#i just spent like an hour and a half trying to figure out anchor links ^^;;.........

[neioo]

.

[sequinsmile-x]

Bait

In which Aaron looks like the victims of the case they are on, and Emily does not like Dave's suggestion that they use her boyfriend as bait.

This was originally meant to be a mini fic for here, but in a way that is very on brand I got carried away and now its a full on one shot.

Words: 4k 

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence 

Read on AO3 via this link, or below the cut

Let me know what you think! 

Emily wakes to the sounds of a phone ringing. She groans when the arm that had been wrapped around her waist moves, leaving the chill from the air to hit her skin.

“Hotchner.” His voice was rough with the early morning, and it was clear he’d had very limited sleep. She settles down further into the bed, trying to claim the last few moments of rest before they have to leave. “Ok thanks, Garcia. Call the others and tell them to go straight to the jet.”

He hangs up and lays back down behind her. He closes the gap between them, pressing his naked chest up against her back. He wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her closer, nudging hair away from her neck with his nose so he can kiss her throat.

“Morning.” He says, nuzzling her neck. “We’ve got a case in Colorado. We’re meeting on the jet and Garcia is going to brief us in full once we’re wheels up.” He kisses the side of her head. “She’ll call you soon.”

“It’s way too early.” She grumbles, opening one eye to see it was only just 4am. She bats at him when he laughs into her neck. He grabs her hand and kisses her knuckles, laughing when she grumbles again, curse words whispered at him under her breath.

The longer they had been together, now 6 months since his fumbled attempt at asking her out on their first date, the more she felt uncomfortable that they were keeping this from the team. It was starting to feel like a dirty secret, when it was anything but. They loved each other, they’d had a serious conversation about their future. Discussions of a house, a wedding and children whilst laying in the dark together. But they still hadn’t taken that step, still hadn’t told the people they considered their family that they were a couple. Emily knows it’s because they were in too deep now, too far into this secret to claw their way out without there being some uncomfortable conversations.

She knew they’d be happy for them, but it would open their relationship that had been almost exclusively just for them up to scrutiny. The others would watch them, try to observe their behaviour around each other. Their relationship meant too much to her for it to be profiled like the criminals they chased.

She was surprised they hadn’t caught it at JJ’s wedding. Her and Aaron had danced together, his hand a little too low on her back for it to be considered friendly. How they had both disappeared into Dave’s house at the same time, gone for 30 minutes with poor excuses for their absence upon their return. She still couldn’t go into Dave’s first floor bathroom without blushing, memories of her pushed up against the door with Aaron’s hand over her mouth. His joy at her decision to stay, to turn down Clyde’s offer of a job across an ocean, was too great for them to wait until they got back to his home or hers.

Her phone rings and she sighs as she extracts herself from his embrace just enough to pick up her cell phone from the nightstand. “Hey, Pen.”

Emily tries to listen to Penelope as she gives her the same basic details she had given Aaron only moments before, but she is distracted by his lips against her neck, his hand drifting down her abdomen. She manages to catch it with her spare hand, gripping a little harder than necessary when she links their fingers, throwing him a look over her shoulder.

She hangs up the phone with a goodbye to Penelope, hoping the other woman hadn’t heard Aaron’s laugh he had attempted to press into her skin. “That was mean.”

“It’s not my fault you’re irresistible.”

Emily turns over and kisses him, anchoring her hand to the back of his head. She pulls back enough to smile at him. “Do you have a suit here?”

Aaron nods, kissing her gently. “Yes. And my go-bag is in my car.”

She smiles. “Perfect.” Another kiss. “That means we have time for a shower before you have to go.” _____________

When she steps onto the jet the only seat left is next to Aaron. He looks at her, an eyebrow raised as she sits next to him.

“You’re late, Prentiss.”

She looks at him pointedly, a subtle narrowing of her eyes that she knows he catches.

“Sorry, sir.” She says, biting back the temptation to say it was his fault she was late in the first place, their joint shower lasting twice as long as it should have done. He’d left her at her place less than half an hour ago, a kiss pressed to her lips as she was drying her hair, a promise that he would see her soon. “It won’t happen again.”

Emily fights a smirk at the brief sparkle in his eye. This had become part of their game, pushing the boundaries a little further each time, wondering when the team would catch on to what was going on between them.

They all make small talk as the jet takes off, pointless conversation over cups of coffee. Once they reach altitude Penelope calls and they start to go over the case. Emily freezes when she looks at the pictures of the victims. They are all male. Handsome. White, tall and broad with dark hair.

They all looked like Aaron.

And these men were being viciously beaten to death. She looked up and everyone was still listening to Penelope as she told them the details. It gave her a second to recover, forcing herself to tune back into the conversation around her. ____________

They were struggling to build a profile. The men who were being killed had little in common apart from how they looked and where they were being killed. The only bar in town, a dingy place that reminded Emily too much of her misspent youth.

On the second day they were in town another man was found dead in the alley behind the bar, his face beaten almost beyond recognition. Emily went and delivered the news to his widow, and desperately tried to ignore how much the man in the pictures displayed on the walls looked like Aaron.

She barely sleeps that night. They were good on cases, rarely sneaking into each other's rooms. She knew he had to have seen it too, that she wasn’t imagining how similar the victims looked to him, so she didn’t want to burden him with it. She didn’t want to make this about how it was making her feel. So she stayed in her room, and eventually drifted off to sleep in a bed she wished he was in too.

Emily wakes up gasping, images of Aaron’s dead body in that alley burned into her eyelids.

She doesn’t sleep again that night, and is grateful when he presses a coffee into her hands in the morning, his thumb discreetly skating over her knuckles. ____________

“What shall we do now?” JJ asks. There were concerns that the unsubs, because they had figured there must be more than one person given the size of the men being killed, would strike again that night. The devolution of their actions indicated that there would be an attack a night until they were caught.

“We just so happen to have someone on the team that matches the victim profile.” Dave says, acknowledging what none of them had said out loud in the three days they had been in Colorado. Everyone looks at Aaron expectantly, and Emily thinks she has never been closer to killing David Rossi. “We could plant you at the bar where the victims have gone missing from, see if we can draw the unsub in.”

“And what?” Emily says, somehow keeping her voice even. “Use Hotch as bait?”

“It’s our only option.” Aaron says, a flash of apology across his face as he briefly looks at her. “I can’t exactly wear this to a club.” He says gesturing to his suit. “I very clearly look like an FBI agent.”

Derek and Dave laugh at his attempt at humour, Emily does not.

“Hotch.” She says evenly, her voice not betraying the emotions that were tumbling around in her chest. He turns to look at her, his face neutral. “Can I have a quick word?” She tilts her head towards an empty office and he nods and follows. If the others think it's odd that she wants to speak to him alone they don’t say anything.

“I don’t like this, Aaron.” She says as soon as the door closes behind them, her voice a rushed whisper, not wanting anyone to potentially overhear if they walked past the tiny office. He opens his mouth to speak, but she talks again, cutting him off before he can even start. “We don’t know enough how the unsubs are doing this. Or why they are doing it. It’s too risky.”

“Emily.” Aaron says, his voice soft in a way he only usually used with her when they were alone, tangled up in his sheets or hers, or snuggled together on one of their couches. It makes her sigh, and she closes her eyes to briefly break eye contact with him, knowing he is about to convince her exactly why he had to do this despite her reservations. “We have no other choice. I fit the victimology and we can’t risk them killing someone else.”

“What if this was the other way around?” She asks, crossing her arms across her chest as she tries to reason with him. “Are you seriously telling me that you’d be fine with me going in there? That you’d be ok with me being used as bait after you’d spent the last few days looking at pictures of bodies of people who looked exactly like me?”

Aaron opens his mouth to disagree with her, but a simple raise of her eyebrows stops him. “No, I wouldn’t be ok. But we have no other choice.”

“I don’t like it.” She repeats, defeat making her voice shake slightly.

Aaron turns to look out of the window of the office they are in, and when the coast is still clear he grabs her hand, running his thumb back and forth over her wrist. “It will be fine, sweetheart.”

Emily nods, the protest that he doesn’t know everything would be fine dying in her throat. All she could do was sit back and watch as he put himself at risk. Her love for him stuffed into a box in her head where no one else could see it, the privilege JJ had of breaking down publicly when Will was in the bank not afforded to her. She squeezes his hand back, and wishes more than anything that she could kiss him.

“If anything happens to you, even just a scratch, I’m teaching Spencer just enough Italian to piss Dave off.”

That makes him laugh, a brief flash of his dimples settling her nerves in her stomach. “I would expect nothing less.”

“We should get back.” Emily says, extracting her hand from his. She grasps the lapels of his jacket. “And you’re right, you need to change. You look like a fed.” ____________

Emily keeps staring at the monitor, the CCTV from the bar displayed for the team to watch in the back room they were in. She keeps her eyes on Aaron, her thumbnail in between her teeth, as they waited for any sign that the unsubs were around. That someone besides them was watching him.

“You ok there, princess?” Derek asks, drawing her attention towards him. He is eyeing her curiously. “Worried about the boss?”

She can feel Dave and JJ’s eyes on her too, she pulls her thumb out of her mouth and clears her throat. “I’m just not comfortable with this idea.”

“And why is that? Hotch can hold his own.” He replies, an edge to his voice she doesn’t like.

“It’s because Emily and Hotch are sleeping together.” Spencer says without looking away from the monitors, his eyes still on Aaron.

“What?” Derek asks, snapping his head in Spencer’s direction.

“How the hell did you know, Reid?” Emily says, turning to Spencer. She always figured that it would be Dave who would have figured it out. His meddling tendencies well known.

Spencer turns to look at her, taking his attention off of the CCTV footage. “You’re both happier but trying to hide it. Jack said your name 9 times the last time we were all together, indicating that he is spending more time with you in a personal capacity, and you and Hotch both came to work this morning smelling of the same soap.” He explains, Emily’s blush deepening as he spoke. “Not to mention I saw you kissing in the parking garage last month.”

“You’ve known for a month?” JJ says, smacking his shoulder lightly. “Why didn’t you say anything?

Spencer shrugs, looking back at Emily. “I figured they weren’t telling us for a reason.”

“You are a terrible gossip.” Dave says before looking back at Emily. “So how long has this been going on?”

Emily sighs and rolls her eyes, wishing that this wasn’t happening now of all times, that she could at least have Aaron with her for back up.

“6 months.”

“6 months.”

She says at the same time as Spencer. She looks at him again, unable to cover her surprise at the fact he had apparently known all along.

“6 months?” Derek exclaims, genuine surprise on his face. “Why did you keep it from us that long?”

“Guys.” Spencer says, trying to interrupt the conversation but failing.

“We just did, ok?” She says, crossing her arms across her chest. “We were going to tell you.”

“Guys.” Spencer says again, firmer this time interrupting whatever Derek was about to say. They all look at him, varying degrees of annoyance on their faces. “Where is Hotch?”

Emily felt like ice water had been poured over her, fear flooding her veins as her head snapped back towards the screens. Her eyes flicked across each image displayed and she couldn’t see him anywhere.

“Derek.” She chokes out, her voice not quite sounding like her own.

“Shit.” Derek exclaimed, already striding out of the room, Emily and the rest of the team on his heels. ____________

They find him in the alley behind the bar, two men holding him down as they punch him, one of them managing to kick his ribs. There’s no time to figure it out, no time to wonder how the hell they got Aaron out of the bar in the two minutes they had been distracted.

“FBI.” Derek yells, his gun drawn and pointing at them, local cops right behind him with their guns raised too. The unsubs try to make a break for it, but don’t manage it. Derek being a little too hard with the takedown of one of them.

Emily doesn’t even think about what she does as soon as they are apprehended. She’s naturally drawn to Aaron’s side, helping him sit up.

“What the hell happened?” She asks, wincing as she takes in the blood on his face. His nose was bleeding, and his left eye was already bruising. She cups his face in her hands, thumbs gently moving over tender flesh.

He tries to shy away from her touch, his eyes on JJ and Spencer standing behind her. She turns to look at them and raises an eyebrow, both of them averting their gazes. She turns back to look at Aaron, a shy smile on her face.

“Everyone knows.”

He furrows his brow at her. “How?”

“That’s not important right now.” She says, cupping his face, wiping some of the blood that had gathered at the bottom of his nose away with her sleeve. “What happened? We had our eyes off of you for two minutes and you were gone.”

“I spotted them, they fit the partial profile we had.” He explains, as if it was obvious. “So I followed them.”

“What were you thinking?” She exclaims, smacking him in the shoulder, hard, before grabbing his face again and kissing him. “That was so stupid, Aaron.” She kisses him again.

Emily wraps her arms around him tightly, pulling him into a hug that makes him wince. She lets go instantly, her hands on his shoulders as she looks him over for any other obvious injuries.

“Shit, sorry. Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m ok.” He gets out, his face screwed up in pain despite his attempt at assuring her. “They just got a few good kicks to my ribs.”

She looks around, sees a paramedic standing back waiting for the scene to be cleared. “We need to get you looked at.”

“Em, I’m fine.” He protests, his breathlessness at the act of standing up giving him away as he pushes himself up off the ground.

She glares at him. “You are not fine, Aaron. You just had the shit kicked out of you by two men who wanted to kill you.” She holds his hand, links her fingers through his and gently tugs him towards where the ambulance is parked. “Let the nice paramedic look at you before I kill you myself.” ____________

He needed to get x-rays done. The paramedic was concerned that his ribs could be broken, and therefore insisted he went to the hospital to get checked out. Aaron tried to talk him out of it. He’d had broken ribs before, and claimed he knew how to handle them, but then he had looked at Emily’s face, how concerned she was, and he stopped resisting.

Emily was sitting nervously next to the gurney he was on whilst they waited for the results of the scans he had on arrival.

“Em.” Aaron says, making her look up at him from the spot she was staring at on the floor. “I’m ok.”

“You’re ok because we found you when we did.” She scoffs, shaking her head. “If we’d been only a couple minutes later…”

“But you weren’t.” He reaches out for her hand and she accepts it, fiercely holding his one hand between both of hers. “I’m ok.” He repeats, pulling their joint hands to his lips so he could kiss her knuckles.

“I love you.” She says, a sad smile on her face as she has to stop herself from looking at the dried blood on his shirt, or at how his eye was now swollen shut. She interrupts him before he can reciprocate, repeat the words back to her that they had only said out loud for the first time a few weeks ago, even though their actions had shown it long before. “You put yourself in unnecessary danger today.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, Aaron.” She says, moving so she was sat on the edge of the gurney. She leans down and presses her forehead to his, not caring how ridiculous she would look to anyone who walked in. Her FBI bullet proof vest is still on over her sweater, her gun on her hip. “You can’t do that.” She pulls back to look at him. “You can’t, ok?”

“Em, our jobs are dangerous.”

“I know that.” She replies through slightly gritted teeth. “We both have scars to prove it. But today didn’t need to happen.”

“It was a measured risk.”

“A measured risk that could have cost me you.” She says, her voice finally wavering. “I can’t lose you.” He opens his mouth to talk but she presses a finger to his lips. “And you can’t say that I won’t, love. We both know you can’t promise that. But you don’t have to offer yourself up to unsubs like a lamb to slaughter, ok?”

He clearly disagrees with her, she can see it written all over his face, and on some level she knows she isn’t being reasonable. That the emotion of the day is clouding her judgement, in a way she usually wouldn’t let it. He nods though, presses a kiss to the finger still against his lips and it makes her laugh.

“Ok.” ____________

He has three fractured ribs and several bruised ones. He initially refuses painkillers but Emily convinces him to take them, memories of how painful take off on the jet had been after her beating at the hands of Cyrus all those years ago.

Aaron falls asleep against her. He is sitting slightly slumped in his seat, his head leaning on her shoulder. His breath makes her hair tickle against her neck and it calms her, reminds her that he was still there, that he was still alive.

Emily looks up from her paperwork to the sound of a throat clearing, and she sees Derek sliding into the chair opposite her, a curious look on his face. The team had met them back at the jet. Dave explained that the unsubs were brothers, finding men who reminded them of their father who had all but drank himself to death in that very bar when they were young. It seemed so banal, so stereotypical to Emily it infuriated her.

The team clearly had questions about what they had discovered about her and Aaron, but they were silent about it. Emily wondered how long that would last, if they would at least wait until Aaron could see out of his left eye again before they started asking about their relationship.

“Can the Spanish inquisition wait at least until tomorrow, Derek? I’m tired.” She asks, a quirk to her smile.

He holds his hands up, mock surrender on his face. “I’ll leave it for now, Princess. But if you think for one second that our beloved technical analyst will do the same, you are kidding yourself.”

Emily laughs at that, before groaning. “She’s going to be delighted.” She says, looking briefly at Aaron before looking back at Derek. “She’s been trying to tell me to give this a chance for years.”

“Really?” Derek asks, his eyebrow raised.

“Oh yeah.” She replies, a smile on her face. “It’s a common topic on ladies night.”

Derek smiles and looks at her curiously. “You love him?”

Emily bites her lip “Yeah.” She nods. “I love him.”

“I’m happy for you, Emily. For both of you.” He stands, heads back to where he had been trying to nap before he had walked over, but he turns back to her. “You owe us all dinner. Somewhere fancy.”

Emily barks out a laugh, briefly disturbing Aaron from his slumber on her shoulder. “Whatever you say, Morgan.” _______________

She takes him back to her place. It was too late to get Jack from Jessica’s, and she figured he’d want some time to prepare his son for his injuries anyway.

He’s pretty out of it from the pain and the medication, but she gets him into her bed, managing to get him down to just his briefs and under her covers. She quickly gets ready for bed herself, forgoing her usual skincare routine with just a swipe of a makeup wipe over her face.

She climbs into bed next to him, careful to put more distance between the two of them than she usually would. She turns the lamp off and settles into her pillows, ready to try and get some sleep.

“What are you doing all the way over there?” He asks, his words thick with sleep.

Emily rolls onto her side and reaches out for him, stroking her fingers over his shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You never could.”

Emily suppresses a smile in the darkness. His inhibitions were always lowered at night in one of their bedrooms, his affection for her blowing over her like a warm breeze. “Baby, you have broken ribs.”

“Come here.” He reaches out for her and she moves towards him, not wanting him to hurt himself any further by dragging her across the bed. He shifts, grimacing as he does, and rests his head on her shoulder. “That’s better.”

She laughs. “We can’t sleep like this. It won’t do either of our backs any good.”

“Just 5 minutes.”

“Ok, honey.” She says, kissing the top of his head. “5 minutes.”

“Love you, Emily.”

“I love you, too.”

[tryingsomethingoutidkyet]

Ham Hocks: 100 follower celebration

Ok so I may have accidentally found some writing inspiration . It is currently 4am and the smoke is clearing out of my house. Let’s see if this turns out well.

WORDS: 1.4k

Warnings: Fire (not really, but almost)

Pro hero! Sero x College!Reader 

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Let’s get one thing clear, you can cook, you can. It’s just that you were tired. Which is justified. You had been working for the past two weeks non-stop on a project for your college class that you’re more than willing to admit you invested an unhealthy amount of time into completing, so much so that you hardly had a break.

It’s not that you didn’t want to take a break either, in fact, you thought you’d be done by now. And you would’ve been if your project partner actually did his half of the work instead of lying to you about how much he was getting done every time you checked in with him, only for him to tell you the week before the project was due that he hadn’t actually gotten anything done besides putting his name on it and yes, it was too late to switch partners. Which is how you got stuck gathering weeks of research, siting sources and linking articles into a few days of effort in order to get a passing grade.

It was about 12am and you had just finished the final page of your work, thankfully having gotten both halves of the project done without any other issues. You even had time to attach a detailed note to your professor about who did what exactly. Yes it was petty, but you did everything yourself and you refuse to allow the very reason you had been up for the past few days, surviving on an aggressive amount of coffee and maybe 8 hours of sleep total to get the same grade as you.

After completing your project you find yourself suddenly aware of all the needs you’ve deprived yourself of for the past few days. You were hungry and tired and you just wanted to take a shower that was longer than 5 minutes. So that’s what you set out to do.

Let’s get one thing clear, you can cook, you can. It’s just that you were tired. Which is justified. You had been working for the past two weeks non-stop on a project for your college class that you’re more than willing to admit you invested an unhealthy amount of time into completing, so much so that you hardly had a break.

After completing your project, you find yourself suddenly aware of all the needs you’ve deprived yourself of for the past few days. You were hungry and tired, and you just wanted to take a shower that was longer than 5 minutes. So that’s what you set out to do.

 It didn’t work out that way

You had scoured your kitchen for a quick meal and unfortunately came up with nothing. Dealing with the project kept you so busy you guess you forgot to buy food. The only thing you had in your freezer was a pack of fatass ham hocks and those take forever to get done. You contemplated sleep for dinner tonight before finally deciding to put them on the stove. “I’ll just sleep in tomorrow.” You reassured yourself as you headed to the shower.

Coming back from your shower at about 1am, you sat on your bed turned on the tv to distract yourself while you wait. There was nothing on considering how late it was, so you decided to leave it on the news.

  Now onto some exciting hero news. Pro hero Cellophane was seen today taking down a pretty big villain…  

 “At least I’ll stay up for this.” You say to yourself as you adjust on the bed, trying to find a comfortable position. You had been a Cellophane fan for a while so seeing him finally getting recognition for all his hard work was pretty exciting.

  The anchor lady continued to talk about the rising star pro-hero and his defeat of some creepy villain that looked like a science project gone wrong.

   You weren’t really paying attention to the news anchor as she spoke, preferring to focus your attention onto the footage that played in the background of your favorite hero.

 Honestly, you don’t even know how you became a fan. It’s not like you were always big on heroes. You couldn’t name more than a few but somehow, the human tape dispenser had caught your attention from the very start of his career. He always seemed to go out of his way to help civilians, no matter how small their troubles may have been. Which should be normal for a hero but seeing as how the pro hero Screamy Mc Anger Face is sitting at #2 on the hero charts, you really held an appreciation for Cellophane.

 It also didn’t hurt that over the years of you being a fan, this man has gotten more and more attractive. He had gotten taller, and now according to the tape man himself, was sitting at a good 6’2. His jaw had become more shaped and his form had filled out a little as well thanks to his years in the hero business. He had let his hair grow out a little more and seemed to mainly keep it in a ponytail for his hero work. He was truly the most attractive man you’ve ever seen.

 You were so caught up in your thoughts of Sero you hadn’t even noticed you were falling asleep.

You didn’t get much time to rest, however as you were being pulled out of your slumber by someone roughly shaking you. Your eyes shot open and met with a set of deep brown pupils that seemed so familiar although you didn’t quite know why. Allowing your vision to adjust, you see that they belong to someone you’d found yourself admiring for a while. “Oh, I must be dreaming.” You say to yourself as you roll over, fully intending to get the most out of whatever this was you were being blessed with. You loved when god blessed your dreams, at least you thought it was a dream.

 Only until you felt yourself being lifted into some pretty solid arms. “Ok definitely not a dream, y/n.”  Your eyes shot open once again, very much awake this time. The Sero Hanta was carrying you. But why? You were trying to wrap your head around the situation, but it was hard to focus. There was a loud screeching that had filled your head and you couldn’t see much further than Sero’s head due to the thick smoke in the house. That was when it clicked: My ham hocks

 Before you knew it, you were out of your apartment complex and being placed feet first onto the cold ground. After a quick look to see you weren’t physically injured, he began to speak.” It doesn’t look like anything more than smoke; I checked the whole house.” He stated before gesturing toward your smoking apartment. “I’m going back inside to open the windows and turn off the alarm; wait here.” He walked off into your apartment. Sero Hanta was just standing in front of you. Sero Hanta was just carrying you. Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

 When he came back, he was holding a few of your items in hand. “It looks like you’re just gonna have to wait it out, so I got you a few things from inside; I hope you don’t mind.” He says handing you one of your jackets, a pair of fuzzy slippers and your phone. “Thanks.” You say, slipping on the items before focusing your attention on him. He was so much hotter in person. How is that possible?

  “So… how’d you get in my house?” He looked surprised. “Oh, wow that sounded rude, I’m sorry.” You say nervously “It’s just that as attractive as you are, I’d rather not have a stalker. Wait that’s not what I meant- “he cut you off with a chuckle. “No, it’s fine. I guess I just wasn’t really expecting that question. I was coming back from patrol and I saw smoke coming from over there.” He says gesturing toward your open kitchen window. “So, I climbed through. Thankfully, your room door was closed so no smoke was able to get in. You’re a pretty heavy sleeper, by the way.”

 “Yeah, not really” you sheepishly reply, “I had a big project for class that kept me up for a while, so I guess my body just kinda went into a coma.”  You were less nervous now “Honestly I’m surprised my neighbors didn’t hear all the noise.” Despite everything that happened, they hadn’t made a peep. “Well, it is 3am. At this point they’re probably all dead to the world.”

 “Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late” You say, checking your phone. “You probably want to get home, so I won’t keep you.” You had felt guilty. He spent today battling villains and now he couldn’t go home because somebody couldn’t stay awake long enough to keep their sad meal from turning into an almost house fire.

 Sero didn’t seem to mind standing there with you at all, however. “No, it’s fine.” he reassured, “I really don’t mind. Besides, you’re pretty attractive yourself.” Wait-

He grins and continues “ Also, I was hoping that while I was getting your number, you could tell me what it was you were cooking in that pot, because I couldn’t figure it out.

--------------

Thank you for 100+ followers!!! idk why y’all are here but you are and I appreciate it.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO “Leading the Witness.”

Alright guys, this is going on longer than I thought and way more detailed as well but its been interesting. Also I am sorry for the late update, my boss has me rolling quarters at work so I am trying to do that and write this in between.

Thank you to my discord member Eddi for the testing logs he wrote and that I am using as evidence in this story. He deserves all the credit for the well thought out and executed test logs.

WARNING: Graphic depictions of blood, gore, bodily mutilation and mentions of suicide. The Steel eye project development is very graphic, so if you wish to read, please skip the test logs, which will be bolded. 

The room spun around him, and he took a few long, deep breaths hoping that it would stop.

He wast sure he could survive another few hours of this.

He wasn’t sure at all 

He was sweating, and his body throbbed all over. Clammy hands gripped the sides of his chair as he sat straight backed in his seat. A line of cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Blood had long since drained from his face, and he wondered if he looked as sick as he felt half expecting the bailiff to walk over with a bucket or something. A part of him fancied he could feel every eye in the room staring at him. The prosecution was still talking, but he could barely hear them as his head spun around and around in circles, ears ringing.

The lights pulsed.

He jerked out of it as a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He looked up, confused for a moment as he tried to figure out where he was, the room was partially tilted and it took him a moment to realise that he was slumped slightly to the side. Waffles had her head in his lap whimpering very softly.

“Adam, adam are you ok, do you need to step out.” 

He lifted his head and turned to look at Admiral Kelly, who now sat beside him, a hand on his shoulder.

His ears were still ringing but not enough to realise that the court had stopped.

The lead judge had held up a hand to the prosecution and was looking directly at him. 

Well… at least now the blood was rushing back to his head, and he could feel his ears burning, “Is everything alright, council?” The judge asked, “Does your witness need to step out.”

The lawyers turned to look at him, hints of both concern and concealed annoyance on their faces.

They looked at him expectantly.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, “No your honor. My apologies.”

His voice was surprisingly strong for someone who felt like he was about to pass out. The judge didn’t seem too annoyed at him, and looked on with some measure of concern. They whispered something to the nearby bailiff and then motioned the council to continue.

Admiral Kelly didn’t move seats keeping one hand on his shoulder. The bailiff walked over after things had started up again and sat next to them for a moment, “If you need to step out.” He whispered, “Take the side door to your right and someone will let you back in.”

He nodded, “Ill be alright, but…. Thank you.”

The man nodded and stood returning to the front of the room.

“As you can see, their first attempts at creating a proper drug cocktail to dull the pain of direct neural interface, was a complete disaster. Dr. Gladstone, assuming you were forced to use drugs instead of subdermal implants, how would you have gone about this? What is the proper procedure dictated by ethical state law.”

“Drug trials can take months to years, we test them on animals, rats monkeys and even inject them into synthetically grown human tissues and tube grown organs before we even test on animals. Each phase of testing can take up to eighteen months in clinical trials, and if the drug proves to be wrong we start over again.”

“Have you ever done phased drug testing on human subjects.”

“No, certainly not.”

“But of course they continued. May the prosecution present Experimental log 32 for For consideration by the court.”

Experimental log #32:

Over the past experiments we have been testing multiple drug mixtures to try and reduce the pain induced by the Direct neural interface our most recent tests have involved morphine much to our resident doctors discouragement it is one of the few drugs we have found capable of suppressing the pain induced by the direct neural interface. This test involves the use of an automatic dispenser controlled by the pain sensors in the arm.

The subject, as before has been sedated for the implantation of the test augmetic. This time however the drug reservoir has a direct link to the bloodstream. 

-recording break-

The subject seems to be stable and moving around without much interference, although slightly lethargic and a little dopy due to the drugs.

We made sure to remove the augmetic well before the drug reservoir ran out. This seems to be successful and stable Several more tests are to be made to confirm this before moving on to the next stage. 

“Dr, do you happen to know the laws in relation to the regulation and use of morphine during testing?”

The doctor nodded, “Morphine is heavily regulated even on the research level owing to its additive properties. Only doctors are allowed to prescribe it, and even then, the morphine dosages are regulated and reviewed by an internal board of directors. There is a cutoff point for the amount of morphine allowed for personal use,and the amount of morphine allowed for medical use. This cap can be broken if the board of directors determines the patient is terminal and in extreme pain.”

“How about for research purposes.”

“You can’t research with morphine, and you certainly cannot give it to a patient with no prior history of injury, or other medical conditions.”

“Thank you doctor, the prosecution wishes to present experimental log 34 to consideration.” 

Experiential log #34:

Our continued experimentation has lead to the conclusion that stronger chemicals may be required to reduce the pain, one subjects auto-dispensary caused an overdose When the subject spent some time prodding and poking at the implant site it caused excruciating pain that was responded to by the auto dispensary by flooding the body with over 500milligrams of morphine. A stronger painkiller would mean lower doses are required thus avoiding an overdose. Despite our team's medical advisors continuing protests. 

Prosecution turned to the judges, “You see here your honor that instead of considering the ethical questionability of their actions, they determined to use more morphine despite the overdose and even extend the use to even more potent drugs. These are not the actions of scientists who were considering ethics, or even the value of human life.”

“Objection your honor on conjecture about the thoughts of my client.”

The judge waved a hand, “It may pass.”

The defence took a seat.

The prosecution adjusted her tie, “Three people died as a result of these tests your honor. Marvin Dess, William Moseratt and Angela Vilgrin. Not once were the tests paused or delayed. Instead, they moved onto the next phase of testing.”

Adam was starting to feel a little better now. He wasn’t sweating so much and he had finally managed to even out his breathing.

“The prosecution would like to present experimental log 28.”

Experimental log #28

Calibration of the arm mounted augmetic seemed to proceed without error or difficulty, The drugs delivered through the internal reservoir developed by Dr. Nkosi renders the subject inured against the supposed pain induced by the augmetic. The primary tests we will be administering are of the use of high strength servo motors to power the augmeitc, reducing its weight and increasing the power behind the subjects rapid motions. 

-Recording break-

The Reaction of the servo motors and torsion cables was far too extreme delivering significant damage and trauma to the subject, Further testing will have to be done and fine tuning of the suits will be needed. 

Adam knew what was coming and tried to close his eyes and block out the sounds as the next visual log was projected before him. 

Audio-visual log transcript:

The subject appears bleary and unresponsive. The augmentic is mounted on their right arm, supposedly their dominant one according to the research notes. The subject is drawn to attention by the scientist administering light taping on their cheek. Upon raising their arm the subject appears a little shocked at the size of the augmetic and the fact it is connected directly to an external power source, questioning the scientist on this who confirms it is just an experimental version. The augmetic appears to only be active on the elbow joint. The scientist appears to be requesting the subject extend his arm in an attempt to punch an invisible foe. Upon doing so the augmetic appears to cause an extreme reaction of force, resulting in not only damage to the subjects musculature, but outright stripping the subjects muscle tissues away from the bones, the pins seem to be functioning as anchor points as the subjects skin and muscles are removed from the skeletal structure. Functionally stripping the flesh away from the skeleton in a manner that can only be described as ‘glove like’. It appears that this area also contained the drug delivery interface as part way through the emergency removal of the upper section of the augmetic, the subject seemed to come out of the semi stupor and begin to register the damage done to themselves, screaming and becoming violent. It was only after the subject was re-drugged with the remaining contents of the drug reservoir that they calmed down.

His attempts to block out the sound do not stop him from hearing the hydraulic hiss, the tight whirr, and the horrific cracking popping noise as flesh is torn from bone. The screaming echoed around in his head. His heart was beating at a million miles an hour. Sweat poured down his back and neck and in between his shoulder blades. Flashes of red sky cut before his vision, the sound of gunfire and the smell of ash.

Admiral kelly squeezed his shoulder hard bringing him back. The dog was halfway in his lap her head pressed against him, and the Bailiff from earlier was on his other side steadying him as his body seemed prone to leaning to one side.

He took a few very deep breaths.

A few of the judges were watching him, but they didn’t stop the proceedings this time. Most of them just looked like they wanted an excuse to look away.

“Your honors, this is not the last log in the series. Even after the catastrophic failure, they continue to implant the steel ee pieces onto test subjects without prior testing in a controlled environment. I believe we have been making realistic ballistic dummies for the past thousand years. I am sure there is something that could have been done.”

Adam was fading.

The lights were growing up in his vision, turning everything around him white.

The defence stood, “THe defence calls for recess, your honors.”

There was a pause, “Recess granted. You have thirty minutes.” 

The room burst into a flurry of murmurs and movement. Admiral Kelly leaned forward hands on his arms, “Adam, you should get up, walk around a bit.”

He nodded and stood feeling the world tip around him as he did. With one hand he gripped heavily onto the back of the pews and staggered forward out of the room. Waffles followed after him whining and whimpering. He waved admiral Kelly off him as he wobbled his way down the hall and burst through the outside door and into open air. He took a deep long breath and leaned against the wall trying to choke down the bile that welled into his throat.

“You alright here buddy.”

Blinking owlishly, he turned to the side to see a man leaning against the wall on the other side of the door.

“You don’t look so good, Cigarette?” He asked offering a pack of the things towards him.

Adam waved a hand, “I don’t smoke but, thanks anyway.”

The man shrugged and lit up puffing a billow of smoke into the air, “You know breathing exercises.”

Adam blinked and nodded, “Yeah.”

“Don't forget to do them. It will help.”

Adam rubbed a hand across his forehead breathing slowly.

“You seem to know a lot about this. Am i that easy to see through?”

The man shook his head “I was a soldier during the panasian war, I know what PTSD looks like.”

“My father fought in the Panasian war.”

The man nodded, “Better get back inside while you still have some color, boy.”

He did as told. He didn’t know the man  but something about his calm demeanor and understanding was nice, and he stepped back inside patting waffles on the head as he walked back towards the courtroom.

He sat down before anyone else was there just yet and rested his head in his hands breathing slowly and evenly. The room slowly filled up again, and before he really knew it, things were back in session.

“The prosecution would like to present Experimental log 31” 

He closed his eyes and began to count slowly breathing in and out, in and out.” 

Experimental log #31

This test is the first among the replacement for servo motors for hydraulics The system was far slower and makes use of a combination of fast extension pistons and slower extension ones for combination. The test is the same as before a simple arm extension in the guise of  a punch. However the augmetic will also include the shoulder. We have increased the dosage of the painkiller as so to prevent the increased implantation volume from inducing a negative reaction in the subject. -Recording break-

The reaction from the hydraulics was stronger than expected, and the delay and stack up of orders has caused significant issues. A halt override taken directly from the nerve system needs to be implemented. 

He squeezed his eyes tight shut 

Audio-visual log transcript:

 The subject appears to be only semi responsive, appearing to function at a 12 on the GCS, Only held there by the active responsiveness of their motor function. This appears to fade somewhat when the subject is given physical stimuli by the scientist in the form of a light slap on the cheek. Bringing the subject back to consciousness. The subject is then encouraged to make the punching action as prior experiments. The subject does so, the fast reaction of the piston seems to achieve the scientist's goal, However the long extension piston appeared to continue extending. This continued, dragging the subjects arm outwards, dislocating the subjects shoulder, then elbow as well as wrist. The subject appeared to be distressed at this, however not unduly in pain. The scientist having stepped back to observe the outcome of events. The extension of the piston continued beyond tolerable human limits. The piston continues to extend despite the protests of the subject and attempts at removing it. The extension continued forcefully separating the subjects limbs at both the elbow and shoulder joint, ripping tendon and muscle as well as ligament structures, fully separating the limb in to two parts and away from the body. It is at this point the subject began to scream in terror and panic till the researcher sedated the subject. 

A door opened at the back of the courtroom as a few more people stepped out. Adam sat there on the bench, his head tilted back and staring at the ceiling breathing even and slowly as light and color swirled around them. He could what speaking, but didn’t really hear what was being said.

He just had to keep himself together.

“....Log 35 to the court.” 

Experimental log #35

Continued experimentation indicates that a combination of servo motors, torsion cables and hydraulics are likely to result in the desired effect. Since the previous experiments a stop override has been implemented in to the systems. This prevents the hydraulics from continuing to extend despite the users body having ceased movement. This should result in the desired movement structures. We are moving on from the single arm testing considering the current functionality and strength amplification satisfactory. The current test is simply to get the two lower limb implants to function in tandem with walking. We have had to once again increase the level of drugs in the users system to prevent the reaction to the pain induced by the interfacing devices. 

-Recording break- 

While the system is capable of walking, the addition of hydraulics have caused the system to be heavier and more cumbersome than intended. Additional servo motors and possible leaf springs for artificial support tendons will have to be added to prevent the augmetics from lagging behind their users.

“Objection your honor…. The court has seen enough….. This is simply…”

“Objection denied council. The evidence stands. If you must you may leave the room.”

“But members of the audience…”

“Can step out if they need to.”

Audio-visual Log transcript:

The subject once again appears to be somewhat unresponsive. This ceases when the scientist provides a physical interaction with the subject, tapping them on the shoulder. The subject appears to be somewhat disoriented. Upon being prompted to walk the subject beings to walk without much in the way of impediment, though seeming to tug at the augments as if they are holding the subject back. The subject is then prompted to move at a might higher speed. Running if possible. The subject manages this for two steps before the continued pulling against the augmetic and movement against the interface needles appears to pull the subject’s leg free, removing large sections of the subjects muscle tissues and nerves along with it. The subject seems to be disturbed, if not in pain. Likely due to the drug reservoir and input mounted on the subjects arm. The subject however seems to be announcing that they can no longer move their legs as the researcher requested. The subject is then sedated and recording ends. 

Adam is being held up again by Admiral kelly his body tilting widely sideways and he is having trouble finding the orientation of the room.” 

“.... experimental log 38 as a demonstration of the scientists moving development far too quickly.” 

Experimental Log #38

Increased response time in the legs combined with the introduction of support springs within the armour have reduced that movement restrictions of the armour and made it much harder for the user to ‘pull away’ from the armor, this combined with several additional straps and metal binding to keep the users legs attached directly to the augmetics have solved several of the most recent problems. The newest set of experiments are moving on to vertical movement, focusing on the subjects ability to jump and move around obstacle strewn environments. 

-Recording break- 

It appears the engineers did not calibrate the hydraulics and other systems to function as shock absorbers, but rather only as force amplification devices. Meaning that impact shock is taken fully by the users body, This would normally not be an issue, however with the additional force and weight provided by the augmetic seems to cause issues upon landing. 

Audio-visual Log transcript:

The subject is suffering the same symptoms as prior subjects, low levels of function and unresponsiveness. Once the subject is roused from the stupor via an open handed impact to the cheek, delivered by the researcher,  they are directed to attempt an obstacle course. The subject seems to have little trouble with the primary obstacles, clearing them with little effort, however their recovery from each obstacle appears to be ungainly and improper. The subject is then presented with a  three meter high wall and instructed to go over it. Rather than scaling it as expected the subject simply jumped over the wall, exhibiting far more mobility and control than prior subjects in experiments. However upon landing the subjects legs appear to buckle and collapse under them, folding at several points that do not have joints. Indicating shattering of the bones. The subject seems unphased by the injury, Pointing it out to the researcher and asking if that is normal. This indicates that the drugs being used are of a high enough dosage and strength to suppress not only extreme pain but the shock reaction of the body. 

He can feel another person holding him up from the other side, but mutters that he is ok when anyone asks. E just keeps counting and breathing counting and breathing knowing that it has to be over soon. He just needs to hold himself together 

Experimental log #42

The final tests regarding midriff functionality have been completed, with shockingly low failure or complications compared to prior testing phases, we are putting this down to our own excellent ongoing improvements of the system. This final text is a sequential system test where a single subject will be required to use each individual part in sequence to ensure that no errors are likely to occur during the whole body testing or further complications are likely to occur.

-break in recording-

The subject suffered no ill effects due to the armour itself. However the subject seemed to become agitated and seemed to be suffering ill effects until they were returned to the augmetics. So long as prolonged exposure to the augmetics is not an ongoing factor we do not see an issue with this. 

“These testings had immense costs and horrific side effects to those who participated. Many of these men and women seen here are not functional or alive to testify in court as to what happened, however, the prosecution would like to call Admiral Vir to the stand as a representative of those who could not be here today, and s a member of the steel eye operation himself to ive the court a little idea about what this experiment did to people even when fully operational.”

Adam was still feeling light headed but even then he still knew what this was. This is what he was here for. Thi was the moment he had come to be a part of, the moment that he was here to help all those soldiers and test subjects used by steel eye.

Admiral Kelly stood with him as he made it to his feet, but he brushed off her hand and walked towards the witness stand. The judge stopped him on his way up.

“Are you well enough to testify Admiral?”

“This is why I came, your honor. Even if I had to crawl through a field of glass to get here.”

The courtroom murmured as he was sworn in, and he sat down feeling the eyes of the entire room on him.

He was still sweating and light headed.

“State your name for the record.”

“Adam Allen Vir.”

“And what is your position in the UNSC.”

“I am Fleet admiral of the UNSC space armada on loan to the GA.”

“And what branch?”

“Originally the air division. I trained at the Aerial combat academy as a fighter and shuttle pilot before being a member of the crew on the enterprise.”

“And how did you end up on Anin.”

“The Enterprise was being decommissioned for some wok, so I offered to go to Anin and be part of the war effort against the Drev.”

“And as a fighter pilot, you didn’t see much time on the ground.”

“No ma’am, I was primarily air support at that time.”

His voice was strong and hard, and the longer he talked the straighter he sat. he had to do this for them. He would NOT fall apart now.

“How did you end up on the ground forces then, Admiral.”

“Volcanic activity, ma’am, they call it the dark season when ash chokes the ai miles into the sky. It isn’t safe to land a ship or fly a jet in such conditions, so my vehicle was grounded. By that time the war was going badly and they needed every man they could get.”

“Were you trained for ground combat, Admiral.”

“Yes at the academy we were trained in ground combat though not as extensively.”

“And you lost your leg to a Drev.”

He reached down hand to his leg remembering the screaming of a red sky above, “Yes, I did.”

“What happened after that?”

“I ended up in a triage tent in out forward operating base. There was no medicine because all our supplies had been used up.”

“Would you say that you were delirious during that time.”

The defence stood quickly “Objection your honor. Leading the witness.”

“Dismissed, council.” The judge said, waving a hand.

“There were no painkillers, ma’am, so maybe. If not delirious than I was at least not in a right state of mind. I remember floating halfway in between being conscious and unconscious. I was in so much pain its…. Had to describe.” His voice wavered before he had it back on track shoring it up and strengthening it with memories of the men and women waiting back at the rehabilitation center.

“And at this time you were approached by Admiral Ablemen about the steel eye project?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And did he detail any specifics.”

He paused thought for a moment trying to remember back into memories that he really didn’t want to foster, “Not…. really. It's hard to remember but I…. I remember him saying that we could help him win the war. I remember him saying that when I woke up I would be a new man. He gave us the choice to go home or serve the UNSC one last time.”

“In your opinion, would you have said yes had you been more conscious.”

“Objection based on conjecture your honor.”

“Objection accepted.”

Adam paused and the mn let him continue, “Wat DO you remember about what happened to you.”

“I…. remember pain and….. Anger. I was never really all there during the steel eye project. I remember feeling invincible, like I could do anything but at the same time, hazy. I remember getting orders and going out, and then nothing after that.”

“Did they tell you there would be rugs involved.”

“No ma’am.”

“And after the war was over, what happened. How did all of this affect you?”

He paused and struggled to speak for a moment, opening his mouth and then closing, “I…. have never been so hopeless in my entire life. I tried to get help with the Veterans association but my claim was denied. I…. went through withdrawals…. Horrible horrible drug withdrawals where I. I was in so much pain, I just….”He paused then lifted his head to look up at th courtroom making eye contact with them. His voice was as strong as ever “I wanted to die, and I would have done it if I hadn’t had a good support system in my family. After a few months my brother got me in contact with a group of people who got ahold of my service dog, and I was able to heal.”

“Does what happened still affect you”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“In what ways.”

“I still have long term PTSD, and while it is controlled and I am no longer on medication, I still have bad days. Days where I can’t move or think, days where the quietest nosies send me into a panic.”

“Were you ever compensated for your injuries, Admiral.”

He paused again and shook his head, “No ma’am, I never received help.”

“Thank you admiral, you may be seated.”

He stood, his head was clear and his hands were dry. He stepped down from the podium with his chin raised and his back straight returning to his seat. He had done it. He had done what he needed to do and the only thing that was lft was to survive the rest of the trail.

He could do that.

He survived operation steel eye didn’t he?

So he could certainly survive this.

[nickkkwritesstuff]

“To Comfort a Grieving Ghost”

Ao3 link.

Summary:

The ghost in front of him fell to his knees, embracing alone his hurting anchor. While Arthur is not good at comforting, he wants to ease his sadness.

He fell on top of a pile of empty boxes, way softer than the stone spikes he saw before the ghost let go. Noises were muffled, distant even, his head was dizzy and his vision blurry. It all had happened too fast. He was held above the cliff, a massive ghostly hand was the only thing that kept him from dying impaled by a rock, Arthur was going to die, he knew he should be dead, was this finally his sweet end?

Arthur took a deep breath to calm his nerves, instinctively his hand went to his forehead and his eyes fixated on something on the floor, when his vision came back to normal he realized he was looking at the ghost’s heart locket. 

It was broken with hairline fractures across the gray surface, it beat at a slow pace, differently than when the ghost -Lewis?- had held him back at the edge. What was that shiny locket?  

He didn’t think twice, powered by curiosity, his metal arm reached for it, he licked the locket with his thumb until it clicked under the pressure. Like a jackbox, it opened without a warning, Arthur’s heart skipped a beat and gasped by reflection. 

A picture.

A picture of both Vivi and Lewis. He held her close, both laughing, happy. Arthur’s stomach twisted. 

So it was really him. 

The ghost who tried to kill him just a few minutes ago was Lewis. 

Arthur held the picture closer, he swore he had seen it somewhere before, it was like a Deja Vù. Though, something was missing in the picture, but the blurriness didn’t let him see it clearly, why was it blurry now?

The heart shaped thing escaped from his grasp before he could figure out what was happening. He looked up to meet an angry -and slightly blushed- specter. Arthur crawled a few feet away from the wraith until a wall of boxes blocked his path, please don’t hurt me, the scared mechanic prayed.

He gulped hard, he almost choked on his own saliva. Eyes wide open followed the sturdy figure take a few steps -or the equivalent floating- towards the open gate of the truck. He abruptly stopped. 

The ghost in front of him fell to his knees, embracing alone his hurting anchor. The blond man shrunk for protection, closed his eyes waiting for Lewis to attack him at any given moment. Nothing hit him, instead he heard a soft sniff. 

Arthur’s mouth dropped, was he crying-?

The ghost shaked a little and sobbed quietly to himself as if he didn’t want Arthur to hear him tear down. The scrawny mechanic froze, his entire body stayed still, he wasn’t even breathing, Arthur began to panic. What was he supposed to do? Run away and leave him there, feeling miserable? Ask him what happened? Comfort him?

He had the chance to escape and check on Vivi and Mystery, he could leave him behind right now if he hurried up. But on the back of his mind, Arthur knew that wasn’t the right thing to do.

Gathering the courage he didn’t have, Arthur closed the distance they had, a hand lifted ready to be placed on the ghost’s shoulder…

“Lewis?”

The ghost growled at him, Arthur backed a little in surprise. Air vacated his lungs for a moment. What’s next, Kingsman?, Arthur smacked himself mentally.

“Are you- are you okay...?”

No response, the ghost sighed. It echoed very deep into his mind, it was terrifying how the sigh stung inside his head. Arthur frowned, something in his chest refusing to give up. 

Arthur’s eyes darted among the shelves, looking for something, anything to distract the ghost with, literally any single thing was useful. They finally landed back on the heart the wraith held between his hands. The image had changed.

Now not only Vivi and Lewis were there but also Mystery and himself were included. Right! That was missing, Arthur thought, realizing where he had seen it before. He half smiled at the nostalgia.

“Hey, Lew,” the mechanic called gently. The ghost didn’t even mind. “do you remember- remember when we took that... pic?”

Arthur waited for no answer, he immediately sat down back-to-back and legs crisscrossed, the thin mechanic was terrified what he was doing, he moved and talked with confidence despite not having any but his subconscious had decided without his permission that he wasn’t moving from there until the ghost ceased his tears or he killed him with no mercy, whatever happened first. 

“I do.” He continued. “It was on Vivi’s birthday, she got a- a new camera, she was so excited that she almost broke it. How clumsy of her.”

The mechanic laughed. “We took that photo thrice. The first because she left the lense cap on and the second one because I blinked. When she finally took it right she printed it and posted it everywhere. She was so happy.”

Temperature dropped, he felt chills from behind and he couldn’t help but warm himself with his vest. The star pin poked him, Arthur unpinned it and held it before his eyes.

“Ah! Also, I found the pin you gave me. I’m sorry that I lost it but I promised- I promised I’ll find it so I did! It was under Lance’s couch.” Arthur brushed some dust off the star’s acrylic, fidgeting a little.

“Y’know? I- I found it after you- you uh... went missing. I thought this would- would be a sign that I could find you and I... I kept it as a promise to you, that, no matter what, I would bring you back home.” He pinned it again with a sad smile.

Arthur felt shifting behind his back, the ghost relaxed a little. 

And so, Arthur trailed off. He kept talking about what he missed, about the Peppers, Vivi doing something embarrassing, and about good moments they all had together.  

Comforting wasn’t Arthur’s specialty. Usually he was the one who was comforted, he didn’t had the touch like Vivi or Lewis, who were better at listening and understanding, and had always been there for him, even in the latest nights they had sat down with him and hear him go on for hours and hours until he had fallen asleep; they were patient with their friend.

Arthur wanted to repay him somehow.

However, he didn’t know how to comfort a ghost.

But he knew how to comfort Lewis.

Lewis, who had been his friend almost all his life, Lewis who was safety and balance when he most needed it, who had lent him a hand when Arthur stumbled down. The friend who helped him to get back on his feet and was the gentlest and kindest person he ever met. Arthur knew that Lewis and he could help him.

He just needed to find him.

On the other side, probably Lewis didn’t even want company, his company, after he tried to murder Arthur, he supposed he was the last person the ghost wanted to see, but he ran out of ideas. Sitting there with him and not letting him bare with his feelings alone was the best thing he had come to. Talk to him so he knows he isn’t alone. 

Arthur threw a glance at his friend. His back served as a firm barrier between them, he was still stiff. The mechanic’s shoulders fell as well as his head, what else could he do?

At this point, he was tired of trying. He only had the strength to do one last push and see if the ghost responded to his attempt of comfort. If it didn’t work, then Arthur was clueless.

One last push…

“Where were you, Lew?” He muttered, burying his face in his hands. “I looked for you everywhere. But it was like you- you just poofed out of this world.”

The blond man recalled the long nights driving across the state, looking for places where his friend could have gone to, dealing with Vivi and her ‘go to bed, now’s. Many nights spent on his laptop looking for clues but none of them gave results.   

“I… I missed you.” Arthur brushed his hair with his flesh hand. “I missed you, Lew.”

Arthur’s head shocked against the dark suit, closed his eyes tiredly and gave deep slow breaths. He could feel the ghost’s back relaxing once again, the spectre’s shoulders fell entirely and his arms lowered almost completely. Arthur straightened up quickly.

The mechanic turned to see what he had done. The ghost’s imposing frame looked weak, about to break down to the softest blow. 

Comforting wasn’t Arthur’s specialty, but he totally knew how to give the best hugs. He wasn't suffocating like Vivi or crushing like Lewis, instead he held a steady and supportive grip, just like his uncle did when he had nightmares or the phantom pain was unbearable. Lance wasn’t a tactile person, but knew how to hold somebody when they needed.

Arthur was on his knees now, unsure if a hug was the right thing to do. Lewis looked so down and the mechanic couldn’t just stand there forever. 

Shyly, one arm went under Lewis’ sleeve to his chest and the other one lied across his upper back to his shoulder. The ghost jumped a little but didn’t protest against him, instead, he fell under the embrace. Arthur peeked up above the wraith’s suit to see the loket, it was closed now but still held carefully on top of his lap.

The large hand placed the loket on his chest where it floated just a few inches above the fabric. Arthur buried his face on the black suit. It was when Arthur realized how Lewis was warm, not like the human warmth but like an overheated lamp or a small campfire seen from the distance. 

Suddenly, Arthur’s arms weren’t around his friend anymore but a pair of giant ones lifted him up and tangled around his torso and his cheek was warm. Arthur opened his eyes to meet a purple tie in front of him, Lewis was hugging him back.

A single, nervous yet happy small laugh came out of his mouth. Then he returned the hug. 

“I missed you too.”

That was all Arthur needed to hear to shed a tear. And so both friends felt safe under each other’s embrace.

[echo-bleu]

no. 13 pretty please? 😢 feeling super angsty 😅

My brain went straight to 3x10 and my frustration that Alec's near death wasn't even mentioned in the next episode, and then to 2x20 and the time Jace did die. It’s a canon divergence where Magnus didn’t go to Edom but got Lorenzo and the other warlock to help free Jace instead. I swear this was meant to be a short fill, but as usual, it got out of hand so it’s 3.8k.

This is heavy angst with a happy ending so head the warnings.

(and yes it’s Malec, thank you for sending me another ask to clarify :) it’s the only ship I write anyway)

Thank you so much to pinstripedJackalope for betaing!

[temporary character death (I swear it doesn’t stick), major injuries, blood and death]

Read on AO3.

13. “I thought you were dead.”

Magnus’ stomach drops as he finally catches sight of Alec and Jace. He went as fast as he could, absorbing the power of a dozen warlocks, but it wasn’t fast enough. Jace — or the demon controlling him — is kneeling over a prone Alec, slowly, cruelly driving an arrow into his chest.

“They say the worst pain a Shadowhunter can feel is the loss of his parabatai,” he growls, his voice distinctly not Jace-like. “It's time for Jace to finally feel it.”

“Jace,” Alec murmurs, struggling to breathe, as Magnus lurches toward them. “It wasn’t you.”

It’s just like Alec, to use what may be his last words to give his parabatai absolution, to try and prevent more pain and guilt. But Magnus can’t let it happen. He can’t let Alec die.

He doesn’t let himself consider that he may already be too late.

The overwhelming magic inside him reacts to his every thought, his every emotion, and it uncurls before he can even command it, roaring in his chest. Magnus throws his hands in front of him and it rushes out, burning through his body, coming out of his palms in an explosion of blue and yellow light. It heads straight to Jace, and Magnus can only pray that it won’t kill his body as well as drive the demon out.

Jace is thrown back and hits the wall with a force that would have instantly killed a mundane. But he rises to his feet immediately after falling, his whole body shaking as something dark and slimy escapes his mouth. He throws up violently, as if ejecting everything evil inside him is making him physically sick, too.

“Alexander,” Magnus murmurs. Magic is still humming under his fingers, but it’s useless now, after that uncontrolled pulse of pure power. He’s still linked to the other warlocks, he can feel their energy, but his own body is too spent to use it. He stumbles to Alec, his legs giving out from under him.

He crawls the last few feet on his knees, desperate to get to Alec.

“Mom...said you’d...make a dr–dramatic entrance,” Alec chokes out, blood running out of his mouth. His breathing is ragged and painful, and he starts coughing, his whole body wracked with agony. Magnus grips his shoulder and stares at his ashen face, at the arrowhead sticking out of his chest. “Alexander.”

“’t’s okay,” Alec murmurs. He coughs up more blood. Somehow, his hand finds Magnus’, and his weak grip shakes Magnus out of his shock.

“No, no, don’t you dare die on me,” he squeezes Alec’s hand tightly, tears running down his cheeks.

He hovers his other hand over Alec’s chest, but he needs more time, time to replenish his magic, time he doesn’t have. All he can get out right now is sparks. He tries to send them to the other warlocks who have joined the fight against Lilith, to call for help, but he doesn’t think they make it that far.

Jace falls to his knees on Alec’s other side, one hand clutching his hip where Magnus knows his parabatai rune is. “Alec,” he murmurs. “Come on.”

“Don’t...blame yourself,” Alec sputters around a mouthful of blood. He tries to inhale, but he chokes instead. “I...don’t...blame you,” he still manages to tell his parabatai.

“Don’t speak,” Jace murmurs. “Magnus, you gotta do something.”

His face is a mask of pain, while Alec’s is lax, like he doesn’t even have enough energy left to react to the agony. Magnus swallows back his tears. “I can’t. I’m all out.”

“Magnus, he’s gonna—”

“I know,” Magnus chokes on his tears.

Jace cries out as Alec’s body grows lax, his weak hold on Magnus’ hand slipping. Magnus scrambles to look for a pulse, but he can’t find one. “Alexander—”

“No, no, no,” Jace murmurs, sobbing. “I can’t feel him.”

“Alexander!” Magnus cries out, forcing magic into Alec’s body, but it putters out before it can even leave his hands. Alec doesn’t move, doesn’t react, doesn’t—

“He’s gone,” Jace murmurs, sagging.

“NO!” Magnus yells.

But raging doesn’t help. It doesn’t change reality. And the reality is that Alec is dead under his fingers.

“No,” he sobs, lying his head on Alec’s chest, against the arrow still sticking out. “No.”

His voice breaks.

“Please. No.”

*

Hands grip his shoulders, lifting him up. “Magnus.” It’s Jace’s voice, and then another. Catarina. “Magnus. Come on.”

“No,” Magnus resists. “Alec—”

“He’s gone, Magnus,” Catarina murmurs.

“The fight is over.” Lorenzo. “Lilith is gone.”

“Clary?” Magnus hears Jace ask.

“Safe. We got her and her vampire out just in time.”

Magnus doesn’t let go of Alec’s body. It should matter, that they made it, they succeeded. That the threat is gone. But he can’t get past Alec’s unmoving form in his arms.

Jace’s warm, muscled body is against him now, hugging him, while Catarina pries his hands off Alec. Magnus lets her, his strength spent. He can’t stop sobbing. It comes out in hiccups, tearless sobs of agony as his heart cries out for Alec to wake up, to move, to open his eyes. But Alec stays still, cold and pale under the streetlight, the red of the arrow fletching in his chest burning Magnus’ eyes.

Jace shakes against him in another rhythm, shivering like his body is giving out now that it’s no longer connected to Alec’s. He doesn’t sob — he doesn’t even cry, eyes dry and unfocused and empty. Magnus bites his fist hard to stop his uncontrollable sobs, not caring when he tastes blood, and grabs Jace’s hand, wordlessly trying to get a reaction out of him.

“Jace?” he manages to croak out after several tries, words refusing to come out.

Jace turns his eyes to him, but he’s still not there, his reactions sluggish and aimless. “Alec,” he murmurs. Then something else, indistinguishable.

Magnus looks back at Alec’s body, and another hiccup wracks his body. He can’t contain this pain. He’s lost many people in his life, held a few of them as they died, but never—

Never like this. It wasn’t supposed to be so soon. He knew Alec would die eventually, but—

No.

No.

The sobs are violent and painful, making him retch, like his body doesn’t even know how to deal with the emotions coursing through him. His magic, weak as it is, responds with fire and ice, coursing through his veins and erupting around him in ephemeral flames that have Catarina jerk away.

“Magnus! You’ve got to control it!” she shouts.

Magnus can barely hear her. He can’t feel anymore, the agony overriding his senses until there’s nothing left.

Alec is gone.

He half-wants his magic to destroy him, to let him pass along with Alec, but it’s too weak even for that. He feels like his body is dying from the sheer agony of his heart, but it will hang on, and force him to live another day.

Another day that won’t have Alec in it.

*

Magnus shatters.

He’s only vaguely aware of what happens next. It feels like hours, hours of him and Jace hanging on to each other in one last bid to avoid their broken souls scattering altogether, refusing to let go of Alec’s body. Catarina gives up on shaking him after a while and moves away, and Magnus loses track of her, of everything that isn’t Alec and Jace.

Isabelle’s heartbreaking scream is what shakes him out of it. “Alec!” she cries as she crumples over her brother’s body, Clary at her tail.

She shakes him to no avail, sobbing, until Jace reaches out and puts his hand over hers. “He’s gone,” he murmurs brokenly.

Isabelle collapses in Clary’s arms, as Clary kneels on the floor, in shock. Alec remains still and ashen between them and Magnus, and Magnus realizes he’s still crushing Alec’s limp hand in his. He doesn’t let go.

“Ave atque vale,” Luke breathes, and Isabelle looks up at him, shaking her head in denial. Magnus chokes and buries his head in Alec’s chest again, willing time to stop, stop until he can figure a way out of this. Isabelle grasps his shoulder hard, her grip bruising and anchoring.

Magnus sobs anew, throat and face and heart burning. He can’t hear these words. He’s not ready. He’s not ready to make this real.

“Ave atque vale,” Jace murmurs, and Magnus can’t breathe.

*

“Wait,” Jace says, and everyone freezes.

Magnus doesn’t know how long they spent sitting there. Minutes. Hours. Too long. Not long enough. His legs hurt and his lungs burn and his head is full of cotton.

Alec’s hand is cold in his.

The warlocks are gone, except for Catarina. Isabelle is still kneeling beside them, though Clary has stood up and she’s shivering in Simon’s arms now, Luke hovering close to them.

Magnus doesn’t really know how he’s aware of all that. He can barely keep track of what’s going on within his field of vision, and his eyes haven’t left Alec’s still face, and the insulting blood red of the arrow’s fletching.

Why red? Why does Alec use red arrows? Magnus has never asked. He should have.

He never will, now.

Fuck.

Jace slowly, awkwardly untangles himself from Magnus, pushing him with his elbows. Magnus lets himself be handled like a puppet with its strings cut — that sums up how he feels. He can barely hold himself up on his own, once Jace’s support is gone.

Jace is pointing at something, gesturing, and things are moving. Magnus wills himself to focus, even though he wants to never have to think again. He wants to lay down beside Alec and let himself drift off to sleep, and maybe never wake up.

He wants to wake up from this nightmare and find Alec alive and well beside him, eyes full of sleep, morning light kissing his face and making his skin golden.

He wants Alec.

“Magnus,” Isabelle calls him, and he shakes himself. He follows her finger and looks down, at Jace, at Jace’s parabatai rune — the space on his hip where it should be — and it’s…

It’s there. Black on pale skin, the pattern unmistakable. It’s still there.

It should be gone.

“How?” Magnus croaks out.

“I don’t know,” Jace says. And for the first time in however long this nightmare has been, there’s something beside agony in his voice. “I can’t feel him, but it’s still there.”

“That means he’s not dead,” Clary says, coming closer. “Right?”

Magnus looks back at Alec’s unmoving body. “But then—”

“I don’t know,” Jace murmurs.

“Alec’s rune disappeared,” Isabelle says. “When you died,” she points to Jace. “His rune was gone.”

“But mine isn’t.”

Magnus looks between them, then at Alec again. Jace was dead. Jace was dead, and now he isn’t, because he was resurrected by—

“Catarina!” he calls, struck by a sudden thought.

Catarina is at his side in seconds.

“Cat, I need you to restart his heart,” Magnus says.

Catarina moves uncomfortably. “Magnus, he’s gone.”

“I don’t think he is.”

She looks at him with something like pity in her eyes, and at any other time, that would have angered him. But he’d have to be able to feel something beside numbness for that.

Numbness and the nameless, pulsing hope taking roots at the back of his mind. What if—

“Please,” he begs. “Just do it.”

Catarina looks ready to argue, but she looks at the others, and she sees the same budding hope in their eyes. Jace points to his rune, and Magnus can see the moment she understands, her eyes widening.

She places her hands on Alec’s chest carefully, one on each side of the arrow, and sends out a pulse of magic. Alec’s body responds violently to the shock, his back arching, but he doesn’t otherwise move.

“Again,” Magnus pleads.

Alec’s chest glows white. Again. His body jerks up. Again. Magnus holds his breath.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Nothing changes.

Catarina lets her hands fall, her magic sizzling out. Magnus wants to scream, to throw something, to destroy, but he just sags and Isabelle lets out a sob. Jace lets out a slow, controlled breath, hand on his still present rune.

“One more,” he murmurs.

Catarina shakes her head. “It won’t do anything.”

“Please.”

Magnus doesn’t let her argue. He places his own hands on Alec’s chest and wills his magic out, what little isn’t burning his body from the inside out.

The shock sends him flailing backward into Jace’s arms, but his eyes never leave Alec’s face.

Please, he begs silently.

Wake up.

“I’ve got a pulse,” Catarina breathes out, fingers pressed to Alec’s neck.

“He’s alive,” Jace says, like he doesn’t really believe it himself. “He’s alive.”

Magnus breathes for what feels like the first time in hours.

*

“He’s alive,” Jace breathes. He keeps repeating that, so much that the sentence loops in Magnus’ head. It’s good. He needs the reminder.

Alec is unmoving and pale in the infirmary bed, the whiteness of the sheets and the harsh neon lights accentuating the ashen quality of his skin. At least the red arrow is gone, though it still haunts Magnus’ nightmares. Instead, Alec’s chest is bare but for the thick bandages holding him together, a tube still coming out of his lung to drain the blood. The small oxygen cannula under his nose is a welcome change from the respirator that breathed for him for the last two days, though Magnus now finds himself regularly checking with his hand that Alec is still breathing.

His heart keeps skipping beats in fear, every time he forgets for a second that Alec is safe and finally on the mend.

For all that Alec was alive once Magnus revived him, getting him stable has been an uphill battle. Catarina poured every bit of magic she had left into repairing the lung pierced by the arrow, while she drained the blood out the mundane way, so Alec would stop drowning in his own blood. The injuries were too severe for iratzes to be of much use, even when drawn by Jace.

It’s been almost sixty hours, and Jace hasn’t slept. Magnus dozed off in his chair a few times, his head resting on his and Alec’s linked hands — powering through the magic overuse-induced crash has proved impossible, however much he wanted to stay awake in case Alec—

In case Alec woke up, Magnus tells himself firmly. That’s it. He’ll be okay.

“He’s alive,” he murmurs back.

Jace has been burning through stamina runes one after the other. There’s a shadow in his eyes that matches the one in Magnus’ heart, a hole in the shape of Alec that has filled itself with inescapable dread. He was dead.

Magnus wonders if that’s how Alec felt when Jace died. He remembers sitting with him on the floor of the ops center for nearly an hour, his heart constricting the longer Alec remained there motionless, eyes empty like he couldn’t even see the world around him. He wonders if Alec has been carrying this fear ever since, that Jace might die again, if that was what Magnus couldn’t put his finger on when they argued about his immortality.

Alec was dead for half-an-hour, and Magnus wonders if they’ll ever heal from that.

*

“I thought you were dead.”

Alec stares up at Jace, unimpressed. It’s not the first time he’s woken up, but it’s the first time he’s off the painkillers that made him too loopy to hold a conversation. His hand twitches in Magnus’ as he looks at his parabatai, propped up on pillows, the oxygen cannula slightly crooked under his nose. His other arm is splinted and resting on a pillow, the broken bones only partly healed.

Things have started to settle into a routine. Magnus has still barely left the infirmary — the advantage of magic is that he doesn’t even need to go home to shower — but he’s let Isabelle put him a cot in a corner of the room to sleep. Jace crashed once Alec woke up the first time and slept for twenty-four hours straight, and now he’s back, as annoying as ever. The others come and go, bringing books and food, as Alec spends more and more time awake.

It’s been five days. Magnus doesn’t need to check that Alec is breathing every other minute anymore.

“I was dead, apparently,” Alec mutters. “Anyone figure out what happened with that?”

Magnus shifts in his seat. “I think I may have. I talked about it at length with Catarina and we are of the same opinion.”

Catarina has come by for an hour every day to check on Alec and help along his healing. This kind of delicate work isn’t Magnus’ strong suit despite his superior raw power, and he prefers to let her do it as long as she’s willing. It’s given them the time to have in-depth conversations.

“And?” Jace prompts.

Magnus shakes himself, realizing that he’s zoned out. Focusing on anything has proven difficult. “And this is just another proof that you two don’t do things by halves,” he says. “The last time I really looked at your bond with my magic was when Alec got lost trying to find you, Jace. Back then, it was a simple soul bond, anchored by the runes on your bodies.”

“Do you mean it’s changed somehow?” Alec asks. Magnus studies him, to see if he should put off this conversation until later. Alec’s face is drawn with lines of pain, but he’s more alert than he’s been since that night. He frowns in worry, and Magnus knows that despite his state, he’ll insist on hearing it now.

“When I looked at it again, there was a third component,” Magnus says. “Beside your two souls. A tether, of sorts.”

“What do you mean?” Jace asks.

“I think…” Magnus hesitates. “I think that when Biscuit made the wish and resurrected you, Raziel didn’t just bring you back to life. He tethered your soul to this realm. And because of the soul bond, that extends to Alec.”

“So it...kept me here, even when my body died?” Alec asks.

“Yes. That’s what I think.”

The parabatai exchange a look, one that Magnus can’t completely decipher. “Does that mean we can’t die?” Jace asks as Alec lets his head rest back on his pillow, exhausted.

“Quite possibly,” Magnus says. He doesn’t know yet what to do with the relief he feels knowing that. The Alec-shaped terror in his heart has quietened until it’s barely there.

But there are other consequences to this, and he doesn’t know how Alec will take them.

Alec coughs painfully, his good hand slipping from Magnus’ to clutch at his chest. Magnus immediately slips a hand behind his neck to help him sit up until the fit stops.

“Do you need more painkillers?” Jace asks when Alec leans back, spent.

Alec shakes his head, his eyes closed.

“Alec. I can feel your pain.”

“I’m good,” Alec refuses stubbornly. “Magnus.”

“Yes, darling?” Magnus leans closer.

“That tether… It means we’re immortal, doesn’t it? That’s what you’re not telling us.”

Magnus swallows. “I think it might,” he admits. “Nothing’s certain, but—”

“Immortal,” Jace sighs.

Alec’s hand finds its way back to Magnus and he wonders if ‘I’m sorry’ is an appropriate response. Like immortality is an illness of some kind. Some days, it feels that way.

*

They don’t talk about it again until Alec is released from the infirmary. He’s still weak and in pain, but Isabelle and Maryse have caught him twice now trying to smuggle paperwork to his room to work, and he’s declared that he can’t stand the thought of staring at the same four walls any longer.

Magnus immediately volunteered to take him home and take care of him.

“Can you help me with this?” Alec calls from their bedroom, sounding disgruntled. As Magnus has learned in the past week, Alec hates asking for help. Really really hates it.

Given that he has no other choice, Magnus has been trying to make it as painless as possible. He finishes putting on his robe and walks out of the bathroom.

“What is it?”

Alec is sitting on the bed, stuck halfway through taking off his tee-shirt, with his still splinted arm getting in the way. His sling is lying on the bed beside him along with his pants. Magnus rushes over and simply banishes the tee-shirt, hand slipping underneath Alec’s arm to support it through the pressure change. “There,” he smiles.

“Thanks,” Alec grumbles. “I hate this.”

Magnus kneels in front of him and strokes his cheek. “I don’t,” he says.

Alec raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“I hate that you’re in pain,” Magnus elaborates. “But I’m really, really glad you’re alive. And I get to take care of you, which is a nice bonus.”

Alec leans into his touch, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry I scared you,” he says.

“Scared doesn’t cover it,” Magnus sighs. “For a while there, I—” he chokes on his words, the memory raw in his mind. “I thought I’d lost you. I thought you were dead and I realized that I’ve never loved like I love you. That I can’t lose you.”

“I feel like that, too,” Alec says.

Magnus bites his lip. “The life I’ve lived, Alec… I’ve learned that we can survive anything. The pain, it stays, but… We live on. When we got together, I knew that you were going to die one day, that I was setting myself up for a lot of pain, down the road. I fell in love with you and I decided that it was worth it. And then you died. And it was...worse than anything I’d imagined.”

Magnus feels a tear run down his cheek. Alec leans forward to rest his forehead against Magnus’, burying his hand in Magnus’ hair. “I don’t know what I feel about being immortal yet,” he says. “But I know that I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”

Magnus lets out something that sounds almost like a whimper. He’s not sure if it’s retrospective fear or relief. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you too,” Alec whispers. “I think...if I had been given the time to decide, the ability to choose...I’d have chosen to become immortal with you. To love you forever.”

“And now?” Magnus asks.

Alec stays silent for a moment, thinking. “I still get to do that,” he says. “It’s not my choice, and it’s going to be a little more...complicated, but I still get to be with you forever. And that’s an incredible gift.”

Magnus lets out a sob and leans forward to meet his mouth, kissing him gently. “Forever,” he murmurs.

[heathridgemanor]

hello ive posted another fic its second person prison fic set during the episode Hell’s Kitchen heres the link

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28686504

please read the notes at the start and if any content within the fic are going to effect you in any way please don’t read it

if you would like to read it here instead, it will be below the cut :)

Not cozy at all (hard to live) || spencer reid || 1234 words

tw: suicidal thoughts, blood.

Sickening yellow that makes you wish they were just the same concrete grey that surrounds you. The bars. You tried to explain this to Emily; she didn’t understand. She never does anymore. The bars, the table, the wooden plank disguised as a soft wall between them in visiting hours; it’s chipped away at her ability to understand you.

Just like it’s chipped away at your sense of self.

Reading to just for contentment, chess is a game of strategic violence to show anyone clever enough that you are just as ruthless as them. Journaling doesn’t help but your head hurts too much to keep everything inside.

You talk to Rossi about trust, about change, about-

Lockdown. This is your chance. You look back at Rossi.

You dig through concern and sadness and are thankful for the lack of pity until you find it. Love. Love for you as if you are his own. You let it burn into your mind because you are never going to see it again.

Not if you can’t figure out another way.

You’re back behind the pealing bars and they somehow look more attractive now that you know what is going to happen the next time you leave them behind for the laundry. Your cell block isn’t on lockdown, you will still be required to perform your duties and you wish your duties were profiling as it once was.

You can’t even try to profile the countless white shirts you fold beyond stripping away individuality as the prison system intended. It’s even before your anger overtakes you that you know you are too far gone.

Luis spent his final moments choking on his own blood, fear flooding his eyes as he was forced to stare up at the reason he was killed. You shouldn’t envy him.

But you do, because he is free from this hell.

That’s how you know you are too far gone. 

That’s why you give up trying to come up with another way.

“There’s only so far I can go.” Shaw said.

“So can I,” you replied, and you’re talking about how you can’t go and fight them with a shiv that was once a toothbrush, but you can prove everyone who told you that you wasted your chemistry PhD wrong.

You can’t think, your mind is blank when you need it most. Sickening yellow bleeds into your mind, pooling into an ocean deeper than any on Earth, and your thoughts become chained and anchored to the bottom.

Pull. Pull. You can’t. You can’t hold your thoughts up the way Atlas held the heavens.

You aren’t Atlas.

He endured his punishment, you are going to kill yours.

Revenge, protection; the motive doesn’t matter. If your heart wasn’t slowly dying it would hurt with the knowledge that your friends would still believe you were a good person. That you were doing what you had to.

You don’t have to do anything. You can just die instead.

Baking soda. Bleach. Bars. Your three new best friends cheer you on as you look over your shoulder. For the first time, you are glad Gideon and Hotch and Morgan left, because they are the three people who were the polar opposites of your new friends.

You never want them to know you let your fear and anger cloud your judgement.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You can almost imagine it’s raining.

They killed Luis. 

Brush. Brush. Brush. 

Snow off a road, it’s colder now.

They deserve it.

You put the snow back where you found it and as you deliver it to the men God sent to test you, you wonder if it He will send them after you, or if you are not even worth that much trouble. You are quiet when you return to your cell, and you can barely hear Shaw asking What the hell did you do?

He’ll find out soon enough, when the rusting yellow bars and the concrete grey cell is decorated with red and your broken body becomes a centerpiece. You ought to let that happen.

It doesn’t.

Instead you can’t decide if you are being faced with a wrathful God or a godless existence as you find Malcolm on the floor, choking on his own blood. So much like Luis. The only difference being the method.

You still killed them both by proxy. You are no better than the man who put you here. Maybe he was right to.

The guards shove you behind the chipping steel and you think the yellow has never looked as dull as it does now. After days, weeks, months, it doesn’t matter, of being trapped by those bars, they have never looked so dull.

“Bad batch,” you hear the warden answer your question and you would have laughed at the understatement if two-

Three-

Four-

Shaw wasn’t coughing up blood, decorating his cell with half the paint that should be on your own. Maybe between them they will cough up enough blood for you to do as you should without harm to yourself.

You don’t know what makes you feel worse: that, or the fact you only feel bad that none of the people who were poisoned were your two targets.

Targets.

You had targets. 

You hope Gideon was right when he said This will hit you, because maybe the guilt will give you absolution. Fingers softly grip at your face; they almost don’t feel like your own and for a moment you can’t remember how you got here.

The only reason you don’t start trying to wake yourself up is because you know you aren’t lucky enough for this to be a dream.

You let the bars embrace you. You let the baking soda and bleach congratulate you. You don’t fight, you stay quiet, you keep your head down. You don’t want to; you want to scream and shout and start a fight but you don’t because you let your anger out once already and-

The fallout.

You wonder what you did to Mr Scratch for this to be his way of playing with you, and the only possibility you can think of is that he forced Hotch to choose, and he chose you.

Just as you chose him.

Just as you chose to give in.

It does hit you in the end, even if they didn’t die. Every time you pass the infirmary you feel a stab in the fractured remains of your soul. The fog of fear and anger clears up and you do feel bad about hurting those men, but not as much as you should.

Maybe you always knew this was how it was going to be. After all, you did tell Rossi There’s a helplessness in here that causes people to do things they would never consider and helplessness was really the only way you could describe how you felt.

How you feel.

Maybe you didn’t mean to hurt Shaw and Malcom and the others, but you did.

You did.

That’s what matters in the end, even if your family won’t see it because they are blinded with love the same way as you were with anger and fear.

Night falls, lights out, and your last thought before the sickening yellow consumes you in a way it shouldn’t in the dark is of an old friend who killed a man.

You wonder what Elle Greenaway would think of you nearly killing seven.

[rokutouxei]

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 19 OF 22

-Sweetness of the dagger in the heart, up to the hilt Like a remorse. I'm not sure of dying.

- "Midnight Elegy", Léopold Sédar Senghor

--

interlude i

 --

It tastes a little more bitter than she thought it would be.

And she knows it’s not because of the leaving itself, but something else, that one thing she hadn’t dared address due to her overlapping fears. But time does not stop for anyone, so she is, instead, here. Standing in front of an open, semi-filled suitcase.

Going away for a year means packing enough clothes to last her through all the seasons, things she can style and re-style over and over efficiently. So she’s bringing her favorite clothes: a maroon turtleneck, her favorite plaid plants, the white blouse she wears all the time in the summer, her coat…

Her hands ghost over the fabric of the folded yellow dress she’s about to pack in but—

Something about yellow doesn’t sit right with her anymore.

Whatever. She doesn’t have to put it in yet. Or ever. Besides, it’s not like she’ll be done packing today, there are still some clothes in the laundry she ought to bring with her, and stuff she brought for repairs, and—

She’s just not ready to go quite yet.

So when Dazai invites her to join him and Arthur on a road trip, she says yes without thinking.

It’s a good deal, anyway—she only has to split the costs of gas and food, and Dazai and Arthur are shouldering the rest of the costs. (Where they got the money, she doesn’t know.) They said it’s their little treat, to wish her good luck with her trip abroad. They’re going south to a little-known beach destination. But it’s not just the three of them; Isaac’s not on campus right now—due to a conference or a seminar of some sort—but he promised he would follow them to the area once it was over.

They were set to stay for three nights. Arthur and Dazai promise that while they’ll be staying in the same hotel, they’ll get a suite that assures that both she and Isaac have entirely different rooms from theirs. She makes a face at them that makes them laugh, but soon enough, they’ve piled into Dazai’s rented car and are on their way three hours from campus.

It’s two weeks before she’s leaving for her exchange program and time feels slow.

They get there late in the afternoon, the sun just about to set; just in time to relax a little before the dinner buffet opens. At the latter end of the trip, Dazai had begun to sing praises non-stop about the food. Arthur also kept mentioning the view. Which would be exciting, if they weren’t being so handsy with each other that it was hard to figure out if they were talking about the resort or each other. The suite they had gotten with three rooms and a shared living space was rather beautiful, with a balcony that led right into the beachside.

Arthur and Dazai stumble backward onto their shared room with their mouths locked onto each other, and she exits the door at the back to look out the view.

She’s moving to a town by the seaside in fourteen days, and she’s lived in the city for so long it’s hard to imagine what it would be like to live in a place like this for longer than a vacation. The sharehouse she’d managed to get for herself was only a train ride or two to the beach, as well, so this kind of view, with the endless sea, the deep orange-red of the setting sun—is soon to become common.

It fills her with delight and—

Also fear.

But there’s not much time to think about it because soon, it’s time for dinner, and Dazai’s put on an Aloha shirt with a questionable design and—oh dear, Arthur has too. The linen blouse she’s got on has nothing in comparison to the loudness her friends are wearing, and somehow it’s just right.

Dazai is correct in saying that the food is good, and they stuff themselves to bursting with all the seafood and vegetables they can muster. She hadn’t imagined there would be this many kinds of edible seaweed, and how delicious they can be with the right mix of a salad. Then, there’s even a little song and dance presentation by a local cultural group—the kind that invited the audience to join in. Of course, Arthur and Dazai join in. She takes all the videos and photos she is physically able to, two phones in her hands and a camera on the table.

For a good portion of the three hours they spend half-eating, half-talking at the cafeteria, she forgets all that she is worried about.

Like it’s getting taken away by the sea.

The next morning, the three of them join a little tour group to go snorkeling at a nearby island. She admits to not being the most proficient swimmer—and also to a little fear of the open ocean—so Dazai and Arthur take turns to hold her hand and be by her side. They point at beautifully colored corals and swarms of fishes dashing in between their legs. The sea is not that scary when someone you know will not leave you is by your side. That no matter how far you go from the shore, you are still anchored down. At some point, Arthur gets stung by a jellyfish he’d missed to evade, and whines about it on the boat all the way back—Dazai promises to kiss it better. She pretends to be seasick. It’s all in good fun.

She doesn’t catch Dazai looking carefully at every expression she makes.

One group of tourists also in the same resort come knocking at their door around lunchtime, once they’ve gotten back. The group asks them if they’d like to join them in a little grill party because they’ve ordered too much food. Arthur offers to bring soda and alcohol in exchange, and so for a good portion of the afternoon, they’re sitting by the beachside under the shade of umbrellas munching on some grilled seafood and meat. It’s a large group that both Dazai and Arthur socialize with easily, while she guards their little spot. A young woman with dark black hair and stunning brown eyes tries to seek her company, but she politely declines, and she shuffles off back to the crowd with a little disappointment.

She’d rather be with someone else. But it’s all for the better that he isn’t with them, anyway. She knows that.

Isaac arrives later that day, the shadow of a storm in his eyes, just shortly after they’ve eaten their dinner. With one look, it becomes obvious to the three of them that Isaac will be severely overdressed. He looks great in it, sure, but a neatly-pressed button-down shirt paired with slacks and matching dress shoes aren’t exactly what you wear to the beach.

(“Of course that’s what he has, Arthur, he came from a conference.”

“Conference schmonference. What kind of man doesn’t have at least one pair of shorts and a T-shirt when he’s on a trip.”

“It is not professional, and I will not be wearing my sleepwear to the beach, Arthur.”

“Now, now, boys,” Dazai says, but she knows by the tone of his voice that he’s not up to any good, either. “I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out for our dear Isaac here.”)

The four of them end up watching a movie that night—Enola Holmes, her insistence—and maybe they watched another one, but she was asleep by the tail end of the first one to have even noticed. It is Isaac who carries her to bed. He’s only been here for a few hours at that point, but—sometimes she gets so deep into her head that she doesn’t notice how obviously it shows; in the bags under her eyes, in the way she holds herself upright—or not at all. And her friends are her friends for a reason.

The next day, they get into action.

She’s just gotten out of bed when Arthur comes back into the suite with a handful of flyers, saying that there’s going to be a surfing instructor down the beach. After some bayside breakfast—room service, because they can; she is so suspicious of Arthur right now, how many of the hotel staff had he seduced to get all this lavish treatment?—and a bit of rest, the four of them make the trek to the instructor’s place, nearby where the seaside shops are.

She and Arthur elbow each other all the way to the seaside, carrying their rented boards whispering to each other about how the instructor is “admittedly-actually-not-that-bad-and-maybe-if-I-were-a-little-less-sober-pretty-attractive.” Dazai and Isaac hang out by the beachside, having bought a pair of the most delicious in-season mango shakes they have ever had, lying on some reclining chairs.

Surfing, as it seems, is not as easy as it looks like, and the grace that comes with riding over waves taller than you is one that is learned by falling over and over again. It doesn’t take long for her to get soaked, sinking into the water with each unbalanced stance, the sea overpowering her. But she comes up laughing anyway. It is nice to feel small when the world is daunting. Arthur is there for every wave that crests. He watches her break the surface, grinning as she gasps for air with the stupidest “I fucked up again!” acceptance smile filling her face.

After the hour and a half they spent with the trainer who was a little too patient with her to be entirely uninterested, not giving up on her even when all hope seemed lost (she got to do it at least twice; that counts, doesn’t it?), she and Arthur head to where Dazai and Isaac are. They only turn for a split second to grin at each other, their cheeks pink from sunburn, when they both hear the unmistakable sound of Isaac yelling “DAZAI!” with as much shock and disappointment he can muster before—

Well, before the sound of the crashing waves get to him.

She sees it in slow-motion, Isaac heading face-first into the ocean.

And then there is only a smug-looking Dazai—who has the audacity to say, “Oh no, are you okay, Ai-chan?”—before throwing the spare (now, apparently, rather purposefully-brought) towel onto Isaac’s dripping form. And it’s silly because they know, they saw, but they pretend they didn’t, she and Arthur rushing in to ask, “What happened?”, trying to not reveal the snicker rising up their throats.

Dazai’s version goes like this: Isaac had taken a misstep, because he wasn’t paying attention, and had tripped over Dazai’s foot, which caused Dazai to jolt and accidentally push Isaac into the just-cresting wave.

Isaac’s version goes like this: Dazai pushed him into the water.

And that’s how the four of them end up heading to the seaside shops nearby, Dazai “apologizing” by giving Isaac an Aloha shirt that greatly matches all of that which he had brought with him on the trip. (He gets her one too as an added excuse that it’s a “group souvenir.”)

When Isaac frowns at himself in the mirror, donning the green shirt adorned with pines and waves, bright yellows and browns and oranges—she comes up to him and says, “thank you for joining us,” which in Isaac speak already means all she wants him to know.

The way Isaac sighs is full of friendship.

They find a small shack nearby later to have some late lunch: local delicacies of chicken and shrimp. Dazai hums a song excitedly as he prepares to scarf down on his food, and the lovely owner of the small place points them to a nearby karaoke parlor—which was, coincidentally, empty of customers.

Isaac is just about to say “please don’t” when the three agree to go spend some time there before taking the walk back to the resort.

Dazai and Arthur sing love songs to each other so fervently it’s hard to figure out if they’re being serious or are just good actors. She belts out all her favorite songs until her throat feels hoarse. They even got Isaac to sing, much to his chagrin. The owners of the parlor were thoroughly amused. It is only five too many songs later, the sun about an hour from setting, when they begin to walk home.

The beachside here allows visitors to take shells they would like to pick up, but ask they only pick a reasonable amount of—well, one each person. So she’s walking with her head down, Dazai next to her, looking for her most precious single shell to take back with her to the university.

Arthur and Isaac are walking ahead of them, meters out of earshot. As she gets up from inspecting another shell on the beach—not quite what she wants yet—Dazai turns to her with a serious look on his face.

“How’s your head?”

She could pretend to not know what he meant about it—and, she had actually hit her head on a beam earlier, but only lightly—but there is no escaping when Dazai puts on that tone of his voice.

Instead, she answers, “Is this what this is all about?”

Dazai shrugs. “And if it is?”

“Then I love you,” she adds, to which Dazai grins. He pats her gently on top of the head before she crouches back down onto the sand, brushing away to reveal a white shell streaked with purple.

Dazai looks away from her and up to the wide horizon; the sun reflecting its orange light onto the water. “I really think you ought to talk to him about it.”

“I don’t know if I should,” she admits, clutching the shell in between her fingers, observing its shape. “I mean at this point, what else is there to say?”

“Do you not want to tell him about this?”

“No,” she says, rather surely. Even if she doesn’t know which this she is referring to.

Dazai remains quiet for only a moment. Just enough for her to take another look at the shell in her hand and put it back down onto the sand. She wants to take it with her but it doesn’t feel right, not this one. It feels like it belongs to the sea. She stands up and begins to walk once more. Dazai follows a step behind her.

“Isn’t it unfair that you want him to reach out to you but you’re not willing to do the opposite?”

“I—”

When Dazai calls out her name, she knows he is serious. He rarely calls out her name—and when they first met, it was because they kept forgetting each other’s names. Now, when the syllables of it fall out of Dazai’s mouth, she knows he is serious. Her heart feels tight, like it has curled instinctively into itself as a response.

She looks up at Dazai with a face like she’s pleading, begging, asking him to make it better.

And Dazai asks:

“Are you more scared of the uncertainty? Or the rejection?”

--

The four of them wake up early the following morning to catch the sunrise on their last day at the resort. It’s not much—the sun is on the wrong side—but there’s something about coffee (Arthur’s blend; a recipe he wouldn’t dare tell anyone) in the early morning while watching the sky turn blue. They share that quiet, companionable silence that’s nothing but comfort.

She’s a hundred percent sure that she’s going to miss this.

They stay only long enough to have breakfast and finish packing up before they all pile into the car and make the drive home. Arthur’s got full control of the AUX cord (“Boyfriend rights!” “You are not his boyfriend though?” “Basically-boyfriend rights!”) and they get to listen to him belt every single lyric out in the small, enclosed space. They arrive at the campus a bit past noon, and they have one last lunch together before they go their separate ways. Dazai drives them back to their places. And when he lifts her little duffel bag out of the trunk and handed it to her, he makes sure to give her a look.

The kind that said, “you know what you have to do; so stop being afraid of it.”

The truth is, she thinks, as she’s climbing up the stairs, she’s not that scared of doing it at all. She’s scared that it won’t mean the same to him as it does to her. That it will all hang in the balance and it will be worth more to her than it will be to him, and then they will be separated just like that.

So what is it? Is she scared that he will deny her? Or is she scared that she doesn’t know how he’ll react?

Theo is a great friend. Theo has always been a great friend. Sure, he’s been a little rough on the edges, and sure, maybe he was mean to her in the beginning, but—all those insightful conversations, all the time he didn’t hesitate in lending to her when she wanted company, wanted a friend… Theo has been nothing but good to her. Sure, they’ve had fights, and maybe they don’t agree in all the things, literary or otherwise, and maybe there were things she knows he can improve on but—

He has been good.

And she knows if she lets him, he will continue to be good to her.

She just doesn’t know if he wants to do it any longer.

Once she gets to her room she sorts her laundry into the proper baskets, and brings them downstairs to the coin laundry machines to run them. She spots the little hardbound e.e. cummings book on her counter and ignores it. She drops the clothes onto the machine and pours detergent, closes the lid, and lets it spin. When she gets back upstairs, she closes the door with a gentle click. Heads to her bedroom to take a nap while the machine runs and—

Finds the yellow dress she’d left behind while she was packing for the trip, the one she didn’t have the heart to wear. The one she didn’t want to.

But what does she have to lose now? When there are only days, only hours? And the words that are left unsaid only keep growing?

She checks the time on the clock on her wall. Thinks about what Dazai has told her. What the four days away from the only city she’s ever known has told her.

She takes another look at the yellow dress.

Thinks of him.

Thinks of the rooftop waiting for them.

[tenspontaneite]

Boundless (Chapter 1/?)

A powerful arcanum needs a powerful outlet. Where none exists, magic will create one, or kill you trying.

Callum’s human body isn’t enough to withstand the boundless power of the Sky Primal. But magic always finds a way.

(Or: Callum gains the Sky Arcanum, and swiftly thereafter begins to grow wings.)

(Chapter length: ~8k. Ao3 Link)

Preword: For the record, I’ve been planning this story since s2, and wrote this chapter and most of the next in the week following the 10th October. I have edited this chapter by a very small amount to make it align more fully with s3 canon, mainly for descriptions of early season scenery. If s3 made you hungry for wingfic, you’ve come to the right place!

Story warnings: I’m a lot more into wing and feather biology than a lot of wingfic authors are, and also I believe in making my characters pay for their goodies. As such, this story starts off much more ‘body horror’ than ‘glorious magic materialisation of wings’. As the story progresses, it’ll go into significant detail about wing-related anatomy and biology.

Chapter warnings: Blood, pain, body horror. Edging into gore territory for some of it, though it’s relatively short-lived. Also, milder warnings for suffocation and emetophobia.

 —

The first time Callum cast aspiro by virtue of his own arcanum, it was living triumph. A culmination of all the thought and fear and inadequacy that had chased him through the week, and the realisation of what his deathly dream had taught him. The magic of the Sky was around him and within him and everywhere, and as he cast his spell it settled like a spark into his heart. He felt it every breath thereafter, every second, with every gust on the cliffside and glimpse of the blue-above shivering through him like another kind of life.

It settled into his blood like the air did, it coursed through his bones and flesh and sinew – the Sky was a part of him and he was a part of the Sky, the understanding of it sinking deeper and deeper with every minute that passed. By the time he’d said farewell to his brother, the arcanum was as viscerally-rooted in him as his own skeleton, a precious and irrevocable part of him; a channel that opened him up to the vast and boundless magic of the Sky.

He and Rayla and Zym walked to the Breach, and if he noticed the ache in his back, he thought nothing of it. After all, hadn’t he spent hours today convalescent upon hard stone? It was only to be expected.

—

The second time Callum cast aspiro from his own breath and magic, it was amidst heat and urgency and the dread of a rising sun. The magic surged in him as he spoke and wrote and breathed, the feeling of it effervescent and electric at once, crackling in his blood and bubbling through every inch of him. It ached. It burned, too, but wasn’t that just the heat of the Breach? He worried more about directing the wind-gust from his lips, and watching Zym’s wings catch the air like twin sails, and seeing how great a shadow a young dragon could cast.

And when they were safely across, and Callum and Rayla threw their arms around each other from the pure relief of it, her arms around his shoulders were startlingly painful. Like pressure against a livid bruise. But the adrenaline of their success was enough to forestall the flinch, and she noticed nothing.

But when they drew apart, Zym cheerful and victorious between them, the ache at his shoulders didn’t leave. As though Rayla’s touch had wakened it, or perhaps awakened him to it, and it became insistent enough that he paid it notice he hadn’t earlier.

“You alright?” Rayla asked, as she showed him along the canyon-paths into Xadia, as he twisted his hands behind his back to pat cautiously at his shoulders.

They hurt, to the touch. Sharp and raw, like the worst bruises he’d ever had. Like blistering skin. “…My back is kinda sore.” He admitted, with a light frown. “Maybe I bruised it, or something.”

She blinked at him with a glimmer of concern. “…Well, hopefully that’s just from sleeping funny on a cave floor.” She offered. “Or maybe you hit yourself during your dramatic collapse earlier.”

He eyed her, fingers lingering on the fabric over his shoulders. “Dramatic collapse?” he repeated, uncomprehending.

Rayla averted her eyes. “When you…unchained the dragon.” She elaborated, and didn’t say when you used dark magic, and he knew at her expression that she hadn’t quite forgiven him for that.

“…Maybe.” He agreed, uncomfortable, and thought of the way the power of it had swept through him, heady and dark and burning. How empty he’d felt afterwards; hollowed-out and aching, like an empty husk.

Sky magic didn’t feel like that. His second aspiro had ached too, but not like the hollowness of the dark. Not like everything beneath his skin had been scooped out. More like…the magic had put too much back in. As if there was too large a force for too small a space, and his skin couldn’t quite hold it. He wondered, for a fretful moment, if the power of the Sky was too vast for him. If even the barest spark of it that was his arcanum was stifled in his too-human flesh.

Rayla watched him, unusually sombre, for a few more seconds. Then she reached out to pull his hand from his shoulder, and tugged him onwards by the fingers. “Come on, stop messing with it.” She said, deliberately light-hearted. “If you’ve hit your back you won’t do it any favours by picking at it.”

“I’m not exactly picking at it.” He complained at her, but allowed himself to be pulled unresisting further into the Xadian borderlands, where the canyon-tunnels widened out into the bright glow of red rock beneath the sun, where that same sun gleamed upon something gold and glittering and huge-

“Welcome to Xadia!” Rayla said, and when she saw him staring, turned to follow his gaze. Like him, she saw the immense shining form of the Archdragon, stopped short, stared with perhaps more horror and less awe than he did. “Oh no,” She breathed, utterly dismayed. “It’s him. It’s Sol Regem.”

And then they were entirely too busy figuring out how to bypass a dragon to worry about his back.

(The third aspiro, wielded against Sol Regem, might well have burned, and might well have seared; but there was no room around their desperate attempts to escape for him to notice it. If he was aware of the pain, it was in a very distant way, far-removed from the far more immediate issue of their survival. They passed into Xadia, and neither commented on the spell that had saved them.)

—

Later, when they were together and more-or-less unharmed past the gauntlet of a former-King, there was a little more space to breathe. A little more space to feel the Sky brimming up against his skin, to feel the breath almost too-deep in his lungs, like there was too much of it, like the air was filling him up like a balloon and he’d burst any second-

He only noticed that he’d fallen when Rayla caught him, his scarf still a vibrant streak of red about her neck. “Callum!” She said, alarmed, as she insinuated herself under one of his arms to hold him up. She put her arm around his shoulders to complete the support – and at the slightest pressure against his back, he cried out in pain. She released him as though burned, and then barely managed to catch him before he crumpled fully to the ground. “Callum,” She repeated, when all he did was breathe in quick shallow bursts, rather than answer. “What’s wrong? Is it your back?”

He was too-full of air, too-full of magic. He’d burst. He couldn’t breathe, but he had to. Near to hyperventilating, he sucked in more and more and more of the Sky with every second, and felt it brimming in his flesh, swelling his lungs, and it hurt. “No,” He managed, after another several conspicuous gasps. “I mean – yes – but not-“ He had to break off for another half minute, torn to pieces between the feeling that he couldn’t breathe and the utterly paradoxical sensation of his lungs filled past their capacity. The primal panic of breathlessness was a far more immediate thing than the searing pain on his back, though, and so much harder to resist. “Can’t breathe.” He said to her, when he found enough space between suffocating and bursting to speak.

He barely had the presence of mind to see the worry written all over her as she ran her eyes over him as if to inspect him for signs of damage. “Haven’t you suffocated enough for one day?” She asked him, with some asperity, as if it could disguise the fear in her eyes. “I hope you’re not planning on making a habit of this.” Gently, she pressed fingers against a point on his wrist, perhaps to feel the hummingbird-pace of his heart.

Callum tried to laugh, and the requisite loss of breath left him spluttering for long painful moments. “Sorry,” he said, once he had found some equilibrium again, and then descended once more into gasping, sucking in air as if there was none left in the Sky. But there was. There was so much breath, too much, too much to hold-

“Dumb prince.” She muttered to him, worried but achingly fond. She supported him upright, so that he was sitting up, and held him there, a hand on each of his shoulders, carefully away from his back. “Callum. Look at me.” She said, with such sudden command that his frantic breath stilled for a second, just to look at her. He stared at her as she stared back at him, and clung to the eye contact like a lifeline in the tide of breathless panic. “…Good.” She nodded, a little, and he abruptly realised that he wasn’t gasping so desperately now. The breathlessness was a constant pressure, though, and as he noticed it he started wheezing again – Rayla shook him, and the surprise of it stilled him again. “Just breathe.” She told him, in a way that was by now terribly familiar.

Hadn’t he heard it, drowning in the dream-state? Hadn’t he heard her? Hadn’t he heard the words from her lips, before he heard them from his mother’s? “…Trying,” he managed, still caught in the eye contact like a ship to its anchor.

“I know.” She said. “Just…try to breathe more slowly. Deeper, I guess.”

He tried. It was hard when the gasps kept bursting into his attempts at deep, steadying breaths. Harder when the pressure of breathlessness increased, even as the pressure of too-much-air decreased. The former was harder to bear than the latter – suffocation was death, but pain was only pain.

…But, by the sharp and tearing ache in his chest, he was reminded that some pains did lead to death. His lungs felt too-full. Like they really would burst.

He breathed through the panic, and did not suffocate, and did not rupture.

When his breathing was into more of a normal rhythm, and he seemed calmer, Rayla relaxed a little and lowered her hands from their urgent place on his shoulders. He managed to keep himself upright, and appreciated it more than he could say when she took and squeezed one of his hands. “Is it the dark magic again?” She asked him, after a moment, and he had breath enough to speak.

He closed his eyes, just briefly, and felt the Sky brimming beneath his skin. “No.” he said, shaking his head, vehement. “It’s not – it’s the Sky magic.” In the new sense of calm, Zym finally found space to insinuate himself between them, settling his front paws into Callum’s lap and looking up at him with wide worried eyes. He lowered his other hand to the dragonling’s mane, and felt a little calmer at the contact.

He could feel the Sky beneath his fingers. It was in Zym, too, but…settled, in a way it wasn’t with him. It belonged.

“The Sky magic?” Rayla repeated, after a second, clearly startled. “But – why? It’s Primal magic – it’s…natural.”

Water was natural, too. But it could still drown you.

He shook his head, almost more to clear the thought than as a response to her. “It’s too much.” He said, and then shuddered at expressing it. “It’s like – I’m filling up with Sky magic, and – and there’s no way out for it, and I’m just…” He raised the hand from Zym’s mane to wave frustratedly in the air. His voice trembled worse than his fingers. “It feels like I’m going to explode. I – I don’t think humans are made for Primal magic, Rayla.” His heart sped again, this time in a different fear, and she stared back at him with a furrowed brow. “I – I think I’ve really messed up.”

Having spoken the words onto the air, they felt too real. What if he’d messed with something he shouldn’t? What if – what if the dark magic was only the first thing he shouldn’t have touched, what if humans just weren’t meant to use Primal magic, what if he’d bitten off more than he could chew and – what if it killed him?

This moment he lingered in, caught between breathlessness and bursting…he couldn’t keep it up, surely. Either he’d suffocate or he’d explode, and it was all his fault. His fault for grasping at something he was never meant to hold.

“Try casting a spell.” She said, after a moment, and the words were such a shock against his thoughts that they practically gave him whiplash.

“What?” He demanded, breathing picking up again, even as he tried to calm it down. “I say I’m full of too much magic, and your solution is more magic?”

She stared back at him, unrepentant. “Spells use magic, right?” She pointed out. “Maybe casting a spell or two will let off the pressure.”

Callum blinked. “That’s….” He frowned. “That’s actually a pretty good idea.”

Rayla rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t sound so surprised.” She huffed. “Just cast your spell, alright?”

He considered her, and then considered the spell he hadn’t tried casting since the Primal Stone broke. The most powerful spell he knew. He nodded, slowly, and exhaled like it could relieve the pressure in him, and shuffled away. His fingers parted from hers, and still sitting, he raised them to draw in the air, the opposite direction from her. “Fulminis,” He said, with the breath he had, and the magic…changed.

It had been building in him, swelling in him, as aimless and merciless as water straining at a dam. There had been too much of it to sit in his blood, too much to fit in his lungs, and it had hurt. Too much breath, too much air, with nowhere to go.

The spell awakened it. That aimless, ruthless pressure went hot and bright and fast, like the sear of a lightning-flash against unprepared eyes, and the unleashed magic screamed through him with terrible purpose. It shrieked from his fingers, incandescent and sparking, and cracked through the Sky to shatter the quiet like glass. And then – in that moment-

His hands flinched back from the dissipating rune as if from fire, and flew to his shoulders. He gasped with pain, and hunched forwards the better to reach it, to feel something roiling beneath his skin, the lingering magic burning there like it had burned out of his fingers. Like it had unleashed itself upon some other conduit than a spell.

“Callum?” Rayla spoke, worried, when all he did was pat frantically at the searing pain on his back. “…Did it work?”

Was he imagining it? Was it just that his back was sore and swollen and the skin felt huge with the pain of it? Was it just his imagination?

“Callum.” She pressed, a second later, impatient enough that his head jerked over to look at her.

“Huh?” he thought. “I mean – yeah, kinda? But-“ The pressure that had built in him had released, in a way. He could feel it building again already, but – not all of that magic had gone into the spell. For a second – for a second, it had felt like – and now his back felt – but surely he was just imagining things.

…Well, there was one way to find out.

“…Could you, um, feel here for a second?” He requested, awkwardly, fingers still hovering over the pain on his back. “But – carefully.”

Her eyes flickered between his hands and his eyes, wary, but she leaned forwards, reaching out. He moved his hand to let hers pat gingerly at the spot over his shoulder-blade, and-

Any hope he’d had of it just being his imagination was soundly dashed the second her hand shot away again, eyes flying wide-open with shock. “What is that?” She demanded, in a strangled voice, nearly squashing Zym’s tail with how quickly she retreated.

He deflated. “I don’t know.” He admitted, a new fear beating in his chest. “It’s…I think it’s why my back is hurting.”

“There’s something on your back.” She told him, stridently, as if he hadn’t just figured that out for himself. “Is it – some sort of, I don’t know – did you break your shoulder, or something?”

For a second he entertained the brief and bloody image of a spur of broken bone jutting through his skin, and shuddered. “I think I’d have noticed that, Rayla.”

Her eyes moved from him to do a cautious sweep of their surroundings, and she exhaled. “We’ll need to take a look at it.” She said. “But…maybe we should try to find a good place to camp, first. If you’re injured…”

He grimaced. They had very little in the way of supplies, which had been okay up till now, but none of them had got hurt up to now either. “Yeah.”

“Can you walk?” She asked, quick and practical, and he considered himself.

He felt…okay. His back hurt badly enough now that it seared through him in bursts of pain that…pulsed, almost, like he could feel his heartbeat in the swelling over his shoulder-blades. But the pressure of too-much-magic and too-much-air was, for the most part, gone. He felt quite sure it’d be coming back, but….

“Yeah.” He answered, eventually, and rose to his feet.

She rose with him, and gave him a quick look-over before nodding. “Alright.” She said. “Let’s go.”

—

It took a while to find somewhere suitable to stop. The dry, dusty canyons of the borderlands began to give way to red rock studded with greenery, little waterfalls coursing down the vast cliffsides. In the distance, he could see the edges of a vast forest, but by mutual decision they made no attempt to reach it that day.

Instead, they settled for a sheltered little hollow in the rock, close enough to a river that he could hear the water burbling someway off towards the forest. By that time, though, the pain of the something on Callum’s back had magnified considerably, and he was gasping and wincing every time he moved. Every step felt like it jolted the searing, swollen agony that was building there, enough to send shocks of pain through much of his body. The fabric of his clothing over the skin felt too-rough, abrasive, and the whole area burned.

When at last Rayla ordered him to sit down and get his shirt off, he was almost too relieved at the prospect of – of removing the abrasion, finding out what was on his back – to be embarrassed.

Almost.

With Rayla’s help, he peeled off his jacket, gingerly enough to not pull unduly at the now very pronounced distension of his upper back. Then his shirt went too – and with only the thin undershirt in the way, it was evidently concerning enough to look at that Rayla cursed quietly. And then, feeling increasingly chilly and increasingly exposed, Callum divested himself of his undershirt, and understood the severity of whatever was going on by how utterly silent Rayla went.

“…What does it look like?” He asked her, once the fear of not-knowing had surpassed the fear of knowing, and the silence had stretched too long. “Rayla?” He prompted, anxiously, when she didn’t reply.

Very gently, she reached out and touched her fingers to the inflamed skin on his upper back. He flinched and jumped a little at the touch, her fingers almost startlingly cold on the burn of it. “….There’s something sort of…pushing up underneath your skin.” She said, after a moment, with the barest tremble in her voice. “In two places. Here,” Her fingers drifted, touching skin that wasn’t quite so painful, and then over to something that seared. “And here. Kind of….a little to the up and middle of your shoulder-blades, stretching down to here, on both sides.” Her fingers moved again, carefully gentle, and trailed a line down to maybe the middle of his torso. “It…looks pretty symmetrical.”

When she stopped talking, the silence resumed. He wasn’t at all sure what to say, and had to fight off the fear that gripped at his throat and made him feel increasingly breathless, increasingly – oh, but no, that was the…Sky-magic-thing, wasn’t it? He shivered, feeling the magic building in him closer and closer to that strange crisis point he’d reached earlier, not quite yet enough to hurt yet, but enough to make him want to gulp in air like he was drowning. And that was a thought, wasn’t it. “My back got worse when I used fulminis.” He admitted, a little hoarsely. “It was – almost like I could feel something moving. On my back.” He shuddered, all over, at the revulsion of the sense-memory.

She hesitated. “I’m…going to try pressing on it a little, alright? See if I can get any clues about what it is.”

He gritted his teeth, and nodded, bracing himself. “…Okay.” He said, grimly. “Do it.”

He exhaled roughly through his nose, stifling a cry, as she palpated one of the unnatural masses under his skin. It was unbelievably painful. It was beyond anything he’d ever felt. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on what she was saying, when she began to speak. “It’s…solid.” She informed him, voice a little choked. “Not just…bloody swelling or soft tissue or anything. I’m pretty sure there’s bone in there.” She prodded a little harder at one point, near the top end of a shoulder blade, where the distension was worst. “And there’s something at the top here, on both sides. Something sort of…a little pointy, poking at your skin.” She paused. “On the left, actually, there’s two little pointy spots.”

He shuddered, half with horror and half with pain. “What is it?” He asked at last, desperate, even though he knew she hadn’t any more idea than he did.

“…I don’t know.” She confessed, quiet, and drew her fingers away. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

He’d known that would be the answer. But it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

—

She located the nearby river, and brought him to its edge to make him drink. Then, carefully, she slathered cool-wet river silt against the hot agony of his back. It helped, a little, but not enough.

It was at least warm enough in the Xadian borderlands that it wasn’t too cold to go shirtless for such a long time, but when he’d tried to put a shirt back on, the pressure against the growing things under his skin was too much to bear. And they were growing. Rayla said she could practically see it, hour to hour, stretching his skin out until red-raw lines were drawn upwards to the peaks of the swelling. It felt like his skin was tearing every time he so much as moved a muscle, and she admitted that she wouldn’t be surprised if it really did start tearing soon.

Callum had thought, after that spell earlier, that the horror of his back was related in some way to the Sky Magic. It made him dread the way that the energy built up in his blood, the way his lungs started feeling too-full again, too full to breathe. He lingered on the edge of the suffocation, gasping frantically again, until Rayla clutched at his hand and said “Just cast another spell, Callum. It helped last time.”

“Last time,” He huffed, light-headed and fearful, “it made my back worse. Don’t want-“ He paused to gasp in six more frantic breaths. “Don’t want to get worse again.”

She shifted, uncertainly. “It…might not be because of that.” She said, though she didn’t sound especially convinced by even her own words. “It could be something else.”

He snorted amidst the feeling of his lungs straining, straining almost as much as the distended skin of his back. Tearing and stretching and- “Like what?”

“…Dark magic?” She suggested, though only half-heartedly. “That’s actually unnatural.”

“I think I’d have-“ He gulped air. “I’d have noticed if – Lord Viren – or Claudia – turned into – hunchbacks, Rayla.“

She watched him gasp, increasingly anxious, and finally snapped “Callum, you can’t breathe. Even if it does make your back worse – you have to cast something!”

He didn’t answer, and remained steadfast in his avoidance for about another minute of gasping for breath around straining lungs before he got light-headed and faint enough to agree with her. Torn two-ways by fear, he raised a finger and drew aspiro. He barely had enough breath to whisper it, but it was enough. The terrible over-pressure of breath and magic gusted out of him, potentiated into the purpose of the spell, rushing through his body and – and out three channels. One, his mouth, breathing the spell, and the other two-

The pain leapt and tore and burned.

Something gave way.

He wasn’t aware of much more than screaming, the seconds after he cast the spell, but when he regained some measure of awareness….the pressure of the magic was quiescent again, and…the pressure in his back had lessened, just a little, too. There was something warm dripping down his spine.

“…Okay, you’re right, it’s definitely the Sky magic doing it.” Rayla said, voice tight, and he realised that she’d been squeezing one of his hands the whole time.

“…My back,” he started, a little numbly, and tried to use his other hand to reach behind, to feel… “I’m – am I bleeding?”

She hesitated, nodded, and then dropped his hand to go have a better look. “The poking-bits have…” She swallowed, looking a little green, and turned aside for a few seconds to suppress a gag. “Well, they’ve gone through your skin, now. They’re…pointy. Whatever’s under your skin is bigger, too.”

He closed his eyes, and drew his fingers away from his back bloodied at the tips. “…right.”

Rayla had to take several more deep calming breaths before she could investigate further. “At least we’re next to a river.” She said, determinedly, and ushered him to the water again. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

True to her words, she cleaned the blood from his back, of which there was quite a lot, draining from the blood-swollen tissues around the distension. With some of the pressure relieved, it…actually hurt a fair bit less, but it was still awful. And then, with the bleeding stopping, and his back clean, Rayla made her assessment of what had poked through his skin.

“There’s four. I think?” She said, poking at each of them in turn. “Small. Black and sharp. They look like claws.” She hesitated, and poked at the swelling behind the claw-things. “I think they’re on…I don’t know, fingers? Two on each side. And something underneath.” She frowned, and prodded something a little more purposefully. He felt something under his skin move aside from the pressure, and he shuddered. “…Definitely something underneath these.” She concluded.

He was silent for a while, processing that. “So, what.” He said, finally. “Am I growing a couple of weird clawed extra arms, or something?”

“Arms,” She muttered, almost scornful, and leaned away to shuffle around to his side again. “Honestly, Callum, if it wasn’t for the claws – and for them being all the way up on your shoulders-“ She stopped.

He eyed her, curiosity piqued, despite the ongoing pain. “What?”

Rayla frowned. “Sky elves.” She said, without preamble. “Skywing elves. Some of them have wings, you know.”

He stilled, and it felt like his heart stilled too.

“…But they have their wings lower down – sort of mid-back, underneath their shoulders and arms. And they don’t have claws on them.” She exhaled. “And they’re born with them, anyway, so – it’s not like-“ She waved her hands towards his back, very expressively.

Callum stared at her, his gut uncertain whether it was twisting or fluttering. “…I wasn’t born with an arcanum.” He reminded her. “But I got one anyway.”

She sighed, looking as uncertain as he’d ever seen her. “I get your point.” She said. “And I suppose it would make more sense for you to be growing wings because of Sky magic than – than some weird clawed arms. But it’s – it’s not normal, Callum. I don’t know what’s happening to you.” She sounded almost hopeless, at that. Afraid.

Unthinkingly, he clutched at her hand again. Squeezed it to reassure her, for once. “…well, whatever it is, we’ll probably find out soon.” He said, uncertain how he quite felt about that. “It’s been, what, half a day since I got my arcanum? It’s going fast.”

She glanced at him, side-long. “Magic speeds it up.” She noted, and he went still again at the implication.

“…You want to make it go even faster?” He said, aghast.

She shrugged. “Not want, but…it’s probably an option.” Her eyes slid over his shoulders again. “Where those claws came through…it’s healing quickly. Magic-fast, even. If you keep waiting until you need to cast a spell again…you’ll probably just keep tearing your back open.”

He shifted uncertainly. “I don’t know, Rayla. Maybe it’d be faster to just…cast a load of spells and get it over with – whatever it is, but…” He shuddered, at the mere thought of it. How much would it hurt, to have his skin roil and tear and peel away as the things on his back grew and grew and tore their way out of his skin all at once?

Rayla watched him, anxious but sympathetic, and squeezed his hand back. “…Let’s go to sleep, then.” She said, finally, glancing up at the growing gloom of the evening. “See how it looks in the morning.”

He exhaled, and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

—

He slept on his front, with his shirts and jacket draped over him like blankets. Zym curled up beside him, pressed to his side, and wormed his way underneath Callum’s arm until he deigned to hold it around the little dragonling. He wondered if Zym was missing Ez. He wondered what Ez would think of the somethings growing beneath his skin. He wondered a lot of things, thoughts whirling and spinning around themselves, until he finally managed to slip asleep.

It didn’t last. He might have expected pain to wake him, but instead, it was the magic. He woke breathless and gasping, some hours into the night, chest tight and lungs swollen as the magic built in him to the point of pain again. He stumbled upright, dislodging Zym and waking Rayla, who sat straight up and rubbed her eyes, blinking blearily at him.

“Callum?” She asked, groggily, eyes settling onto his shoulders. “Y’alright?”

“Breath,” he explained, his whole upper back straining as he moved, and he turned aside to draw the zig-zagging shape of fulminis.

Just as before, the aimless magic in his body shifted and awakened and moved. Unlike before, barely any of it left his fingers. The lightning-bolt that emerged was thin and sparking and did not travel very far at all, spilling only the barest smell of ozone into the air, and instead – instead, all of that electric energy surged into his back as though to a lightning-rod, and it writhed.

He cried out with pain, Zym squeaking in fright and Rayla shuffling over to grip his hand, and familiar hot-wet spilled down his back again. Something had torn, again, more than yesterday, much more-

Callum reached back, to feel, to find out what had come through – and nearly vomited at the feeling of finding something small and limp and blood-wet and firm hanging out of the skin there. It was warm. Warm like a limb. Warm like a living thing – but wet and tacky and too-soft, like the thin weeping skin under a blister. On the end of the horrible hanging thing was something small and sharp. The claw.

So…the ‘fingers’, that the claws were apparently on. One on that side, and….he checked…two had torn free on the right hand side. The second on the left was still under his skin. And…wait.

Was that a third? He checked the other side, found something much like it in the distended shape of his skin, and felt his breath stutter with horror.

“That’s horrible.” Rayla told him, looking pale and a little green, as his fingers trailed blood over his upper back. There was so much pain now that it felt almost like he’d passed through it, to some numb other-side where nothing felt right and his thoughts were strange and scrambled.

“Mmhm.” He agreed, a little vacantly, moving one of the clawed-things between his fingers. It felt like a finger, slim and bony, even if the skin was all wrong and it was covered in blood and had torn its way out of his flesh-

“We need to clean you up again.” Rayla said, decisively, and moved to herd him over to the water again. He could hardly see anything around them, given the time of night, but the moon was past half-full and cast just about enough light to see by.

“…Wait.” He said, after a moment, and her fingers stilled on his arm. He breathed, not-quite-awake and not-quite-coherent, uncertain if he just hadn’t woken up properly, or if the pain had just…disconnected him from a proper feeling of consciousness. “You were right. I should just…get this over with. It’s not going to stop. So…I should just…” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Cautiously, she took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “Are you sure?”

“No.” he admitted. “But I don’t want to keep waking up and – having to cast a spell and tear myself open again. Once these….whatever, once they’re out, it should be better. Right?”

“…Well, in theory, you won’t have anything trying to break out of your skin anymore.” She said, dubious, and a little wary. “So, I guess?”

He sighed. “This is going to suck.”

“It’ll also be pretty bloody, I think.” She nodded, looking as though she were trying not to think about it too hard. “So let’s get you to the water for this anyway.”

Once they were there, and Rayla had washed some of the blood off to see the new developments with his back, she reported on the state of things and confirmed his uneasy sense-impression of what he’d felt through his skin.

“It’s grown in the night.” She said, of the distension as a whole. “One of the clawed…fingers…is still under your skin. And…” She shivered, close enough to his side that it made the fabric of her sleeve brush against his shoulder. “And, I think there’s…three. Fingers, I mean, on each one. The third ones are still…inside your back.” Her eyes squeezed briefly shut, as if to forcefully expel the image from her mind as well as her eyes.

“…Thought I felt something like that.” He said, quiet and pale, mind too numb with shock and pain to offer much more than delirious dread. He had felt something that felt disturbingly like another digit, underneath the right-hand two that had torn out.

Rayla looked side-long at him, hesitating. “…Honestly, Callum? It might hurt less if – if we cut it, instead of letting your skin rip open.” Zym, who seemed to understand them quite well, quailed at the words, crooning and shrinking back.

He blinked, startled, not having thought of that. “With one of your swords, you mean?” He asked, and reached to the side to pat Zym on the head. After a second, he drew the little dragon into his lap. He wasn’t a human kid, maybe, but this was still kind of more gore than he was comfortable with Zym seeing. If he was in his lap…he at least wouldn’t see it.

At his words, though she seemed distinctly sickened at the notion, Rayla nodded.

It was probably a bad sign that he found the idea a relief. The clean cut of a blade seemed so much more merciful than skin strained to tearing. “Good idea.” He said, and wondered at how swiftly his life had gone weird, to make such a thing a sensible and merciful option.

Still, she hesitated, hand on the hilt of one of the weapons hung at the small of her back. “…Now?” She asked, unhappily. “Or when you cast the spell?”

He considered it. “….during the spell.” He decided, reluctantly. “That way we can get it all done at once.” Nausea rose in his throat, and he carefully swallowed it away.

Rayla shuddered. “…Alright.” She said, visibly steeling herself, and he heard the shnk of her blade assembling as she moved behind him. A couple of weeks ago, he’d have done nearly anything to keep her blades away from him, and now he was inviting them. The world was mad. “Go ahead.” She said, and lowered the tip of the blade against his skin, cold and sharp, just below the protruding left digit. He braced himself, and raised a hand.

Fulminis was somewhat easier to deal with, since he didn’t need to do any gusty exhaling for it, so he drew its rune crackling in the air. This time, when he spoke it, there was no well of expanding magic pooling and stretching him out from within – instead, it coursed in from the Sky, that inner-spark of the arcanum opening and welcoming it in. A little of it went to its proper place, coursing along his arm, but only a thin crackle and a few sparks emerged. The rest…

It surged to his back, and at once, the flesh beneath his skin swelled and grew and roiled, pressing and stretching and expanding into a searing, tearing pain. And then-

The sword was sharp. Incredibly so. There was barely any resistance at all as it parted his skin and the thin layers of flesh below it – it was so sharp and clean a cut that for a second, it almost didn’t hurt. He gritted his teeth and hissed and gasped, but even then – even then, there was such a relief to it. He could feel the horrible straining pressure easing even as the magic of the spell coursed in and in and in, even as the somethings under his skin grew, and grew, and finally-

Where Rayla had made the cut on the left, something spilled loose. Something heavy and fleshy and soft, limp and bloody, dropped out of the open wound and thumped wetly against his back. He heard Rayla gag, and felt nausea surge in his own throat at the mere feeling of it, but – she stayed her course, and moved her blade over to the right to repeat the cut.

The energy of the spell ebbed, even as the cut widened and the incredible relief repeated for the other thing, the wet meaty limb spilling down along his back in a trail of blood and gore. He clenched his fingers in Zym’s mane, stomach roiling. Voice hoarse, he asked “Is it all out?”

She gagged again, but answered anyway. “Think so.” She said, shakily, and moved to the side to wash her hands and blade in the water. “Feel for yourself.”

He wasn’t really sure he wanted to. Even the sensation of the things, wet and warm down his back, was viscerally disgusting, and his throat already felt fluttery with nausea. Still, though, he couldn’t quite restrain the morbid curiosity, and moved one hand from Zym’s back to feel around at his own.

His hand landed on something warm and wet and sticky. The skin was…thin, too thin, like something malformed and underdeveloped, and it was growing out of his body but he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel his touch on it, it might as well have been – have been something else, something not-him, something alien, something parasitic, growing out of him-

He lurched forward and vomited, managing to avoid Zym entirely. The dragonling scurried out of his lap in a hurry, yipping with alarm, and stared at the puddle of sick with wide-eyed consternation. Then he looked over Callum’s shoulder, and shrank back.

“It wasn’t much nicer to watch it, believe me.” Rayla told him, dryly, as she came over to gently bring him over by the water, steering him with careful fingers at his arms. “Come on. Let’s clean you up. Wash your mouth out.”

He was entirely too shaken to make any sort of comeback, and just nodded, leaning forwards to slip his hands into the water and wash the blood off and then cup some water from further up-river to his mouth. He washed out and spat it to the side, even as Rayla gently set to work cleaning the blood off his back and the things with water and a few wet river-leaves. He still had open wounds, of course, and she muttered a little worriedly about getting river-water in them, but…in the end, it wasn’t as though they had anything to boil water in.

Finally, his back was apparently clean enough, and she patted him on his clammy-wet shoulder. “That’ll do it for tonight.” She said, tiredly. “Wish I could bandage you, but…”

“No bandages?” He guessed, and she nodded.

“No bandages.” She agreed. “You are healing already, though. It’s already scabbing around the…” Her voice went odd. “…limbs.” She decided, eventually.

“…So that’s definitely what they are?” He ventured, brow furrowed. He reached over his shoulder and found, indeed, that the cuts she’d made and the tears around the protrusion of the things were already near-firm with hard coagulation, even though she’d just been at him with water. It was astonishingly painless, compared to how it had been not fifteen minutes ago.

“Can’t you feel them?” She asked, after a moment. Tentatively, she reached out, and he could guess that she picked up one of the limbs by the lessening of the sensation of weight, pulling at his shoulders.

He shook his head, unsettled. “I can’t feel them at all.”

Rayla grimaced, and then, not looking terribly pleased about it, gently manoeuvred the thing down and around to his side, so that he could actually see it. He twisted to stare at it, morbidly fascinated, the nausea lessened now that he’d already vomited.

“That’s gross,” he noted, almost fascinated now, and made a face as he reached out to touch it. It was warm, and that was even more disgusting, somehow.

She let it fall into his hand, and he inspected it. There was a joint at the end, like a wrist joint, with something that wasn’t really a hand hanging there limply. There were, at any rate, three digits, all of which clawed. The first digit was half the length of the second, which itself was half the length of the third. All of them had as many joints as a normal finger would, but the proportions were all wrong – stretched-out and heinously alien, not even close to human. With a raw, shocked sort of apathy, he took the shortest in his fingers and bent it, pressing the sharp point of the claw against his thumb.

“…Is there an elbow joint?” He asked, though he was already checking. In short order he felt along the limb and found it, and hummed pensively at the discovery. Oddly, the discovery of the joints made him feel a little better about it. The limbs were disgusting, and he couldn’t feel them, and he hadn’t asked for them, and it wasn’t even slightly normal to grow two extra limbs on his back – but, at the very least, they had an almost soothing structural similarity to his arms. An elbow and a wrist and a hand each. It was a paltry thing to be comforted by, but it was something.

“You really can’t feel them?” Rayla checked, again, fingers reaching tentatively out to poke at the limb in his hand. He could guess what she felt, when she touched it, by how it felt on his own hands: warm and somehow tacky, even with all the blood washed away. The skin didn’t feel right. It wasn’t like normal skin – it was….thin. Delicate, in an alarming way that made him feel he could rip it with the slightest pressure. Like he would rip it, if he weren’t very very careful. “They look…sore.”

“It’s just my back that hurts, around them.” Callum said, making a face at the two alien fingers on one of his new limbs. His new, limp, utterly insensate limbs. “I can’t feel any of this. It’s like-“ he swallowed against the taste of acid, against the shape of the thoughts that had horrified him earlier. “It’s like it’s – not even me. Just…something growing out of me.”

Rayla shuddered at that too – and for a long moment, he was suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful that she was here with him. Here to help him, here to empathise with the visceral horror of what was happening to him, just…here.

“Maybe that’ll change.” She said, softly, and he wasn’t actually sure whether he agreed or not.

If he never felt anything from them – if they stayed these disgusting, insensate things hanging from his body…that would almost be easier to deal with. At least then he could…look into getting them cut off, or something. But if he could feel them – if they really did become a part of him, these things that were on his back but shouldn’t be ­– that was somehow a whole lot scarier. What would that even mean? “…I don’t even know what they are.” He said, a little plaintively. “I don’t even know why they’re growing. No one else grows weird gross extra limbs from their backs like this.”

“No one else gets a sparkly new arcanum years and years after they’re born, either.” She pointed out, and he huffed, reminded of what she’d said before.

“So, what? Are they arms? Useless featherless wings? Something else?” He questioned, looking down at the disturbing tiny hand-joint thing she was still gingerly holding. Three-fingered, it looked nothing like a proper human hand – not even an elf hand – and the proportions were all wrong.

“If it’s an arm, it’s not like any I’ve ever seen.” She answered, after a moment, peering along the wrinkly too-thin skin, as if she were looking for something. “As for wings…I don’t know. I’ve never seen a Skywing without feathers, but…I’ve never seen the wings of a baby, either. Pretty sure they’re not born with feathers, so…”

“Too early to tell?” he suggested, and she shrugged helplessly at him. He sighed, and inspected the limb as best he could by moonlight. “Well, I guess it does look kind of…baby-skin-ish.” He concluded. “Like newborn baby-skin, I mean – all red-looking and wrinkly and gross.”

“…Well, they’re developing fast.” She said, dubious, and withdrew her fingers from the senseless skin. “Maybe they’ll look less gross and sore-looking and wrinkly by morning.”

Callum wondered, for a brief and distant moment, as if he should maybe be a little bit put-off by her using those descriptors, even though she was mostly just quoting him. After all, these new…things…were ostensibly part of his body, so shouldn’t he feel defensive about their appearance?

But he didn’t. All he felt was a sincere echo of her own sentiments and her own disgust as he looked at the limp thing in his hand. It didn’t feel like a part of him. It didn’t feel like a part of him at all.

His gut twisted, and he shivered. “Maybe.” He said, a little tightly, and dropped the limb. It dropped back down, sagging against his back with the other one. A small, insistent part of him was screaming to get them off, in an instinctive revulsion he couldn’t quite manage to displace. He swallowed against the nausea again, and tried to put the thoughts aside.

Rayla looked at him, for a long moment that he spent mostly trying to wrestle his gut into some semblance of good behaviour. He’d really like it if his stomach would stop roiling at every reminder of the things that had burst out of his upper back. “…If you think you can, it’d be a good idea to try to get to sleep.” She offered, eventually. “It’s still the middle of the night – and we have a long way to go.”

He frowned….but nodded, reluctantly. “I don’t know if I can.” He admitted, and thought the reasoning needed little explanation. “But I’ll try, I guess.”

As if encouraged by the words, Zym took that opportunity to butt his head under Callum’s hand, crooning a little when the motion automatically earned him some scritches around the horns. The little dragonling looked up at him in a way that suggested he was entirely ready for some nap-time, preferably with a large warm cuddle-buddy.

Zym hadn’t been this touch-hungry before, he didn’t think. Not when Ezran was here. Still…

Callum smiled, gentle affection replacing the churning in his gut, and reached out to hoist Zym into his arms as he stood. The new limbs swayed and slapped a little against his back as he moved, but he tried not to think about that.

“If nothing else, Zym definitely needs sleep.” He said, and tucked the dark blue dragon-wings neatly under his arms. Zym craned his neck backwards, trying to look at him, and then broke into a sharp-toothed yawn. In the contagious way of yawns, he was returning it a second later, abruptly more tired by all the pain and stress than he’d realised.

“Looks like Zym isn’t the only one.” Rayla observed, lips twitching, and then ushered him gently over to where they’d been sleeping.

Laying down took some arrangement, this time. He had to avoid laying on the new limbs, and somehow manoeuvre them into a comfortable position despite not being able to feel or move them. They were a strange, warm, foreign weight against his back. Eventually, Rayla took pity on him and tucked them inwards on his back, draping his jacket over him.

As a finishing touch, she picked up Zym, picked up his arm, and then planted the dragonling beneath it. Said dragonling chirped happily, and shoved his snout into Callum’s armpit. “Sleep.” She ordered him, or perhaps ordered them both, and slipped with a smile on her lips to lay just a little way beside him.

As unsettling as everything had been…it had been exhausting, too. He’d thought he’d stay up a long time, thinking about it all, but instead…

Instead, he closed his eyes, and fell asleep almost instantly.

 —

End chapter.

Notes: This chapter is the bloodiest by far. There might be small bloody moments in the future, but from now on it’s just steadily decreasing amounts of body horror and drastically increasing amounts of inconvenience, indignity, and fluff. There’s also potential for a more complex magically-rooted plotline eventually, but it depends on what I plot out. Could just end up being a relatively straight s3 fic with wing-related divergence points, could be very very different. We’ll see.

I really do mean it when I say I’m going to go very in-depth with the wing biology stuff. This will, in places, be slightly gross. Callum may be done with most of his pain but I have so many other ways to make him suffer.

World notes: Magic works a bit differently in this AU, which is why Callum is growing wings. Callum’s wings are also very different to an elf’s, and to the mage-wings as seen in canon. Still, there will be a whole lot of wingfic stuff and wing-fluff, which I imagine many of us are very hungry for after s3.

Hope everyone enjoyed s3 as much as I did!

Feedback and kudos etc very much appreciated. Chapter 2 is mostly done, just need to adjust it for s3.

[razieltwelve]

Heroic Fury (Worm/Final Rose)

Fury was supposed to be dead. In fact, he could definitely remembering closing his eyes for the last time on a hill with a wonderful view. It hadn’t been a bad way to go. He’d been one of the oldest chocobos in history, and he’d died with his best friend at his side after a life filled with glory and success. 

He’d kind of expected to wake up in the endless fields the chocobos all believed they went to when they died if they were worthy. Sure, he was basically a jerk, but saving the world more than fifteen times had to be worth something, right?

Apparently not.

Or maybe it was.

“Help!”

The words seemed to echo through his being, and he frowned. Like any self-respecting chocobo who’d lived for more than a decade or two, he was well aware of Aura and how to use it. What troubled him was that his Aura was now closely connected to a much smaller Aura signature, one he wasn’t familiar with, and that same signature was radiating distress.

“Someone, help! Please!”

Sighing, Fury jogged toward the source of shouting. He could just tell this would be troublesome. It didn’t take him more than a minute to reach the site of a car crash. His eyes narrowed. He knew what cars looked like. This car didn’t look like any model he’d seen before. The clothing the little girl tugging at the mangled doors of the car was wearing also didn’t match what people from Remnant wore.

Oh crap.

He’d listened to Diana rant enough times to realise where this was going.

He’d been reincarnated into another universe or something.

“Kweh.”

The little girl stopped, turned, and screamed.

“Ah!”

Rolling his eyes again, Fury tugged on the Aura link between them. It was how chocobos could make themselves understood. Normally, it took time to build up the resonance and closeness required, but for some reason the link was already in place.

“Stop panicking. Are those your parents in the car?”

The girl blinked, and her eyes widened. “Yes…”

“Move.” The girl scooted out of the way, and Fury simply tore the passenger door off its hinges before tugging the woman slumped against the airbag out with his beak. He repeated the process on the driver’s side. “Do you have a scroll?”

“A scroll?” the little girl asked. “What…?”

“A way to contact people.”

“Oh.” She shook her head. “I don’t have anything and…”

Fury sighed. This was already proving to be quite troublesome. “Which way is the closest town?”

“Um…” the girl pointed. “That way.”

“Fine.” Fury used his beak to lift the two adults onto his back before gesturing for the girl to climb on as well. “Hold on. This won’t take long.”

In his prime, Fury had been able to reach speeds well in excess of two hundred miles per hour. Heck, he could cruise at that speed for hours at a time. Unfortunately, he had three passengers, two of whom were in no condition to hold on. Instead, he was forced to go at much more sedate pace that still allowed them to reach the nearest town in a little under half an hour.

Naturally, they panicked when they saw him. He looked heavenward. Seriously? Of all the places he could have been reincarnated into, he had to get stuck in a world without any other chocobos?

X     X     X

Taylor stared at the massive bird in awe. Fury. That was his name. The seven-year-old was still trying to wrap her head around that. A talking bird. A talking bird that was more than ten feet tall. All she could remember about the crash was stumbling out of the car and seeing her parents not moving. She’d been so scared, and she’d wished that there was someone - anyone - who could help her. And then Fury had been there.

Even at the hospital he hadn’t left her side, and there was something comforting about his presence even if he wasn’t exactly the nicest bird. Some of the things he’d said about the way the doctors and nurses treated injuries weren’t very nice.

“They seriously don’t have nano-machine serums here? One of those would have your parents back on their feet within an hour.” The chocobo, as he called himself, scowled. “And don’t even get me started on your other technology. It doesn’t look like you even have holographic projectors.”

“Um… did the place you came from have those things?”

“We had spaceships too,” Fury said. He paused. “Wait… do you guys not have Grimm here?”

“Grimm?”

“Monsters that go around killing everything.”

“We… we have something kind of like that.”

“What do you mean?”

So Taylor, in the scared, halting manner of a seven-year-old told him about the Endbringers.

Fury growled. “It’s a pity my friend’s parents or siblings aren’t here. They’d have your Endbringer probably fixed by tomorrow.”

“…”

“Anyway, Taylor, it looks like we’ll be stuck with each other for a while.”

“Wait…” It suddenly dawned on Taylor what the situation might be. “Are… are you my power?”

“What?” Fury stared. “I’m not your Semblance.”

“What’s a Semblance?”

What followed was a strange conversation as Taylor tried to understand what Fury was saying about powers. Wherever he’d come from, they seemed to work differently from the powers Taylor knew about. When he was done, she tried to explain to him how powers worked.

“I get it.” Fury made a face. “That’s why we’re connected, I guess. Your ‘power’ must have acted like a beacon for whatever dumped me in this universe. I wish Diana was here. She’d figure it out.” Fury twitched. “Either way, you’re the only person with Aura that I’ve seen here.”

“Aura?”

“Oh, you’ll love Aura,” Fury explained. “Want to know what it can do?”

X     X     X

Danny looked up - way up - at the towering bird that stood beside his daughter. Not far away, Annette did the same. 

“This is Fury, dad.” Taylor smiled. “He saved you and mom.”

The bird looked only vaguely interested in being in the same room as him. 

“Uh…” Danny shook himself. “Taylor! Did you get powers?”

“Uh… kind of? Fury says it’s complicated.”

“…”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

This is a bit of fun that I’ve been thinking of for a while. Dumping someone like Lightning or Averia into Worm can be a bit boring since they can curb stomp everything in Worm (and that includes Scion). Fury, however, is not capable of doing that, so he’s got a more interesting journey ahead of him with Taylor.

In this AU, Taylor should have triggered after her family got into a car crash. Instead, whatever force sent Fury there, prevented her from triggering and gave her Aura instead, as well as a helpful (if ornery) chocobo. Instead of Queen Administrator, Taylor will be getting a Semblance. In particular, she’ll be getting Mix and Match, a Semblance that allows for the creation of sentient constructs through combining different objects (e.g., combining a sufficiently large lump of steel with the corpse of badger could give you a giant steel badger). With sufficient crafting expertise and by bootstrapping her way up by combining constructs, she could potentially create constructs of incredible power. Keep in mind, Taylor will also have Aura and the advantages that brings. 

Since she ‘triggered’ at such a young age, this Taylor will end up joining the Wards much sooner. Everyone will also be convinced that Fury is a projection of sorts since, after some trial and error, Taylor realises that she can actually summon and dematerialise him. She is basically his anchor to this reality.

In typical Fury fashion, he is going to try to help her reach her full potential by subjecting her to the same training regimes he saw Taren go through. That’s going to be fun for her. Or not. He might also try to get her to build some of the things from Remnant. Sure, Fury is a chocobo, but he is highly intelligent and he’s seen Taren and the others handle technology enough to know how some of it is made. More fun for Taylor.

Incidentally, if you’re wondering about ratings, here’s how Fury would be rated:

Mover 5+. As one of the greatest chocobos in history, Fury is capable of reaching and maintaing speeds well in excess of 200 miles per hour for extended periods of time. Due to the abilities he possesses as an elite black-and-red chocobo with monstrous quantities of Aura, he can also run impeded across virtually any surface. This includes running across water, ice, and even up vertical surfaces. In principle, he can even run upside down although he dislikes doing it. Using his full speed, he can go supersonic for short bursts, something he uses in many of his more powerful attack techniques.

Brute 5+. Due to the natural durability of an elite chocobo and the effects of Aura, Fury can ignore small arms fire and even withstand multiple hits from anti-tank weaponry, assuming he can even be hit due to his speed. When focused entirely on defence, he becomes even more durable. Using his beak and claws combined with his Aura, Fury can easily tear through steel, concrete, and other durable materials. He would find it trivially easy to simply pierce through the side of a battleship with his beak if he used his Aura to reinforce the blow.

Thinker 3+. Fury has exceptionally well developed combat instincts. An entire lifetime spent fighting alongside Taren and his family have made him arguably the most experienced and skilled chocobo in history. He was able to keep up with S Tier huntsmen and huntresses in melee combat. To most opponents, it will seem like he knows what they’re going to do before they do.

[save-the-spiral]

InkWizTober Day Twenty-Nine: Injured + Endgame

Welcome to day twenty-nine of inktober, and holy FUCK its. A good one. I spent hours on this, writing the end to my Pirate!Queen concept. It’s so good, y’all, read all four parts in order please. Warnings for graphic depictions of violence, narrator having a real bad existential crisis, thoughts about the afterlife, self doubt, death, body horror kinda.

(link to prompt lists) (link to inktober tag)

Captain Avery’s plan to destroy the Armada was, in a word, infuriating. 

The old captain was content to send the young pirate out on his orders- without backup! Just a crew led by a captain who couldn’t be older than seventeen. Any leads or intel came from ‘allies’ who were simply spineless pirates who owed Captain Avery favors. 

Even Queen, who was a member of Kane’s court in the past, who was created to never had an independent thought in her life, knew this was all wrong. She took the lead, fully accepting the pseudonym of ‘Reyna Ferro’, budding pirate captain, with her mysterious and loyal crew of the Pyrite Swan. 

(She ignored the fluttering, ecstatic part of her that reveled in having a ‘normal’ name. How she never wanted to go back to being ‘Queen’. Never wanted to use the name Kane gave her ever again.)

Captain Reyna Ferro seemed to be the only fully competent pirate out of the triad of captains, once she started giving orders. She organized sieges on docked fleets of resting Armada soldiers, got them the useful intel and blueprints (mostly from her own perfect memory), and she made sure that Captain Avery didn’t take it too far.

(A giant, mocking puppet show to draw the Armada soldiers to battle them in Skull Island? Really?)

...Reyna had only recently realized that Avery was likely presenting these plans just to hear how incredulous her tone could get in response. Organic, human pirates could be so difficult to figure out. 

Even now, planning what would likely be their last official mission of this endeavor, Reyna was taking charge. Captain Avery hadn’t even bothered to show up.

“All of the Armada have fallen back, following ingrained protocols to hide in a last resort fortress and begin creating more clockworks to bolster their numbers and buy time. While we were waiting and recovering from the last battle in Monquista, where we took out almost all of their ships and unfortunately lost the young pirate’s ship as well- I got intel from a spy.” 

Reyna took a breath, staring down at the vast array of maps and internally hoping they didn’t question who was spying. She wouldn’t want to reveal her connections on the inside. When this quest started they agreed that Reyna would get any captured soldiers, and she had been working with those very soldiers, turning them slowly towards her side. She let them secretly join her crew, or go back to the Armada as a spy, or gave them a secret hideout to live in peace.

In a way, Reyna was glad she was so adept at lying at this point. Hiding the crew’s identities- and her own- was a matter of life or death. They’d lost far too much to the Armada at this point for the pirates they allied with to not slaughter them outright at the reveal of their clockwork identities. 

Reyna grabbed a thin knife with her gloved hand, casually walking across Captain Avery’s office, trying not to think about how familiar the room had become to her. She let the knife point trail across the large map of Cool Ranch and its skyway. 

“Cool Ranch? Isn’t that a bit out of their usual locations for forts?” Sterling, Reyna’s first mate, asked.

“Yeah but think about it.” Zircon replied, sitting casually on Avery’s ornate desk, slightly damaged mace in hand. “Big, open country. Lots of mines to hide in, could go out where no one would hear you. Find a ghost town to reinforce or whatever.”

Bonnie Anne, one of the young pirate’s crewmates, nodded. Her large, canon-like weapon was leaning casually against Avery’s desk, and she was leaning into Zircon’s side. “Lots of shadowy characters in Cool Ranch. They could easily spread out too- dark corners in saloons, becoming farm hands or apprentices- they wouldn’t have to show their face, just work and plan their next moves.”

Reyna tuned out the conversation between crews, tracing coordinates until she found the building marked by a small square, the one she was looking for. She stabbed the knife into the spot, the amber handle and silver blade glinting in the sunlight of a nearby window.

She turned around, grabbing a piece of charcoal, and began writing small neat notes on the map. “It’s actually an abandoned railway station, right by an abandoned mine. They’re grouped together, reinforcing the area like Zircon said.” 

If Reyna could grin, she would. The sight of Zircon and Bonnie Anne fist-bumping was something she wanted to imprint in her brain forever. Zircon had become much more outgoing and trusting since this all started, becoming fast friends with the fox privateer. 

Sterling sighed, toying with an antique telescope. “They’re likely re-purposing the few machines from the mine, and they can transport any materials they need far too easily for my liking.”

“Exactly.” The young pirate murmured, then went back to silently arguing with Egg Shen about something small- probably eating just oatmeal for breakfast, with no fruit, opposing Egg Shen’s exacting health standards.

Reyna pondered the railroad line that went through the huge island of Cool Ranch, all huge plateaus and gorgeous vistas. “They might have dynamite too. Let’s fight fire with fire here, Bonnie. Get some dynamite of your own by the end of the day, please.”

“End of the day?” Sterling asked, a bit alarmed.

“Yes.” Reyna said sternly, turning to face the room, all eyes on her. The dozen or so of the young pirate’s crew (the rest in Skull Island’s infirmary), and her own crewmates in the brash and protective Zircon, the curious and anchoring Sterling, the quiet and observant Malachite, who even now is sitting perched on a tall bookshelf, watching.

“Timing is essential here. We need to get in on their next shipment, at dusk tomorrow. We hide in a car, ambush the clockworks collecting the cargo, and move on from there. Spread out, follow the marks I’ve made on these blueprints of the area. Destroy weapons and clockworks being made, capture the rest. My crew will deal with them.” Reyna stopped, weighing down the blueprints and making a few amendments to the lines on it.

Egg Shen nodded at this, getting up and examining the papers. “We trust your planning, Captain Ferro. You haven’t steered us wrong yet.” 

The nods that followed from the young pirate and his crew were disarming. 

Reyna stepped back, standing awkwardly due to her prosthetic leg. “But- most of your crew are in the infirmary- you lost your ship because of my plans. I understand if you want to change this, you do not have to-”

“Relax, Reyna.” Bonnie Anne offered, gesturing around at the others in the room. “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t already trust you with our life. If we had made the plans- well, we would have had much more trouble without you and your amazing crew.”

If Reyna could blush, she would be bright red right now. 

“Yeah Captain!” Zircon said, tilting her head in a way that conveyed childishness. “Our crew is pretty amazing, but it’s nothing without you guiding us.”

Sterling and Malachite were nodding, and Reyna was slightly worried for her internal processing, with how long it was taking to understand and absorb what they were saying. With stuttered thanks, she quickly turned everyone back to the plan, delegating roles for every pirate on the mission.

Bonnie Anne and Malachite, who would climb on top of the train cars when the ambush strikes, and gun down any backup from the Armada. 

Egg Shen and Sterling would work with the young pirate on finding the leader, and the workshop for clockwork creation.

The twins, Rhodium and Rhenium, alongside Nanu Nanu and Emmet of the young pirate’s crew, would be a distraction on the south side, near the large ravine. 

Everyone else was nodding, happy to follow Reyna’s orders. It made her feel nervous, knowing that failure or success rested on her plan, on her shoulders. Some part of her wanted to just stop, to sit down and tell someone else to take responsibility, to do the hard job. The restless part of her, the one that drove her to piracy in the first place, that filled her with wonder at beautiful nature scenery, and rage at how governments and outlaws alike take advantage of the poor. 

She would keep moving, keep planning, only to appease that dark pit of dissatisfaction with life. 

The waiting, right before a mission truly went underway, was what killed her inside. It took Zircon’s firm grip on her hand, Spectrolite’s silly puns, and Osmium’s toothless threats to every annoyance, to calm her down. Her crew, her strange crew of ex-battle angels, of ex-dolls of the Armada, all of them like family, they truly had a calming effect on her, made her remember her purpose. 

They took up half of the large storage train car. Rhodium and Rhenium were playing tic-tac-toe with chalk on the floor and far more threats than proper, Meteorite was checking her ammo compulsively, doing it again and again to ensure she would not forget, Stichtite was jokingly adding ridiculous ideas to the plan, Sterling nodding seriously as she listened, only to laugh when it got truly bizarre. 

There were a few more that joined her. Rehabilitated clockworks saved from their missions by being captured and handed over to Reyna and her crew, ones who wanted to repent, to atone for their cruel actions under another’s order. They remained nameless, still new to their sentience and trying to find themselves, these three clockworks. One was a battle angel, like the rest of the crew, one was a musketeer, and another was a buccaneer, halberd resting by his side always.

Reyna felt the train, racing across the Cool Ranch countryside, begin to slow. Everyone became alert, even the dozing young pirate.

Reyna was tempted to follow in Egg Shen’s footsteps and bother the young pirate into getting eight hours of sleep a night an eating their fruits and vegetables upon seeing the dark circles under their eyes. 

The train rumbled as it stopped, the only other sound being the breathing of the organic pirates, and the cicadas singing. The sun was setting, sky a dusky red, light falling. It was time.

As they heard the exacting footsteps of clockworks, people hid in storage containers, behind them. Bonnie Anne and Malachite climbed out on the opposite side from where the clockworks would be approaching, the two clambering up onto the roof for a better vantage point.

Rhodium and Rhenium were looking at each other, conversing in a strange twin speak that seemed to transfer even to clockworks, and they moved forward in sync as the door slowly opened. Nanu Nanu and Emmet followed behind the two, slightly reluctant, but willing nonetheless. Zircon, next to Reyna, shifted in excitement, and Reyna knocked their heads together lightly, a soft ‘I’m here’, practically a kiss on the cheek. A common clockwork display of affection the crew had developed.

Zircon looked at Reyna, and bumped her back, right before the fighting started.

It was loud- the twin clockworks were always loud, calling confusing orders, yelling nonsense, acting like it was a game. The rest of the pirates stampeded out of the train car, hopping onto the dusty ground of the plateau. The clockworks, a neat, matching group of five, were in pieces.

The visual, slowly cloaked by the night’s darkness, made Reyna wish she could vomit. It was disgusting, unnatural- to see bodies- ones so similar to her own, ones that bled oil, that were made of metals, had the potential to feel- to see them shattered, it hurt. To see pieces of a being that once had a consciousness, even if it was controlled by others, to know a personality was behind that, hidden deep, it made something in Reyna shatter a tiny bit every single time.

The only thing that gave her solace every time was knowing that those Armada clockworks were free now, free from the trappings of being a soldier, of only following orders, having no free will. At least, if there was a personality in there, it would not have to suffer, would not have to watch as their body was controlled by something they could not fight.

The group continued on nonetheless, twins taking point and dragging Nanu Nanu and Emmet along for the ride, playing with firecrackers and yelling to draw attention

Sterling chuckled under her breath, but split off from Reyna’s side, moving to join the young pirate and Egg Shen on their mission to find the workshop. From above they heard Bonnie Anne’s exclamations about the twins doing their thing, and most of the secret clockwork pirates were snickering, before returning to their jobs.

Personally, Reyna was glad to lose herself in the violence, the strategy of it. Her sword was sharp, mind sharper, and she ached to prove it to herself once again.

Maybe she was too eager, in the end.

Maybe that was her fatal flaw, some twisted kind of hubris, some need to prove her own humanity to herself. 

Some need to feel alive, and believe it.

Reyna was trapped in a tar pit of self pity, of doubt, of existential horror and comedy in the same suffocating breath. 

She was slumped in the train car, having retreated to their getaway vehicle once she realized the gravity of her wounds. One of the newly created clockworks had been a monstrosity to behold- some strange, hulking creature of screeching metal and regurgitated oil, a terrifying thing. Reyna was selfish, was just plain stupid, and didn’t run back to get other to help her and the young pirate, she just rushed in, sword at the ready, some strange synthetic adrenaline in her system. 

Reyna Ferro, Queen, just some upgraded battle angel, just some dysfunctional clockwork- she rushed in, like an idiot, like an impulsive human, side by side with the most impulsive human she had ever met, the young pirate captain. They had fought hard, fought well, almost downed the thing, but it was clever. Reyna had to shield the young pirate with her own body, the sound of screeching metal against metal, hopefully something the other pirate had mistaken for armor against weapons, was all Reyna knew for a moment.

When she became aware, the young pirate simply helped her up, and defeated the clockwork beast, telling Reyna to go back to safety. 

Reyna was done for.

She could hear the pirates returning, the cheers of victory, the few stray firecrackers and loads of dynamite being set off, followed by hysterical laughter. They had torches, lanterns, with them. They would know.

Reyna was leaking black, bleeding oil into the layers of concealing clothes and armor that hid her clockwork status. It wouldn’t work for long, not with her wound.

She wouldn’t work for long with this wound, a ravine cut diagonally down her abdomen, metal curling inwards, sparking gears malfunctioning. 

The pirates were approaching, and she wished she could cry. Out of all the things she envied humans for, it was the ability to cry. To sob and scream and fill the entire world with her tears, to cough and hiccup and cry out about the unfairness of it all. 

Reyna, in all technicality, was only a year and a half old. That was how long she was sentient, she had free will. Before that she might as well have been dead. She had so many more years in her, and there was a desperate, clawing need to experience those years, those thousands of sunrises and sunsets, the lazy hours and minutes full of frenzied battle.

She wanted it all.

The group entered the car- emptied now, for easier travels back- and the leader (Sterling, her beautiful first mate, Sterling, who she named, reasonable, perfect Sterling) stopped in her place, mask facing Reyna, as if in disbelief.

“Oh no.” Sterling murmured faintly. Reyna would agree if her vocal mechanisms hadn’t already shut down to preserve power.

Zircon (strong, brave, powerful, protective, amazing) bumped into Sterling, and with a confused sound, looked over her shoulder, and saw Reyna, saw her pitiful, dying form. A wordless cry echoed off of the metal walls, and suddenly Reyna was in a strong embrace.

A chorus of amazingly creative swears followed as the rest of the pirates, both in her own crew and in the young pirate’s, followed. Reyna’s own crew crowded around her, hiding her from the others.

“Can you speak, Captain?” Malachite (wonderful, wise, observant, quiet, pretty) eventually asked.

With a stuttering shake and a quiet, chirruping sound, she indicated that no, she could not speak, she was dying. 

Maybe not in those words, but the message got across.

“Okay, okay okay okay.” Someone was saying, trying not to panic- maybe Meteorite?- we can heal her, we can do this. 

“How?!” Someone whisper-yelled, a sharp motion drawing Reyna’s fuzzy gaze. 

Her optics were going to shut down next. Then her hearing, her movement, her-

Reyna fell into sleep, internally floating, a child in a womb, a baby, a little fawn with no legs to stumble with. She was nothing, everything, mind trying to process the never ending darkness of her emergency protocols. She was dying- was going to die.

She had never thought about death, never thought it applied to her in the sense of experiencing it. Did she even have a soul? Was she worthy of some salvation or damnation? Some quiet, peaceful end? Endless nothingness, like now? A beautiful facade of her perfect life? 

Do machines get to go to the afterlife if they can feel, can love, can hate, can reason, just as much as any other sentient creature? Did being made of metal make her any different, any more or less deserving?

She floated, existentially paralyzed by the broad endlessness of death. 

When she woke up, it was strange. It was little clicking sounds, soft whirring, clunky gears beginning to work. It was her internal processing telling her that her joints were working, hearing, eyes-

Goodness, it was bright.

Reyna woke up lying flat on a bed, bright light shining right into her optics. Blinking her vacant, black ‘eyes’, she blocked out the light and sat up, before opening them again, and wanting to gasp.

She was... well, not naked, but it was strange, to not be clothed in layers upon layers of pirated finery, to not have armor and mystery to protect her and her clockwork body. She looked down, seeing gloveless hands, ones that worked perfectly, every metal knuckle in place, clicking slightly. She saw her legs- one silver and slightly longer, from a musketeer clockwork who was dead before she found him- and the other her original, glinting in bronze and gold.

By the rocking, she was in a ship. Looking around, she realized- it was her ship, the Pyrite Swan, in her own bed. Not that she used it, seeing as clockworks didn’t need to sleep. Apparently, not until now.

“You’re awake!” The excited, in unison voices of Rhodium and Rhenium filled her ears, and she looked towards the doorway, seeing the two standing guard. “We’ve got to tell the others!” 

“Wait!” Reyna’s voice was rough, scratchy and screechy, painful. “Wait.”

The twins stopped, standing seriously and tilting their heads.

“What about- the humans- they-?”

“Oh!” Rhenium gasped. “Oh! So- okay, so after they figured it out- not until we were boarding the ship, but they did find out- Rat Beard almost hurt you, but Zircon almost killed him, and Bonnie Anne of all people defended us! She said to trust us, and the young pirate agreed, said you took that hit for them of all people!”

Rhodium nodded. “And then- oh dear- Emmet got a shot off I’m afraid, almost killed Sterling! She was so angry, told us all to calm down in that Mom Voice she has! It was so cool, they all shut up and let us explain! We set sail and told them our story- well, Sterling told most of it, we all chipped in with our own individual backstories- but goodness, you should have SEEN their faces. I didn’t know whether to laugh or hide!”

The two continued to ramble, back and forth, until finally someone was drawn to the commotion. 

“Zircon- help.” Reyna said simply, and the other clockwork nodded, pulling the twins out by their collars like misbehaving kittens, and then coming back. 

“Captain.” She started, voice stuttering, fearful. “You almost...”

“I didn’t, though.”

“Osmium and Meteorite finally worked together on something, figuring out how to heal you. It was... not pretty.” Zircon said, sitting gently on Reyna’s bedside.

“Maybe they’ll finally get over the romantic tension then.” Reyna muttered, and Zircon laughed.

“Yeah, finally.” 

Reyna sat up again, leaning heavily against Zircon as her systems got used to movement. “Help me up?” She finally said.

“Always, Captain.” Zircon said quietly.

Using her crew mate as a crutch, Reyna limped across her quarters. “I’m going to get dressed. Still doesn’t feel quite right without clothes, anymore.”

“I can help.” Zircon offered. Reyna’s grip on Zircon’s hand strengthened for a moment, a squeeze, a thank you. Heads knocking lightly, a clockwork kiss on the cheek.

Simple black trousers, a white shirt with a ruffled collar, and a captain’s hat, black with a broad golden feather. 

Reyna leaned heavily on Zircon, half starved for the touch, half actually needing it. They made their way across the room, and Zircon opened the doors again to sunlight of a new day. 

“Hey, Captain Ferro.” 

Reyna’s head whipped to the side, a blank slate of white and bronze and gold, maskless, and watched the young pirate captain approach.

“Captain.” They said. “You up to planning the next great adventure?”

Their voice was weak, hoarse. They had bloodshot eyes, a tear stained face. They had shaking hands, but offered Reyna’s sword to her nonetheless, standing tall, like a proper captain.

Reyna stood tall as well, arms off of Zircon, stepping forward. “Of course, Captain.” She said, almost playfully, head tilting as she reached forward- slow, cautiously- and grabbed the hilt of her sword almost reverently. It had dulled from battle, still covered in oil stains. 

She looked back at the young pirate, at their companions and friends behind them, watching. Finally, she spoke again.

“Just give me a few days to rest up, and our crew will be ready to take over the entire Spiral, before you know it!”

At her words, the crew, united, co-captained, broke into a wordless cheer, and Reyna fell back a bit, leaning on Zircon, letting the other girl half carry her back to bed.

Maybe pirates weren’t as savage, as uncivilized as she was programmed to think. Every one of them were thinking, living beings, with feelings, wants, needs. Just like clockworks, like those individual cogs that made up the once existent Armada. 

Pirate, Armada, Clockwork, Compassionate- 

Why not just be every single one? Take every label for herself? 

It’s what pirates do, after all.

[inevitable-anna]

ETN S2 fanfic.

This is for @hessonite-angel-art and the awesome drawing they did for Rosanna in S2. I would like to say that I’m so so so so so so sorry that it took me so long to reply! I spent an 1 hour and a half writing a fic about this, and then when I went to post it, my stupid internet started messing about and I wasn’t able to save this! And then I had problems posting it.

I’m gonna try again with this fic, here we go. (Warning contains a mention of stab wounds, blood, and a slit throat)

[[MORE]]

*

Everyone felt like they were going to collapse once they got back into the Lounge. They had just ran away from The Sorceress... again. As they entered and blocked the door behind them, they all dramatically collapsed onto various pieces of furniture.

Although there was one question on everyone’s mind, which was asked by Joey.

“Why do you have a knife? And where the hell did you get a knife from, Ro?” He exclaimed in slight fear of The Baker, he was the reason Liza went into the challenge after all.

“Like I said, ‘Liza and I will not be dying tonight’ and I swiped it from the Gingerbread Woman’s kitchen, the first time we were there.” Ro answered.

“Did you steal anymore weapons from anywhere? And are you willing to share with me?” Gabbie asked in a comedic tone.

Ro didn’t answer this time, instead she started to fiddle with the skirt of her dress. After a minute, she began to remove several small knives, a few metal quill pens, 3 letter openers, and 2 syringes with a large needles on the ends?

“Damn! I didn’t actually expect you to have anything else in there!” Gabbie exclaimed in shock.

“Where did you even get this stuff?” Liza asked, while fiddling with a letter opener.

“I’ve been swiping anything remotely sharp, or anything that can be used as a weapon all night, in case, we get into more trouble.” She replied.

“Seriously? Are you sure you didn’t just bring this stuff from your house? Because I haven’t seen any of this stuff at all.” Questioned Alex, from his place laying diagonally across one of the sofas, with one leg dangling over the back and one arm splayed out across the floor.

“Yeah, I got the knives from the Gingerbread Woman’s Kitchen. The letter openers and some of the metal quills from the Study, where Jorogumo webbed you up after she kidnapped you. And I found the syringes in the Foyer, while we all thought that the ‘helm of obedience’ was going to make Joey shoot us. I think someone must of dropped them.” Ro listed.

“And I meant what I said Liza and I will not be dying tonight. In fact, none of us are going to die tonight.” Ro stated, whilst holding up one of the knives from the table.

Judging by some of the looks the guests gave her as she help up the blade, Ro guessed that she had just gained lots of allies, and cemented herself as a team player. As well as, scaring the hell out of everyone in the room, including Alison.

*

No one else died that night...

That is, nobody else died, from among the guests ranks... Some of The Sorceress’ lieutenants were not so lucky.

The Ice Guardian very quickly found itself on the wrong end of a blade after it attempted to corner Tana.

It turns out that The Promethian Men weren’t so strong, once they were littered with stab wounds. Cedric was very happy to give the guests his gem... after they promised to let him live.

The werewolves may have been a pack, but even they weren’t a match for 7 angry youtubers, armed to the teeth with make shift weapons, picked up on their way across the various rooms of the Mansion.

The Guardian Of The Dark Dimension did not expect to become the sacrifice that was required to open a portal back to the Mansion, but he could only watch as the guests ran through and his vision began to go black.

*

The Sorceress was outraged, all her meticulously crafted plans were turning to ash before her eyes, all because ‘The Baker’ had chosen to fight back against her lieutenants and save her friends.

‘Just wait until I get my hands on her!’ She thought, while slowly clawing her way up the stairs. ‘I’ll make her wish that she was never born!’

It wasn’t long before The Sorceress’ arms gave out from under her, having no energy left in them. Lying on the stairs was uncomfortable but she just couldn’t move yet. Though she could hear voices approaching, one of which she recognised as ‘the Savant’.

‘Well, if I have to go down, I’ll take one of them with me!’ She thought bitterly, waiting for her time to strike.

“There’s the crown! Damn it! it’s by The Sorceress.” The Vaudevillian yelled in frustration. “Who is gonna get it?”

There was a sudden rush of noise. Each guest was trying to decide who should risk themselves for her crown.

“I’ll do it.” Said a quiet voice, that The Sorceress recognised immediately. ‘The Savant, perfect’ she thought.

There was a chorus of voices saying ‘be careful, Joey’ and she heard his footsteps walking up the stairs and waited for him to get closer.

The noise of the crown being picked up was her signal. With a scream The Sorceress jumped up whilst pulling her knife out of its holster and got ready to stab anyone within arms reach.

Frantic shouts filled the air, overlapping each other, as the guests reacted to her sudden attack.

“Oh my go-“. “What the he-“. “She has a kn-“.

“Joey! Loo-“. “How is she still al-“. “I thought she was de-“

The good news for the guests was that Joey was able to manoeuvre himself out of the daggers path, which was heading towards his chest.

The bad news for the guests was that the dagger was now stuck in his arm instead.

The Sorceress tackled Joey to the floor and pulled her dagger from his arm, raised it above her head to bring it down in a fatal blow to Joey’s heart and...

She felt a hand wrestle the dagger from her clenched fist, while another hand anchored it’s fingers into her hair and sharply yanked her head backwards, before the feeling of cold metal dragged itself across her throat. She had just enough time to turn and see who had slit her throat, before the world went dark.

The Baker.

*

The guests were in shock.

In the span of about a minute or maybe even a minute and a half, Joey had been stabbed in the arm, The Sorceress had proceeded to tackle Joey, attempted to stab him, only for Rosanna to snatch the blade and use it to kill The Sorceress herself, and now Ro was standing with the bloody dagger in hand weeping that she “didn’t mean to kill her.”

Liza quickly walked to Ro to comfort her, while the rest of the group helped Joey sort out his wound.

“It’s okay. Ro, you saved everyone’s lives by doing that. I know that doesn’t make it any better but everyone in this room is alive because of what you just did. Who knows maybe if you hadn’t done it, The Sorceress would be back in a years time with 10 more people to chase around and use for her spell. You saved our lives.” She reassured while pulling the small woman in for a hug.

“Thanks Liza. At least she can’t hurt anyone anymore.” Ro mumbled into her shoulder.

By now the group had finished tying a piece of fabric, that Alex had ripped off of the bottom of The Sorceress’ skirts, around Joey’s stab wound to act as a bandage and stem the flow of blood.

Everyone walked over and joined in on the hug to comfort The Baker, whilst offering her words of thanks and reassurance. After a few minutes in the large group hug The Savant spoke “Shall we get out of here and back home?” There was a chorus of ‘yes’ from around the room.

Joey walked to the front doors that most of the guests had walked through only a few hours ago, when they believed that they were attending a ball and not a dangerous quest against an evil Sorceress, who was hell bent on invading the modern world and ruling over it.

The guests smiled as soon as they saw the sunlight beginning to creep up over the horizon. Ro looked around and walked to the spot where Alison was standing.

“Are you going to come with us?” She asked.

“I’m sorry but no, I’m going to stay and help Riley, Jetpack, and the people still here figure out what to do and where to go. As I said ‘there are other people who want to leave, I’m doing this for them.’ But maybe I’ll come visit you all in the future.” The vampire replied with a small smile.

“Well you’re always welcome to come and visit me any time you like.” Ro said returning the smile, before she walked back to Liza.

“Are we all ready to go?” Alex asked, wanting to leave before anymore tears could start to fall at the thought of leaving the Mansion without Lauren by his side. Everyone said their goodbyes to Alison and welcomed her to come visit them as well. Just like that they were ready to leave this house of nightmares and return to their homes for a well earned rest.

Ro said a quiet goodbye to Lauren, Jesse, and Destorm, promising to never forget them and telling them that she hopes that they are at peace. Linking arms with Liza, they walked to the front doors at the back of the group and sighed at the feeling of the sun on their faces.

Alex, Tyler, and Tana climbed into the first carriage, while Joey, Gabbie, Ro, and Liza sat together in the second. The carriages started to move, beginning the journey home and that’s when it hit Ro...

They had escaped the night.

*

This is my first time writing an ETN fanfic and it ended up so much longer than I expected it too. Again, I’m so so sorry that it took me so long to reply to you, but I hoped you liked this story. (I apologise for any incorrect grammar or an abuse of commas.)

Have a nice day :D

[vintageneptune92]

Wonder of You- 2

Chapter 2- In The Before

So the spacing on this since I’m posting on the mobile app is weird. I’ll see how it looks on my laptop tomorrow and I’ll throw in the “read more” link then too.

Thanks for the likes, comments and re-blogs!

Tag List:

@deans-baby-momma @fandom-princess-forevermore

Series Masterlist

"How is she Bobby?" Dean was pacing in his motel room. He spent more time on hunts alone than he did with his father at this point. Blake had been with Bobby for almost 6 months and Dean still hadn't seen her. True to her word she called him once she got to Bobby's, but her calls were far and few between. It gutted him that he could tell even by her voice she wasn't his Blake. Something was different.

"She's the same Dean. She's broken, more emotionally than physically. She gave up the life she knew to try and live a dream that was snatched away from her. She tried to go back to her old life and she was told no. Nothing is the same. Sam is in California. She barely hears from John. She's hurting and she's healing. She enrolled at the University. She's overworking herself. She's planning on getting her degree at an accelerated rate. She's studying something to do with computers. In her down time, which there isn't much of, she's helping me with research or messing around with cars on the lot. The day she got back, she tore down that dance studio I made for her. She wont talk Dean, not about anything that matters." Bobby sighed. He and Dean had the same conversation almost every day.

"And you still think I should stay away?" Dean had mentioned coming out a few times but Bobby told him not to. She was in a state and he wasn't sure if Dean being there would be helpful or harmful.

"Dean, for now, I think it's the best. Stick to phone calls. She feels rejected. Like you think she can't help or take care of herself. She's stubborn and she's tough. She's probably tougher than you are. Let her wounds heal a little bit. She's been through a lot. With what happened to her parents, then being with you 3 and then everything that has happened since. She needs space. Give it to her. If she needs you, or if it seems like you being here will be better for her, I'll call you. Tell that father of yours to call her more often too. I've been after him, but he's, well he's your father."

"I just miss her Bobby. And before you even say it, I know it isn't about me. That's why I haven't showed up there. I don't even talk to my father that often other than him sending me on cases. Does she at least talk to Sammy?"

"Everyday Dean. He calls her every day. They talk for at least a half an hour. He's worried about her too. He's been trying to get her to go back to California but she refuses. She wont tell him this, but seeing him so settled and happy with that girl, it makes her feel worse. And you know how much she loves him and fought for him to have the life he wants. She doesn't want to bring him down." It stung that she talked to Sam everyday and not him.

"Her nightmares?"

"Two, sometimes three a night. She doesn't talk about them. But I hear her. She knows I'm here for her if she needs me. I can't push her."

"Maybe she needs to be pushed." Dean clenched his jaw.

"Well you might be right. When I think we need to try that, you'll be my first call. Listen, I have to get back to work."

"Ok Bobby. Tell her I called...tell her to please call me back and that I miss her."

"I will Dean. Talk to you soon." Bobby hung up before Dean could say anything more. He was halfway to Sioux Falls and pulled off at the next exit. He had been toying with whether or not to show up and ignore what Bobby wanted. But maybe he was right. She needed that space. He decided to find a motel to stay at for the night and wait for his father to send him his next case.

“Blake, it’s me. Call me back. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for 2 months and you’re giving me the slip. Bobby is worried. It’s bad if Bobby is worried. If I don’t hear from you I’m coming to Sioux Falls. You can’t avoid me forever.”

It had been 8 months since he last saw her, and two months since he heard her voice other than her voicemail message. From what Bobby had told him she I was completely withdrawn. She barely ate. She was at the bar every night, a lot of times she did t even go home. Bobby didn’t know what to do. She was like a baby doe, he was afraid to take a step and scare her. She wasn’t her. He decided in that moment he wasn’t going to wait for her to call back. He was going to see her. Maybe he had been wrong by turning her away. He wanted to keep her safe, but this wasn’t safe. She was being reckless. For whatever reason, Bobby couldn’t give her the tough love she needed, so he would do it.

——————————————————————————

He rolled in at about 6am after driving all night. A 10 hour drive took him about 7. Bobby was sitting at the kitchen table waiting for her, concern etched all over his face.

“Did she not come home again?” Bobby shook his head.

“She’s gone.”

“What the hell do you mean she’s gone?!” Dean didn’t normally yell at Bobby and Bobby would normally take him to task for it. Neither one of them were quite themselves.

“She left a letter. Well two, one for me and then one for you. Yours seems a little longer than mine.” Dean took it from him and headed into the living room to read it. He ran his hand down his face and opened the envelope.

I’m Sorry D. For so many things. I’m sorry for giving you the slip for so long. I’m sorry for telling Bobby to not let you come. I’m sorry for being such a coward and running when I knew you were coming. Just know that I’m safe. I’m on my way back to California. I really love it out there. I found a really cute house to rent on the beach. I’m close to Sam and Jess. I’ll be okay.

The truth is, emotionally, I’m a mess. I’m a broken down basket case. I’ve lost the things that defined who I am. Ballet, dancing, it was my anchor to my past. It was the only thing apart of me that was from my parents. My mother loved ballet. Did I ever tell you she was a dancer too? I wish I talked about them more. I feel like I’m forgetting them. My memories of them are fading. It’s like loosing them for a second time. But no matter where we were and what school I was at I was always that weird ballet dancer. I was always the daughter of John Winchester. And now I’m not either. It was always me and my boys against the world. I can’t tell you the last time I heard from John. I do know the last time I saw him was when I woke up after being hit by the car. And now we’re all apart.

John and Sammy don’t speak. You and Sammy....I’m not sure if you speak but I know you two won’t ever be the same.

And then there’s you and me. I don’t even know where to begin. All I know is that when I’m with you I can’t think clearly. And I need to be able to think to figure out who I really am. At the same time, I can't breath without you. So until I can figure things out, I have to hold my breath and put my broken pieces in order. It would be so easy to let you come here and patch me up with tape and glue, but that wouldn’t solve anything, I would just fall apart after the next crisis because there will always be a next crisis. It's who we are. So I have to do this on my own.

I think the space will help things cool down between us too. It’s not the right time for us. So for now, I’m going to put our prom and that night at the beach before everything came crashing down and put it in the back of my mind so we can go back to what we were before that. I need my best friend right now, without any expectations. Maybe someday the time will be right, in fact I'm count on it.

I will call you when I’m ready to talk, but don’t stop calling me. Your voicemails make me smile, even when you’re yelling at me to call you. Or ranting at me because Bobby is telling you I'm not taking care of myself. Call me after every hunt and let me know what happened and that you’re okay. I just need to know that you're okay.

Sammy is going to take care of me, I promise. Well he promised, but you don’t have to worry okay? Please don’t worry. Until I see you. XoXo

Always-

Blake

Dean could hear her voice in his head as he read it. The way she would pause, the quirky breaks in her voice. Her pleading with him not to worry. He just wanted to be with her again. He wanted to hear her laugh at his dumb jokes and sing along with her crappy music in the car. He never should have sent her away. He never should have listened to his father that she should be out of this life. She was this life. That's why she didn't feel like she knew who she was anymore. She didn't belong in a normal life, she was like him. Sammy, he longed for the normal. He fit right in. She didn't, she never would. She and Dean were the same. He didn't know if it made him love her more or hate himself more.

"You okay?" Bobby stood in the doorway surveying the aftermath of Blake's departure.

"Yeah Bobby. I'm good." Bobby rolled his eyes. Dean was ever the stoic.

"Well you look like crap. Go get some shut eye." Dean nodded and stood. He looked back at Bobby before he went to go find a bed to crash in. "She'll be fine Dean. She'll be with Sam. The only other person in this world that cares about her almost as much as you do. He'll make sure she's taken care of and as happy as she can be. Just give her some time." Dean nodded and headed to bed.

——————————————————————————

The last time Blake had been on a beach had been with him. Part of her wished he was there with her, the other part was glad he wasn't. She didn't want him to ever see her like this. A shell of the person she used to be. She suspected it would happen eventually. She had bounced back from her parents murder like a super ball. No one was THAT well adjusted. Bobby had been great, he let her do her thing, but then she noticed he started to worry more. He had kept Dean at bay for almost a year and she still wasn't ready to see him. She over heard Bobby's last conversation with Dean and she knew she had to get the hell out of dodge before he showed up in Sioux Falls. If he had gotten there before she left, she never would have left at all. She was a low life coward and she knew she had hurt him once again. Maybe they were destined to just hurt each other with only snippets of happiness. She didn't want to believe that, but so far that had been their story.

It was two and a half days since she left South Dakota and she was standing on the edge of the Pacific Ocean in a pair of shorts and a sweat shirt. The salty air nipped through her hair. This was peace. It was too early to pick up the keys to her rental and it was definitely too early to go see Sam. The sun was barely rising over the horizon. She should have been exhausted, but the smell of the ocean had energized her. She looked at her phone, a single, short message from John. "Safe Travels Sweetheart" was all he had said. Maybe he thought since she was an adult she didn't need him anymore. That couldn't be further from the truth, but the loss of Sam and his obsession with the Yellow Eyed Demon had taken him over. They had all changed. She hadn't been the only one.

The Winchester men were nothing if not consistently stubborn. 3 pig headed morons in one family was too much. Sam should understand why John was angry. Well his hurt came off as anger. John should have understood Sam's need for something different. Dean should have just supported them both. She just wanted all 4 of them to be together again in one place, but she knew the chances of that were slim to none. She sat down in the sand to enjoy the peace and quiet until it was time to get into her house and get her life back together.

——————————————————————————

October 2005

"C'mon you guys!! We're late" Blake yelled up the stairs to Sam and Jess. There she stood in her Holly Golightly costume. She had opted for the popular bedtime costume of the tuxedo shirt, sleep mask and messy hair. She had a pair of teal slippers on to match her eye mask.

"What the hell are you wearing?" Sam laughed as he came down the steps. "I see you finally found a costume that you didn't have to brush your hair for."

"Eat a bag of dicks." she crossed her arms in front of her, pursing her lips. After giving him the once over. "Why aren't you wearing a costume?"

"Because I'm not 12."

"Because you're a loser." She shot back. When she saw Jess coming down the stairs she let out a low whistle. "At least I wont have the shortest hemline tonight."

"Yeah for once." Jess laughed.

"You guys are both assholes and I hate you both." She squealed as Sam put her in a headlock. "C'mon, this messy hair look took me an hour! You're such a tremendous losers."

"C'mon you two, lets go." As Sam let Blake go she punched him in the stomach and ran out of the house as he keeled over in the kitchen. "You two are children." Jess muttered as she went outside.

Blake sipped on her Jack and Ginger as Jess, Sam and Luis discussed his LSAT scores and upcoming interview. She stared at her phone willing it to ring or for a text to pop up. She felt eyes on her and looked up at Sam. "Brian still hasn't called?" Sam's voice was laced with sympathy. "Brian? Oh God no...I ended that like two weeks ago. He just didn't stick." she shrugged. Sam studied her face. "Who are you waiting on?" Sam knew the answer before he even asked the question. He watched as her expression changed and she furiously responded to a text message on her phone. "No one. Listen, this blows. I'm gonna grab a cab and head home." Sam shook his head. "No Way, you're not leaving alone, I'll drive you home." Blake rolled her eyes. "No...there are a million cabs outside, it's Halloween. I'll get door to door service. You stay with Jess and celebrate. You did great kid. You're going to be a big shot lawyer and live the life of your dreams. I'm just not feeling this tonight. I'll text you when I get home. Besides, we both know that I can take care of myself. God help anyone if they tried to jump me." Sam laughed. "What about you Blake? Do you have the life of your dreams?" She scoffed. "I'm a part time paramedic and I teach dance to toddlers. I'm not exactly living anyone's dream, but it's not so bad. I'm good Sam. Really. I've been good for a long time." She stood up and kissed him on the cheek. "I'll talk to in the morning." She slipped out of the booth and said goodbye to Jess and Luis before Sam could protest. She couldn't tell him why she was really leaving.

As the cab pulled in front of her place, she saw the car. She hadn't seen that car in almost 3 years. She felt the excitement bubbling inside of her. The cab barely came to a stop when she was throwing money and yelling about keeping the change. He must have been watching in the rear view mirror of his car because as soon as her feet hit the pavement he was climbing out of the Impala. And then she ran, and before he knew what hit him she had jumped into his arms and was squeezing him for dear life.

"Jesus Blake. You knocked the wind out of me." he was laughing as he said it. She peeled her face from his shoulder so she could look at him, that signature crinkle in the corner of his green eyes showing. "God I missed you sweetheart." She didn't even balk at the pet name. She just hugged him again. As he set her down, he gave her a once over. "What the hell are you wearing? Did you even brush your hair?" She stared at him for a moment. If he and Sam only knew how alike they really were. She gave him a beaming grin. "What?"

"Nothing D. This is my costume. It's Halloween." He squinted in confusion as he stared at her and then she saw the light go off.

"Breakfast at Tiffany's. One of your favorites. Please tell me you didn't go to a bar without pants." She shook her head.

"Ever the protector Winchester. I have spandex shorts on. C'mon, lets go inside. This may be California but I'm freezing."

"Good to know some things never change." She took his hand and led him to the house. She paused for a moment and turned to him. He raised his eyebrows. "We are never going this long without seeing each other again." And then she was pulling him along again.

——————————————————————————

"So Paramedic huh?" Dean was impressed. She smiled at him for what seemed like the 100th time in the past hour. "Yeah...if you thought I was great at stitching people up before, you should see me now. Barely leave a scar. And now, I could hook you up to an IV and you wouldn't even feel it. Good skills to have." Dean had a feeling where it was going, or at least he hoped he did. He wouldn't ask her, but he wouldn't tell her no either. "I'm teaching dance classes too." Both of his eyebrows shot up. "I thought you were done with that?" She sighed. "I was, for a while. It hurt, emotionally, so I had to let it go. But then, once I felt more settled with myself, I realized it could still be apart of me. Just because I can't be a Prima Ballerina doesn't mean I can't still dance. It wont ever be professionally because my body couldn't take it anymore, not after the accident. I teach more modern and lyrical dances. It's fun, the girls have a lot of fun. I have some really talented boys too." Dean felt his insides sink. He was hoping she wouldn't be so settled, which he immediately felt guilty for. She was studying his face as the thoughts ran through his head. She was trying to figure out what he was thinking, but they were too out of sync for her to know by looking at him right now.

"Dean." She put her hands on his. He pulled himself from his thoughts and looked at her. "Don't take this the wrong way, because I am beyond thrilled that you are, but why are you here? I didn't think I'd ever get you in the state of California, let alone near Sam." He shook his head. "No, I want to talk more about you first." She closed her eyes and counted to three internally, he knew she was doing it, she had the look of exasperation on her face. "Dean...there's plenty of time for that. What do you need? I know it's something big, you wouldn't be here if it wasn't." He gave her a half smile, out of sync or not, she still knew him. "My Dad is missing. He was on a hunt and I...I don't know. He's gone. Something happened. I was hoping you would be able to convince Sam to come with me." She nodded. "Just Sam?" He wouldn't make eye contact with her, but he felt her blue-green eyes burning a hole in him. "I can't ask you. You're happy. You seem really freaking happy. The last time I saw you, you were so hurt and so angry. I wont mess that up." She scoffed at him.

"Dean...I've been sitting here for almost two years waiting for you to ask me to come back." his eyes slowly gazed up to her face. "Yeah, being a paramedic is great. I love saving people. And I have a lot of fun teaching my kids. But I have NEVER been happier than when I was on the road with you. I always thought it was the three of you that made me so happy. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't dying to have Sammy with us too. But it was you, it's always been you that made me feel safe. You're home. Not some house, not some job that anyone can do with the right training. You and that Impala. That's home. I love saving people...and not many people can save innocent lives the way we can. My bags are packed Dean. They've been packed since you told me three days ago you were coming. I already quit my jobs and boxed up everything I don't need and already shipped it to Bobby. Because I'm either going with you, or I'm getting in my own damn car and going out on my own. I don't need you, Bobby or John to give me leads. I can find my own. So if you'll have me, I'll call Bobby in the morning and have him send someone to get my Jeep and bring it back to his place. Or I'm going to find John on my own." He chuckled. "How long have you been planning that speech?" She smiled at him again. "Since the day I realized I was okay and I was ready. Well?" He pulled her into a soul crushing hug. "You and me kid. C'mon, let's go get your stuff and get Sammy."

After she changed into shorts and a t-shirt, they loaded the rolling suitcase and duffel bag she had packed into the trunk. "Sammy was right that first night you came to us. You have a lot of stuff." She glared at him as she put the blanket and pillow in the back seat along with her big purse. "Shut up...I'm a girl and we just have more stuff." He shook his head at her and they climbed into the car. "The pillow and blanket though?" She shrugged. "I've spent more time sleeping in that back seat than an actual bed. I figure I may as well be comfortable doing it. Turn left at the light." She directed as she settled into the familiar car. It smelled like Dean. Leather, sandalwood, mint and whisky. "You really didn't tell Sammy I was coming?" She stared at him for a moment. "Are you really that dumb? How many times do I have to tell you that I'll take any secret you have to the grave. I wouldn't betray you like that." They rode in a comfortable silence with Blake pointing out directions until they were in front of Sam and Jess' place.

"They're sleeping, you should have gotten here sooner." She groaned. "What? And miss you in that Halloween costume. Hell no. I'm just going to go in and get him."

"Dean....the doors are locked." He shrugged. "So you're going to break in. Perfect. Listen...if you end up with a broken jaw or shot, I don't want to hear it." Dean gave her his most mischievous grin and headed towards the house. She got out of the car and made her way to the driver's side and leaned against the vehicle with her arms crossed. The night was perfectly silent and she heard the scuffle in the house. She prayed Sam didn't shoot him. She let the breath she was holding go when she heard Sam yell Dean's name. Sam was going to be pissed at her. One...for letting Dean break in and two not letting him know his brother was in town. Dean asked her not to and she wouldn't ever break his trust. Half an hour later after the lights had been turned on, Dean jogged out of the house with Sam not far behind. His eyes widened when he saw her standing there. She wiggled her fingers in a wave and opened the door to climb in the back behind Dean. Sam grabbed her arm before she could get in.

"Seriously Blake? You knew he was going to show up here. You knew he was going to drag me into this?" She flinched at his tone and yanked her arm away. "First off, don't EVER grab me like that again, that fucking hurt. Second of all, I had NO idea WHY he was coming here. He didn't tell me until I pulled it out of him a half hour before we came here." Sam gave her apologetic look. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your arm. I'm just...I don't know. But you knew he was coming?" She nodded. "Sam...he asked me not to say anything. I honestly thought he was just coming to see me and he didn't want to see you. I had no idea John was missing. And even if I did, he asked me not to say anything. You know I wont." Sam gave her a stern look. "So much for loyalty." Now it was Blake grabbing his arm. "Hey! No! You don't get to be mad at me Sam. I’m in the middle of all this shit. I haven’t seen John since my accident because he’s so pissed at me for not being pissed at you and for keeping YOUR secret. You think I like feeling like the kid of divorced parents between you and Dean? Do you have any idea how hard this has been? Sam...you saved me. You helped put me back together when I was in pieces. You’re my best friend.You know I love you.” He scoffed. “Just not as much or the way you love Dean.” Dean was back by the porch letting them have it out. He jumped back when he saw Blake slap Sam. They never fought. This was his fault. Blake stalked towards him.

“Let him hear the message. I’m going in to say goodbye to Jess. She’s been really good to me. I can’t leave without thanking her.”

“Blake wait.” He grabbed her hand lightly. She turned to him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put you in the middle.” She shook her head and linked her pinky with his.

“To the grave.” She patted the side of his face with her free hand and went into the house.

——————————————————————————

“Ugh freaking ghosts!” Blake yelled from the back of the Impala holding a towel to the gash on her thigh. It had been a stressful few days. Finding John’s hotel room, but no John. Dean getting arrested. The woman in white trying to kill Sam. The ghosts of her babies. Blake had a feeling she had a fresh batch of nightmares coming her way.

“I told you not to wear shorts.” Dean laughed when she kicked the back of his seat.

“The glass would have gone through the denim. It’s not indestructible.”

“And yet I have no injuries.”

“We can change that you know.” Sam laughed. They hadn’t mentioned the argument since they hit the road. Sam looked in the back and saw Blake slip thread through a needle.

“Are you giving yourself stitches?!” Sam was wide eyed.

“You two cavemen will leave me with a nasty scar. I’m an artist.” She shrugged. Dean looked at her in the rear view mirror.

“You’re a bad ass.” Blake looked up and grinned at him.

Once Blake was done covering her stitch job she leaned her head back against the back seat, tuning the boys out, thoughts consumed with John. Where was he? Was he alive? She felt the fear in her stomach clench. She’d give anything to find him, found her after all. She was snapped out of his thoughts as the Impala slowed near Sam’s house. She climbed out of the back and made her way over to the passenger side. Sam got out and before she could even say anything he scooped her up in a hug.

“I’m sorry for what I said B. I was just upset and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” She pulled back and smiled at him pushing his hair off of his forehead. “You were right in a sense. I do love him differently, but it doesn’t mean I love you less. Like I said, you were the one that saved me.” He hugged her tightly again. “Are you sure you want to go with Dean? You had a pretty nice life here.” Blake let go of Sam, she looked down for a moment and back up to his eyes. “Sammy, you were meant for this life. Me? Not so much. It’ll never stick, not really. This hunt? First time I really felt like me in I don’t know how long. I have to find your Dad.” San nodded and she continued. “You’re going to kill that interview tomorrow, and then you’ll be a big shot lawyer and keep Dean and I out of jail.” Sam laughed and pulled away “You call me as soon as you’re out if that interview. Kiss Jess for me and tell her I said thank you again for everything and I’ll call her.” Sam hugged Blake quickly again and kissed the top of her head before heading to his house. Once Blake was settled into the passenger seat Dean started to pull away.

“I can’t wait to shower and burn these clothes. No way the blood is coming out of this white shirt...Dean? Are you listening to me?” She noticed he was staring at his watch and then threw the Impala into a U-Turn. “Dean, you’re scaring me!” She cried. Dean parked in front of Sam’s and jumped out of the car.

“Stay here Blake!” Dean yelled as he ran inside. Blake got out of the car when she saw flames in Sam’s bedroom window. She grabbed a hoodie out of the back seat to throw on over her shirt. She knew the fire department would be there soon. Dean was dragging Sam out of the house. She knew it wasn’t the time to ask. She looked at Dean and mouthed “Jess?” And he shook his head. She felt the tears welling in her eyes. Another person they loved was gone. The look in Sam’s eyes told her this fire wasn’t an accident and it wasn’t just a fire. She stuffed her feelings down. She’d feel them later. She knew Sam was with them now for the long haul.

[kaymarie6252]

Quirkless AU Part Three

I’m back!! Yay! This part took me a while to write, just because I was experiencing some major writer’s block. I’m still not sure where I want to take this AU, so this could be the end or there could be more parts. This is part three so if you haven’t read the other two parts, I have linked them below for you to read. Enjoy!

Part One

Part Two 

--------------------

Throughout the week Izuku started to hear more about vigilantes everywhere he went. He started paying attention to the news and saw that almost half of the reports revolved around vigilantes and things that they did. In most cases, the vigilantes brought people to justice. However, a lot of the vigilantes caused damages in the process. It was clear based on the reports that the public held mixed feelings regarding vigilantes. Some individuals thought they were more helpful than even heroes, whereas others thought that they caused more harm than good. Izuku wasn’t sure how to feel about vigilantes, and as Y/N cornered him after this week’s support group, he still wasn’t sure.

“Do you have a minute to talk?” Y/N asked before Izuku could leave the room. Izuku looked over at them and nodded his head. He followed Y/N to another part of the building so they could talk.

“What did you want to talk about?” Izuku asked once they stopped walking and were leaning against a wall down the hall from the support group room.

“If I said I knew a way we could still be heroes, would you want in?” Y/N asked with a serious tone. Izuku looked at them in confusion.

“We don’t have quirks, Y/N. How are we going to become heroes without those.” Izuku sighed. He rubbed his face with his hands.

“You remember how we talked about vigilantes?” Y/N asked, looking over at Izuku.

“Yeah…” Izuku said, looking at Y/N with confusion. Their words started to click in his brain. “We can’t do that. They’re illegal.” Izuku said in a hushed voice.

“If we don’t get caught, it won’t be a problem. Plus, we’re kids. The worst they will do is send us back home to our parents.” Y/N explained, rolling their eyes. Izuku looked at them as if they had two heads.

“Are you crazy? You want us to do what exactly? Just walk up to where a crime is happening and jump in? We could die!” Izuku exclaimed, waving his arms around in exasperation.

“You’re being a little over dramatic.” Y/N threw back, folding their arms across their chest.

“Over dramatic? If we were to do this, we would be fighting against people who have quirks when we have none. We could very easily die.” Izuku expressed. He sighed as he leaned against the wall.

“Look, you don’t have to agree to do it if you don’t want to. I just think that this would give us a chance to be somewhat of a hero. We wouldn’t jump into any fights right away. I know a place we can go to get serious training, so that we can be prepared to jump in.” Y/N explained, looking over at Izuku where he was leaning against the wall. “I know I have always wanted to be a hero, and from talking with you and hearing your story through this group, I know you feel the same. This could be our chance to still become heroes. We could show other quirkless kids that they can still be heroes too.”

Izuku sighed and looked at the ground. His thoughts were running a mile a minute. One part of him was screaming “this is insane! You can’t do this!,” while another part of him was saying “you can finally live out your dream.” He was very conflicted on what to think, do, or say in that moment. Sensing his growing distress, Y/N jumped in.

“You don’t have to decide today. Take the week and think about it. You can let me know if you want to do it at group next week. Just, promise you’ll at least think about it?” Y/N said quietly.

“O-okay.” Izuku muttered, nodding his head. Y/N gave him a small smile before walking toward the door of the building. They gave a short wave before leaving. Izuku took a deep breath and then walked outside. He saw his mom parked out front and quickly jumped into the car.

“How was it Izuku?” Inko asked, watching him put on his seat belt.

“Fine.” Izuku mumbled, looking out of the window. His mother started chatting animatedly about the dinner they would be having when they arrived home, but Izuku couldn’t bring himself to listen. He was too preoccupied with the proposal that Y/N had given him. Izuku’s mind kept repeating the words that Y/N had said. We could show other quirkless kids that they can still be heroes too. He had a lot to think about.

**

Izuku didn’t get much sleep that night. He stayed up majority of the night replaying his conversation with Y/N. On some level he agreed with what Y/N said. This could be his chance to become a hero, despite it taking him down a path he never thought he would take. He could show other quirkless kids that they could still do good in the world, still be heroes. Despite that, another part of him was screaming no. It’s illegal. He could get into serious trouble or even worse, he could die. He doesn’t have a quirk, how could he fight someone who does and win?

These thoughts tumbled through his head the entire night, and by the time the morning sun was filtering through his curtains, Izuku was leaning towards not doing it. He just couldn’t put himself and his mother through all of that. I’ll tell Y/N that I don’t want to do it at group. Izuku thought to himself, feeling mostly confident in his decision. He pushed the thoughts of vigilantes out of his brain and tried to focus on what he had to do during the week.

**

Midway through the week, Izuku awoken in the middle of the night feeling like he had an epiphany. I have to do it. He thought to himself. He sat up in his bed and put his head in his hands. Knowing that so many quirkless kids could look up to him and see him as this great hero, even if he was only a vigilante, gave him a sense of determination. This was his future, his legacy. He could help change the world’s view on vigilantes as a whole. With this new found determination, Izuku jumped out of bed and ran to his computer. After it powered on, Izuku went to work. If he was going to do this, he needed to learn everything he could about vigilantes and the laws surrounding them so he could ensure that they actually had a chance at becoming vigilantes. Izuku spent the rest of the night combing through websites and news articles, soaking in as much information as he could. When the morning sun filtered through the curtains, and Izuku’s mother called his name for breakfast, Izuku reluctantly got off of his computer and started getting ready for the day. Despite not getting much sleep, Izuku was wide awake, his energy fueled by his excitement for the future.

**

The night before group, Izuku’s hopes came crashing to a stop. He came home from school to find his mother watching news. As he walked through the living area, Izuku overheard the news anchor talking about a vigilante. He paused and turned toward the tv to hear what was going on.

“The vigilante, who has not yet been identified, was running onto the scene in hopes to save some of the civilians trapped inside the building. Before the vigilante could make it to the building, a group of villains came out of the shadows and grabbed the vigilante. Police are still trying to piece together what happened, but based on eyewitness reports, the villain group attacked and murdered the vigilante and left them in an alleyway. We will keep you updated as more information comes in.” The news cut to a commercial break after the report.

Izuku’s eyes were wide as he watched the tv. His confidence he was feeling about doing vigilante work faded away with each passing second. Logically, he knew there was a risk of death, but this made it more real. Knowing that not even 24 hours before he officially decides to become a vigilante, someone was murdered trying to rescue others made him re-evaluate his decision. Having no quirk, he would have no way of defending himself if something like that happened. He looked at his mother and saw the worry on her face while she watched the news reports. I would only make her worried. Izuku thought to himself. He sighed and walked into his room. Lying on the bed, he stared up at his ceiling, thinking about his options again. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, but he didn’t have much more time to figure it out.

**

After group let out, Y/N grabbed Izuku’s arm and dragged him into the hall. Once they were situated in a secluded part of the building, Y/N let his arm go and turned to look at him.

“So, did you think about it.” Y/N asked, staring him straight in the eyes. Izuku chewed on his lip.

“Mhm.” He said, not letting go of his lip. Y/N looked at him with curiosity in their eyes.

“And?” They asked, prompting him to say his answer.

“Let’s do it.” Izuku said, a look of determination flashing across his face. Y/N grinned at him.

“I knew you’d be down for it Broccoli boy.” Y/N exclaimed. They spent the next 20 minutes discussing what they were going to do. When Izuku left group that evening, he left feeling more hopeful and determined than he had in years.

[sirkkasnow]

01 Let Trouble Come To You

Ao3 link

06/30/13 Sunday

Stan registered three things as he stepped out into the heavy summer sunshine:

First, there was an old square-sided station wagon smashed nose first into the side of the Shack.

Second, Ford had just wrenched open the driver’s door.

Third, the occupant of the wagon, a well-dressed woman, looked up – disoriented but conscious – eyes flicking to his twin, then to him.

Son of a bitch, thought Stan, pushing himself into a jog across the lawn. He hadn’t made it halfway before the woman in the wagon clapped both hands over her startled mouth and burst into tears. Ford winced, backing off with the penlight he’d been waving in her face. Stan put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and drew him back another step, leaning in.

“Hey. Hey, ma’am, you okay in there?”

He got a shaky nod that did nothing to interrupt a series of faint jagged sobs, the kind of tears you got when you were trying very hard not to cry. The driver curled in on herself, knees tucked up, a ball of misery he had no idea how to unravel.

Mabel popped out of the nearest door and skidded to a halt in open-mouthed surprise. Stan pointed her way. “Mabel! Pumpkin, go get a box of tissues and a cold washcloth, all right? Ford, what the hell?”

“I have no idea! I heard it just when you did. I was in the lab – “

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“ – testing the new safety features I just installed on the magnet gun.” Ford looked over his shoulder in dawning horror. “Which must have pulled this victim of circumstance right into the house.” Mabel was already back, dashing to the driver’s side with tissues and washcloth in hand. Her bright voice rang out in greeting and got a muffled response.

“Sweet Moses, Ford, you’ve done it this time.” Stan pulled himself upright with a sigh, doing the mental math and eyeing the damage to the Shack’s shingling. The wagon had definitely gotten the worst of it, he decided with a twinge of relief. He noted a few details – Colorado plates, occupied bike rack, the clutter of an extended road trip jammed into the rear compartment. “Ma’am?”

The woman in the wagon had uncurled a bit, finally, pressing the washcloth to her face. She lowered it to reveal fine, sharp features, grey eyes pink at the edges. “Clary,” she said, thick-voiced, then cleared her throat. “Clary Merrick.”

Mabel was patting Clary’s knee. “She says she’s okay! Clary, these are my grunkles, you’ve met Ford and that’s Stan. Welcome to the Mystery Shack! I’m really sorry about all of this!” Her eyes tracked over to Ford, who was looking guiltier by the second.

“It’s all good, Mabel. Just an accident, right? We’ll get a tow truck out here for this poor unfortunate – “

“I’ll take care of it,” said Ford.

Stan bit back a laugh. “You, fix this mess?”

“I’ve figured out a few alien vehicles in my time – “

“You kiddin’ me?”

Stan turned away from the car, tugging Ford along with him. “You do see what kinda shape this thing is in, right? This was somewhere between vintage and decrepit before it got friendly with the Shack. I can probably get it runnin’ again, but unless you have an engine-repair gun hiding in that lab of yours, that’s gonna take time.”

“Stanley. This is my fault.” The corners of Ford’s eyes crinkled with distress and Stan swore internally.

“Look. Fine. We can let her stay here for the night and I’ll take a look in the mornin’, but you’re gonna modify that magnet gun to iron out body panels or we won’t get too far.” Behind them, a heavy click marked the release of the seat belt.

“A tow truck would be fine. I’d really hate to impose.” Clary stepped unsteadily out of the station wagon, pushing out behind her with a careless hand to close the door with a firm thunk.

The four of them watched as the S from the Shack sign wobbled, skittered with increasing speed down the roof and thudded with a deep crunch square into the center of the crumpled hood. A last hiss of steam welled, faded and died.

Clary laid a hand over her brow, drew a long, steadying breath and turned away. “I’d be happy to take you up on a spare room for the night. Thank you so much.”

Their guest – Stan had to keep reminding himself, guest and not expensive, potentially litigious annoyance – pulled a small overnight bag out of the back seat and trailed after the family to the house, pausing to swap phone contacts with Mabel on the way. Waddles trotted by to check out Clary’s ankles, prompting exclamations and explanations on the way inside. He couldn’t blame the lady. Few people expected to be accosted by a pet pig.

Clary spent five minutes in the washroom and emerged looking…polished. Eyes clear, tear blotching gone, hair tucked smoothly away into its twist. The jaunty little silk neckerchief wrapped snugly twice and knotted at her neck had been set straight. Her glance drifted across Stan’s without really sticking and she offered a careful smile, tagging along with Mabel for what sounded like a house tour.

Stan recruited Dipper as an assistant. Clearing the spare room went fairly quickly, boxes of old merchandise stacked off to one side. He fished out a marker and tagged a few for later discount – some of this stuff had to be six years out of date by now, not quite old enough for a retro sale.

“ – and here is your room! Which is now almost completely clear of terrifying cursed artifacts and where you are guaranteed to have a great night’s sleep!” Mabel burst through the door and tossed a heap of pillows on the almost-inflated air mattress, ignoring Dipper’s hey! of protest as he labored away at the foot pump.

Clary stuck her head in, then leaned through the doorframe just enough to drop off a pile of blankets, linens and a large stuffed blue whale. “The whale’s on loan,” she said, when Stan shot her a flat look of disbelief.

“We’ll make the bed,” Mabel sang. “You two go get acquainted!” She nudged Dipper aside and took over foot-pump duties with enthusiasm.

“Uh – yeah, I guess we’ll see you guys in a couple minutes?” Dipper scooped up the sheets. “We’ve got this.”

Stan found himself ejected into the hallway. Clary blinked up at him, expression softened by maybe a quarter smile. “Mabel is a force of nature.”

“You said it. C’mon, sounds like you already got a pretty good look at the joint.” Stan tipped a thumb over at the connecting door. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to the Mystery Shack before?”

“I’ve never been to Oregon before, but I know the name, at least. Saw a bumper sticker – “

“Ha!” Clary rocked back on her heels in surprise. “Hear that, Ford?” Stan yelled in the general direction of the kitchen. “Those bumper stickers were a good investment! And Sixer says they’re too ‘plain’ and ‘graphically simplistic’ and ‘don’t even have an address on them Stanley how is anyone supposed to find the place’ to attract customers.”

“Well, they are graphically simplistic!” Ford leaned over to call back through the kitchen doorway. “I don’t know how she found the place, let alone thought ‘What is the Mystery Shack’ was compelling.”

“No, no, I liked it. Very minimalist. What’s the point of advertising the Mystery Shack if there isn’t a little mystery to solve on the way? Besides,” her voice dropped into a barely-audible rumble, “I’d say it was the magnet gun that was really compelling.”

She’d said that in perfect deadpan, and Stan’s grin went wide. “I like you, Clary. How about I give you a tour sometime tomorrow, regular price.”

That got him a doubtful sidelong frown, and Stan laughed. “We’ll eat in like half an hour. Feel free to unpack or get interrogated by Mabel or whatever. Congratulations, you’re the most interestin’ thing to have happened here all summer.”

Twenty minutes later Ford had managed to pad out dinner with some odds and ends from the freezer. They swiped a kitchen chair to wedge in at the dining table. Clary now sported a Mabel scarf pinned across her chest, anchoring a dishtowel-wrapped bundle of what had to be frozen peas at her left shoulder. Stan reckoned she was anticipating a bruise from the seat belt. Smart. Mabel, bless her, led in with loud enthusiasm about the pleasures of summer in Gravity Falls, and a round of questions followed as he loaded up his plate.

“I’m a lawyer,” Clary said into a still moment. “I specialize in federal tax work.”

He hadn’t been tuned in to the conversation, but that particular combination of phrases was enough to both douse Stan’s nerves in ice water and trigger a regrettable reflex. He set an elbow on the table, leaned in, and said: “What’s the difference between a lady lawyer and a pitbull?”

Clary’s focus snapped to him. Stan raised an eyebrow.

The professional mask didn’t slip, but there was a spark of hot defiance at the back of her eyes. “Lipstick. Why did New Jersey get all the toxic waste and California get all the lawyers?”

Stan almost laughed – apparently there was something human in there after all. “Jersey got to pick first. What’s the difference between a dead skunk in the road and a dead lawyer in the road?”

“Skid marks in front of the skunk. What’s the difference between a lawyer and a boxing referee?” Clary relaxed with an arm draped along the back of her chair, looking at him with her chin cocked the slightest bit in challenge. Mabel had both hands over her mouth, stifling a giggle; Ford and Dipper both looked like they wanted to dive for cover.

“A boxin’ referee doesn’t get paid more for a longer fight.” He’d pinned down the accent now – she sounded like Ford, faint traces of a mid-Atlantic cadence all but buffed off by too much damn education. Not Southern enough for Virginia, so – “You’re a long way from home, Maryland.”

“Could say the same for you, Jersey,” she fired back, lips quirked, aware that she’d had the easier lift. “Long Branch?”

Shit, she had him within thirty miles. Stan rolled with it, slung her a finger-gun and a wink. “Close. Baltimore?”

Clary rolled her eyes in return. “There’s not much else in Maryland, but close enough, hon.”

That took some of the starch out, and the discussion relaxed a little. Clary chatted museums with Mabel and Dipper, displaying all the trademark enthusiasm of a hopeless nerd, which was probably going to make dinner even more exhausting than usual for the next few days.

Stan lobbed an occasional joke at Clary for the rest of the meal. She swatted them back with the easy contempt of a bored tennis pro. He was going to have to do some research, because she definitely knew more lousy lawyer cracks than he did.

They left the dishes for later. Ford perched atop the skull side table, Mabel made herself at home on one arm of Stan’s recliner, and Dipper helped pile up a mountain of pillows for himself and Clary. “Are you all caught up on Ducktective?” he asked as Stan got the TV going and started skimming through channels.

“Never seen it, I’m afraid.”

“You’ve never seen it?! Oh my gosh, there is so much going on this week! Listen up, I’ll explain the basics!” Dipper plopped onto a pillow next to Clary and managed to keep it more or less to a whisper, going squeaky as he got to the really good bits.

The whole room went tense and silent for that week’s reveal, then exploded in groans as Mabel waved a dismissive hand at the screen. “Oh, come on! DipDop called that twist like a month ago.”

Dipper puffed out his bony chest. “Well, Mabel, once you’ve seen real weird, mere fiction gets a lot easier to predict.”

“Uh huh. Those real dishes aren’t gonna do themselves.” Stan headed Dipper off at the pass with a brief glare of warning and hauled himself upright. “Clary, you mind helpin’ me round all that up?”

Ford gently shooed the kids up to bed as Stan and Clary cleared the table and headed for the kitchen. She tossed the bag of peas back into the freezer and headed over to join Stan at the sink, taking up a dishtowel, accepting clean glasses and swiping them dry as he passed them over. “That was an adventure.”

“There’s a ton to catch up on, there. Last season was pretty good. You gotta laptop or somethin’?”

“Mmhm. Not sure how much time I’ll have to spare for binge watching, though. What’s your read on the car?”

“Need to have a look under the hood for that. At least a couple days, and honestly, maybe a little more.” Stan watched her lips compress from the corner of one eye. “That thing’s a classic, if you wanna put it charitably.”

“You’re being charitable. I did have – “ Clary smiled briefly up at Ford as he joined them to start on put-away duty. “I did have some work done on it before I left just to make sure it wouldn’t break down. The plan was for a pretty long trip. Not that it matters much at this point.”

“What’s a girl from Maryland doing out in Oregon with a Colorado license plate?”

“I inherited the car. I’m driving to Seattle to scatter my mother’s ashes in the Pacific.”

And damn, what a way to kill a line of inquiry. She handed a dry plate off to Ford, who put it in the appropriate cupboard, looking a little lost. For a good thirty seconds it was nothing but running water and the clink of china.

“So – does the timin’ matter? We could get you on a bus, hook you up with a rental?” Stan was running the mental math again, and yeah, like it or not this one was going to be on him and his brother. Well, dammit.

“She’s dead, Stan, no one’s in a hurry. Least of all me.” A tiny, bitter twist pulled at one corner of her mouth, but she looked up to Ford and her tone was sincere. “Listen. This was an accident, I get it. A very weird accident. I was already planning to make a sort of travel holiday of this, and I’ve got no issue staying in Gravity Falls for a little while – I’ve got the bike and plenty to read. Can you recommend a hotel? A B&B maybe?”

Yes! thought Stan, then No! as Ford opened his mouth and started playing gracious host, of all things. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Clary. I know it’s crowded, but we already have a room set aside for you, and at the very least I can promise you won’t be bored. You’d be right at the center of activity here! I can suggest some hikes, we have lots of games, there’s the lake and the Shack itself of course. You should be able to reach almost anything with that bicycle.”

Stan did his level best to make please, no, come on already faces at Ford over Clary’s head, which was difficult because she was so damned tall. The twins only had about three inches on her. Ford was either missing the signals or being deliberately oblivious. Stan mentally wagered on the latter.

“I’m tempted,” Clary said carefully.

“Please, just sleep on it. I know it’s been a difficult day, and again, I’m so sorry to have put you in this predicament.” Ford lightly plucked the last glass from her fingers and reached up to set it into its place. “We’ll check on both the car and your shoulder.”

For a moment Clary’s lashes dipped down and her fingers twisted into the dishtowel. “All right. You’re very generous, Ford, Stan, thank you. We can go over it in the morning. I’m afraid you’re right, it’s been one hell of a day and I should get some rest. Good night, gentlemen.”

“Good night, Clary.”

“G’night.” Stan dropped a couple of ice cubes into a glass and lifted it in dismissive salute as she headed out towards the repurposed storage room, then gave Ford his very best ‘What the hell, Sixer’ look. What he got back was wide-eyed mock innocence and a shrug.

“Seriously?” Stan said, letting his brow smack lightly into the freezer door.

“I owe her,” Ford said with as much dignity as he could muster. “And it seems to me that she could use the company.”

Stan tapped his head against the freezer twice more before straightening with a groan.

“You were getting bored anyway.” Ford spared Stan a knowing glance.

“I have not been that bored.”

“You were bored enough to take another shot at Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons last week.”

“Yeah, that ended in flames. Let’s hope this doesn’t.”

“She’s interesting, that’s for certain! Perhaps we can make a few minor upgrades to the engine before we send her out again….”

“Ford. Do not.”

It was too late, of course, it had been too late well before Ford had voiced the idea, and he was already jotting notes in his spare pad as Stan watched him wander down the hallway. He’d be up until two in the morning, as usual.

Stan topped off his glass with water and shuffled off towards his own room. Bored. Pfft.

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Clary is talking to the others at the table, and you think you catch something about her doing federal tax law stuff. Yikes.

Crack a lousy lady driver joke.

Crack a lousy cryptid joke.

Crack a lousy lawyer joke.

[sophygurl]

Some thoughts after finishing The City in the Middle of the Night by Charlie Jane Anders:

The whole book was quite intellectually stimulating between trying to understand how a tidally-locked planet works and the sort of octo-reptile-humanoid indigenous life form that lives there, and the socio-political cultures that make up the different city-states that humans have formed on this planet after generations of losing touch with the Mothership that brought them there. Amazing stuff that took deep thought to grasp as the story lays itself out.

The POV characters shift between first person narrative Sophie and third person narrative Mouth. Their POV narrative perspectives reflect on their differing identity conflicts. Sophie tells her story in a personally intimate way, and is the first of her species to learn to communicate with a species that can share first person memories and senses with one another. Mouth, who was never given a real name by the extinct nomad peoples she was raised by - occasionally slips from a third to a second person narrative when things start feeling a bit too real to her. I found that part especially interesting. 

The concept of time is fraught to these people, because of the way the planet works means half the plant is constantly bathed in scorching sunlight and the other half exists in frozen darkness and there is just this tiny swath of temperate twilight between the two where humanity can exist. One of the dominate cultures copes by constructing extreme ways of measuring time and forcing everyone to close shutters and sleep at specific times and open shutters and work/function at others, with many artificial signals of time passing in between. The other large city exists in a much looser construction where no one ever really knows what time it is or how much time has passed. 

The thing I found interesting while reading the book was that we, the reader, are never fully sure how much time is passing during each event that the characters go through. Has it been weeks or months since Sophie has been working at the Parlor, did it take hours or days to cross the Sea of Murder, was the time spent in Argelo measured in months or perhaps a year? We don’t know, because even in the ways that time is measured on this planet (between shutters up and down in one city, by when a specific fountain overflows in another, in a more nebulous manner marked by the few large events that happen to the Gelet) are never compared to how time is measured for humans currently on earth. But even beyond that - the characters tend to be vague, asking themselves even how many shutters up it’s been or just randomly saying it’s felt like ages since whichever big event happened, etc. So, while the people in this book are obsessed with the passage of time - we have very few clues as to how time is actually passing in their story.

I have a really hard time understanding verbal/written descriptions of visual things (or describing visual things in words), so I really have no idea what the Gelet actually look like? I’d love to see some fanart sometime so I could more clearly conceive of them. 

Identity is also something the characters obsess over but have trouble pinning down for themselves. There is talk about the various cultures that came aboard the Mothership in different compartments - some from Zagreb, Nagpur, Ulaanbaatar, Calgary, Shanghai, and Merida. But so many generations have passed since they landed, and so much knowledge lost to these people, that they’re generally unsure who they might be descended from. For some, figuring this out and claiming some pride in their heritage is very important. For others, they’d rather move on and identity more with whatever social class they exist as within the city they’re from. But underpinning it all is a sense that whatever happened on Earth, and also events that happened on the Mothership, has affected these social hierarchies themselves. 

Both of the POV characters have a close woman in their lives who they are deeply entangled with. These relationships are at once intimate (they sleep together and seem partnered in many aspects), and fraught with both conflict and a sense of distance. 

One of the societies has a concept that is called jinx, but also interpreted by one character as “anchor-banter” that romanticizes this kind of relationship between two people. This jinx is someone who has a major hold over your life, and you can either choose to fight them or to accept them as part of your life and fight with them. It’s a fascinating concept and the reader is left wondering if Sophie and Bianca are one another’s jinxes, while Alyssa and Mouth are one another’s - or if perhaps Sophie and Mouth and Bianca and Alyssa are each other’s jinx. Either way, it’s also easy to make the leap that the two large city-states are linked in similar ways - they need one another to survive, but are also deeply opposed in morals and politics and ways of existing. And beyond that - the fate of humanity on this planet is inextricably linked to the Gelet species - even though these two species have often been at violent odds with one another. 

Well these ended up being longer than random bullet point thoughts prolly ought to be, but I had to get this all out while it was still fresh in my head.

Anyway, if you like extremely thought-provoking sci-fi that deals with climate change, colonialism, both personal and cultural identity, bio-engineering, the idea of very different sapient life forms, political intrigue, and adventures in hostile climates, then for sure pick up this book.