’T WAAAAIIIIIITTTTT… TO BE KIIIINNNNNGGGGG!”

“Did we have to pick a musical? I think my ears are bleeding.”

“My voice is lovely thank you very much.”

“Pfft, okay.”

“Whoa, dude, leave the kid alone. He’s just enjoying the movie.”

The members’ voices melded together as that scene drew ever closer. The guys tried to talk louder to distract themselves while you curled into Jeno’s side even more. You hated this scene. It had always fucked you up as a child, like, how could they do that? Everyone started yelling and booing at the screen when Simba was brought to that tree and told to wait; Yuta even threw a few pieces of popcorn before Taeyong wrestled the bowl from his grasp. And then the stampede started. You were practically clinging to Jeno as Simba clung to that tree branch and waited for Mufasa.

“You BITCH!” Ten shrieked at Scar when he grabbed his brother.

A few seconds later the dorm was filled with a collective, “MUFASAAAAA!”

Jeno rubbed your arms as tears started streaming down your face. That scene always got you, man. There wasn’t a single time you hadn’t cried seeing Mufasa go down like that. The other members sniffled, coughed, and wiped at their tears as Simba went down to his father. Oh, hell, this was the worst part. Finally you got a reprieve when the chase scene came up, and of course this meant it was time to make another comment about you and Jeno.

“Such a good boyfriend,” Doyoung cooed. “Protecting Y/N from the sad movie.”

“Goals!”

“Don’t they just look so warm?”

“Jeno why don’t you cuddle me like that?”

“Guys…”

“I bet he’s even warmer than that blanket we have.”

“Yeah, and that’s pretty warm.”

“Guys…”

“Why can’t I get someone like that?”

“Just… forever alone.”

“Guys!” you yelled.

“What’s up?”

“Timon and Puumba!”

“Yaaaaaaaaaaasssssssss!”

You felt Jeno’s nose brush your temple as he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. Immediately you ducked your head to hide your smile, and Jeno’s quiet laughter shook your body.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered in your ear. “You’re good at diverting their attention away from us.”

“I figured I should show you some mercy. These guys are relentless.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Oh my god, they’re whispering secrets together!”

“So cute!”

A groan escaped Jeno as the teasing started up again, but you just laughed and hugged your boyfriend tighter. The guys were right; he was so cute.

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apocalypsewriters · 3 years

Text

I did hint at writing here, and look! I followed through. I used this prompt, so enjoy the hurt comfort featuring Fera and Nala

“You don’t have to talk, we can just sit together.” Fera enveloped her girlfriend in a hug. Nala melted into her embrace as she succumbed to her silent sobs.

To anyone else, Nala could have passed as content. She was capable of masking her emotions and could do it well. No one could have seen her as cheery, but none but Fera would have sensed the turmoil underneath. Nala felt surprisingly small in her arms for someone usually so big and confident. Her normally self-assured stature was completely compromised; earlier that day her shoulders had been hunched in a plush hoodie. Anyone who knew her well might be able to read her sadness, although they couldn’t know the acuteness of the feeling. It was enough to make Fera stumble as she had skipped over to greet Nala that morning. Nala had straightened up quickly and plastered on a smile. They both knew that Fera was well aware of how awful Nala was feeling, but silently, they agreed to confront it later.

It had finally spilled over at lunchtime; Nala had pulled Fera aside from the garden and led her to a secluded spot in the school. The nook was picturesque, with fake grass cushioning Fera as she leaned against the live oak tree, basked in dappled sunlight. Fera watched the clouds move through the leaves, trying to anchor herself in the world. Nala’s emotions were an ocean, wave after wave crashing over her. Grief. Anger. Frustration. Hatred. Sadness. She struggled to stay afloat, knowing what would happen if she lost control. She rubbed Nala’s back slowly, relishing in the cloth fibers’ consistent texture on her skin. She let her fingers glide down her spine, tracing each ridge and steadying her thoughts and the emotions under her control. Slowly, Nala’s breathing leveled out, becoming measured and rhythmic.

“I’m so sorry. I hate to burden you. This must be so unbearable.” Nala’s apology was muffled by Fera’s cardigan-clad side. Her voice was quiet and raw with emotion.

Fera stroked her fingers through the dark curls, being careful to not get snagged. “You’re never a bother to me. For you, I could bear the weight of the sky. Besides,” she reassured, “I’ve felt worse. Do you want to tell me about it?”

Nala shook her head, her curls tickling Fera’s wrist.

“Okay. How about I tell you about my day?”

Fera felt the thrum of Nala’s agreement on her palm.

“Well, I woke up today to find Vera having a crisis with one of her plants. The flowers were wilting on one of them since its flowering season was over, but since she knows next to nothing about plants, no thanks to me, she was worried it was dying. Goodness knows why she hasn’t asked me before.” She paused, then said, “On second thought, I think that was one of Madelyn’s. I guess she didn’t want to ask for her help so it wouldn’t make her look bad.” She chuckled. Vera’s dedication to Madelyn was very sweet and made her prone to many comedic moments. “And when I got to school today, it was a bit of a roller coaster. I got to see my favorite person in the world.” She kissed Nala’s near-black hair. “But something ruined their day. So I’ve been a little distracted plotting to destroy whatever upset her.” Nala huffed as the tide of emotions ebbed. “And during lunch, I did busy work in the school gardens. Just weeding and turning soil.” Fera turned Nala’s head gently to gaze at her face. The intensity of her deep chocolate brown eyes never failed to floor her, but it broke her heart to see the roaring spirit behind them reduced to a barely flickering candle. Her eyelashes were clumped together with tears and her eyes were puffy. Fera planted a kiss on Nala’s forehead. “And then a beautiful girl invited me to a grove to let me do what I yearned to do all day. And that is to do anything I can to fix your problems. Be that listening to you venting, distracting you with my garbage storytelling of my average day, or just keeping you company as you collect yourself again."

Nala’s eyes softened, and Fera felt an almost imperceptible warm glow grow in her chest. She felt her cheeks redden to match.

“Thank you, my fairy,” Nala rasped, her throat still hoarse from crying.

Fera sprung up suddenly. “Just give me a minute!” she called over her shoulder as she dashed out of the area.

The rhythmic pounding of her feet against concrete was comforting as she ran through the school grounds. Reaching her bag by the gardening shed, she pulled out her reusable water bottle and started making her way back. Despite her comforting words to Nala, it was nice to be free of the intense emotions. She wasn’t lying when she’d promised to uphold the sky, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy peace for a few moments. Taking a breath of air, relishing in its clarity, she picked up her pace, eager to get back and spend more time with her girlfriend.

Tossing the bottle clumsily towards Nala’s still prone form on the plastic grass, Fera sagged in relief as she expertly caught the bottle. Nala twisted it open and took a long drink, sighing contentedly when she came up for air.

“Thank you again, sunflower. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Nala’s voice was a little clearer after the water, much to Fera’s delight.

Fera smiled warmly as she sat back down next to Nala. “Well, we both know it’s a mutual thing. And you know you don’t have to thank me.” She pulled Nala in for another hug. “Do you want to talk about it now? Or is it still too fresh?” Fera amended her question as Nala’s emotions reared once again.

“Maybe later.” Nala nuzzled into Fera’s shoulder, almost knocking her over. “Can I come with you to your next class?”

Fera giggled and pushed her away a little, stooping down to look nose to nose at each other, their foreheads pressed together. “Well, as smart as you are, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to miss class.”

“I don’t want to leave you though,” Nala whined pitifully.

A peal of laughter broke out as Fera caved. “Okay, okay. I have study hall next, so I’ll go ask my teacher if I can be out of the classroom.” The potentially overwhelming emotion from her teacher was made worth it to see joy bloom on Nala’s face.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Fera punctuated her sentence with a tender kiss. “If you let me go now, we can walk to class together.”

“Hurry back, okay?”

“Of course.”

#fera #nala #original character #original Characters #writing #writeblr #writers #writers of tumblr #fusion au #hurt/comfort #short story #my writing #girlfriends #i love them both so much #i should probably put these messages at the top #but my memory is awful and I only remember after adding the others #and i really don't want to do it again #still not entirely sure if im good at tagging or not

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simba-bonfamille-lyons · 6 years

Text

A Christmas Carol /./ [Simades]

In which Simba visits Christmases Past, Present, and Future, with a very special tour guide...

@trip-downtheriverstyx

Best Line: the whole things srsly everyone read this /unashamed promotion

[tw -- panic attack, mentions of alcohol abuse]

STAVE ONE: CHRISTMAS EVE, JUST BEFORE MIDNIGHT – Swynlake, England 2017

SIMBA: Christmas Eve was lonely, the house quiet except Simba and the sloshing of whiskey in his bottle. He sat in the living room, in the dark—except for the red, blue, and green lights of the Christmas tree. He hadn’t had the heart to not let Kiara put one up, and now, he stared at it, watching the lights change colors his eyes focusing and unfocusing—turning them into bursts of light over and over again. If you were quiet enough, which he was, he could hear the click of the lights changing.

He had sent Kiara away, because he didn’t want her to see him drinking, but more than that. He didn’t want her to have a terrible Christmas, again, because of him. Last year, he’d gotten his appendix out, the year before, she hadn’t spoken to him the whole day because she’d found out about Mufasa’s death. This year, he was too heartbroken to smile and pretend like everything was alright. Even for her. So, he’d packed her up and sent her to Nala’s, despite her protests and her assurances that it could just be them. He’d hugged her close, though, before she left, and he kissed her head and told her he loved her. That her presents from him were already under the tree she’d set up with Nala at Nala’s apartment.

Now, he sat on the couch, watching the hand on the clock tick closer and closer to midnight. Watching the bottle of whiskey get lower and lower as he sucked it down and down. He contemplated how much he would have to drink to shut his liver down. How much of it would it take to drown.

The only thing that kept him from testing that particular question was Bowie asleep on his bed near the fireplace, and the picture of Kiara on the mantle—the two of them in ugly Christmas sweaters from their first Christmas.

Eventually, somewhere before midnight—was it 9? 10? 11:59?, he didn’t know—Simba had fallen asleep. He awoke to the sounds of Bowie’s muffled bark. Bowie never barked unless something was happening that warranted barking—a knock on the door, deer on the property, someone inside the house (he had caught Kiara sneaking in late once or twice.) It jolted Simba awake, and, even though he was half drunk, he was awake and on his feet in an instant.

A shiver crawled up his spine.

There was a sound coming from the Christmas tree and Simba looked towards it—stomach lurching as he took a step back, knocking into the table and sprawling back into one of the arm chairs. “Taka?” he hissed, voice sharp. His body felt frozen stone cold with fear.

He heard a rattling sigh and the figure stepped further into the light of the Christmas tree.

Simba blinked and leaned forwards.

“Grandpa?” he asked, shaking his head slightly in confusion.

“Simba,” came his grandfather’s unmistakable voice. It had the same tone and texture as Mufasa’s and Taka’s—and Simba’s too. It was a voice that commanded the attention of an entire room. It was a voice that could be soft and gentle or hard and fierce.

“W-what—what are you…” Simba stood up, taking a few steps forwards.

He could see the lights of the Christmas tree reflecting through Geoffrey Lyons, who was broader than Mufasa and Simba had been, his skin much darker too. He looked like a shadow, but it was his grandfather. He knew for certain.

“Am I—dreaming?” he asked, his voice quiet. Ghosts didn’t look like this, he knew. It would take a very powerful one to appear like this.

“Somewhat,” Geoffery explained vaguely. “Simba, listen to me, and listen well. Tonight, you will be visited by another spectre this eve. You must go with them. Let them guide you, listen to their teachings. And, most importantly, follow your heart.” He touched Simba’s chest. It felt warm, and then it felt like it was on fire, and then, Simba felt himself falling backwards.

When he awoke the second time, he jerked awake to the sound of haunting bells, chiming midnight. They rang loud and deep through the house.

“What the f—”

“What the fuck?!” Simba said, whirling around to see none other than— “HADES? What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

STAVE TWO: CHRISTMAS EVE, MIDNIGHT – SWYNLAKE, ENGLAND 2017

HADES: It was a good question that Hades was asking himself.

But first, let’s back up:

Hades had not thought about Christmas in-- well, honestly, ever. Last year he’d been stricken with grief and the day passed like all other days: slowly, painfully, everything too cold. Before that he and Seph regarded it very little. They’d been forced to go to Christmas Mass when they were both much younger, their grandfather-- a pious man if only in what he preached more than his actions-- believing it might have some positive effect on his grandchildren’s devil-infected souls. With their mother there had been cookie-decorating and a Christmas tree, yes, but she never lied to them about Santa, never talked much of Jesus either.

But this year, Belle had flipped open to a page in one of their ancient tomes, pointed to a spell that involved catching a star, and looked at him like she’d already caught two-- one in each of her bright eyes. You’ll be home for Christmas, she’d said excitedly as though it were her Christmas wish. He’d touched her hair and he’d smiled back at her. Yeah, he’d agreed.

But the star was nothing but dust now. Belle’s wish had fizzled with it. They’d gone to the Christmas Tree Lighting, where last year Hades had sobbed into the snow, his blistered hands shoved into ice-- he had hoped to make up for that this year. But a melancholy sadness settled over the two of them instead, like another blanket of snow. They tried to have a good time, to drink cider and look at the lights and be, well, normal, he supposed.

But he knew what Belle was thinking. That come Christmas day, as silly as a holiday like that was (and they tried to pass it off as silly, the two of them), Belle would spend it alone and Hades would too. They would be separated by the Fates. Sure, Hades would catch the tail end of it. Sure, it shouldn’t matter but--

It was Belle’s Christmas Wish, wasn’t it?

So he’d gone to the Fates. And he asked a favour.

“A favour?” repeated Clotho. She laughed at once. “Didn’t we already do you a favour? When we bent our rules and let you save her--”

“So spoiled, so greedy--” tsked Lachesis

“So naughty, so needy--” sneered Atrophos.

“C’mon,” Hades snapped over top of them. He glared. “Isn’t there something I can do? Go get you-- some-- stupid pendant in some obscure part of the Underworld or-- I dunno, give you a year of my life or something--”

“Fate is not a bargain deal, Hades Acheron,” Clotho talked over him, her tone brisk. “You cannot purchase a day with a coupon.”

“Oh bloody hell--”

“But you can earn it.” And Clotho’s eyes gleamed.

Hades knew that look. It flickered between all the sisters now, Atrophos snickering as she snipped the air with her scissors. He looked from one to the other, took a deep breath to settle his own impatience. “I can earn it,” he repeated. They nodded, that gleam now a spark. Brighter, even more mischievous. “Alright. Tell me how.”

And so they guided him into the spinning room and brought forth an intricately woven tapestry of golds, reds, and blues. It was longer than many he had seen, so long in fact he looked toward one end and saw it disappear under the shelves and into the shadows. Usually it was royalty who had tapestries like this one, their stories preserved and extended. They were beautiful, complicated things. It also meant that oftentimes a hero did not have a tapestry of their own; it was shared.

His eyes flicked over it. Many of the swirling symbols and patterns meant little to his mortal eyes; they were illustrated in the language of the Fates. But there was one thing he did recognize. A statue. A statue-- in Swynlake. In fact-- there was townsquare. And he looked to the left, down the tapestry and saw Swynlake over time, streets growing, stores popping up…

“This is Swynlake’s tapestry?” he asked with his brow furrowed.

“Good guess, my friend, but no-- look again,” whispered Lachesis.

And he did. And he saw.

“The Lyons Tapestry.”

And it was then that his mission was revealed to him, in painstaking couplet form no less. But Hades agreed, shaking the hands of each of the Fates. Clotho rolled the tapestry all the way up and pressed it into his palm. The deal, then, finally struck.

On Christmas Eve, he walked into the house and drew Belle into his arms as he had every night before. The house had been warm, a fire in the fireplace, cider cooking on the stove. They shut the cold out and after dinner cozied up by the fire, Belle in two pairs of socks. They read and drank wine until Belle’s cheeks were nearly as red as the drink, and then Hades had scooped her up into his arms in a dramatic fashion to make her laugh, and he kissed her all the way up the stairs to his bedroom. He kissed her so she wouldn’t be sad, kissed her so she wouldn’t think, kissed her to keep her warm and make her sigh until her toes were curling against his leg and she held onto him so tightly, he didn’t think the Fates could take him away if they tried.

When Belle fell asleep, he stroked her hair and waited just a few minutes more. But the clock was creeping toward midnight. And he had a mission. He leaned forward and let his lips linger on Belle’s forehead right before the digital clock struck 12--

And then -- whoosh! Christmas fuckin’ miracle. He was in Simba Lyons’ house.

“Oi, cool it, cool it, I was sent by--” he grabbed the tapestry out of the back pocket, unrolling just the top of it. “Geoffrey. And the Fates.” He rolled it back up and couldn’t help but smirk, his eyebrows quirking up. “Congratulations, Simba, I’m your very own Christmas Ghost. And we’re gonna-- I dunno, save your soul or somethin’.”

SIMBA: Simba’s heart rate was still ticked up with surprise. He had a state of the art alarm system, you know, had it installed after Kiara had gone missing, his paranoia getting the better of him. It had been a good thing, though, it gave them all a certain peace of mind, especially after the whole Taka business. So, yeah, seeing Hades standing there silhouetted by the Christmas tree was a bit of a shock, and made him want to lash out, protect his home—at first.

But, his shoulders eventually dropped somewhat, though his hand was clenched in a fist and he’d taken a step forwards, ready to toss Hades out into the snow if it came down to it, even if he was the only one here, even if there was nothing to protect.

(Though, in the back of his mind, he was really wondering what the fuck Hades was doing in his house on a purely confused level—not even worried.)

Hades spoke and Simba couldn’t help but let out a bark of a laugh—it was not an amused sound, it was dry and sharp and he shook his head. He was still wary, but, he didn’t really think Hades was going to hurt him as the adrenaline ebbed away. He had no motive, not really. He wasn’t a murderous uncle bent on taking over InterPride—Hades was not a fan of the corporate world, Simba had figured that much out after the past few weeks of working together. Though, hey, maybe there was some motive Simba didn’t know about—he hadn’t thought Taka was a murderer. He had loved him.

Besides, what did it matter, yeah? If he died—

“Save my soul?” Simba deadpanned back at Hades after a moment, and he shook his head—snorting another laugh. “And who do you think you are, Allah? He’s the only one who can do that, and I’m afraid it’s too late anyway, by about four years, mate. Your time is better spent elsewhere.”

HADES: Hades was trying to be a good sport about all this.

When the Fates had told him what he had to do-- i.e. guide a lost soul through the past, present, and future to find his way-- he’d barked a loud laugh that echoed throughout the chamber. When they told him it was going to be Simba Lyons--

“HAH, no,” he had said at once. “No. No way. That bloke is hopeless, you kidding me? I already dragged him off the floor of Belle’s bathroom--”

But the Fates had just stared at him, stared until he shut up and grumped and seethed and accepted it. Though he had pressed on why. There were so many lost souls, weren’t there, people who made a bigger splash in the cosmic pond, certainly. He’d guide a general, he’d guide a president or prime minister, he’d guide-- hell-- a Magick like himself, who was overwhelmed, buried by the weight of their power. Why did it have to be Simba Lyons?

The Fates were not clear on this. Something like he knew Simba and Simba knew him and it was the kinda crossroads that would determine where the tapestry was gonna go. And so it was Simba, or no one. Simba, or he’d be decking the halls of the Underworld with Lachesis trying to squirrel him away under the mistletoe.

So here he was, and his brow twitched at Simba’s comment. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy (he’d been warned)-- but already? Hades rolled his eyes.

“Right, you don’t have a choice,” he said. “And neither do I. Look, I’m not-- thrilled, okay. You think I want to be guiding you around on my Christmas Eve? No. But-- I, ah, have to if I’m going to spend Christmas with Belle. You are my ticket. So you either behave yourself or I’m gonna drag your arse kickin’ and screamin’ to where we need to go.”

SIMBA: You don’t have a choice.

Those words made Simba bristle more than anything, his head snapping back with his own scoff on his lips, like a bull in a pen that had just been prodded. He didn’t like being told he didn’t have a choice—that was what had gotten him such a mess in the first place. He had been told his entire life that he didn’t have a choice. It was InterPride or it was nothing at all—no family, no duty, no honor. InterPride or nothing. That had been the choice and it wasn’t a choice, because Simba could never discard his family like that. The one time he’d tried it had almost killed him and that had been for a good reason—not just because he didn’t want to.

So, Simba didn’t have a choice with InterPride and InterPride made all of his choices for him—who he would be able to date and marry. What his life was going to look like. What subject he took in school, the people he met, the places he went. InterPride made all of those choices. Simba didn’t have choices.

But he could choose whether or not he was going to go with this asshole.

Except—he couldn’t. As soon as Hades mentioned Belle, Simba’s shoulders dropped and he turned his head, looking down into the fire embers burning low in the fireplace. His jaw muscle rippled and it was silent for a few moments. Then, he looked back at Hades and watched him carefully for a few seconds—trying to determine if he was lying, if this was some—trick. But, Hades held his gaze steady and Simba knew he wasn’t lying.

He just wanted to spend Christmas with the person he loved. Simba could understand that.

“Fine,” he said, “but no promises anything is going to change. I don’t know what it is you could possibly show me or do that would—save my soul?” he scoffed again.

HADES: Hades did not know either. He’d done his best, following along with the Fates and their obscure couplet instructions but there were holes in those rhymes, put there he imagined on purpose because these things could never be straightforward. No, straightforward would mean the Fates weren’t having fun and wouldn’t have anything to laugh at. Couldn’t have that-- what would the sadistic Hot Topic employees from Hell do in all that spare time?

So Hades was on this journey as much as Simba was. If anything, he was a messenger-- like Hermes, carrying his package (Simba’s tapestry) up from the Underworld. It was this tapestry, which looked like nothin’ more than a scroll clutched in Hades’ hand, that would be the map.

That part, at least, Hades understood. Otherwise? Well, he was the ambassador: envoy of the dead, the dying, the departed. He supposed that could apply to memories. So he’d wing it.

At least he’d gotten this far. Mentioning Belle was a good move (but he knew that; Simba was a sorry sap in love, wasn’t that why he was here?)

“Good, keep those expectations nice and low,” snarked Hades right back, though his lip twitched. If Simba was closer, maybe he’d see the triumphant gleam in his eyes. “Now c’mere. Got a present for you, Lyons.”

As Simba approached, Hades lifted the tapestry again, giving it a wiggle. “See this? It’s your-- tapestry. Everything that’s ever happened to you, everything happening now, the threads intertwined with yours--it’s all here. Take look” He held it toward Simba, hearing the chorus of the Fates--

With your hand on one end, let him touch the scroll

Then upon the midnight hour’s final toll.

Through the Christmas of his past will you take your stroll…

Simba’s hand wrapped around the end, but Hades did not let go. Then: the sound of a bell and a flash--

STAVE THREE: CHRISTMAS EVE, DAYTIME – NAIROBI, KENYA 2000

SIMBA: Simba hesitated again when Hades offered up the scroll to him. He stood in the center of his living room and eyed it. He knew whatever it was was magic—powerful magic, that was the only way Geoffery could’ve been summoned, and Hades too, breaking into someone’s home was hard, even with magic, if it was imbibed with magic itself—which Simba’s was, would be stupid to live in a town like this without magical protection. Could, quite possibly, all be a trap—even if Hades wasn’t involved with it. Maybe whomever had given Hades that tapestry were the ones who wanted to wish him harm.

He sounded like a paranoid fool and he knew it. But, could you blame him? After finding out his uncle had killed his father and tried to kill him—and having been unaware of it the entire time?

Still, Simba was just drunk enough to ignore his father’s voice in his head, telling him to be cautious, to be careful, there were people who loved him. (Which there was, but the thing about that was: none of them needed him.) He stepped up to Hades, a defiant gleam in his eyes to match Hades’ triumphant one.

He put his hand on the scroll and there was a bright flash of light which made him squeeze his eyes shut—

When he opened them, he had to blink a few times—the sun was baking bright against the dry, cracked ground. He knew, before he could fully see, that they were in Kenya. The sun felt different in Kenya, like it was closer, bright and sweltering, even in the winter—which is what this was. He could tell, because there was garland wrapped around the front porch of his Kenyan home. It was odd—because he could not feel the heat, or the gentle breeze that rustled the garland—which an antelope was chewing on, its shoulder shuddering as flies buzzed around it.

“Kenya,” Simba said, a little breathless, but by way of explanation to Hades, who was looking around with a bit of a crease in his brow.

Simba stood, like he was standing in the pages of a story book, before he climbed the creaking stairs—except, they didn’t creak as he put his weight on them. He couldn’t feel the warm wood of the porch underneath his palm. But, he kept walking, around the side of the large house, searching for—

Ah, there he was.

His Uncle Goodie’s warm, rich, smooth voice:

“So, they journeyed but never found the Lion; He had taken hold of sword and dagger…”

They rounded the corner, and there was his uncle, in the rocking chair in the corner of the porch, beneath the window. Around his feet was Chidi, Masamba, Oyibo, and Desta. Anan was sitting on the railing of the porch, arm wrapped around one of the poles, his feet swinging. Little Katlego sat in his lap, her head on his shoulder, half asleep.

“They returned home together with one accord To tell the King Mringwari, ‘Liyongo cannot be overcome, he is like fire! He is not mortal, that one, he is fire!”

“This is my favorite story,” Simba told Hades from where he had taken to leaning against the side of the house, arms crossed, a little smile on his face. “It’s about this warrior, Liyongo, he’s kinda—like Robin Hood, ‘cept he’s a prince, and better with a bow…”

He trailed off and pushed up from the wall. “Er, right—where am I?” he asked, more to himself than anything.

As soon as he thought it, he blinked and they were in the kitchen. He was sitting on the counter, a mixing bowl in his lap, but he was staring out the window.

His mother had flour on her arms as she rolled out dough. “What are you looking at, mwana?”

“I’m not,” little Simba grumped, “I’m waiting.”

“For your father?”

Little Simba nodded his head, but he was looking down at the bowl that he was most definitely not stirring as he was supposed to be. His mother sighed and put a little flour on his nose. Simba popped his elbow up to knock his mother’s hand away, not laughing like he usually would. He wiggled a little farther down the counter, away from her.

“You will see him when you get home.”

HADES: The flash of light blinded Hades and left a ring around his iris when at last it cleared. He blinked-- clutched harder at that scroll, feeling like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. Then everything rushed in:

Hot air, the smell of-- grass and dirt? The sound of a voice he did not know. Green, brown, the creak of a wooden step.

He blinked again and saw it all, glancing toward Simba because this was not from Hades’ life. It was from Simba’s. The recognition sparked in his eye at once and he moved forward, leaving Hades standing rather dumbly for a moment before he snapped to attention. Hades then shoved the scroll back in his back pocket and followed on, climbing the steps of the porch. They did not creak because, of course, Hades was not really here. He was visiting, both of them hovering as ghosts would, looking over the shoulder of these memories of the past.

Wasn’t that what Seph had once said? That ghosts, really, were memory. And memory, really, was a type of ghost.

Stories too, thought Hades to himself-- and to his own memory of Seph-- as he listened in on this story. He glanced toward Simba as he talked about it. Was this story important then, was that why they were here?

He was answered a moment later as they dissipated and reappeared in the kitchen within the house, as though this was the real place they’d materialized in the first place. Once again Hades looked around. Nothing familiar to him, nothing but-- the affection in the woman’s voice. That reminded him of Opal.

That was Simba’s mother.

He let Simba wander closer and he, he stayed back. He ducked his head and pretended to be enchanted with a bowl of oranges. He reached for not, knowing full well he couldn’t touch it--

He knocked off the top orange anyway, because, fuck, right, ghost hands. It rolled from the pile, falling with a barely-there noise on the wooden floor. “Whoops, shit--” Hades said sheepishly though Little Simba and his mother hadn’t even noticed. He pushed it under the lip of the counter with his heel best he could. “Sorry.”

SIMBA: Simba’s heart had started pounding hard and tight in his chest at the mention of his father, and just like Little Simba, he had turned to look out the window with a hopeful gaze. He knew he was lucky, to get these extra moments with his father—like he had in the Underworld, and he treasured all of them. Moreso than even the real Simba, who was sitting on the kitchen counter top obviously missing his father so badly, would.

He knew this because—

“I don’t remember this,” he said out loud in his confusion, taking a step closer.

They spent several holidays in Kenya, of course. It was really only Aunt Miriam and Uncle Riley who celebrated Christmas, but it was as good of a time as any to get the whole family together—especially since half of them lived in the very Christian England. His father had always gone with him—or so Simba had remembered. He always did everything he could to come to Kenya, even if he had to come a day late, or leave a day early, or sometimes both. He was always there—

“It’s been two whole days!” Little Simba whined, kicking his feet against the kitchen cabinets.

“Yes, I know, it’s been two whole days of you being a brat,” Sarabi said, a hand on her hip—though her voice wasn’t unkind…perhaps just a bit exasperated, or exhausted.

Little Simba’s feet stopped kicking and he looked down into the mixing bowl, a deep frown on his face. Simba took another step closer, like he could reach out and comfort his younger self—though, he didn’t know what he would say, he could feel the disappointment burning in his own chest as he realized that he wasn’t going to get to see his father, even a past-version of him. A version of Mufasa alive and happy.

“Well, he’s supposed to be here,” Simba whined again, though his voice trembled even more. There was a long beat where Simba sniffled and Sarabi sighed. “I miss him.”

“I know you do, habibah,” Sarabi said gently, taking the mixing bowl from Simba’s hands and setting it down on the counter so that she could scoop up her gangly nine-year-old in her arms. Simba wrapped his arms and legs around his mama like a little baboon and Sarabi carried him over to the kitchen table, sitting down in the chair there, older Simba turning slowly until he was facing this new scene his brow furrowed.

“I miss grandpa too,” Simba hiccupped.

“I know, cub,” Sarabi said, stroking the back of his head gently. “Your father isn’t dead, though,” she reminded him with a bit of a chuckle, kissing the side of his head before Simba pulled back from where his head was resting on his mother’s shoulder.

“I know that,” he said brattily, tears on his face. “Grandpa is though.”

“Yes, and you’re father has had to take over, just like you will someday.”

“When Daddy dies?”

Sarabi chuckled again. Ghost Simba let out a wet little chuckle of his own, shaking his head and glancing down as his heart squeezed.

“No, when he gets too old.”

If only, thought Simba.

Little Simba fiddled with a tassel on his mother’s sarong and all was quiet in the kitchen. Outside the open window, Uncle Goodie’s strong voice could be heard:

“I am a young lion, I have instilled the wish to die in my heart; I fear nothing but disgrace if my enemies see my back. But both my feet are in shackles, And around my neck an iron ring has been forged…”

“This is right after my grandfather died,” Simba said, mostly to himself, realizing it in that quiet moment. “My father had only been CEO for a few months. I guess he…didn’t come with us this time.” There was a long pause where Simba stared at his mother rocking him in her arms. He missed that. He missed being small enough to curl up on her like that. He missed his father too.

HADES: Let it be known: Hades really couldn’t believe this was how he was spending his Christmas Eve, watching Simba Lyons get teary-eyed over Simba Lyons Junior who was getting teary-eyed over a father missing-in-action-- only he wasn’t, was he, he’d just not shown up.

Boo hoo hoo. Hades crossed his arms, looking down at that orange he’d tried to subtly kick away from prying curious eyes, so he wouldn’t roll his eyes and insult his ward for the night.

And look, Hades could have empathy for it all, he supposed, if it wasn’t history repeating itself. You’d think a kid would remember something like this and maybe make a change. What was Hades doin’ when he was nine years old on Christmas Eve? He remembered that, actually, too clearly, because it was the last year his mum was alive. There had been a fire in the fireplace and they’d all baked all day together, so they’d be ready for tomorrow. Hades smashed cranberries, Persephone helped with the potatoes, their mum did all the cutting. They’d baked sugar cookies, getting flour all over the place, then decorated them all. Or, well, Sephy did. Hades remembered distinctly only making two cookies, egged on by Sephy-- one for her, and one for their mother.

It snowed as it did most years. He remembered that too.

There had been no one to wait for, of course. Grandfather was far far away, even if it would just take a ride on the tram-- he did not come to Christmas. Hades’ father was a myth; he only knew he had one, somewhere, because all kids must. There were no people gathered on Hades’ porch; he did not even have a porch.

But still, Hades had a good Christmas and remembered it because it was so good. Because he’d had all the people who he needed.

He lifted his head at Simba’s voice, hearing him slowly start to remember (had he just pushed it away because it’d been sad?) Hades arched a brow and then wandered toward him, stopping by his side. Did the Fates expect Hades to comfort him? He hoped not. Instructions had been vague there too. He was just supposed to-- make Simba see the truth.

Well, Hades knew a thing or two about telling the truth.

“Guess he decided he had somewhere more important to be,” quipped Hades. He glanced sideways at him, remembering the empty house he’d stumbled into-- the sad, abandoned fire, the bottle of whiskey, the lifeless air. “Like father, like son.”

SIMBA: Simba was pulled from his musings as Hades came towards him. It was odd—having him here. Simba didn’t know how he felt about it. On one hand, he was glad he wasn’t reliving this memory alone, but he could hardly turn to Hades for support, so really—he might as well be going through it alone. He knew who he really wanted. He wanted his mother. He wanted his father. He wanted Berlioz. Even—Kiara.

Hades spoke, and Simba frowned.

He wanted to be angry. He felt the anger in his chest and he shot Hades a look but—he knew he couldn’t be, because it was true. The guilt covered the anger like a blanket, dampening it, putting it out before it could spread to his tongue. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked out over the window beyond his mother’s head, where the plains stretched out for miles and miles. There was no one else here. There was no one coming. He would be spending his vacation alone, because not even his family could fill the hole left by his father’s absence.

For a brief moment, as he stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, he wondered if that was how—someone felt about him. He didn’t think so. He didn’t have a child who was waiting on him. He didn’t have a wife—or even a husband—or anyone at all. He knew he had quite successfully pushed everyone away. Maybe that made him better than his father, because, at least, he didn’t set up expectations. He’d just—been awful from the start.

It was easier that way, he supposed.

Though, he was also—disturbed…if that was the right word—that he…didn’t remember this. How could he not? His father never missed any of his games, never missed holidays, or birthdays—or…did he? Simba scoured back through his memories, but there were too many games, too many birthdays, too many holidays to remember properly.

“He got better,” Simba defended, but his voice was small and uncertain now. Had he? Or—because Simba had been sent away, he didn’t see it. How many date nights had Mufasa missed with Sarabi? How many of her birthdays?

“Let’s go,” he said abruptly, feeling his skin begin to crawl as it felt like his entire childhood was being rewritten, etched into his skin. “How do we leave?”

STAVE FOUR: CHRISTMAS EVE, EVENING -- Swynlake, England, 2017

HADES: If there was one thing Hades knew about Simba, it was he had fight in him. More than Hades, more than practically anyone-- there was a fire that caught easily and quickly if you knew how to spark it and it wasn’t that hard to figure that out either because Simba wore that heart of on his sleeve-- if he wasn’t just giving it out to people. Hades had felt the brunt force of Simba’s fight before. He’d bruised that heart with just a couple of choice sneered words and Simba pummeled him with his fist enough times to bloody Hades’ nose and blacken his eye. There wasn’t much that Hades admired about Simba-- but if he were gonna pick something, it would maybe be the fight. Even when it was stupid, all whiplash and bravado and wounded pride. Hades preferred the proud to the meek.

But here, right now? There was no fight. He’d expected more than a half-hearted defense for the dead daddy Simba so idolized (and if you’ll recall, Hades had seen Simba blubbering about Mufasa when they’d been in prison in Hell so-- yeah, he was familiar). But that was all he got. Barely more than a twitch of his jaw and a brief glare that had no actual fire.

Simba’s fire was-- elsewhere. Soaked in whiskey? Suffocating in a suit and tie? Shoved in the empty spaces of his closet where his beloved Bonfamille had once been?

Hades didn’t know but he rose his eyebrows all the same at the pathetic comeback. This was maybe what he was supposed to be doing for Simba-- helping him fight. At least...Hades certainly liked that mission more than memory lane bingo.

“Cool your heels, mate, got all the time in the palm of my hand-- literally,” Hades quipped. He got out the tapestry again though and pushed off the counter to cross toward Simba. Their eyes met. Hades moved his brows up, as if he was gonna say something.

He could. Could say a lot of things. Could say, y’know, this isn’t really about if your father got better. It’s about you.

Didn’t though. Instead he offered the scroll to Simba and as soon as Simba’s hand wrapped around the end, the light flashed through again…

...and as they blinked through it, they were away from Kenya, the air now thick with the scent of oranges, cinnamon, and wine cooking on the stove. Hades’ eyes darted around the rather nice-sized flat. There was a medium Christmas tree in the corner, all decked out in lights and baubles. And when he looked toward the kitchen, Hades blinked in recognition. Because yeah, that was Nala Calame at the stove, stirring the big pot of mulled wine. There was another woman in the kitchen with her-- ah, an older version of Sarabi, now he saw, the woman from the kitchen in Kenya now older, with more laugh lines on her forehead and crinkles near her eyes, but the same woman all the same.

“Oh shit,” exclaimed a third voice. Hades turned and saw little Kiara Lyons sitting cross-legged at the christmas tree. “Shit, I -- snagged Simba’s gift when I brought yours over!”

Nala glanced toward her. “Oh, well, we can bring it over tomorrow afternoon--”

“No, it’s supposed to be under the tree for him!” Kiara sighed. She snatched up the box and scrambled up, walking toward the counter. “Do you think-- maybe, if I-- you know, I tell him, and invite him over for Christmas Eve he could bring it back with him…”

Nala sighed this time. “I dunno Kiara, you’ve already called twice--”

“Okay but I-- there’s a reason now!” She exclaimed and plopped the wrapped box on the bar before slipping onto the stool. “Besides he wants to come, I know he does, I just have to-- you know, ask enough. He wants to be here.”

Hades crossed his arms and glanced at Simba. “Well. Welcome to your Christmas Present.”

SIMBA: Simba did not find Hades quip amusing, as he could not grab hold of that cloth fast enough. He wanted to be very far away from the disappointed little boy at his back. Far from the uncomfortable truths that were beginning to take root in his brain. It is a hard thing, growing up and learning your parents were not as wonderful as you thought they were. Especially when said parent had been taken from you before you could—learn that through them, and then grow with them, embrace them as a person and not a figure to idolize.

Simba would never get that opportunity. To—be friends with his father.

He squeezed his eyes tight and grabbed the tapestry, feeling a tug in his gut. The smell was the first thing that hit him, the mulled wine but also—Nala. Her house. He knew it before he even opened his eyes, just like he’d known the plains of Kenya. He almost didn’t want to open his eyes, because he knew what he’d see—a Christmas tree with presents underneath. He’d sent his own along with Kiara when she’d left, even though she’d protested that he wouldn’t see her opening them. I already know what I got you, plus, I know you’ll like it because I’m just that good, he’d tried to joke, but he hadn’t really smiled as he kissed her on the forehead and sent her along.

He knew he’d see his mother at the stove, cooking, and Nala in her comfortable, festive pajamas. All of them cozy and warm and smiling. Without him.

His eyes sprung open of their own accord at the sound of Kiara’s voice and his eyes went to her immediately, watching her sitting there with a pout eerily similar to his own. His own mouth twitched down in an imitation without even thinking about it. He tracked her across the room, his arms crossing over his chest as his frown deepened, watching the scene play out in front of him. He didn’t want to get to close, like he was afraid to shatter it.

There was nothing about the conversation that surprised him. His heart tugged in his chest, but it was a dull thing. This was what the whiskey was for. He knew he’d made the right decision, sending Kiara off. What would she be doing at home, if he had let her stay? Bothering Simba with offers of Christmas cookie baking and Christmas movie watching and hot cocoa making until Simba snapped at her and then they got in a fight? Merry fucking Christmas.

“That may be true,” Sarabi said from the stove, half-turning to look at her niece, “but you also know he won’t say yes. Don’t let him ruin your Christmas with his bullshit.”

“Hey!” Simba said, taking a step forwards—snorting indignantly.

“It’s not bullshit,” he grumped in Hades’ direction, side-eyeing him since he was—the only one there to hear it. “M’heart’s broke. Should have a bit more sympathy.” He cast his eyes down and then up and around the room, squeezing his biceps tighter. “I’m not exactly the best person to be around anyways. They’re better off. So, if you’re tryina make me feel guilty—it’s not working.” He looked back at Hades defiantly.

HADES: “It’s not bullshit,” echoed Kiara, though she said it with a sigh. She fingered the ribbon of her present idly, looking at it, not at Sarabi or Nala. The two women exchanged glances with each other though.

Hades looked at Simba. “Hey, I’m not doin’ anything, mate. Just along for the ride. Looks like you’re the one who’s making history repeat itself--”

Then Kiara’s voice rose above Hades’ own:

“He’s just--lonely and sad and needs us. And I need him. That’s what family does, we’re there for each other--”

“Kiara,” broke in Nala. It wasn’t mean, though. She turned toward the bar and slid her hand over it, grasping Kiara’s wrist with her hand. Her smile was kind, almost maternal. Which was good; Hades flicked his gaze to Sarabi and did not see the same kindness there. He did not know what to see. She was not as open, at least, as Nala was, who was a woman who had always worn her emotions plain to see.

Nala squeezed Kiara’s wrist. “Hey, I miss him too. You know I miss him. I swear, if I thought kicking down his door and dragging him here would make everything better, I would. But he wants to be alone.”

“No one wants to be alone, not really,” Kiara argued to that, though she was talking out-- to the universe, maybe? Hades raised his eyebrows. “Like, I know-- what he says he wants, but he doesn’t want to be alone--”

“Well maybe he needs it,” said Nala, her hand slipping off Kiara’s wrist. She turned back to the fridge, opening it so she could get out, yup, eggnog. She headed toward the cabinet next as she talked. “Maybe he needs to have this horrible Christmas all alone-- to punish himself or whatever it is he thinks he is doing-- and then-- well, next year will be better.” She sighed. “Just try to forget about him, Kiara. He’s not coming.”

Kiara blinked furiously, ducking her head as she rubbed at her eye.

“Ah. Makin’ your cousin cry, always an excellent Christmas gift,” commented Hades with a snort. He looked at Simba. “She look better off to you?”

SIMBA: Making history repeat itself…

Simba cut his gaze away for a second, his jaw ticking. That unpleasant feeling was back in his chest. The one that felt like a clock ticking backwards, or—not in the right direction at all, forwards and backwards and side to side with no rhyme or reason. It made him a little woozy, but he just shook his head and gritted his teeth, holding himself tightly and staring steadily ahead at the scene in front of him.

I need him.

No, you don’t, Simba wanted to say at once. Obviously, Kiara didn’t. She was the one who had ran away from her abuse. She had saved herself. She was stronger than Simba was, much stronger. He’d told her that several times. She didn’t need him, no one did. Even Ber was fine without him—sad, yes, but better off. With his family, who loved him, and Lou—who would keep an eye on him and protect him properly.

His frown deepened at Nala and Kiara’s exchanging, while his mother stood silently at the stove, her eyes hard. He’d seen that look before—Sarabi hated when people were made upset by those they loved. Unless it was Simba apparently. Simba had to suffer in silence, because he had the weight of InterPride to shoulder instead.

He looked away, his gaze cutting sharp to Hades as his heart twisted.

“Shut the fuck up,” he growled at him, but his voice cracked and didn’t sound very threatening at all. He turned his head away again. Shaking it.

“I’ve seen enough, let’s go,” he said, voice hard. He held out his hand for the tapestry. “Let’s get this bullshit future over with.”

HADES: Hades raised his eyebrows, jerking the tapestry away from Simba. “Not so fast, mate,” he said-- and then the room filled with light. The ground shifted, the smell of the wine and spices evaporating fast as though they had never been there.

Then the light cleared and they were standing in a much different room, door shut, blinds drawn, a single desk light on. Downstairs, there was music playing-- beautiful classical music that drifted through this large house and got into the walls.

Hades knew this house. He knew that music, he knew that smell-- which could only be described as clean.

And there at the desk was Simba’s Berlioz. He had leaned back in the chair, pushing it onto his back legs. He was staring at his phone, chewing over his nail.

Under the light of the lamp glinted a crystal vial, filled with what a clear liquid. Hades rose his eyebrows. He could feel the magic emanating off it, and it reminded him of the little vials that Belle brought home from Howl.

“He’s your family too, isn’t he?” Hades said as they stood in the silent tomb of a room. “Let’s see what Berlioz is up to…” he leaned over the boy’s shoulder to look at the text on the screen...

Simba’s name. Ah.

Simba, i’ve been thinking and i know what i said and i know you hate me now and i deserve that but i

His finger deleted the words, all the way back to Simba.

Simba, i’m sorry for

Delete delete delete.

I really shouldn’t be texting you but i don’t want to leave everything that way. I was upset because of star wars and i just...overreacted though i know its over and this doesn’t change that but i

Delete delete delete. Berlioz blinked furiously, then breathed in sharp, looking up at the ceiling the way people did when they wanted to stop crying. He rubbed at his chest, then closed his eyes.

There was a drop of water. It was a small sound. Hades looked at the vial and saw the liquid in it ripple.

“BERLIOZ!” came a shrill from all the way downstairs.

Ber started there in the chair, nearly falling back, but catching the lip of his desk. He rocked back onto four legs.

“BERLIOZ. COME DOWNSTAIRS. NOW,” yelled the unmistakable voice of Adelaide, the Bonfamille matriarch, from what Hades knew.

“I-- Coming!” Berlioz called. But he did not move. He looked back at his phone, texting--

Simba.

Deleting Simba.

“Well, this is pathetic,” said Hades.

SIMBA: The light flashed and—

They were in Berlioz’s room. It took Simba a moment to recognize it, especially considering how dark it was. He’d hardly ever been here. He knew Ber hated it. That Ber hadn’t picked out the furniture or the paint or the comforter on the bed, the drapes on the window. You would think Simba would be able to pick out his boyfriend’s—ex-boyfriend’s—bedroom as fast as lightning. But, this had never really been Ber’s space. He knew that. He’d known that since the first time he’d stood in this room, Berlioz standing in the center of it, looking—out of place as his gaze skirted around the room and he spoke with a detached voice.

There where his clothes, still on the floor, spilling out of boxes he hadn’t unpacked yet.

He hadn’t unpacked the boxes.

His eyes flicked towards Hades the same moment that thought struck him. They weren’t in the future. They were still in the present. This was his Berlioz, sitting in his chair at his desk.

His family as Hades said. He felt his throat tighten.

He crossed the room quickly, his shoulder jostling Hades’ as he leaned over Berlioz. His nose brushed Ber’s hair for a moment, though the scent of it seemed—far away. Eventually, he dropped his eyes towards his phone, watching the words type out, delete, type out, delete. His heart clenched with every one, and subconsciously, he reached for his own phone in his pocket. He wondered if he pulled it out and opened Ber’s contact, if he’d see the little bubbles.

Sometimes, he could catch Ber writing, before. They’d both reach for their phones at the same time, and Simba watched those little bubbles stop and start, stop and start. He always texted first if he saw that happening. Every time.

Adelaide’s voice called up from downstairs and Simba jumped just as Berlioz did. That woman was a nightmare, in Simba’s opinion.

He looked back at Ber—whose face was drawn, looking like he was about to cry. His head ducked again and he typed something else out. Deleted it.

Simba blinked and a tear slipped out of his own eye. He went to reach out for Ber. He wanted to touch his cheek, his hair, hold his hand. Let him know that he was there, that he loved him, because he did. He didn’t hate him. He could never. He thought Berlioz knew that.

Fuck me for loving you.

“Shut the fuck up,” Simba said to Hades. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! I swear to Allah—”

Ber stood up from his seat at the desk, pocketing his phone—no text message sent. He looked right at Simba.

“Ber, I—”

Ber walked right through him. He’d been looking right through him too—because this was some…bullshit magic and only Hades could fucking touch anything.

“Do something!” he snapped in Hades’ direction, shoving his shoulder towards the door. He didn’t know what Hades was supposed to be able to do—but he had come on this trip for some fucking reason. Maybe this was it.

HADES: Disclaimer: Hades didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about.

He also wasn’t sure he was supposed to. He was playing every stave of this by ear, so if he was supposed to be some grand maestro of Simba’s fate, well-- well, he could only do his best and this, mind you, this was Hades best.

He was starting to think that was the point though. Really, after two of these and now here on his third, dealing with a tired Simba and now a damn near fiery one-- the fight back in his eye-- he was thinking maybe he was supposed to piss Simba off.

Because Simba wasn’t going anywhere, was just unspooling his own goddamn tapestry as he sat and drank whiskey and wasted his precious, precious hours, hours that Hades would kill for.

So Hades was supposed to make Simba fight. That’s why he, of all people, had to guide Simba. Not to mollycoddle the self-pitying bastard. But to shove his face in his mistakes and make Simba realize that-- yeah, he cared. He wanted to be with his family.

He wanted that boy, for whatever reason, maybe most of all.

So Hades just scoffed at Simba. Chuckled, laughed at him. “Oh, and what do you want me to do? I’m not who he wants-- I’m not the one he’s in love with. There’s nothing I can do to stop him from bein’ miserable. Soon that won’t even be in your hands anymore, mate, and there will be nothing you can do either. Though don’t take my word for it--”

He held up the scroll. “See for yourself.”

STAVE FIVE: CHRISTMAS EVE, LATE AT NIGHT -- Paris, France, 2021

SIMBA: Simba could punch Hades in the face. He really could. His hand clenched and unclenched at his side as he watched Berlioz pull the door open to his room and shut it again behind him. The only thing that stopped him was—

He didn’t know what. Maybe his own self-pity.

It’d feel too good to punch that smug fucker in the face (Simba would know, he’d done it already, hadn’t he?) Simba didn’t deserve to get what he wanted. Not right now. Not after watching Berlioz torture himself. Berlioz, who was so sad. Berlioz, who Simba had hurt worse than anything, because a broken heart was worse than a punch in the face. Because there was nothing you could do about it. No ice to help it heal. Even whiskey just dulled the senses.

Hades’ words echoed in Simba’s brain like a dull throbbing headache, like something had been wedged in between the bone and the soft tissue. Something that didn’t belong there. Or, maybe, it wasn’t what Simba wanted. A literal hard truth shoved into his brain.

Soon that won’t even be in your hands anymore, mate, and there will be nothing you can do either.

Simba whirled on him, his eyes dark and suspicious. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he snarled again, though, his voice was—slightly more…confused, suspicious, unsure. The thought roiled in his stomach. That there—wasn’t anything he was going to be able to do to fix it. That it was never going to be him that made Berlioz happy. It was all he wanted. More than InterPride. More than, even, being a teacher. He just—wanted to be the thing that made Berlioz smile.

He hesitated, this time, like he had the very first time, to grab the scroll. But, eventually, his curiosity—morbid curiosity, perhaps—won out. He reached out to touch it.

The light flashed—

When he blinked open his eyes they were at a—party. At a venue Simba didn’t recognize. Outside the big, beautiful windows was not a skyline he immediately recognized either—it was a city, which certainly wasn’t Swynlake. The decorations were obviously Christmas, with tinsel and holly hung with care. He spun on his heel, taking in all dazzling outfits, the din of the crowd, the chime of champagne flutes, with his brow furrowed.

“Where are—” he started, glancing at Hades, but then he caught sight of a familiar face—

Berlioz was standing a few feet away, in the middle of the crowd. Simba’s heart clenched. He looked—different, somehow, though Simba couldn’t pin point exactly what it was. Maybe it was just—how uncomfortable he looked, standing there with a glass of champagne, his expression blank. Simba knew that look—Ber was hardly breathing.

“What the fuck,” he said, casting another glare at Hades—like this was all his fault (which, it kind of was)—before he stalked quickly in Ber’s direction, his eyes scouring over his figure, wondering if there was anything he could do to help.

HADES: Now they stood in a large ballroom, not unlike town hall but-- much, much nicer. Hades glanced up at the high ceilings, glimpsed the marble columns. He knew where they were this time if only because the Fates had let him read ahead, following the two different threads this future concerned with his finger. He’d have to know, just in case Simba had questions and this particular scene did not answer them. It was the only time, really, that there was an exception to the rule about such things. For once, Simba got to know.

Nifty, wasn’t it?

And so Hades knew why Berlioz was here, standing awkwardly in the middle of a milling crowd, his face too flushed. He knew, in rough swaths, the different moves that had gotten him here. He knew unlike Simba that Berlioz did not live in Swynlake anymore, that he was not a music producer, that he had only recently moved out of his parents’ home to a quiet apartment all his own.

He knew about the boy headed Berlioz’s way. Not Simba-- the other boy, who appeared at Berlioz’s side before Simba got there, two champagne flutes in his hands and an easy smile, showing off his perfectly straight teeth. He swooped in to Ber’s side and Ber’s eyes snapped toward him.

“Berlioz--! Here he is. Berlioz, you’ve met Camille Delon, yes?” said the boy-- his name was Guy Binoche. Hades knew that too. He brought with him a beautiful blonde woman, hair perfectly curled and falling over one shoulder.

“Oh I-- er, no, I don’t think…”

“Ah, he doesn’t remember,” said Camille with a little laugh. Berlioz blanched. “Guy, your boyfriend does not remember me!”

Guy laughed too. “Ah, you must forgive him, he’s too in his head like always, aren’t you?” Guy smiled at him. “It is why I brought you more champagne, mon biquet. Drink up, relax!”

Like a dog obeying the command, Berlioz drank his champagne flute. Just a sip--

“Ah, more, c’mon Berlioz,” said Guy and then he looked back at Camille. “Anyway-- you must remember Camille, she works with me at your father’s office. She is on the public relations team.”

“I just wanted to say a quick hello to the Senator’s son,” said Camille. She smiled again, her eyes crinkling. “I hope you are having a good night?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, it’s… this is lovely,” Berlioz uttered, lifting his free hand to gesture at the decorations.

“I am sorry for keeping Guy so long near the drinks,” tittered Camille. “But I’ve returned him now. Here, I should let you enjoy yourselves!” She reached forward and squeezed Guy’s arm, then leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Happy holidays, you two. Guy, I’ll see you after the New Year!” And then she turned and flocked off.

Immediately, Guy’s smile dropped and he looked at Berlioz. “You couldn’t even pretend to know her? I have introduced her to you at least twice now. C’mon, mamour,” he tsked, reaching forward to tug on Berlioz’s suit coat lapel. “You said you were going to try tonight.”

“I am,” said Berlioz, quietly.

“Are you? Because you’re acting like a bitchy ex-lover of mine. You can’t be jealous of all my friends, Berlioz.”

“Wh--I-- I’m not.” Berlioz’s eyes widened. “I--I’m sorry.”

“Don’t start that.” Guy rolled his eyes, sucking his teeth a little. There was a beat, then his eyes flicked to Berlioz again. “Come, drink. You’re much sweeter when you are drunk-- not nearly as jealous.”

“I wasn’t--” Berlioz started but Guy scoffed at him, cutting off the end of his sentence. His mouth closed.

Hades raised his eyebrows.

Another second later, Berlioz stepped a little closer, his voice lower. “I wasn’t jealous. I’m sorry, I’m-- in my head, you’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry. Please, I don’t wanna fight--”

“Alright, calm down,” said Guy. “Now will you drink please and try to have some fun?”

“I am having fun--”

“Drink, Berlioz.” He leaned in-- and his whisper would be lost in the party but the magic of the Fates and this spell amplified it, somehow. Hades could feel the whisper in his own ear. “And if you’re very good, I’ll let you suck my cock tonight. See? No reason to be jealous.”

Berlioz blushed bright red, ducking his head. Guy laughed, nudged him. “Drink!” he said again and Berlioz obeyed, downing the rest of the drink and then letting Guy put the second flute in his hand. Guy knocked their glasses together, then took a sip himself, his eyes lingering on Berlioz’s flushed face as they drank.

“Hey,” he said. “I love you.” He said it like he was expecting an answer.

He got one. Berlioz parroted it back to him. “I-- I love you too.”

“Guy!” came a voice and Hades looked toward the sound-- seeing a man approach them this time, a woman on her arm. He was tall, blonde, around the same age, his girlfriend blonde too. They fell into conversation with them, once again Guy taking the lead. He slipped an arm around Berlioz, made a joke-- And this is Berlioz. Forgive him if he doesn’t say much, he’s had too much to drink tonight-- and the couple giggled and Berlioz stood there, a pained smile on his face. And the conversation wound on, loud and fast, and Hades watched as Berlioz nodded and nodded and nodded…

Even Hades felt his stomach twist in pity. He knew that look; he’d seen it on Belle’s face when the crowds were simply too much.

“Excuse me,” said Berlioz at one point, blurting over the man in the middle of a sentence. “I ah-- I’ll just…be a moment. Need to-- just erm, go to the bathroom.”

He got about four steps away before Guy’s hand clamped on his arm and stopped him. “Berlioz, really?” hissed Guy.

“I-- I’m just-- going to the bathroom, I, I promise.”

“You could have waited for a break in the conversation. You’re making me look like a fool.”

“I-- I’m sorry. I’ll be right back,” pled Berlioz. “I’m sorry.”

Guy’s hand slipped from his arm. “At least bring back more drinks?” He scoffed again, shaking his head, and then returned to the couple with a laugh as though nothing had happened.

Then Berlioz bolted, knocking into someone on accident, barely apologizing before he kept going. Simba started after him at once, but Hades just-- blinked. And the scene changed.

They were in the bathroom now, shoved into a tiny stall with Berlioz. He had untied his bowtie, unbuttoned his shirt two buttons down. He was sat on the toilet, the palms of his hands shoved into his eyes as he dragged in rough, uneven breaths into his lungs.

Hades stood there and he crossed his arms, uncertain what else to do.

SIMBA: Simba stopped in his tracks when some man appeared at Ber’s side. He glanced over his shoulder uncertainly at Hades. It was—so hard to remember he was invisible—not really there—when Berlioz was right there. He felt like he could reach through the veil and touch him. He wanted to believe if he did that, Ber would feel it. He’d know Simba was with him.

Where was Simba?

He got closer, stopping right on Ber’s other side, his eyes scouring over his face—he looked different, somehow, older maybe, little lines by his eyes and his jaw sharper than ever. He looked handsome. Simba’s heart ached and it was hard to tear his eyes away from him to follow what was going on.

He didn’t really need to—because he knew this scene well, didn’t he? He had been that other man before, dragging Ber to parties that he hated. What was this supposed to show him? That Ber would never get out of this life anyway? It didn’t matter? That was some bullshit—Ber hated this life, why would he be in it still without Simba?

Either way—he hated this man. He hated him for laughing at Berlioz. For telling him to drink. For drawing attention to the fact that Berlioz was—not good at this sort of thing. His eyes narrowed slightly and he felt the urge to put his arm around Ber and draw him close. Protect him.

You said you were going to try. Simba’s jaw ticked and he looked away, those words familiar too.

His eyes cut back at what the man said next, his heart clenching in his chest. It felt like whiplash—guilt and anger waging a war inside of his chest. All those apologies used to be for Simba—and there were always reassurances that followed, even if they were a little rough and annoyed, Simba did always mean them. He knew that these things were hard for Berlioz.

He kept flashing back to that fateful night, his stomach curling and making him feel sick. His jaw muscle twitched. His hand clenched into a fist. His head snapping back and a scoff of disbelief leaving his own lips at that—what even was it—a bribe? I’ll let you suck my cock. Sexual favors weren’t supposed to be a trade for good behavior. That was—controlling. Awful.

Berlioz knew better. Berlioz, you know better, Simba wanted to say.

I love you. I love you too.

“You don’t—mean that,” Simba said, close enough to have whispered it in Ber’s ear. He didn’t, Simba knew. He knew what Ber sounded like when he told someone he loved him. It wasn’t like that, not like a—call and response. Ber’s love was a gift, and he spoke it like a present, a medal, a trophy, every time.

Simba wanted to punch this Guy in the face. His heart clenched tighter and tighter as he watched Ber grow pale, watched his eyes dart, his lips press close together until they were almost white. Don’t you see what’s happening! he wanted to scream at Guy, shaking him by the shoulders.

When Ber made a break for it and Guy grabbed his arm, Simba actually reached out like he could pull his hand way—but he just went right through, which made him growl in annoyance. He didn’t waste a moment before turning and weaving through the crowd after Berlioz, right on his heel, like Guy should be doing. He shouldn’t be alone, he shouldn’t be alone. He’s having a panic attack. He shouldn’t be alone. Simba’s brain kept repeating the words, his own chest tight as Berlioz barged into the bathroom. Simba slipped right through the door and knelt down in front of the toilet Berlioz had perched himself on.

There were tears in his own eyes as he tried to touch Ber’s shoulder, his knee, his hand, his hair. He just kept going through him every time. He blinked and let out a harsh breath, a few tears rolling down his own cheeks as he tried in vain to soothe Ber.

“Hey, shh,” he said softly, “hey, it’s alright, it’s alright. It’ll pass. It’ll—it’ll go away. Just—breathe. Ber, please. Please, hear me.”

Simba turned to Hades, looking up at him with a scowl on his face, remembering the orange all the way back in Kenya.

“Do something!” he pleaded again, just like he had back in the present. “Help him, he’s—he’s having a panic attack. Please. He—he shouldn’t be alone.” He looked back at Ber and tried to touch his knee again.

HADES: There was nothing Hades could do.

Just like just moments before-- and four years ago-- when Berlioz had sat alone in the room, unable to send a text, Hades could not fix his present, could not ease his heartbreak or change this future. He had followed the silver thread of Berlioz Bonfamille once it had broken off from the Lyons Tapestry, because it had, of course-- frayed, became a loose end that would never resolve. He ended up here. He ended up in some version of here: in France, with his parents, with some boy or another.

There were other boys before Guy. There was even a girl or two. And he was sure if he had kept reading, Hades would see more.

Because yeah, that fucker wasn’t his-- true love, his destiny. Didn’t need to have a magic future-telling tapestry to tell you that. Just had to see what they saw now: Berlioz, shuddering on the toilet seat, trying to strangle his own sobs even if that just made it worse. It didn’t matter what Simba did, what he said, how hard he tried to reach through space, time, dimension. Even Hades-- he might be able to reach out and make Berlioz feel a tickle on the cheek, a brush of something in his hair. But Berlioz would keep crying. He was alone.

So Hades looked up at Simba, pity in his eyes-- though he tried not to feel it, it soaked in every part of him. “Sorry, you...you know I can’t.”

Berlioz trembled, whimpered low. His sobs had turned into keening.

“He’s not a music producer, you know,” Hades added in the empty space between. “He plays in an orchestra. Mum got him the audition.”

Berlioz wiped his palms on his trousers, letting out another breath that rattled his whole body.

“He didn’t finish the degree at Pride University. He moves back to France this upcoming summer. No reason to stay in Swynlake.”

Berlioz breathed in, deeper. He mumbled something. If you listened very closely, you could hear it: stop thinking about it, don’t be stupid, stop it, stop stop stop--

“He’s about to get a text.”

Berlioz’s phone buzzed. He reached for it at once, plucking it from his pocket with a hand still shaking. Was Guy, and there were two words only-- Hurry up.

Berlioz sucked in another breath, but his face screwed up. He leaned back and looked up, but his eyes were squeezed shut as if it could stop the tears from slipping down his face.

Hades pulled out the scroll. “We should go.”

SIMBA: As Hades listed off Berlioz’s future—not a music producer, not in Swynlake, Adelaide getting him a job, didn’t finish school, dating some asshole—Simba felt his heart sink and sink and sink.

He knew that Berlioz wasn’t destined to this, he was destined for so much more. He would eventually get out of this relationship—Lou would not let this go on if he knew, Simba was sure of that. He could maybe find someone nice, someone he liked. Someone gentle and good. But—would he be happy?

Berlioz was always so worried about happiness. Having too little. Having too much.

But, more than anyone Simba knew, he deserved happiness.

Simba wanted to give it to him.

He felt something shift inside of his chest, watching Berlioz cry quietly—not being able to comfort the way he knew that he could, the way he wanted, the way he should.

He needed to go to him. Needed to convince him, no matter how long it took—to come back to him.

So, when Hades said it was time to go, Simba nodded firmly and stood up, grabbing the tapestry in his hand, ready to fix everything—

They weren’t in his house.

He whirled around, brow furrowed. What the fuck.

“What the fuck?” he said, just as a nurse—was that a nurse? Walked through him to bring coffee to another nurse who was standing behind the nurse’s station watching—himself. Looking out the window. Simba only recognized it was him because of Bowie at his side, his head in Simba’s lap. Simba was—skinny, though. Even from here, Simba could see the grey streaking through his hair and the yellow tinged around the corner of his eyes.

“No one came?” she asked, looking at the clock. It was 9:30.

“No,” the other nurse sighed. “Poor thing, he’s been sitting there all day watching the window.”

“Not a single person? But it’s Christmas! Isn’t his family some big name around here?”

“That’s the former CEO of InterPride, Eloise,” the second nurse said, rolling her eyes at Eloise.

“What? The one who had the nervous breakdown?”

“Yes, how do you think he wound up in here? Don’t you read files?”

“Only for my patients. And he’s not one of yours.”

“I read all the cute ones files.”

“Mary!”

“What? He’s handsome.”

“Maybe he used to be,” Eloise scoffed, “before he had a nervous breakdown and got himself checked into rehab, lost his job, and apparently all his friends.”

“Don’t be mean, Eloise.” Mary hit her with the folder she was holding.

“Should we say something?” Eloise asked after her laughter subsided.

“Yes,” Simba, real Simba said, his heart all twisted up in his chest. He felt like he was going to throw up. Even stumbled a bit like he’d suddenly forgotten how to stand.

“No,” Mary sighed, the laughter slipping away from her too, “just leave him be.”

Simba blinked and a tear, and then another slipped down his cheeks. “There’s still time, right?” Simba asked, turning to look at Hades. “Someone could—still come?”

HADES: They weren’t done yet.

He knew Simba thought they were by the steel in his eye, which had not been there before they had started all this. He’d been a zombie-person then, damn annoying in his apathy and self-pity. It was actually good to hear him snap at Hades or try in vain to reach out to Berlioz. It made Hades think this was all working.

But the scene they saw was not Simba’s future. That was what happened to Berlioz. There was another frayed thread on the Lyons Tapestry, another Meanwhile--

The scroll took them to meanwhile, whipping them through space, away from France and the baubles on the walls. They appeared instead in a dark, near empty rec room. Their were Christmas decorations, but if there had been a party here, it had happened a long time ago, and now no one was left-- no one but Simba sitting all alone.

And this was the true irony of Simba Lyons’ future.

There are many kinds of deaths in a life-- Hades had learned them all since he was small. There were deaths that happened little by little, that came in tiny white capsules slipped into the mouth or in bottles of whiskey coddled in place of a lover. There were deaths that happened long before the body broke down and the spirit could escape. That kind of death, the body was a prison. You could only sit and rot and wait.

This Simba had died a little more with every person he shoved away for he was a boy born into a beautiful, long tapestry with many threads. With those other threads, there were ups and downs, milestones, holidays, vacations and celebrations. But he did not do any of these things alone. In fact, Simba was not supposed to do anything alone; his story was one of family.

InterPride was not synonymous with his family the way that Simba thought not as he insisted it was all for the Lyons’ legacy, pushing forward despite what his heart wanted, what his heart called him to do. That was the warning from this future. Hades had read ahead and he had seen for himself.

He met Simba’s desperate, horrified gaze, felt that sick taste in his mouth-- the pity. He felt uncomfortable and he wanted to look away. But that was not the job of the ghost of Christmas Future-- who had always been Death.

So here was Simba’s little death.

“No,” he said, quietly and simply to Simba. He could tell Simba that Nala was running InterPride now and that he had missed the birth of her baby-- that Kiara was spending her break from school with Sarabi and all his cousins in Kenya-- that long before Simba had sat in this chair, he had had one, two, four, eight, twelve, one hundred chances to try to fix things and he had chosen not to, becoming a drunk instead of a friend, a cousin, or a leader.

He could say all of this but it would not matter, really. What mattered was this simple truth: “No, no one is coming.”

SIMBA: No one is coming.

“You’re lying,” Simba accused at once, his throat tight, tears burning on his cheeks. In his heart, though, he knew Hades was telling the truth.

In this future, Simba had no one to spend the holiday with. He had lost his job, the one thing he had probably pushed everyone away for. He had still failed. Was that his destiny then? Simply to—fail. To ruin his family legacy, to disappoint his father, his grandfather. He supposed he shouldn’t be that surprised—there was only so much he could do if his heart was not in his work. It had already started eating him from the inside out. He could feel the despair like a piece of black coal lodged between his ribcage. He could feel it every time he drew a breath, and every day, it got a little bit bigger and a little bit bigger.

One day, yeah—it was probably going to consume him.

Simba hadn’t really thought that far ahead. He knew, maybe subconsciously that down the road, this was what awaited him. Or, maybe he’d fooled himself into thinking what it was he told everyone else: that one day, he’d grow into it. That he’d love it. That everything would calm down, and maybe he wouldn’t love it, but he would—appreciate it, at least. He would…like what he did, perhaps.

But, at the end of the day, this was the end of the road.

Berlioz had been smart to get out, and he was just the first.

Nala would probably be second. She didn’t tolerate Simba’s bullshit for long. His mother was not soon after. Kiara would’ve been last at all. She would’ve tried and tried and tried. Simba could only imagine what it would be that would set her off, have her—give up on him too. It made his heart twist and he felt woozy again. There was a physical ache inside of his chest for home. For his family—Kiara and Nala and his mother and Berlioz.

He wanted to go home.

He didn’t want his life—not the one that he was living now. He didn’t want this future. He wanted—to be happy. Finally, finally be happy. It had been so long. Five years, almost, of misery.

How was he supposed to reconcile that misery with his family legacy though?

I can’t give up InterPride.

But you won’t be happy there, you’ll end up here, a voice in his head argued.

I’ll make myself like it.

If InterPride is in your life, this is where you end up.

InterPride was the thing that sealed this fate. Nothing else. Simba knew that. Of course, he wanted Berlioz back more than anything. He wanted him back so much every breath he took away from him hurt. But, he also just—wanted to be happy. He wanted to help people, but not at the cost of his family.

Wouldn’t InterPride cost his family?

His head hurt, his heart burned and he just wanted to go home. He wanted to hug Kiara and kiss her cheeks and the top of her head and watch her smile as she opened presents. He wanted to argue with Nala in the kitchen over the proper way to make eggnog. He wanted to sit with his mum by the fire and keep her fingers warm and let her tell him stories about his father, just the two of them in the near dark. And he wanted Berlioz to snuggle up to under the covers after a long day of food and family and laughter and joy and love—all the things the Christmas carols were about.

“I want to go home,” Simba said quietly, his voice still choked, his heart bruising in his chest. He turned from the sad sight of a future he had not chosen for himself. He wanted to choose. For too long, he’d been a pawn of his father and his uncle.

Simba just wanted—to be himself.

“I know what I have to do,” he told Hades, finally sliding his eyes over to meet his gaze, giving him a small little smile. Maybe he should feel embarrassed, but he didn’t. Instead he felt—

“Thank you,” he said, reaching out to squeeze Hades’ shoulder, nodding his head a little. “You’re saving my life.”

A beat.

“Bit sorry I punched you, now.” He let out a breath of a laugh. “Tell Belle I said Happy Christmas.” His hand slipped from Hades’ shoulder and he reached out for the tapestry.

And there was a flash of white light—

And Simba was home.

#bdrphades #simades #featuring geoffery #featuring sarabi #simara #simala #a christmas carol #aka #the best thing i've ever done

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jewel-ofthe-sands · 6 years

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Anjali finished sliding the large wooden rocking toy under the tree. Normally a horse, she had opted for the carpenter to carve a griffon instead- knowing Madilyn’s enchantment with both Fahi and Nala. After the present had been tucked under the Wintersday tree she quietly made her way through the house and up the stairs, feet silent on the wood as she made her way back to Ed’s room. It was dark out, all but for the light of the moon reflecting off the snow in the garden as she padded over to the bed and gently ran her fingertips across his cheek as he slept. She wished he knew how much she had grown to love him, leaning gently over to kiss his forehead tenderly. She was not a soft woman...but he was special. She had sent all presents from her shopping off with couriers to friends or taken them herself- but she had saved his for last. She sighed contently and left a medium sized gift box on the chair next to his side of the bed- wrapped in maple coloured paper and bound with a brown silk ribbon and two of Nala’s molted feathers. Inside waited two simple gifts: A silver elonian coin on a leather necklace, enchanted against dry rot- and a small, palm-sized asuran holoprojector that when turned on displayed the smiling face of his daughter, Madilyn. She crawled into bed to sleep then, curled against his warmth. Pinned to the top of the gift box was a note, written in Anjali’s familiar hand. Habibi, I don’t think I could ever tell you how much you mean to me. Words would be inadequate and I fear i could never touch you enough to do it justice. You have given me a taste of what life could be like with you and with Madilyn, with a family, and it is everything I could ever want. I have no way to thank you for that, but I hope these small gifts will suffice. The coin on the necklace is one of the coins you paid me with when we met for the first time that day in Amnoon. I wanted you to have something more of me when we are apart than just a memory, and that little piece of silver has always made me smile. The asuran looking gadget is a holoprojector. You were always saying how much you missed Madi’s face, and now you have it with you wherever you go. Happy Wintersday Ed. Infinitely and Forever, Your Yali @thehammerofascalon

#anjalinadal #wintersday #gifts #edwardbutcher

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heart-of-dunbroch · 5 years

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Lone Wolf || Meridian

A/N: Merida is saved by an unlikely ally

TW: Thoughts of suicide, guns, mentions of self-harm. This is heavy stuff y’all be safe!!

MERIDA:

When the woman of the Order first stepped to the forge, they learned to make the fire breathe.

Her mother had drawn her down to the family’s forge for such a lesson when she was eleven, verging on womanhood and already too tall for a girl her age. Elinor had braided first her own hair and then her daughter’s. They’d gone down in hearty boots and slipped on thick gloves that reached up to their elbows. Elinor fed coal to the flames, tended it with the poke until it ate greedy as any DunBroch man who had sat at her table. The smoke had billowed around them, a darker wind than the ones off the moors. In such a wind, no woman looked like woman-- her mother, instead, was otherworldly and animal. Merida might even say-- magic.

And wasn’t that why women weren’t allowed to be Princes in the first place? The first of them all, Eve, had smelled magic in the apple and plucked it from the tree. Women, grown from Adam’s rib, would always be part-earth, part-miracle, and all wild.

Merida remembered her mother best when she was wild though; when she smelled of smoke with bits of her dark hair escaping from her braid, a hardness in her eyes that came from staring too long at a fire. It was her mother’s voice that crackled along with the fire whenever Merida took the poke and started a project. Her mother, there during the forging of Angus’s horseshoe. Her mother, helping her shape her first dagger.

Her mother, showing her how to handle the more delicate metals and molds. Her mother, as gentle as a sculptor as she poured the silver into the capsule and then presented it to Merida.

It was that silver bullet that was in Merida’s pocket today. One silver bullet. One gun.

She moved with trembling foot and knees shaking. The forest skittered under her, all leaf and pinecone. She was no graceful thing anymore. No warrior either. She was prey, an injured deer trying to find a safe place to lay down and rest. There was nowhere else for her outside this forest-- and even this forest belonged to the other wolves and did not want her.

When Merida’s feet finally stopped, it was because they could not go on any longer. She lowered her whole shaking, terrified body down, kneecaps pressed against wet soil from the morning rain. The cold bit at her bare fingers as she took the gun out. Took the bullet out. Its slippery silver husk nearly escaped from her fingers as she cried a little harder.

But she managed to load the gun, her mother’s silver bullet a last kiss.

The gun clicked shut. She cocked it back. Palms sweaty, the handle of it slid in her grasp as she started to raise it. The fear spiked hard and hot in her, the way the fire coughed and spit in the forge. She burst with fresh sobbing and the gun slipped back down. She clutched it and curled around herself, rocking back and forth.

She was no warrior, no prince, no woman either-- she was just scared. So scared, shivering, cold, all alone, and she couldn’t-- couldn’t breathe--

She did not hear the person approach until the feet were right in front of her.

ADAM:

Since moving to Swynlake Adam had walked the forest. So much that he knew its paths and trails almost like the back of his hand. He was aware by now of the magic of Enchantra and that the forest moved. It was part of why he enjoyed the walks so much. Each time he discovered something new, something magical.

But those walks also helped ease his mind. Everything about Enchantra was so familiar and soothing. It made clearing his head easy. He could walk for hours uninterrupted and puzzle through anything that was troubling him.

It was Enchantra that had helped him figure out his feelings for Nala. His wolf had taken solace after nearly attack Belle in these woods. When he’d thought he’d been the one to attack Blaine it had been Enchantra who had led him to the actual attacker.

And now as he walked through it his mind mulled over the task Belle had asked of him. Help the girl who had helped kidnap Belle, put her child at risk, put Belle at risk. Of course he had no desire to help her. Even if he knew that she was a wolf, even if he knew that she was a danger. She could easily leave town and find a pack that would help her. She didn’t need Adam.

Enchantra would give him his answer, though. He had no doubt about it. It had not steered him wrong in the ten years he had been there.

He’d been walking slowly, Blue loping through the forest just ahead of him, when his answer was given. Blue barked loudly and took off. Alarmed Adam followed quickly, so quickly that it seemed as if the forest was parting for him, smoothing out its roots so that he would get to wherever he was supposed to be without incident.

He smelled the she-wolf before he saw her. His nostrils flared and the wolf reared its head, ready to emerge if a fight was to take place.

The moment Adam saw her, though, that fight left him completely. She was broken. He could feel the despair rolling off of her in waves. It was something that took him back to his first full moon and the guilt and sadness he had felt in realizing what he was and what he had done. That sadness melted the hard rock that had encased his heart when it came to this girl.

“Merida?”

MERIDA:

Merida looked up.

She flinched at the sight of the man for her nose knew what the rest of her might take a while to figure together, that this was the wolf who had met her in the woods weeks ago. That memory came to her when before she’d had nothing from her time in the beast’s prison. All that she saw were what was in her dreams and her dreams were of the hunt, a howl in her throat.

But she remembered now, like the battle had happened between them: Adam and Merida. Human, but not human.

And she remembered a little more. She remembered he’d once been Phoebus’s VFD partner. She remembered how he’d transformed at Halloween and the whole town whispered, sending wary glances toward the wood.

That’s how they’d all look at her. Whisper about her. And then, they’d send their hunters after her-- Merida should know.

And so maybe this was how it should happen instead. Merida had no fight left inside her. Her shoulders slumped and the gun slipped from her fingers.

She couldn’t do it. But--

“Just shoot me.” Her eyes lifted to meet Adam’s. Her own was bright as ice, tears dribbling down her cheeks. “Please. I can’t bear it. I deserve it.”

And then she hunched over again as another sob tore from her, this one almost a howl.

ADAM:

Adam had seen the gun laying in front of her. He knew what it meant, what she intended to do. It made something within him lurch painfully. Being a werewolf was difficult and being outted in this town was not easy but it didn’t warrant a bullet to the head. Even at his lowest point, Adam had never considered ending everything. He’d just isolated himself and turned his back on everything. Not the best practice but one that had worked until it didn’t.

In fact, the idea of ending everything seemed so wrong. He remembered Merida vaguely. Mostly he remembered her teasing quips at a carnival. She was confident, strong. Even the wolf he’d met in the woods only a few weeks earlier had been strong. She’d been angry and confused and full of fight. A complete stranger was on the floor in front of him sobbing.

But he didn’t pity her. He was sympathetic because he knew what it was like. This-- curse was a difficult one to live with. Especially when you were alone and didn’t know how to control anything. Merida wouldn’t be alone, though. The forest had shown him that. It was up to him to make sure that she was not alone. That the gun before her stayed exactly where it was.

So he stooped down to her and picked the gun up to examine it. “No.” He said it simply as he tossed the gun away from the both of them. No, he had something else in mind. “You don’t deserve it. Belle asked me to help you. She wouldn’t have asked if she thought you deserved that.”

Carefully he moved forward, not wanting to startle Merida or cause her to shift in defense. Slowly and carefully he slipped his arms around her, not caring if it wasn’t what she wanted. He wasn’t going to leave her in the forest and he wasn’t going to use the gun on her.

MERIDA:

She kept waiting for the bullet with her heart pounding, pounding, pounding, like Angus’s hooves over terrain when he galloped far away. It wanted her to run too, but Merida knew the time for running was done. She couldn’t outrun herself. She could only destroy herself.

How much would it hurt? How long would she be alive, after? A minute, a second?

Would it be like burning? She waited, shivering and crying. But the bullet never came.

Instead, Adam stepped closer. His arms went around her. Merida flinched.

“Wh--” her lips parted, the half-word a feeble bleat. It made no sense, him holding her like that. It had to be a trick, the gun in his hand, soon she’d feel it press against the back of her head and it’d be over, all done, finally.

But he kept holding her. With each second that passed, Merida struggled a little as she whimpered, “No-- no-- stop--stop-- please, you have to end it--”

Until finally she stopped trying to pull away and clutched Adam tighter again, as if she had known him for years and his were the arms she wanted around her. They weren’t-- she didn��t know him at all-- but Merida couldn’t go back to her mother, her father, to the people who might hold her the way they had when she was just a wee thing. Adam was it for her, even if he held her out of nothing but pity.

She clung back, buried her head against his shoulder, and shook with all the sadness. The wolf inside her howled and howled.

“I don’t know what to do,” she cried into his shoulder.

ADAM:

Merida struggled but Adam kept his hold tight. He wouldn’t let her go because that wasn’t what she needed. Not that Adam knew exactly what she needed but he knew that her being alone was not going to be a good thing. Nor was him picking up the gun and ending things for her. Lycanthropy wasn’t the end of the world, it wasn’t the end of your life. That was a lesson he’d had to learn on his own and once he had…. It had opened up a whole new world for him. Belle had been the one to show him that and now it was because of her that he was willing to do the same for Merida.

So he held her until the fight left her and she was nothing but a sobbing mess in his arms clinging to him. Her broken words tore through him and his wolf howled within as if responding to her own wolf. Of course she didn’t know what to do. She more than likely hadn’t wanted this. Which made Adam question how it had come to be. The answer would come eventually. The most important thing was getting her inside the castle and warmed up.

“You come with me,” he told her softly as he adjusted his grip on her enough to be able to push open the door to his home. “That is all you have to do right now.”

Easily he settled Merida on the settee that sat in the den, the same one he had recovered from the wolves attack so long ago, and then moved to start a fire. While werewolves ran hotter than most, he still couldn’t ignore the shivers that he had felt as he’d carried her. Whether it was from that bone deep sadness or something else entirely he didn’t know. But he knew that if he could get her calmed and warm maybe it wouldn’t be so hard. Maybe… Maybe he’d be able to talk to her and figure out where to go from there.

“I’m gonna put a kettle on. There’s a bathroom down the hall if you want to clean up a bit. I’ll be right back.” He paused almost uncertainly before nodding at her. “You’re safe here.”

MERIDA:

Merida didn’t know how she went from cradled in the snowy, cold forest to stepping into the other wolf’s den-- from the weight of the gun in her hand to opening and closing her empty fists there inside. But most of her life felt disjointed like this. She blinked from one day to the next. Hours disappeared. Especially the past few weeks, Merida’s life had begun to dissolve into shadow, and smell, and taste. She remembered warm blood between her teeth, pine under her belly, the bright beautiful moon. She did not remember coming or going or wishing or wanting or being.

So here she was. She shivered, and the castle’s scent filled her nose, making her near nauseous for all that it was. It didn’t smell bad, but it smelled like enemy. Her wolf wanted to run, to run, to run.

It smelled like…

“What about him?” she blurted. Her voice came out louder than she’d thought it would, but oh, it shook still, each word a second from breaking apart into another round of tears.

When Adam looked back at her, she saw he had no idea what she was talking about. How could he not? Wasn’t it obvious? Couldn’t he smell it?

The tears stung in her eyes fresh as she ground out the rest of the sentence, nothin’ more than a frightened girl. “Your alpha. What about him? He--he’s the one-- I’m like this because of him. He won’t want me in here. He’ll know, he’ll smell me. I know-- I can smell him on you.”

Run, run, run, said the wolf.

She missed her gun.

ADAM:

He hadn’t even made it out of the room when Merida began to speak again. His brow furrowed as he looked towards her, leaning against the door frame he had been about to go through. Admittedly, he wasn’t thinking about Akela. His alpha had told him not to seek her out, that she would have to come to him, and that was what had happened. Adam hadn’t sought her out. He’d simply been on a walk through the woods with his dog. So technically, he hadn’t done anything to invoke Akela’s wrath and he would protect Merida from it too.

Except… her next words didn’t make sense. Akela was the reason she was a wolf? That didn’t make any sense at all. Akela wouldn’t turn someone without bringing them into the pack. He wouldn’t let someone he’d turned be on their own. Would he? But the way that Merida spoke, the fear that laced her words… Maybe it wasn’t-- No, Adam didn’t want to think that. Not without the proof. Akela wouldn’t do that. He knew the consequences of those actions.

“What do you mean you’re like this because of him? He couldn’t have turned you. I--- I talked to him and he acted like you were just some rogue wolf.” The words tumbled from Adam’s lips as he moved closer to her once more, the pot of tea completely forgotten at her revelation. While Adam would have normally disregarded her words, there was something that bothered him and made him wonder if the way she spoke was true.

Before he’d gotten to know Akela and the rest of the pack he’d been suspicious. There had been something about the alpha that didn’t resonate well with Adam’s own wolf. The wolf still didn’t like following the alpha, resisted his authority as best he could. But Adam had grown to think of Akela as a good man. One, who like him, had overcome a great deal of hardship to get to where he was now. He’d experienced loss just like Adam had. And he knew so much about being a werewolf. He was teaching Adam. But there was just something off about it all.

Perhaps he should have listened to his wolf more.

Slowly he moved to sit next to her, wanting to get to the bottom of this all. Had his alpha done the unthinkable? And if he did, why had he done it? “Just-- Explain it from the beginning? I still want to help you but I don’t understand.”

MERIDA:

Explain from the beginning.

She saw flashes of the wolf’s teeth. Flashes of bright eyes. The weight falling on top of her.

Merida shrunk at once into the back of the sofa. She drew her legs up and curled up as small as she could, feeling like she had been backed into a corner and had no escape. Maybe that was the true purpose of all of this. Adam had drawn her back into his lair so he could slaughter her here. Her breath sucked in and she gripped her own legs.

She shook her head. She shook it and shook it and shook it, but she could not dislodge the memory from that horrible night. In her human moments, the memories were never far. She felt it whenever she walked anywhere alone. She saw it in every shift of shadow. The world had teeth and claw to Merida now. Before, she’d been brave and vicious and would have never balked at flickering light but--

But she didn’t know herself now, this skittish, ruined girl, who couldn’t even explain. Her throat was so thick with her fear.

“D--h-how can you--” Merida’s words strangled and she pulled her legs even tighter to herself. She couldn’t look at Adam. He still smelled so much like the other wolf, it made her entire body tremble.

“I know who attacked me,” she finally forced out. Her tears flowed over her cheeks again. “It was him. He stalked me and -- he bit me here--”

She roughly pulled down her shirt from her shoulder, revealing the horrible marred flesh. It had healed ugly and red. Around it were the slashes from her knife.

“He did this,” she insisted. And she looked directly at Adam now, her anger giving her voice when her fear did not. Even if her voice still trembled. “He should have just killed me.”

ADAM:

Akela had attacked Merida. It was obvious now as she spit her angry words at him like they were accusations. Like somehow it was his fault that his alpha had done something so unspeakable. The thought made his stomach churn and made his wolf see red. Akela was supposed to be his leader, he was supposed to have only the good of the pack in mind and yet… And yet he had turned this girl and left her on her own. He had let Adam think that she was just a lone feral wolf. That there had been no malice in it. It was despicable.

And it only proved Adam right. He shouldn’t have ever trusted the man, the wolf.

“I--- I had no idea,” he spoke softly, still trying to maintain some sort of calm. A sense of steadiness for her because she still seemed so unstable. It made no sense to him. None of this did. But he did know that he was going to continue to help her. To show her that being a werewolf was not a bad thing. That it could be a gift. It was just a perspective and an ability to come to terms with it. That was what was important.

Gently his hand moved to her shoulder, fingers hovering above the red and twisted scar. His own looked nothing like this, though he could only guess why her’s hadn’t healed completely. He saw the cuts, the ones that weren’t inflicted by Akela’s claws. “It looks as if you were trying to do that yourself.” He started slowly, carefully. That anger was still there and he didn’t need her running off into the woods. Not when she was not attuned to her wolf yet. There would be that potential for another accidental bite and Adam was certain that that outcome was the exact opposite of what Belle had meant by helping Merida. “But a part of you wants to live. Otherwise you would have done it already.”

He heaved a sigh as he pulled his hand away from her and scrubbed it through his hair. “Belle asked me to help you. Even though you plotted with that idiot to have her and Hades killed, she still asked me to help and I intend to.” He stood to head back towards the kitchen, intent on making a cup of tea for the both of them. “You can stay here. After tonight. The place is clearly big enough,” he gave a soft chuckle. “And we can work on getting control. So you and your wolf aren’t fighting anymore. It’s not gonna be easy but if I can do it, I know you can.”

MERIDA:

Belle. Belle had told Merida, too, to go to Adam-- though Merida had refused. She hadn’t thought there would be any help for her here, not from a man who was Belle’s friend and not from the wolf who served Akela. Her girl and wolf instincts had been in agreement that there was no safety for her here.

But here was exactly where she’d ended up. And here she sat on a comfortable couch, a fire flickering not far away, and Adam rising to go fetch her food and drink.

She did not deserve it. Something about it was still so wrong, and the guilt and shame rose in her so intensely that she wished for the weight of her knife again, so she might punish herself the way that Adam should be punishing her. She’d plunge it back into the shoulder and tear her mangled flesh open again, that wound of hers that would never be big enough.

But she’d lost the knife. She lost her gun. She’d lost her friends and she’d lost everything else--

Adam remained, the strangest of all torches burning away in this dark, neverending night.

It isn’t for you, Merida reminded herself. Because that was, at least, true. It was for Belle and it was for Toulouse and it was for all the people who Merida could hurt as well if she wasn’t babysat like the vicious, mindless beast she’d become. If only she could kill herself, if only she could end it. But Adam was right-- somehow, for some reason, though she deserved none of it, Merida wanted to live.

She stared at Adam for a beat, waiting for him to take all this back: the couch, the fire, the offer of tea, the offer of help.

He didn’t.

She had a thank you on her lips, but she couldn’t say it. And so she just nodded instead and finally let some of the tension in her own body go.

That night, Merida didn’t sleep much. She stayed where she’d landed, there on the couch, despite Adam offering her any number of bedrooms to pick from. But Merida didn’t know how to feel at home here-- or anywhere else. And so she laid on the couch, curled under the quilt with the fading taste of tea on her tongue and she looked at the soot of the fireplace and thought of the only home she did know: Cawdor.

And once she thought it, she felt it all around her. Adam’s castle was not her Cawdor-- it was bigger, darker, and more gothic, from a different time and made by different hands. And so its stone made her think of Cawdor’s heavy stone, its broken walls and the gardens her mother kept so beautifully tended. She wept a little and felt a howl bubbling somewhere inside her, the wolf and Merida both yearning for her family. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go home, home, home.

She couldn’t go home, could she?

She wanted to go home.

All night, she wrestled with all that want but could not contain it. When the sun rose, Merida had embraced it instead and turned it into the tiniest bud of hope. It was something to hold onto. Something that wasn’t a bullet.

When Adam rose, Merida was already sitting up on the couch, the quilt gathered around her lap. As he wandered in, she met his eyes.

“I have to tell you something,” she said in a voice hoarse from her tears and restlessness. “I have to-- ask-- you something.”

ADAM:

It was strange having another being in the castle. Having another werewolf. Even Adam’s wolf noted the difference and was uneasy. How were they to trust Merida? How did they know this wasn’t some sort of trap set by Merida and her wolf? She was angry, at war with her own wolf. It made her unpredictable.

Point being: there was no reason Adam should sleep soundly with Merida there.

And, truthfully, he didn’t have that well of a night. He’d tossed and turned as he tried to sleep. But no matter what he wanted it simply didn’t come. After an hour two he’d retreated to the library, finding solace there as well as some peace of mind.

He’d read well into the morning, past the alarms he set every day. While he normally would have dressed for his walk with Blue, he had no desire to wake Merida if she had been able to get some rest. Out of the two of them, he felt she needed it the most.

But as the sun rose in the sky, Adam grew restless once more. Gone were the days he sat in the castle avoiding everyone and everything. He no longer felt the need to hide himself away from the world. It was thanks to Belle and Nala that he had his routine now and deviating from it caused him and his wolf discomfort.

He was surprised to see her already awake as he came into the living room but still he gave a small smile. “Is everything alright?”

MERIDA:

Merida scoffed, looking away for a second if only because she felt a twitch on her lips like a smile-- and Adam was not someone who had won her smile. They were not friends. He had not made a joke, though it seemed hilarious to her how he could ask that, considering where he’d found her less than 24 hours before--

Nothing was alright and nothing would be alright, perhaps, ever again.

But she wasn’t trying to be difficult or to have an attitude. She didn’t even mean to scoff. Merida just wasn’t someone who was used to schoolin’ her expressions or guarding her reactions lest she was on a mission. Instead, here on the couch, she was stripped bare, like a slab of meat on a spittle, waiting to be cooked. That’s how she felt, and it made her restless and exhausted and charged all at once, either a second away from snapping her wolf jaws at Adam or else trembling into pieces in front of him.

For now, she just swallowed that scoff hard and gave her head a shake. Then looked back at him. This man. Stranger. She could only hold his eyes for a second before hers dipped low, though she resisted the urge to bow her head, no matter what the wolf said.

“No,” she finally said, brusquely. “No, nothin’ is. There’s a lot you and Belle and… everyone don’t know about me, and those things about me-- my family, where I come from-- I-- I have to face them.” Her eyes lifted again, the blues of them sharp and shining like the tip of a blade. “When I do though, it might-- it probably will go sour. They might end up here at Swynlake’s doorstep, so I...I want to tell ye everything I know. Before I go. If you’ll let me.”

There was a soft voice inside her that hoped if Adam let her, then perhaps he’d pass on her story to Belle and maybe inside that story, Belle might see Merida for who she really was-- a fool, yes, but not a villain. Perhaps she’d even forgive her one day.

But she didn’t let herself hope that too much. She had to focus on the present, and her tomorrow-- where all the paths led back home.

“I was raised in a secret society known as the Order of the Prince,” she went on when Adam motioned that she could. “There are legends of the Order that go back thousands of years, before Swynlake’s time. We-- the Order,” she caught herself. There was no place for her anymore inside it (there never had been). “The Order would protect people from dangerous magical creatures. Dragons, ogres, demons-- werewolves. Once the Order was celebrated for this. They served the King of England and they sat at his side. But then-- King Arthur came to power and he banished the Order. He wanted peace between Magicks and Mundus. But the Order didn’t go away, we--” there it was again. She swallowed.

“They went into hidin’. I was born into it, into a clan called DunBroch. This is our crest.” She pulled the necklace from where she had it on the chain. “The men are trained to hunt, the women are forbidden, but it’s all I wanted. It’s all I ever-- saw, it was my-- my whole world. I came to Swynlake, hopin’ I could prove myself to my family, to the whole Order. But I was stupid.” She scoffed again but this time it was at herself. “Things were more complicated than I thought they were. Magicks-- they-- there was a lot I didn’t know. I did unforgivable things, Adam, I know I did. I thought I was doin’ what was right though, in my heart.” She pressed her hand there over her chest. The tears had come now. Tears of shame-- she didn’t think anyone would ever believe her. “Until Belle, that is. Belle-- I-- I knew I shouldn’t have kidnapped her. I did know that, I swear. I just. If I didn’t-- I was this way and I was scared. I was scared of what would happen if Phoebus found out what I was. It was my last chance, and that’s no excuse, I know that, and I switched sides too late and I-- I was a coward. I wish I could change it, but I can’t.

“Ad so it took-- it took Belle, and it took changin’ into-- becoming… becoming what… I am now to really...to realize…”

Both her hands fell to her lap. They curled into fists and one tear fell down her cheek. She sniffed quickly and tossed her hair, sucking in a breath to battle the tears back.

“Anyway, I-- I got to go home. I got to-- to see my family and tell the truth. They’ll find out soon enough, with Phoebus arrested now and my name in all the papers. There’s a small chance they might help me. More than likely, they’ll kill me. But I got to see it through to the end, for myself. Then I’ll know, one way or the other and I-- I can-- move on.”

Move on where? whispered the voice that sounded like the bullet, like her mother.

Merida ignored it. One step at a time.

ADAM:

Merida began speaking and Adam did his best to listen. He was still very much aware of who Merida was, what she had done to someone he cared for immensely. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t hear her story, what she had to say. After all, the girl he’d found trembling on the forest floor was not a terrifying human waiting to strike. She was broken, more than likely terrified, disgusted by what she’d become. Adam might have been wary but he was not cruel. Would not ever allow himself to be so.

So he sat as she went on, her words unhurried painted a picture for him. One that was almost too familiar.

See, Adam knew what it was to follow blindly. To want something so badly it was all you could think of. He had been that way before Jennifer and Greece and the bite. While he hadn’t wanted to follow his father’s career path, he wanted the prestige. The money that came with it and the power. He wanted to carve his own place in the world and he was ready to do it however he could. Whether it was being the playboy society painted him to be or the unlikely successor to another legacy.

Being bitten had taken all that from him. He returned from Greece basically alone. His parents furious and on the brink of disowning him. He’d never get the chance to know what they thought of him now. A beast and a man.

Merida would have that chance and, if he understood correctly, the chances of them shunning her were greater than those of them embracing her. It made the remaining anger he felt dissipate near completely. It changed into something different. A sadness almost, that it would even come to that. That in the end she wouldn’t even be given a chance to learn control or really what being a werewolf was.

It wasn’t right.

“Is that what you think you deserve? Death? Is that what we deserve because something happened to us that we didn’t plan on? Because some other creature turned us into something that someone else deems dangerous?” Adam felt a flare of anger before he settled. “Because you don’t do. Your family, no matter how much you love them, doesn’t get to make that choice for you. And if you really think that’s the decision they’re going to make, I’ll go with you. Because we might be werewolves but we aren’t monsters. We deserve the same chances as everyone else.”

MERIDA:

Is that what you think you deserve? Death?

Yes.

Is that what we deserve because something happened to use that we didn’t plan on?

Merida faltered.

Because some other creature turned us into something that someone else deems dangerous?

Her eyes filled again with tears.

She ducked her head, face twisted in anger-- at Adam, at those tears, at herself for havin’ them, at the Order, at the whole world. The wolf trembled with all that rage. How it longed to burst from her skin again. When she was the wolf, when the wolf was her, her emotions turned smooth and simple as stones. She knew exactly how to feel and what to do with all that anger. But here in this skin, Merida didn’t know what to do. She wanted to argue with Adam and she wanted to agree with him. Yes, I deserve to die, she wanted to say. I deserve to die. I am a monster, even if I didn’t ask for this, even if I ever meant--

Then Merida looked up again as Adam finished. Her anger was wiped out by a look of blank shock on her face.

Had he really just offered to go with her?

“What?” She blurted. She had never expected such a thing, even if in her heart, all she wanted was someone. The wolf wanted a someone too-- it yearned for a pack and loathed hunting alone. She could feel her heart hammering quicker than ever at the thought of runnin’ beside another.

“They’ll just try to kill you too,” she went on, shaking her head. “You-- it’s not safe. It’s not even your battle. We’re not even of the same-- the same pack--”

She breathed in sharply and let it out, that breath shaky and hot. The wolf was trying to claw its way out. It wanted to say yes.

And so her voice became feeble and as young as ever. She was a pup now. Just a pup. “You’d really...do that?” Adam’s gaze regarded her steady. Merida closed her eyes.

“Okay,” she conceded. “O...okay.”

#para #meridian #tw suicidal thoughts #tw self harm

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