#i spent a lot of today in a near constant state of panic for no special reason at fucking all.

[jvzebel-x]

🦋

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

5 times Merlin noticed Arthur’s odd reactions to things,

 +1 time he could start on the road to helping.

TW: Graphic descriptions of child abuse, claustrophobia, panic attacks/flashbacks/disassociating.

1)

Merlin notices things. He always has done, ever since he was a child. Maybe it was the magic, maybe it was the ingrained fear of being snuck up on (as a Bastard child, as a citizen of Essetir, and as someone with magic) or maybe it was just some odd, innate skill. It doesn’t really matter: Merlin is observant, he has keen eyes, which is why he notices Arthur’s sudden change in disposition.

It was a normal afternoon, Arthur and Merlin had just gotten back from the first hunt of the spring and were filling The King in on how it had gone. Well... Arthur was, Merlin was just sort of stood there. 

The servant was annoyed that Arthur had dragged him along, both to the hunt and to the meeting, but The Prince had been so excited (not that he showed it too much) at the prospect of telling his father how well everything went, he conceded easily. It was rare that Arthur got his father’s approval; Merlin had only been serving him for a few months, so maybe it was stupid of him to want to see Arthur happy, but oh well. He may be a prat, but he meant well and he loved his people, he deserved a little happiness occasionally.

Uther was in fact proud, and Merlin had better luck than Arthur at holding his grin in, though that changed quickly. 

Arthur was looking out of the window and making casual comments on when he planned on going out next, and Uther, stepping quietly without even realising it, manages to move to the space just behind him without Arthur noticing. He claps a firm, but proud hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and if Merlin hadn’t known that Arthur would deny it later, he would accuse him of jumping a foot in the air. He turns around quickly, eyes wide and barely focusing as Uther gives his son another congratulations, as well as a terse “Make sure you keep it up.”

The sudden tightness in Arthur’s shoulders and his clear discomfort at having Uther so close do not go unnoticed by Merlin and he frowns, making a split second decision that could very well get him put in the stocks:

“Sorry to interrupt, My Lords, but The Prince mentioned wanting to join the evening patrol. Sir Leon and his partner will be leaving shortly.”

Uther whips his head around disapprovingly, and his anger at Merlin for interrupting whatever it was he was about to say translates to a tightened grip on Arthur’s shoulder. The Prince flinches slightly, but carefully steps away from The King, speaking before he can order the servant punished:

“Right you are, Merlin. If you’re happy for me to take my leave, father?”

Uther looks back to his son, confused, but approving of Arthur’s sudden eagerness to join extra patrols:

“Very well. I expect you to keep up the hard work, Arthur, I shall be disappointed if you start slacking again.”

Arthur nods and bows, but doesn’t say anything, his jittery demeanour getting worse with The King’s vaguely threatening tone. He walks stiffly from the room, and Merlin follows with a confused frown, making sure to keep his distance and step loudly on the stone floor; apparently Arthur was feeling jumpy today.

Arthur, still in his armour, leads them down to the courtyard where Sir Leon and another knight were indeed preparing to leave. The Prince doesn’t say anything to Merlin, simply nods in his direction before joining the others, and Merlin thinks he must have done the right thing if Arthur wasn’t shouting at him for giving him extra work that he hadn’t intended to do.

He stores this new, odd information in his mind for future reference, reminding himself to stay away from The Prince’s back and warn him of anyone approaching.

2)

The next thing Merlin notices doesn’t come from a specific incident, more from a series of odd happenings over time.

When Arthur had been released from the dungeons after Merlin’s miraculous survival from being poisoned, he was a mess. At the time, Merlin had smugly suggested that it was because Arthur was worried about him; his hair was similar to a bird’s nest, as if The Prince had been running his hands through it and pulling it on a near constant basis, and the shirt he was wearing frankly stunk of sweat.

Arthur had rolled his eyes at that and slunk off to sulk in his chambers—once Gaius had assured him Merlin would be fine—and the young servant had taken that as confirmation.

The first time Merlin actually witnesses Arthur’s quick, shallow breath and wide panicked eyes, they’re rushing through the narrow servant corridors. The Prince’s grip on his sword looks uncomfortably tight and the sweat on his brow seems a little odd: they weren’t running that fast. Merlin figures that Arthur is just stressed out from trying to catch the sneaky arsehole assassin who was trying to do in as many councilmen as he could before getting away. 

Which is an understandable thing to be stressed about.

Merlin only takes actual note of it when, after the assassin had gotten away, The King had demanded Arthur retrace his footsteps back through the castle to see if the criminal had dropped anything or hidden anywhere. Arthur practically freezes up at that, his wide eyes and pale skin making Merlin frown in confusion, only for his frown to deepen when Arthur stutters through his suggestion of having another knight lead the internal search whilst Arthur heads out into the city.

The relief on Arthur’s face when Uther agrees is, though brief and immediately hidden, immense. 

Merlin thinks back on the state Arthur had been in after he’d quested for Merlin’s cure. Perhaps... perhaps Arthur had been such a mess because he had spent a night in the dungeons, and not because he had been worried about Merlin.

As much as Arthur might like to think Merlin’s an idiot, the servant makes quick connections, pieces things together easily, like a children’s puzzle. At least when it comes to Arthur.

The servant is also reminded of the way Arthur insists that Merlin leave a few candles lit in the evening. At first, Merlin thought it was because Arthur was sneaking out of bed to get more paperwork done (Uther may rarely see it, but Arthur works ridiculously hard), but he checked the paperwork one morning and nothing had been added or altered. Then he though that it was maybe so Arthur could see any attackers coming in the night, because he was paranoid like that, but the candles always burnt out after a couple hours anyway, so it wasn’t like they were lasting through the night.

Merlin figures he was probably just reading into things too much (plus, he knows that accusing Arthur of being afraid of the dark or tight spaces would get him nothing but a slap up the head and, depending on The Prince’s mood, a visit to the stocks), though Arthur refusing to stay in Merlin’s tiny bedroom for any longer than necessary, and insisting on multiple torches being lit whenever they ventured into caves, forces Merlin to reconsider.

It was after one such adventure in one such cave that Merlin took advantage of the castle’s funds being available to him, and heads down to the market to buy some larger candles (and if he cast a spell to make them last longer... well... no one needed to know). Arthur gives him an odd look when he walks into The Prince’s chambers that evening and begins setting up and lighting them without acknowledgement; Merlin answers his questioning hum without looking at him:

“I know you like to be able to see just in case attackers make it into your chambers: these ones should last all the way until the morning. I set up a standing order with a merchant in the lower town.”

Arthur frowns confusedly, knowing that no one had managed to sneak into his chambers in months; it was definitely odd that Merlin had suddenly decided that this was a good idea. Still, Merlin doesn’t look back at him as he casually moves around the room, lighting the new candles and hoping that Arthur wouldn’t notice him leaving the curtains open by about an inch. He notices, though he doesn’t mention it in his response:

“Hmm. It seems you’re finally putting that brain of yours to use, Merlin.”

Merlin finally turns to look at him, glaring half-heartedly as he sarcastically laughs. Arthur just grins at him, glancing at the strip of moonlight on the floor for only a moment before climbing into his bed, muttering for Merlin to go ahead and get an early night.

From then on, Merlin packs extra torches in his pack when they go adventuring, and if he has room, a candle, in case they end up in an inn. If Arthur notices any of that, or the fact that Merlin always opens the window whenever they’re in the tiny Physician’s chambers for more than five minutes and always keeps him company on the now-rare nights Uther is angry enough to lock Arthur in the dungeons... well... neither of them point it out.

3)

The next odd reaction doesn’t happen until years later.

Of course Merlin keeps noticing Arthur’s aversion to surprise touch (especially from knights and his father) and general dislike of the dark/closed spaces, but dealing with it and adjusting to make things easier just sort of becomes part of their routine, without either of them really realising.

Arthur has been King for a few weeks when it happens. It's warm, too warm for armour, so the roundtable knights are practicing their hand to hand instead of using swords and shields. Arthur usually sits out for these lessons, teaching and observing from the side-lines as opposed to taking part in spars. Merlin had always thought it was odd, but the one and only time he had brought it up, years ago, Arthur had forced him to join in on the lessons. He had a lot of bruises that day.

But today was not a usual day apparently; Arthur joined in. He seemed reluctant at first, like he was unsure if he actually wanted to, but his first weeks as King had been going well and he’d had a successful meeting with some of his Lords the previous day, so he’s in a good mood. He finally caves when Lancelot offers to spar with him; there was something about the gentle man that just makes everyone in his vicinity feel a little more at ease.

The sun was shining, but heavy rain the previous week means the grass was bright and soft; all in all, it was a lovely day, but Merlin’s focus was still on Arthur and the way he and Lance dance around each other. All the knights were holding their strength back a little, the purpose of sparring is rarely to go all out, but practicing form and technique and footwork is always a good idea.

Arthur falls into the rhythm of the spar, dodging and side-stepping and blocking with ease, neither he nor Lance were eager to speed things up in the heat. He was moving automatically, running on instincts and just a little bit of adrenaline, which is probably why he freezes up when confronted with something so terrifyingly familiar.

A glint of sunlight off something metallic caches his eye, and his gaze moves away from the fight for barely a split-second, but when he looks back all he can see is shortly cropped brown hair, a bright red tunic, and a fist swinging for his face.

Lancelot yelps when Arthur doesn’t block like he had expected him to, and Merlin is sprinting over before The King’s head has even finished rocking to the side. The other knights go to crowd closer, worried for their leader, but Merlin waves them off harshly and they keep their distance, trusting him. Lancelot looks horrified, but dutifully steps back as Merlin puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and uses the other to tilt his chin from side to side. 

Merlin’s frown deepens when Arthur just lets himself be manhandled. Even in his worst injuries he was reluctant to let people check him over; Merlin quickly notices his wide eyes staring vacantly and the breathing that was far deeper than it really should be. He tries to get The King to look at him as he speaks lowly, so the others can’t hear him:

“Arthur? You with me?”

Arthur gulps, blinking rapidly and meeting his gaze, though Merlin can tell that he still isn’t really seeing:

“I... I’m sorry, I... I didn’t mean... I wasn’t...”

Merlin can only just hear Arthur’s whispers, and he’s grateful for the fact that the others definitely can’t hear them. He moves the hand on Arthur’s shoulder down to grip the other man’s hand and squeezes, and uses the other to shield his eyes from the sun as he mutters:

“Arthur, it’s Merlin, you’re out on the training field with members of the Roundtable, it’s late Spring, and you were crowned King three weeks ago. Arthur?”

It’s only then that Arthur’s eyes come into focus. 

Merlin has never been grateful to have the bones in his hands almost break, and he doubts he’ll ever be grateful for it again. Merlin’s squeezes back, digging his nails in just a little as a subtle “please don’t break my hand”. Arthur loosens his grip and Merlin raises his eyebrow slightly in question; the blonde groans slightly and lifts a shaking hand to rub his eyes:

“What happened?”

Merlin glances at the huddle of knights behind him and gives them a reassuring smile before he looks back to Arthur, speaking so everyone can hear:

“You took quite the well placed hit from Lance, got a mild concussion and lost yourself for a minute. You’ll probably be fine by this evening, but I want to get you in the shade just in case, ok?”

Arthur seems surprised at the explanation, but nods wordlessly, letting Merlin guide him up towards the castle without a fuss. That just worries Merlin more, and he speeds up slightly as he yells over his shoulder:

“Leon’s in charge!”

Leon just chuckles, knowing that Merlin wouldn’t be paying them the slightest bit of attention if Arthur was even close to being seriously injured, but Gwaine just tilts his head and frowns:

“I love the guy but since when does Merlin decide who’s in charge? If he had said Elyan was in charge would we have just... gone with it?”

Leon shoves him playfully and tells him to get back to work, giving Lancelot a comforting pat on the shoulder as they all look away from the servant-King duo.

Merlin doesn’t take Arthur to the physician’s chambers, but goes to The King’s bedchamber instead; Arthur wasn’t actually concussed, but his mind had been elsewhere for a moment, so much so that he hadn’t recognised Merlin and spoke to him as if he were someone else. He sits The King down on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of him, hands on his knees as he frowns:

“Arthur? Still with me, or gone again?”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath, making eye contact with Merlin again as he straightens his back and answers confidently, his voice wavering only slightly:

“Yeah, yes, I’m with you. Sorry, lost in thought. I don’t feel concussed, are you sure?”

Merlin nods and stands up, leaving Arthur on the bed as he moves to open the window and get him a goblet of water:

“Hmm, I lied, I don’t think you are either, you weren’t hit that hard to be honest, but you weren’t really... with it, thought it best to get you away from the others.-”

He turns around the see Arthur tense and angry-looking, though Merlin gets the distinct impression that it’s not aimed at him:

“-You probably just got dazed by the hit, that and you’re overtired, you’ve been staying up late the last few nights. Drink this, maybe have a nap, or at least stay out of the sunlight for a few hours, you’ll definitely be getting a headache at some point soon and I don’t want you to make it worse.”

He hands over the goblet of water, holding it slightly out of Arthur’s reach so the other man has to stand for it. He manages to stand on his own two feet with no issue, and the shaking in his hands is lesser than it was before, though not gone entirely, so Merlin makes a mental list of all the chores that he could finish here, in Arthur’s presence. The King drinks the water absent-mindedly, leaving the goblet on the side table as he mutters:

“Overtired... yeah, probably.”

He wanders towards his desk, collapsing in the seat and staring half-heartedly at the paperwork spread all over the place. Merlin relaxes slightly, deciding that maybe there was a reason Arthur never joined in on hand-to-hand.

4)

Merlin wasn’t fond of Arthur’s current visitor, Lord Algere, but he was pleased to note that Arthur didn’t seem all that fond of him either. He was an old supporter of Uther’s, which meant the occasional snide remark about how Uther would’ve handled certain situations differently, followed by deferential admissions of being “a close friend and advisor to the former King.”.

He was just friendly and kiss-ass enough that he couldn’t be kicked from court, that Arthur still had to be polite to him, but he rubbed pretty much everyone up the wrong way and Merlin couldn’t wait until he left to go back to his estate, thankfully situated on the furthest edge of the Kingdom. 

It's the day before he’s due to leave when he says it:

“You remind me of your father a great deal, you know, you’re very similar.”

Arthur freezes up at the so-called compliment, but recovers quickly, giving the Lord a tight smile before excusing himself so he wouldn’t be late for the city border patrol he was undertaking. Normally Merlin didn’t go with him on these patrols, he’d only be gone for a couple hours at most and he was joined by a partner; it gave Merlin time to finish up some chores, but the servant felt the need to be there today.

The King is silent the entire time, which is unusual considering he's riding alongside Sir Leon today, and those two always have something official to talk about. He doesn’t even spare Merlin an annoyed glance when the servant drops his bag and has to dismount to pick it up, only halts and waits for him to catch up again. Though he's sure The King had relaxed slightly at the beginning of the patrol, when Merlin mentioned that he fancied tagging along, and if Merlin weren’t so worried he’d be immensely proud at his apparent ability to put Arthur at ease.

Leon gives Merlin a worried grimace as they ride back into the citadel, but Merlin shakes his head and smiles, his meaning of “I’ll deal with it, I’m sure he’s fine” obvious in the action. The two of them have gotten quite good at silently communicating over the years, God forbid Arthur find out that they were trying to look after him.

They made the journey up to Arthur’s chambers in continued silence, though Merlin really starts to really worry when Arthur just wanders over to the window and stares down into the courtyard. He only does that when he’s feeling particularly pensive. Merlin lays out the work he knows Arthur had wanted to get done this afternoon and perches on the edge of the desk, facing Arthur’s back with his arms crossed:

“Arthur, you alright? You’ve been quiet.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t turn away from the window, staying silent. Merlin purses his lips, but it doesn’t take him long to figure out what he thinks might be wrong. He moves across the room and sits himself down at the dining table, casually starting on the polishing he had left there earlier as he speaks, trying to keep his tone as neutral and absent-minded as possible:

“I’ve no clue what Algere was talking about earlier, he either knows nothing about you, or didn’t know your father nearly as much as he says he did.”

Arthur finally turns from the window, fixing a curious frown on Merlin, who forces himself to keep his gaze down:

“What makes you say that?”

Merlin still doesn’t look up, but knows that he’s on the right track. Arthur has been able to admit, especially recently with his changing opinions on magic, that his father was not a good man, though he still struggles to admit that he wasn’t a good father:

“Well, from what I’ve seen, you look way more like your mother than you do Uther, and you don’t act like him at all, you haven’t picked up on any of his mannerisms or anything.-”

The servant finally looks up at Arthur, his words true but his nonchalance false as he continues with a confused frown:

“-To be honest, I’ve always thought you act more like an odd mix of Leon and Morgana. You’ve definitely got Leon’s sense of chivalry and respect and his knightly traits, but your... how do I say... fiery attitude when it comes to your sense of right and wrong, that’s definitely Morgana. Uther was quick to anger, you’ve got fairly good control of your anger nowadays. Uther was set in his ways and refused to change no matter the consequences, you bend traditions all the time, improve things in ways that Uther would never have dreamed of doing.-”

The servant shrugs and looks back down to his polishing:

“-I just don’t see the similarities, and I certainly know you better than Algere. I’ve a feeling I knew Uther better than Algere as well.”

Arthur hums non-committedly, but sits down at his desk instead of turning back to the window. Merlin feels the tension leave his shoulders, but doesn’t relax fully when he notices Arthur staring at his folded hands instead of working. Apparently it had only partially worked:

“Arthur?”

He doesn’t look up, just shuffles slightly in his eat as he lowly answers:

“Do you think I might... turn out like him? In the end? People say he was kind and gentle when he was young. If... if I ever have children...”

The question goes unasked, but the fear in his voice is palpable, and Merlin has to stop himself from sprinting from the room to burn every painting of Uther he can find. Instead, he puts the armour down on the table softly and stands, making sure to step loudly and clear his throat as he leans against the edge of Arthur’s desk again:

“Arthur, you’re a wonderful King, a wonderful knight, a wonderful man, and I guarantee that one day you’ll be a wonderful father. Don’t stress, you’ve out done your father in every other aspect of your life, I’m sure you’ll continue to do so.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin with a slight frown on his face, though it’s more thoughtful than anything. Merlin holds his gaze with a soft smile for a few moments, content to wait for Arthur to give him some sort of cue; Arthur just rolls his eyes and shoves him from the table, picking up a quill and finally beginning to actually work:

“Try not to insult the former King too much in one sitting, Merlin. And that armour won’t polish itself.”

Merlin just laughs quietly and moves back to the table, understanding and accepting that that was probably the best he was going to get. He makes a mental note to mention Arthur’s similarities to Leon next time the three of them are together; Arthur will be relieved, though he won’t show it, and Leon will be flattered beyond words. 

He dares not do it with Morgana. Both of them would be secretly be pleased, though they’d kick up one hell of a fuss trying to deny it.

5)

Thankfully, the two of them are in Arthur’s chambers when it happens.

Merlin’s not entirely sure he could use the “concussion” excuse like he did last time, not with the length of time it lasted.

It’s late, the curtains are drawn—with the traditional inch wide gap allowing a strip of moonlight to fall across the floor and over Arthur’s bed—and Arthur’s special candles have been lit. He’d been made aware of the spell Merlin had cast on them a few months ago, and though he was annoyed that Merlin had put himself at such risk, he hadn’t asked him to remove the spell, which the servant took as a good sign (both that Arthur wasn’t too mad about the magic, and that it had been a good idea).

The King sits at his desk, doing his normal pile of evening paperwork and trying to fit in as much as he can before Merlin snatches it away and manhandles him into bed, Merlin who is generally pottering around the room tidying. Arthur thinks of it more as just... moving the mess around, but he let’s him be; Merlin’s quiet company is much appreciated, especially with all the difficulties Arthur is having with repealing the ban on magic.

The King lets out a deep sigh, sitting back in his chair and tiredly rubbing his eyes. Merlin notices, because of course he does, and wanders over, a concerned frown on his face as he sits in the chair opposite him:

“You alright? Hit a snag?”

Arthur hums but shakes his head, opening his eyes but staying slumped in his seat; Merlin makes plans to get him to bed at some point in the next half candle mark at least:

“Hmm. No, just tired. This whole thing is draining, I wish I could just force them to see sense.”

Merlin knew that the them Arthur speaks of is the council. Currently, The King has about half of them on side, not including Leon, Morgana, and Gaius, but they need a majority by a significant margin before they can move forward, and Arthur refuses to act in any way that isn’t democratic.

Merlin nods, smiling softly at his lap as Arthur closes his eyes again:

“This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-”

At first, Merlin doesn’t notice the way Arthur’s eyes fly open, nor the way he slowly sits up straight, nor the way his shoulders tighten and his skin grows pale and his eyes go vacant.

“-but I think you’re doing great, don’t be too hard on... Arthur? Are you alright?”

Merlin frowns when he finally looks up to see The King sitting ramrod straight and staring into the middle distance, his breathing ragged and his blue eyes glassy and unseeing. He stands slowly, moving around to Arthur’s side to crouch there and wave a hand in front of his face.

He doesn’t react.

Merlin shakes his shoulder slightly, hesitating only momentarily before touching him, but even then, Arthur doesn’t respond. The servant gulps, glancing over his shoulder at the door to make sure it was locked before touching a hand to Arthur’s forehead and muttering a spell; he normally uses this spell to wake up unconscious people, but it has no effect on The King other than sending a slight shiver through his body.

Merlin calls his name a few times, but it expectedly has no effect. He tries to test Arthur’s pain awareness by pinching the underside of his arm, and whilst he flinches away slightly, he doesn’t come to, still stares blankly at the opposite wall. Merlin thinks of calling for the guards and asking for Gaius, but somehow he doesn’t think the elderly physician will be able to help; there was no magic at play here, and he certainly hadn’t been poisoned. In all honestly he just looked a little zoned out, like the time Merlin had lied about the concussion, except it was clearly lasting longer this time.

Merlin frowns but tries his best to keep the panic at bay, it had only been a few minutes now, but other than breathing Arthur hadn’t moved an inch.

The servant takes a deep, relaxing breath, or at least what he hoped would be a relaxing breath. It’s not. He uses magic to slide Arthur’s chair away from the desk slightly, and moves into the space it leaves, shuffling all of the paperwork away and leaning on the edge. Once again, he puts one hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and takes his hand with the other, squeezing slightly.

He waits.

After another ten minutes or so, Arthur’s breathing gets slightly more frantic, and he begins squeezing Merlin’s hand back. Merlin moves closer, crouching in between Arthur’s legs and shaking his shoulder again, but he stops when Arthur begins muttering:

“Didn’t... I... I’m sorry. Not my.... didn’t... didn’t mean to... sorry... disappointment...”

Merlin’s frown deepens at the barely audible whispers, especially when he notices the tears gathering in Arthur’s eyes. He shakes his shoulder again and forces himself to speak, just about managing to keep the waiver from his voice:

“Arthur, there’s no one else here, it’s just you and me, it’s just us, just Arthur and Merlin. It’s the evening in late Autumn, it’s almost time for bed, you sparred with Percival this morning and had a long, annoying council meeting this afternoon. You’re sat at your desk in your chambers with me, no one else.”

Arthur’s eyes come into focus, slowly at first and then all at once. He blinks and stands suddenly, almost tipping his chair backwards in his haste as he reaches a hand to his sword-less hip. Merlin moves back quickly, grimacing as he bumps harshly into the desk. Arthur’s gaze whips around the room desperately, as if searching for a danger that he was certain was there, before his eyes finally land on Merlin. The servant holds his hands out placatingly, not relaxing even as Arthur takes a deep breath and seems to calm down.

The King slumps back in his seat, rubbing the tears from his eyes with shaking hands; Merlin crouches down again, but doesn’t dare touch him, not quite yet:

“Arthur?”

His head whips up, but he relaxes again when he sees Merlin sat in front of him:

“Yes, sorry, I... must of dozed off or something.”

Merlin frowns, but nods one, speaking slowly, his tone low and even:

“Hmm. Must’ve, you looked like you were having a nightmare or something so I woke you. Time for bed, I think.”

For once, Arthur actually agrees with him, not bothering to argue like normal as he stands on shaking legs and heads to where Merlin has neatly laid his sleeping clothes on the bed. Merlin’s concerned gaze follows him, but he doesn’t move too far from the desk, deciding that he and Gaius definitely need to have a chat about... whatever the hell that was.

Half a candle mark later, Arthur is quietly wishing his manservant a good night and dismissing him. He was obviously distracted, Merlin normally can’t be frowning for more than thirty seconds before The King is hounding him about what’s wrong, but thirty minutes pass with not a question from Arthur, and Merlin makes his way to the Physician’s Chambers hoping that Gaius is still awake.

Thankfully, the elderly physician is still pottering around, tidying away various bits and pieces and generally preparing the room for a new day tomorrow. He immediately notices Merlin’s peculiar mood and gestures for the younger man to sit opposite him at the table:

“What’s bothering you, my boy?”

Merlin sits slowly, biting his lip and trying to decide just how honest to be:

“What does it mean if someone... zones out, completely, for extended periods of time?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow:

“I’m going to need a little more than that, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs but nods, shuffling in his seat slightly but responding:

“I was with someone earlier today. We were just chatting whilst we worked and suddenly they just... weren’t there anymore. Stiff, eyes glazed over, ragged breathing. They responded slightly to pain but it didn’t snap them out of it and they just... sat there, utterly blankly, for about twenty minutes. Eventually they started muttering to themselves, but it didn’t make any sense, then they... woke up, I guess, and thought they had fallen asleep. They definitely weren’t asleep, but they weren’t... I don’t know, conscious?”

Gaius frowns but nods, clutching his hands tightly on the table as he explains, his voice grave:

“Hmm. Sounds like an extended disassociation episode. I gather that I’m not to be told who this was?-”

Merlin shakes his head slightly, and though he looks slightly annoyed, Gaius nods and continues:

“-This happens mostly to people who experience something extremely traumatic, though it also happens in victims of extended abuse, especially if the abuse was in childhood, the younger the victim, the worse the reaction. Occasionally it can happen randomly, though it’s mostly triggered by something in their surrounding environment.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and Gaius would easily hazard a guess at saying he looks angry. He doesn’t point it out though, just waits for his ward to continue:

“What can trigger it? And what other symptoms will child abuse victims display?”

Gaius takes another deep breath, but slowly responds:

“Anything can be a trigger really, something they see or smell or hear, something someone else does or says.-”

(”This is what it means to be King, Arthur,-” pops into Merlin’s head.)

“-As for other symptoms, aversion to touch, occasionally fear of being alone, OR fear of being in another’s presence. Some experience trouble with regulating strong emotions, difficulty in regulating long term relationships, platonic or otherwise, trouble with self-esteem. It varies from person to person, there is no strict list of obvious signs. Might I ask... why?”

Merlin shakes his head and stands, moving towards his bedroom with clenched hands and tight shoulders. Just before he shuts the door behind him, he turns to look at Gaius over his shoulder, brow furrowed and voice low:

“What... what was Uther like? When Arthur was a child?”

Gaius closes his eyes briefly, letting out a weary sigh and trying his best to hold in his grief:

“Strict, extremely difficult to please. He never... he never hit Arthur, not in public anyway, though it wouldn’t surprise me if he was violent privately. As a child, The Prince was terrified of the dark, and the dungeons. I got the impression that Uther forced him down there on more than one occasion. Arthur is... the one your concerned about?”

Gaius knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop the tears from welling in his eyes when Merlin wordlessly nods before shutting the door behind him.

+1)

A few weeks have passed since Merlin had figured it all out.

He didn’t dare bring it up to Arthur, and shuts the conversation down any time Gaius mentions it. The conversation is for Arthur, and Arthur only, and Merlin wasn’t going to force it. 

Besides, they’ve been extremely busy with the transitions; The Kingdom was going from anti-magic to pro-magic, and Merlin was going from servant to a member of court. Arthur had tried to force nobility onto him as well as his position as Court Sorcerer, but Merlin had put his foot down at that, insisting that he wouldn’t become some stuck up wealthy arsehole, not even if his life was on the line.

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, Gwen, and Morgana had grinned at that, Arthur and Lancelot rolled their eyes, Mordred continued to insist on calling him “My Lord” anyway, and Leon had looked marginally affronted as he mumbled something along the lines of “I’m a Lord you know, technically.”.

They aren’t lucky this time around, and it all comes to an explosive head in a quiet, though still habited corridor in the middle of the afternoon.

Afterwards, Merlin absent-mindedly considers the fact that they could’ve been in the courtyard or the throne room or somewhere equally busy, and thanks the Gods for just this little bit of luck; only two servants, one guard, and the... the noble and his son were in the corridor at the time.

Arthur and Merlin are making their way to the council room, preparing themselves for a busy meeting: it was the first since magic was officially legalised, and the first that Merlin (and Gwen, though that was another matter entirely) would officially be sitting in on. Though, in all honesty, pretty much the whole Kingdom knew that Merlin had been advising Arthur privately for years.

Merlin frowns and Arthur stiffens slightly as they spot the noble gripping his young son’s collar and aggressively whispering at him. The boy can’t be more than ten summers old, but the tears in his eyes display his utter terror clearly enough; no child should ever have to be that scared, especially not of their parents. Merlin resigns himself to just magicking the pig’s trousers down when no one was looking his way, but barely a second after he makes that decision the man raises his hand, and slaps the boy across the face.

Everyone in the corridor freezes as the boy cries out, and the noble doesn’t seem to notice the way the guard looks frantically between him and The King, waiting for instruction, or the way the servants and Merlin were staring, horrified. Arthur breaks out of his shocked stupor first, striding towards him with his fist already raised and his eyes blazing:

“How fucking DARE you?!”

His knuckles make violent contact with the man’s mouth, and the spray of blood from a busted lip and loosened teeth is what spurs Merlin into action. He runs forward, scooping the distraught boy up in his arms and quickly handing him over to one of the servants:

“Take him to Gaius, swear that you will not utter a word of this to anyone bar the Court Physician?”

His eyes flash golden as the servants’ both nod, and they rush off in the direction of the Physician’s chambers. Merlin, satisfied that they will be unable to break their promise, turns next to the guard, momentarily ignoring the way Arthur has shoved the bleeding noble against the stone wall:

“Fetch the Lady Morgana and Guinevere and tell them to go to Gaius and the boy, stay with them, swear that you will inform no one bar those three what has happened?”

The guard nods, understanding the magic implicitly as Merlin’s eyes flash gold again. He spares The King and his deserving victim one last glance before running towards Morgana’s chambers.

Merlin turns, finally, to Arthur, almost-but-not-quite recoiling at the tears on his cheeks as he lands another punch to the noble’s jaw. His face is black and blue at this point, and Merlin pulls Arthur back just as he raises his fist again; he thrashes in his grip, but quickly sags as his breathing deepens. The noble falls to the floor, unconscious in all likelihood, and Merlin clicks his fingers, banishing him to the dungeons with nothing but a shower of golden sparks.

Arthur breathes deeply, leaning all of his weight on Merlin as he clamps his un-bruised hand over his mouth, his wide eyes staring intensely at where the boy had been stood moments before. He doesn’t respond to Merlin’s calls, and with another flash of gold, they disappear, reappearing in Arthur’s bed chamber.

Merlin shoots Mordred a quick message over their mental link as he lowers Arthur to the floor, leaning him against the edge of the bed and moving around to be crouched in front of him. The King’s breathing has gotten dangerously deep and dangerously fast, the tears streaming down his face as his hands clench and unclench around nothing. Merlin quickly intertwines their fingers in an effort to stop Arthur hurting himself, but that just freaks the other man out even more as he desperately scrambles to get away from the contact.

Merlin lets go and moves back, eyes wide and desperate as he watches Arthur bring his knees up to his chest, burying his head in his arms and rocking slightly. His cries are muffled, but Merlin can still hear the heart wrenching sound; the Warlock takes a moment to breath before he stealthily moves around the room, lighting candles, locking the door, and shutting the curtains (bar an inch), before moving back to sit beside Arthur, a foot or so of space between them.

After a few minutes of no change, Merlin starts humming. He can’t remember any of the words, but it’s an old lullaby his mum used to sing when he couldn’t sleep, when he was scared of his own magic and his own friends and every shadow that moved in the dark. Arthur’s breathing slows, though he still hiccups occasionally, and Merlin rests his hand on the stone floor between them: an offer, not a demand.

Arthur doesn’t take it, instead shuffling over to lean his head on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin freezes, not daring to put his arm around the other man as he continues to hum; he must’ve circled back and restarted the same song six, seven, eight times before Arthur nuzzles in further and sniffs before muttering:

“You’ve a good voice, Merlin.”

Merlin huffs a gentle laugh, leaning his head on top of Arthur’s softly as he quietly replies:

“Runs in the family, my mother used to sing to me, though I don’t really know any other tunes I’m afraid.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t reply, turning into Merlin’s chest slightly as the Warlock hesitatingly wraps his arms around the other man; he stops being so hesitant when he notices Arthur’s eagerness. Merlin pulls him close, sighing but letting Arthur settle in before he says anything. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of the pain shooting up his spine at being sat on the stone floor for so long, but he decides he doesn’t really care, if this is what Arthur needs.

After a few more minutes, he rubs his cheek into Arthur’s soft hair and speaks, his voice gentle and loving:

“Feeling better?”

Arthur stiffens slightly, but quickly relaxes, nodding into Merlin’s chest and mumbling:

“The boy?”

Merlin smiles at Arthur’s worry:

“Safe. He’s with Gaius, Morgana, and Gwen, under protective guard.”

Arthur nods again, tightening his hold on Merlin’s tunic:

“And his... father?”

“Bloodied up and locked in the dungeons, far away from his son. Mordred let the guards know that he is not to leave under any circumstances, told the council that the meeting had been postponed until further notice, and then went to relieve the guard in the Physician’s chambers.”

The King relaxes, and so does Merlin, though only slightly, he knows that this is where that terrifying conversation has opportunity to rear it’s ugly head:

“Arthur, are we going to talk about this?-”

He rushes to carry on when Arthur’s breath hitches and his hands pull on Merlin’s tunic slightly:

“-You can say no, Arthur. I swear, I will never, ever ask, not if you don’t want me to.”

Arthur doesn’t relax, but he shakes his head, gulping before replying, his voice thick:

“No, it’s fine, I should probably... talk about it, right? Morgana is always on my arse about being less repressed or whatever.-”

Merlin nods, but doesn’t say anything, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair rhythmically. Arthur lets out a deep breath, humming contentedly at the gesture and leaning even more into it:

“-My father was... difficult to please. His default was anger, no matter what, and it was... rare, for him to be anything but furious. He never... not in public, and never left marks where anyone could see.-”

Merlin struggles against the urge to hit someone (preferably Uther, though unfortunately he was dead. He supposes Uther’s old supporters would do in a pinch), but he makes do with taking a deep breath:

“-When he was especially furious he would lock me in a storage closet, or the dungeons. He... he would order that all the lights be put out, and all the windows covered, so I couldn’t see. Merlin I couldn’t see anything. I still... I can’t stand the dark, but I’m guess you figured that out?-”

Merlin knows that he’s referring to the candles and the perpetually open curtains and nods, humming in agreement:

“-How pathetic is that? A grown man, a King, afraid of the dark.”

Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur and shakes his head:

“It’s not pathetic, Arthur. It’s an automatic response, a defence mechanism that your brain puts in place to try and protect you from being re-traumatised. To this day, I’m terrified of fire, even though I have no reason to be anymore, even though it can’t hurt me as a Dragon Lord.”

Arthur gulps, but relaxes slightly, though his voice is quiet, almost ashamed as he continues:

“I can’t look at Lancelot’s turned back, I struggle to spar with him as well. He... he doesn’t even look anything like my father, he just... he always wears red and has the same hair as my father when he was younger and they’re the same height. Sometimes I feel like I’m a child again, everything around me just disappears and I’m back in that dungeon, or my father is stood over me screaming. How am I meant to be a good King when I’m scared of my own shadow?”

Merlin sighs, staying silent for a few minutes as he attempts to put an answer together in his mind. Arthur sniffles again, and Merlin is suddenly made aware of the wet patch where Arthur’s head rests on his tunic:

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, as many times as you want: you are a wonderful King. You’ve delivered a Golden Age upon this Kingdom, your friends love you, your people adore you. You’ve never just been a good King, Arthur, you’ve been the best this Kingdom, and this world, has ever seen.”

Arthur loosens his grip again but huffs a quiet laugh against Merlin’s chest, which the Warlock definitely counts as a win:

“Kiss-ass.”

Merlin laughs this time, though he doesn’t stop carding his fingers through Arthur’s hair:

“Nah, when have you ever known me to kiss ass? I speak only the truth, My Lord.”

They both fall silent again, and Arthur pulls away from Merlin’s chest. Merlin drops his arms immediately, not wanting to make the other man uncomfortable, but Arthur just takes one of his hands and goes back to sitting by his side, his head resting on Merlin’s shoulder. The silence is long, but comfortable, and it’s dark outside by the time Arthur speaks again:

“Merlin?-”

The Warlock doesn’t make a sound, but squeezes Arthur’s hand in acknowledgement:

“-I thanked you for all the big stuff: saving my life, and saving the Kingdom, and all that. But I never thanked you for the small stuff. The candles and the endless support and the excuses.”

Merlin frowns slightly in confusion, not that Arthur can see:

“Excuses?”

“You didn’t think I didn’t notice, did you? You started years and years ago. You always seemed to notice when being with... with my father, or the knights, or anyone really, was getting too much, you always had some excuse ready. Sometimes you outright lied, even if it would get you in trouble, just to get me away from people. I don’t know how you knew... no one else ever realised. Saying I had paperwork when I didn’t, or a patrol when I wasn’t scheduled for one, or a concussion just to give me some privacy. Thank you.”

Merlin smiles slightly, squeezing Arthur’s hand again:

“You were too busy looking after everyone else, someone had to look after you. I’m grateful it was me, Arthur, I-”

He pauses and sits up slightly straighter, though it doesn’t jostle Arthur too much. He lifts his head anyway, staring at Merlin in concern with tired eyes:

“Merlin?”

Merlin looks to him suddenly, but smiles:

“Hmm, sorry, just Mordred. Updating me on the kid and asking if you’re alright.-”

Arthur’s cheeks flush slightly, but Merlin’s smile grows as he shakes his head:

“-Don’t worry, no one knows about... this, just that you went berserk when you saw a Noble beating his kid, and punched his teeth out.”

Arthur relaxes and nods, humming thoughtfully as he looks to the floor. He stands up, wobbling only slightly after being curled up in the same position on a cold stone floor for several hours, and Merlin follows him confusedly:

“Do... do you want to go check in on them? The kid’s been asking after you apparently, wants to thank you.-”

Arthur looks conflicted, almost as if he were worrying that he wouldn’t actually be welcomed, so Merlin puts a hand on his shoulder and smiles, waiting until Arthur looks at him before continuing:

“-We can leave it until morning, if you like, but you saved that boy, Arthur, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Arthur nods, but doesn’t move until Merlin wipes his face clean with his sleeve and smooths out his clothes. If he uses a little magic to make the two of them more presentable, then neither of them mention it as they walk purposefully to the door.

Merlin looks to Arthur stood next to him, his hand hovering over the door handle:

“Ready?”

Arthur smiles at him, taking his hand and squeezing it, but not dropping it as he opens the door and steps into the corridor:

“Ready.”

~

THE END!!!

As angsty as it was, I really enjoyed writing that😅. I couldn’t help myself though, I had to give it a happy ending :D

I hope y’all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! I love y’all!!

My Ko-Fi, which is where I post sneak peeks of upcoming works, check it out and consider donating!!

[generallybarzy]

every side of you

mat barzal x reader

summary: every now and then, you shut down into a pit of hopelessness, of anxiety and self-loathing, and you were determined to hide that side of you from Mat, in fear that it would drive him away.

an: alrighty, so this is a shorter fic than usual but it’s really personal and important to me as it hits close to home as something I deal with. It started out as just a blurb I wrote as a sort of “therapy” to comfort myself when this type of thing would happened, but I figured I’d share it here since others probably go through the same thing.

warnings: anxiety attack, self-loathing, depressive episode, etc.

word count: ~3k

Broken.

There wasn’t really a better word to describe what you were feeling- exhausted, hopeless, anxious, unmotivated, finished- but broken might be the easiest way to describe it. In a world full of things that upset, worried and disturbed you, there was nothing you hated more than the hopeless, empty feeling you would get every now and then when something seemed overwhelmingly impossible- no matter if it was a task at work or something as simple as just waking up and getting out of bed in the morning. And because you were too overwhelmed to try or even get out of bed, your own voice nagged away at you in your head, calling you names. Weak, stupid, lazy, everyone’s so sick of you. Why can’t you get your shit together?

It didn’t happen that often, really, especially since you started dating Mathew. There was little room for something to overwhelm you to the point of you crying and closing yourself off from the world when you had such a sweet, caring boyfriend to make sure you’re feeling okay at all times. Not that you’d ever told him or were planning on telling him about these depressive, tired moods you fall into. No, that was a really ugly side of you.

The side of you that stayed up until 4 in the morning working tirelessly just because you were overwhelmed and stressed to the point of not being able to close your eyes. The side of you that didn’t eat properly for days on end because you were too tired to drag yourself to the kitchen. The side of you that would shut down and not contact anyone for days, just because you didn’t want to sound annoying or needy. The side of you that kept telling yourself “You’re a burden, you’re annoying everybody, you’re so fucking weak.” The side of you that would stress out to the point of being physically ill, leaving you to cocoon yourself in blankets with headaches and nausea.

You didn’t need Mat to know about that side of you.

Ever since Mat came around, you had been feeling perfectly fine, so it didn’t seem necessary to admit to him this… problem you used to run into. He had been busy enough, with the hockey season starting soon after you started dating, so you never found the need to tell him.

But now, you hadn’t spoken to him in two days. At least, you think it’s been two days. You didn’t know what day it was. You didn’t know day from night anymore.

It was always a gradual build up before you fell apart, and this time- the first since you started dating Mat, you had nearly forgotten what it was like. It was nearing the end of his western road trip when you started getting bad. Mat was far out west playing hockey and you were getting overwhelmed balancing work and school all alone when something in you just snapped. For two days, everyone’s little comments and snarky words wore away at you; you were stuck in a constant cycle of wake up, work, sleep, repeat, most of the day spent huddled on the couch under the same dirty blankets, with a cup of tea cooling off before you could even drink it. You were stuck in a cycle of tears, nausea, and headaches, crying because your head hurt, your head hurting because of how much you were crying- it was horrible. On the third day, you actually called off of work, too drained and hopeless to even drag yourself out of bed. Mat always found time to text and call you during road trips, and you always loved to hear his voice. But, somewhere along the way, you stopped answering him.

You couldn’t explain exactly why you didn’t answer, but you were too tired to respond the first time, and then each time his name popped up on your phone, asking if you were alright and begging you to answer him, you felt so horrible, so guilty, and something in your mind reasoned that you’d rather stay silent than deal with his questions; rather lose him than reveal to him this side of you. You didn’t want to sound annoying, you didn’t want him to think you were overreacting.

Wow, he’s gonna think you’re such a fucking baby. You can’t even handle work and school? You need someone to hold your hand through life? That must be so annoying to him.

He was getting back from the trip today, you knew he was going to come straight to your apartment from the airport, and he was going to see you like this, and he was gonna leave you because of it. He didn’t have time to deal with someone as screwed up as you.

You’d spent all morning- having called off work- huddled up in your bedroom with the blinds closed, hiding under the blankets, just trying to stop crying. How could you just wake up and already be so overwhelmed? A few hours later, you managed to drag yourself out of the room and make yourself some tea- thinking it would soothe your raw throat- before collapsing on the couch in tears where you stated for the rest of the day, and into the night, apparently. God, you felt so exhausted.

In the midst of your self-loathing, your phone started vibrating on the coffee table and the screen lit up with 'Mat🖤'. You didn’t have the energy or willpower to reach out and grab it, and even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to form the right words for him. What would you say? What could you say? "Hey, sorry for ignoring you for two whole days! I'm having a breakdown so I couldn't even gather the energy to text you back once! I'm mentally unstable! Break up with me!"

It stopped ringing.

And then you heard heavy footsteps speeding down the apartment building hallway and frantic knocking at the door.

“(Y/N)? Are you in there? Please answer me.” Just hearing Mat’s voice on the other side of the door made you choke up and let out a strangled sob. He heard, and the panic in his voice was obvious as he called out again. “Baby? What’s wrong?” You could hear him fumbling around for the spare key you’d given him for emergencies.  

Before you could process what exactly was happening, your boyfriend was stepping into the room. After only a few seconds of trying to figure out what was wrong and where his girlfriend was, his eyes landed on your figure on the couch, and you heard his heavy duffel bag drop by the door and his footsteps rush over.

"Holy shit." He knelt down in front of where you lay huddled on the couch, stroking his fingers over your tear-stained cheeks and running his wide eyes over you, trying to figure out what was wrong and if you were physically hurt in any way. "(Y/N), baby, what’s wrong? Please say something."

At the first familiar sight of Mat, his soft dark hair a mess from rushing here from the airport, his pretty hazel eyes worried and searching and, you shook your head, your emotions squeezing your throat shut. Forming words would be a miracle at this point. "Can't." Your voice came out raw, strained, from little use in the past few days, and the tears started flowing as you reached out weakly for him.

So he pulled you- blankets and all- into his arms.

You breathed a sigh that you didn't realize you had been holding since he left, since he last held you, and all your walls crumbled. You sobbed into his dress shirt- he still hadn't changed from the flight- and clung onto his jacket. He smelled so familiar and comforting, like warmth, like home, like Mat,  and you weren't planning on moving your face from the crook of his neck any time soon. You had half expected him to yell at you for ignoring him, to break up with you right here, but no. "Shh, shh, I'm here." His hand cupped your head against him, fingers carding through your hair in a way he knew calmed you down. He'd seen you cry before but… nothing like this. "Take your time."

His heart ached, his heart broke watching you break down against his chest. Part of him felt so guilty, though logically he knew that was unnecessary. Should he have tried harder to contact you? Should he have pushed more to try and get in touch? Were you upset with him? Did something happen? He couldn’t deny how much he was panicking inside, but he held it together for you. He could tell you needed something steady right now.

Minutes passed like this- you, wrapped in blankets and pulled into Mat's chest, breathing in his scent and feeling his heartbeat thumping under your ear, Mat holding you tight, arms tucked around you and face pressed against the top of your head- before your sobs calmed into shaky, shallow breaths. "Hey. Breathe with me, babe."

You mimicked the sound of Mat's breathing, your chests expanding in rhythm against each other. "There we go." His hands smoothed over your back and you could feel him physically relaxing with you. His lips trailed against your hairline for a few moments before he leaned back, gently laying you back on the couch with a soft look in his eyes. “Wait here a second, I’ll be right back.” He left for the kitchen, and you could hear him kick his shoes off on the way. When he returned, he held a glass of water up to your lips, instructing you to take small sips and watching carefully as you drank. He sat back on the couch with you, pulling you into his arms delicately. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

“I’m just… “ You swallowed, your throat still feeling dry and raw from crying. “Tired.”

“Babe, I’ve seen tired. This is a lot more.” He prodded gently, his eyes showing nothing but care.

“I just... get like this every now and then."

"Every now and then?” His eyebrows furrowed, his voice taking a tone you’d never heard him use before: delicate, scared, careful. “Does this happen often?"

"Used to."

“Shit…  Has it… has it ever  happened since we started dating? Or any other time that I could’ve been there to help you?” You shook your head against him and he breathed out a sigh of relief. It felt good to know that at the very least this hasn’t happened before at a time when he could've prevented it. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done, learning you’d been like this before while he was blissfully unaware of the state you were in. Suffering silently with an ignorant boyfriend. How shitty of a boyfriend was he if he didn't even know you were having a hard time? “Okay. Okay. Do you know what caused it?”

You breathed him in, wiping the tears from your eyes as you gathered your thoughts.

Mat felt you struggling to explain yourself and kissed your forehead. “It’s alright if you can’t explain it.”

"Just... Everything becomes overwhelming. Work, classes, my friends. I feel so… exhausted and alone… I stopped communicating with anyone. It’s too overwhelming to talk to anyone. I’m so anxious and hopeless. I feel like everyone is annoyed with me. I feel like shit. I feel like a fucking burden."

Mat quieted down for a few moments, letting your words sink in. Holy shit. You felt like a burden. He made it his life’s purpose as your boyfriend to make sure you never felt bad about yourself, and here you were so overwhelmed and hopeless you were shutting yourself off from the world. He felt miserable, he felt like he’d failed as a boyfriend. "Fuck.” His mind was racing. Was it something he did? Did he add to your anxiety? Did it happen because of him or in spite of him? How could he fix it? Well, for now he only knew one thing he could do. “Let's get you to bed first, alright? Then we'll talk about this.”

He peeled you out of your cocoon of blankets and lifted you into his arms easily, letting you dry your tears and silence your whimpers on the collar of his shirt, not caring how wet it got. When he finally laid you down in bed and tried to move away to change, you latched onto him, and he had to coo to you softly for your grip to loosen. "Hey, hey, lemme get out of these clothes, then I'll cuddle you, alright?" You weren't sure you'd ever heard his voice get this gentle and soft before, but it made you warm and helped to ease the anxiety inside of you.

"Mhm. Okay."

You watched with wet eyes as he smiled and pushed one strand of your hair aside with a single finger. He stripped out of his dress shirt and pants as quickly as he could before climbing back in beside you, pulling you into his chest and pulling the blankets up around the two of you. He lay a palm across your cheek, his thumb right under your eye to catch any tears, and pulled you in for a delicate kiss. "How do you feel?”

How did you feel? You felt scared Mat was upset with you for ignoring him, guilty for making him worry so much, but overall your anxiety had lessened ever since the moment he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m… better. I’m better now that you’re here.”

“Good.” He smiled against your skin, breathing in your scent. Shit, he had missed seeing you, hearing your voice. “Alright, baby. Obviously you've had a pretty hard time while I was gone. When did you start feeling like this?”

“I- I don’t know. It’s a build up. Maybe the last few days?”

“When you started missing calls?” You nodded, staring at his neck and not wanting to look him in the eyes. You were so humiliated that he was seeing this side of you. The broken side.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, baby. I get it. You said everything was getting overwhelming and you were getting anxious? And that you felt like everyone was annoyed with you? That's why you didn't answer me? You thought I was annoyed?"

You shrugged, taking a breath to steady yourself. "I was stressed and crying, and missed so many calls because I was crying… and then I ignored you because… I guess I thought you’d be angry with me.”

“Absolutely not.” His lips glided across your forehead. “I wasn’t angry, not even for a second. I was worried. You worried me, babe. You should’ve just told me what was happening. I would’ve tried to help.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just...” You felt the tears start up again and Mat noticed too, and quickly pulled you in to lay kisses across your cheeks. "I overthink things when I’m anxious."

“Hey, no, don't apologize."

You felt his hands rub up and down your back, and that soft display of affection gave you enough confidence to form words. “I didn't know how to explain why I missed all those calls without telling you about…this. I didn't want to let you see this side of me. I thought you would break up with me. So it was easier to just ignore you."

"No, no, no, what?” he shook his head.  “Why would I break up with you? Over this?"

"Because I'm… overreacting? Unstable?"

Mat went silent, his arms tightening their grip around you. "...What?"

"You don't deserve someone so broken, who you have to keep putting back together."

"Listen, listen, listen." He tilted your face up to look at him, forcing you to be eye-to-eye with him. When you finally met his pretty, hazel eyes, you found nothing but love. No annoyance, no anger, only love, care, and urgency. "Do you have any idea how scared I was when I didn’t hear from you? When I walked in and saw you crying on the couch? That was like, one of my worst nightmares.” His voice cracked a bit. Not hearing from you had been hard on him. He could barely pay attention to the games, and it had shown in his playing. “Please, please don’t keep things from me because you’re scared of how I’ll react. I love you. You’re not overreacting. You're not unstable. You're not a burden. You're not broken, baby. Even if this side of you isn’t great, it's just another part of you that makes you, you. And I love you, so we'll manage this together, alright?”

“Together?”

“Yeah, together.” He laughed a little, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m your boyfriend, we’re together, so you never have to go through anything alone, ever again. I’m always here. We’ll figure out some way to get through this. I promise.”

He leaned in to press a kiss against your mouth, all the urgency and care for you spilling out from his lips as they moved against yours. You would’ve stayed like that forever, but an aching in your head had you pulling back and burying your face in your boyfriend’s neck. 

“We can think about getting a doctor’s opinion, or get some at home activities or something to help keep you calm while I’m gone, or-”

“Tomorrow, Maty? My head hurts. Just hold me.”

"Anything you need, babe.” He readjusted your position in bed gently, careful not to hurt your head even more, and you ended up sprawled out on top of him with your face directly on his chest, his arms around your back. “I'm never going to judge you, so don't try to shut me out. Especially not when you're going through this. I don't want you to feel alone in this relationship, ever."

“I love you so much, Mat. Thank you for helping me calm down.”  

"I love you, baby. I love you. Good or bad, I love every side of you."

--

“Hear you falling and lonely, cry out:

"Will you fix me up? Will you show me hope?

The end of the day, I'm helpless

Can you keep me close? Can you love me most?“

-Someone To Stay, Vancouver Sleep Clinic

[yikesharringrove]

Hello! i don’t think i’ve given you any of my weird headcanons in a hot minute so here’s a new favorite! Steve with ADHD, at first nobody notices it, he gets along well enough as a young kid people just think he has an active imagination, when in real it y he just can’t pay attention. He’s in 5th grade when his teacher pulls him out of class and tells him he needs to start paying attention, Steve almost starts crying as he tries to explain to her that he just can’t, that it doesn’t work (pt.1)

(pt.2) so the teacher tells him to stay back after class that day, he totally forgets and almost ends up leaving just further probing her suspicions. She asks him to extol in what he means, he doesn’t know what to say, says that too many things are happening for him to pay attention in class, and that sometimes if he hears another teacher he’ll end up listening to that, or if he can look out a window he’ll get distracted, and she already knows what’s going on, calls his parents for a meeting

(pt.3) So his mom comes in, his dad “could make it” but that works out for steve because his mom actually gets him tested, and his test comes back positive so he has to take meds now and sure his grades aren’t the best but they are so much better and he can actually sit in class and focus, but randomly in his sophomore year tommy finds the pills and makes fun of him and he gets so embarrassed that he just stops taking them, and his grades drop bad and he can’t focus and he feels like shit 

(pt.4) he goes around like that for a while feeling lost and distracted but refusing to take his meds and be lame, he only starts taking them again after nancy breaks up with him because he needs to focus on something that isn’t the break up, but they aren’t working well which is to be expected he hasn’t taken them in more then a year, so he ends up totally freaking out and that’s how billy finds him, sitting on the bathroom floor with the WORST headache he’s ever had and he takes pity on him

(pt.5) billy and steve were kind of friends after the fight they had talked and worked things out, not super close but enough to not be so weird around each other anymore, so billy takes him home and makes sure he gets new meds and makes sure he keeps taking them and on days when he can tell steve is space and distracted and clearly forgot he’ll drive to his house and make him take them, and steve will bitch and moan but he actually loves that someone cares enough to make sure he’s ok

(optional pt.6) billy realizing he really likes steve when steve is talking about a special interest and getting super happy and he just can’t help but feel in love with him (is this totally based off my expletive with adhd? yes it is! is this the exact way my hug said she realized she love me? yes it is 🥰)

Hi! I have another one of your AMAZING headcanons in my drafts still, I’m working on it I’m sorry I’m the slowest writer ever.

So, I think I’ve said this, but ADHD makes A LOT of sense for Steve. I don’t have ADHD, so I’m sorry if this is in accurate, I did some research, didn’t want this to be like, bad.

Also, I put him on Ritalin for timing purposes and bc it can cause panic attacks. 🤷‍♀️ and his favorite animals are giraffes, goats and lobsters, 3 of my favorite animals.

Read on ao3

When Steve was little, he could never focus on something for longer than ten minutes.

He would be running through the house, leaving toys on the ground when he remembered a game he could play in another room. His nannies would roll their eyes, picking up after him.

When he got to school, it was more of the same. He would get distracted by every bird that he could see outside. He would be in the middle of class, the teacher would say something about giraffes and his mind would race about animals, would think about every country in Africa he could name, would think about whether or not Lithuania was in Africa.

His grades would slip, tests were a nightmare when he got caught up watching a bee buzzing near the window, only to realize he had answered three questions and only had eleven minutes left.

He was always a poor student, until fifth grade.

Mrs. Wilson had called him up after class, had noticed him zoning out and was about to chide him when she noticed the tears in his eyes.

“I just, I don’t know what happens, sometimes, my thoughts go too fast for my own brain and I can’t focus.” He was sniffling across from her.

“Steve, I’m going to have a chat with your parents. You’re not in trouble, but I think we can help you.” She smiled as she pat his shoulder, letting himself get collected before going to his next class.

She called his parents in at the end of the day, his mother sitting in the seat next to Steve, the principal joining them.

“I’ve noticed some trends in Steve’s school work and his presence in class. We think it may be in his best interest to test him for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. We feel that pinpointing the problem for him may be more helpful moving forward.

Mrs. Harrington agreed, waved her hand in a way that said she was bored of the conversation. Steve spent the whole next Saturday going through various tests, was wrung dry by the end of the day, but left with a clear diagnosis.

He began taking a low does of Ritalin, began focusing in class. His grades skyrocketed, getting the very first B+ he had ever gotten on his English essay.

He was okay until sophomore year.

He was an okay student, could focus in class, but not necessarily retain or understand the information.

But then Tommy found the pills, had laughed at him and called him retarded, the word that had haunted him his whole life, spat at him by the father that didn’t care about him.

So he flushed the pills, never refilled his prescription.

His grades slipped immediately. He wasn’t able to focus in class, had gone back to the days of staring out the window and getting confused about why it was called a square root.

He was constantly moving, would bounce his leg, would tap his pencil, would sometimes take the hall pass and just walk.

He knows taking his meds would fix the problem, but he had Nancy know, didn’t want her to know this weakness of his, this shameful secret.

But then he didn’t have Nancy, and his thoughts were racing, jumping from Nancy to demodog to Barb to Billy to his dad to Nancy to demodog to Barb to Billy to his dad to Nancy to-

He broke down February of senior year.

Graduation was soon as Steve’s grades were ass. He needed to focus on something that wasn’t Nancy, demodog, Barb, Billy, his dad. So he filled his old prescription, took the same does he had two years ago and went to school.

When he was first put on the meds, he was told panic attacks and anxiety could be a side effect. He had never experienced that before, but now, now he lived in constant anxiety, and with his Ritalin, he was a mess.

He had locked himself in the bathroom above the gym, the one nobody uses. He was on the floor, trying to ground himself against the wall, trying to think of anything other than Nancy, demodog, Barb, Billy, his dad, Nancy, demodog, Barb, Billy, his dad, Nancy, demodog, demodog, demodog, demodog-

“Pretty Boy?”

Billy was in front of him, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Steve.

“B-Billy?”

“You okay? You’re kinda, kinda losin’ it.”

“I, I went off my meds for a, a few years, and I put myself back on them, and it’s, I, I know it’s lame, but they usually help and now-” he sobbed as Billy pulled him into his chest, soothing him softly.

“What meds?”

“Ritalin. It’s for, for ADHD.” Billy huffed a laugh.

“I fuckin’ knew it. The way you talk a mile a damn minute.” Steve’s heart sank. “And it’s not lame. Some peoples’ brains are just, wired different.”

Steve was starting to calm down, the anxiety shoving over into a raging headache. He groaned into Billy’s shoulder.

“What’s up?”

“Head hurts.”

“Want me to take you home.” Steve just nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. Billy drove him home, sat with him while Steve called his doctor, made an appointment for next weekend.

Steve had gotten a new medication, adjusted to his current state. The new meds were like magic, allowing Steve to focus when he needed, wouldn’t let him fall into hyperfocus on something that wasn’t productive. He finished senior year on a good note, with okay-enough grades to score his diploma.

He spent the summer at Scoops, working alongside Robin.

Billy came in every day. Would sit with him on Steve’s break. On the days Steve seemed more spaced, he would marrow his eyes, would say you didn’t take your meds today, would drive to Steve’s house to get them for him, would make sure he took them, would take drinks out of Steve’s hands at parties, would make sure he wouldn’t do anything to interfere with them, would dread the days he would find Steve nauseous from the meds.

Bonus:

Steve realized he was in love with Billy when he found out Billy starting keeping a small store of Steve’s meds in his car, would update them periodically to make sure they were safe, effective.

Billy realized he was in love with Steve when he was talking about every animal he could name. He showed Billy the small library of books he had bought for himself about animals, could explain the difference between kingdom, class, phylum, and genus. Was throwing out Latin names for his favorite animals, giraffa camelopardalis, capra aegagrus hircus, nephropidae. Billy couldn’t help himself, had just leaned over and kissed him, left Steve giggling as they made out.

[trouvelle]

The Dead Don’t Cry (II)

This is not a continuation;;; I mean maybe it is? but ok I don’t know what else to call it. All my love goes to this certain katana-wielding boy who doesn’t deserve any pain (cue my *nervous laugh*)

Fandom: Detective Conan/DCMK Pairing: Heiji/Kazuha Rating: PG-13 Genre/Tags: Tragedy, Angst, Horror, Zombie!AU Warning: Character Death Summary: Heiji smiles at her, wishing he has said I love you at least once, because that's how he feels. It's all too late now. 

•

Inside the house that they managed to break into and settle in for a few months now, there is a room with a thick glass door. Ever since the outbreak happened, this is the second and only house that they occupied as their sanctuary. It was by sheer luck that Heiji’s father knew a rich congressman who had a custom-build house for extra protection because politicians are often paranoid, that’s all. Heiji is quite familiar with that room by now—it has been functioning as a sterile room they use to keep the virus out, or the one they use to lock the virus in. This is where his parents died, with gunshots to the head, delivered through tears and gritted teeth, and the last of his father's strength, demanding for Heiji to save himself.

Heiji heard how some people are catching the virus even without getting bitten. Some people say everyone has the dormant virus in their system, just waiting for it to fully emerge. Some say it's in the food. Either way, it doesn't look like the whole thing is going to be over any time soon.

It's been long since he survived this, and maybe Heiji shouldn't survive anymore. In a way, he's already lost to the zombies. There is a certain horror that doesn't leave you when you've seen so many of your friends and family die in the worst possible way. Some aren't themselves anymore, lost behind dead misty eyes and decaying skin. Some aren't intact upon their death, devoured into pieces by those creatures. Some others died in his own hands, asking to be killed before they turn into something they never wish to end up as. Heiji still wakes up with nightmares in the middle of the night, from Otaki-han’s voice begging for Heiji to take his life, from his father’s eyes that were no longer his own and the image of his mother’s bloody flesh.

It's not really a life worth living when every day is a constant report of deaths, a continuous loss of people he once knew. Kazuha, who has always been a ray of sunshine, keeps insisting that one day, the whole thing will pass. He notices that she has been saying it less nowadays, especially following the absence of her father.

The only other people Heiji knows to have survived are Shinichi and Ran. Kazuha talks to Ran on the phone every single day. They have been updating each other and just to keep themselves company. Once, Heiji overhears them trying to maintain a normal conversation, as if pretending that their lives haven’t been turned upside down.

As of last week, it's Ran who has passed.

"Ran-chan called to say goodbye," Kazuha informed him that day, voice wavering from the tears she fails to hold back. Shinichi had already called Heiji himself at sunset the day before. She’s infected, out of nowhere, the former Detective of the East confided to him, his voice raspy like he had been screaming for hours. That was the last he’s heard from Shinichi. (Heiji still dials his number every morning religiously.)

"And then Ran-chan—” Kazuha sobbed, “She… she s-said she will do it herself. She knows Kudo-kun wouldn’t."

Heiji banged his fist on the concrete wall. Shinichi and Ran were their closest friends, the last remnants of their old lives before the virus. "She’ll be okay," he whispered as he wrapped his hands around Kazuha, pulling her into a hug. He needed assurance just as much as she did. "I'm sure she’ll be okay soon."

An image spurred into Heiji's mind. Of Kazuha, trying to put a bullet to her own head… no, there's no way he could live with that. He would do whatever is necessary to prevent that from happening. They had fallen asleep in each others' arms, and when Heiji screamed himself awake from a nightmare, merely two hours later, Kazuha was already up, crying next to him.

•

The first thing he notices is the change in his voice. He always sounds gruffy in the morning, but this time it doesn't even sound human. It's too hoarse, too scratchy, too low—it's hard even to get a decent good morning out.

Of course Kazuha notices it, too. "Do you want me to go get you some medicine?" she asks right away, eyebrows furrowed in concern. They still have plenty to live off of, and unless it's absolutely necessary, Heiji really doesn't want either of them to go out. He would rather stay in and watch the TV, although it's just a tedious rerun of old cartoons with the occasional breaking news. 

He shakes his head no. "I'll be okay," he answers, sounding the farthest from okay. Maybe he should try to go back to sleep.

"You should sleep some more," Kazuha says finally, still looking worried. She reaches to touch his cheek, stroking his face slightly, and he feels his skin burn with heat. He is way past the state of being shy and embarrassed upon any physical touch from this childhood friend of his, so it can only mean one thing. 

It dawns on him then, what might be happening. Heiji jerks slightly from the realization, half hoping that she doesn't notice. He gets on his feet urgently, shaking his head some more. Please, please, please, don't let Kazuha notice. "Uh," he mutters. He doesn't think she is aware of his panic, so at least that's a relief. "I think I'll go shower."

"Okay," she agrees, not questioning anything despite the rather confused look in her eyes. "Do you want tea? I’ll make some porridge for breakfast today."

Heiji grins, hoping it comes off as his usual one. He nods quickly before rushing to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. In all honesty, he's panicking inside, and he needs to look in the mirror right now to calm himself down. But what he sees results in quite the opposite.

It takes a lot to notice the symptoms at this stage, but Heiji has seen it way too many times. He saw it on his father, he saw it on his mother—and now he's seeing it on himself. There is a red spot in his sclera, an early sign that it’s hemorrhaging. He sees the tiniest tint of grey covering his iris, one that he knows will spread until his eyes are misty and blood red both at once. He takes off his shirt and spots dark specks of rotten skin across his back, and it's confirmed, now, Heiji mourns. He's turning.

He doesn't think it's fair—he's been careful enough with everything he does, with everything he touches and everything he eats. But then again, nothing about living in a world full of the living dead is fair. Heiji slumps down to the floor and leans on the wall, banging the back of his head repeatedly against it. He's got Kazuha to think of, he's got his own feelings for Kazuha to worry about.

Heiji has never really told her what he feels, although he's certain that she knows by now. Love doesn't help much in this kind of life, and he doesn't want to burden her with feelings on top of the whole mess that is their universe. But now that he knows his time is up, really, Heiji just wants her to know how happy she makes him. How thankful he is to have spent his whole life with her. 

Tears are trickling down his face, and he scratches his head in frustration, clawing some skin and hair off the side of his head. The violent strike is coming, too, Heiji realizes as he tries to stop himself from peeling his face off. From what he has seen, It takes around twelve hours for the transformation to take over completely, but the problem is that he doesn’t know when it first started. He knows it's selfish, but he really just wants to have more time being normal with Kazuha.

Maybe, maybe, just a few hours would be okay.

•

He prays that he has enough time with her so they can both cherish their last moments together. And right now, he prays that Shinichi is still alive and will answer his call.  When the line goes through, although he hears nothing but low breathing on the other end, he exhales the breath he doesn’t even realize he’s been holding.

“Hattori.” The other boy starts.

When Heiji hears the familiar voice that belongs to his best friend, he feels a huge sense of relief and happiness, so much so that he almost forgets about what’s happening to himself. “You’re alive.”

“So are you.” 

Not for long. Heiji lets out a pained chuckle, “I have a favor to ask you.”

•

This is as normal as it gets. Sitting on the couch, watching the same cartoon episode they’ve already watched last week and the week before, eating the food that Kazuha prepared. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he has his arm around her, taking in every last moment he gets to have. In another life, this would still be them on weekends, minus the wandering zombies outside, maybe plus one little boy or two in the near future. Or girls, Heiji doesn't really care.

The thought of Kazuha with adorable children of their own makes Heiji smile, although it's hardly the appropriate time for that. He should tell her soon. It's not fair for either of them, but at least it would be safer for her if he tells her. He should tell her soon.

Not just yet.

Heiji lifts his head and kisses Kazuha on her forehead, earning him an amused look from the girl. "What was that for?" she asks, obviously pleased.

Heiji shrugs, not wanting to say anything because God knows how bad he sounds right now, hours since then. He recalls everything Kazuha has done for him—helping him with their parents’ bodies, kissing and holding him to sleep when the nightmares get overwhelming—she’s always there by him no matter how bleak the situation they’re in. Heiji smiles at her, half wishing he has said I love you at least once, because that's how he feels. Now it's all too late, and even if he tries to say the words, the voice won't be his own. But still, thank you, he mouths, thank you for everything.

Kazuha doesn't answer. So he leans down to capture her lips with his. It burns and it stings, but the way his heart shatters hurts him the most. As the kiss deepens, he finds himself wanting to bite on her lips, but then a small voice in his head asks which part of him the urge comes from. His fear for Kazuha's life is what makes him push her away. Before she realizes what’s going on, he is already up, running away from her and locking himself behind the glass door.

"Wha—Heiji?" Kazuha has finally caught up with him and finds him inside the confinement room. Heiji watches as she searches his face and slowly understands what's happening. Her expression falters into something he has only seen once on her face before—an overwhelming mix of shock, sadness, and utter devastation. That time, Heiji got to her too little too late. She had had to put her father down, and Heiji promised himself that he would never ever let her go through it again. Look how that turned out, he bitterly laughs. He wishes he hadn't caused her such pain, but what is there for him to do?

"I'm sorry," Heiji manages to croak out in an unfamiliar voice. His pupils are probably almost fully diluted, now. Despite his hazy eyes, he can see the skin on the tips of his fingers perishing. He's already half dead, but maybe he still has a few more hours of being conscious. Before then, he has to convince and make sure Kazuha kills him—otherwise he doesn't know what he's capable of doing to her. "This sucks."

Kazuha still stares at him in a daze, her jaw hanging loosely as she steps forward to lean on the door. "How?" she asks finally with a strained voice. She sinks down to the floor, her knees banging against the tiles in a way that will surely leave bruises. She doesn’t seem to realize, or mind.

"How?" she repeats in a whisper Heiji can barely hear, because he is thumping his head again and again to the glass surface separating the two of them.

Despite the ache in his chest, Heiji grins weakly. He can feel parts of himself slipping away and it gets harder to stop his hands from jerking, to stop himself from peeling skin off of his body. His vision is stained with grey and yellow and red, and Kazuha will probably look like nothing but a lump of meat by the time he is taken over completely. 

"Kazuha?" he calls with the last bits of his consciousness. He just wants her to know that he's still there. He just wants her to know that even in his current state, she is in the only thing on his mind.

In between silent sobs, she answers, "Heiji." She is struggling to get words out. Heiji stays quiet as she weeps, palms pressed on the door. She gasps for air and tilts her head up to stop her tears. She turns to face him, questioning with an unsteady voice, "Heiji, what are we going to do?"

He quirks one eyebrow up as an answer, as if saying Ahou, you know what to do. Kazuha stares at him desperately, as if begging Don't you dare make me do it.

"You have to," Heiji croaks, again with the foreign voice that is now his. It's so hard to breathe right now, and he isn't sure if it's the aftereffect of the infection or the sight of a broken Kazuha in front of him. "Please," he adds when she doesn't answer. Would it be easier for her if he kills himself? Like Ran did? It’s no use now, all their weapons are outside of the room. Heiji can’t risk opening the glass door at this stage.

Kazuha presses her forehead on the glass door. "How long do we have?" she asks, searching his face. He wonders how bad he looks right now—he knows some of the skin on his face has already peeled off, maybe his flesh is even showing. He knows his eyes are supposed to be clouded all over now, some parts of his face probably ashy and decaying already. He doesn't want her to look at his face anymore.

"Heiji," She repeats in a much softer voice when he turns to the other side of the room with his back facing her. "Let me look at you, please."

No, he wants to yell. She still wakes up screaming with nightmares of her father. He doesn’t want to be in her worst nightmare.

"You have to kill me," Heiji begs. "Right now."

There's a button on the side of the glass door. All Kazuha has to do is press it, and in ten seconds the door will open, and she has a split second to pull the trigger before the monster inside Heiji prances forward to kill her. There is a shotgun right there behind the vase. There's also a revolver in the top drawer. It's so easy to end all of this. He really wants it to be over—what's the use of having Kazuha so close if he doesn't get to touch her? What's the use if he has no power to tell him how much he wishes things were different, how much he wishes they could be together?

"Let me have you for another hour," she pleads helplessly. He remembers his parents, her father, even Ran, and prays that Kazuha is strong enough to move on alone. Heiji frantically starts writing down letters on the floor, a message for when Kazuha loses him, his last words written with his blood.

When he's done, he nods to her. At the rate his whole body is spasming, he knows he won't be able to hold on for another hour, but he'll let her get everything she wants for now. Like he always has. He’ll let her prepare herself before having to kill him.

"This is so unfair," Kazuha sobs, “I can’t kill you too.” She leans on the door so closely like she wants to go past it and get next to him, but he is thankful that she can't. He doesn't know what he'll do if she is within touching distance. "I don't know what to do, Heiji, I really don't know what to do."

He doesn't know either. He really wishes things could be different but here he is, decaying by the minute, slowly giving way for a monster to occupy his body. Kazuha looks like she's willing himself not to cry, and Heiji wonders how much pain he's causing her this time. All he does is hurt her. She never looks away, as if it’s the only way she could hear what he is thinking. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you."

"Have to,”—groan—”live,” is all Heiji can bring himself into saying through gritted teeth. She will be all alone, but she will make it. If only he had the strength and mind power to, he would have added please, Kazuha, you have to survive this.

There is a sob-filled pause, until, "I will," Kazuha answers weakly, smiling a little. "I will." Heiji feels relieved at her promise. He knows she’s strong enough. 

He nods as many times as he physically can and presses his palm against hers, albeit with the thick glass separating them. He would do anything to hold her again. All he can do is grin at her and try his hardest to ignore the pain.

Maybe Heiji really doesn't have much time at all. He is starting to lose control of his body and his eyes open wide, his vision covered in a blur of reddish grey. He punches the glass, trying to break free, trying to get on the other side. The monster inside is taking over—Kazuha has to do it right now. 

"Heiji?" Kazuha sounds hesitant as she calls his name. I'm still here, Kazuha, Heiji wants to say. But it's too hard right now, he's too weak and something else inside him is taking over.

Heiji has killed more than enough of those monsters in his lifetime, some he doesn't know at all, some he knows way too well. Now Heiji learns that the hardest one to kill is the one inside your own body. "I can’t—" He croaks with all the strength he can muster. "—anymore—kill me."

Kazuha is stepping back from where she is seated near the door, with one hand covering her mouth, and even with all the haze covering his line of sight, Heiji can tell that she is crying even louder than before. I'm sorry for making you do this, he wants to tell her, I'm sorry for leaving you alone. But there's not enough of him left in this body. He feels himself taking steps backwards, getting ready to ram through the door. 

Bam. He slams his body to the thick glass that doesn't budge. Bam. He feels a searing pain in his shoulders. Bam. She is holding the shotgun in one hand. You can do it, Heiji thinks, Goodbye, Kazuha. He can't see where the blur ends and where the red starts. Bam. By now, his urge to prance on her is as strong as his will to say I love you.

He can hear a low sound of countdown—ten... nine—she has pressed the button, now. He'll be gone in mere seconds. 

Three, two, one.

Gunshots sound the same whether you're behind or in front of the gun, Heiji learns. A sharp pain hits the center of his head, burning, stinging.

All the red in his eyes diffuses into black.

•

Inside the house that they managed to break into and settle in, there is a room with a thick glass door. Kazuha has cleared the room after the body of what used to be Heiji started to smell. She has gotten so used to the stench of the dead, but she knows she has to treat him with more grace and respect. That might not be Heiji any longer, but he was fighting until the very end.

It gets lonely, living in a world where everyone else is dead.

Sometimes Kazuha wants to join Heiji and her father and her friends in the afterlife, assuming such a place exists for people who died the way they did. Sometimes Kazuha goes for days without eating, because she barely feels anything, maybe her body is broken. Sometimes Kazuha gets tired of falling to no end, and her thoughts go to the revolver in the drawer, or the shotgun behind the vase. When it happens, she enters the room with a thick glass door, sits down and stares at the floor, reading the words written in the last drops of Heiji's blood out loud.

Live, Kazuha. You said the whole thing will pass.

[quirky-quizzical-queer]

My Trip to Wonderland

CW: This is about my own experience with epilepsy. It’s long, it’s raw, and it’s real. Read on if you wish.

Lewis Carroll, the author of the Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland series, is thought to have had temporal lobe epilepsy. Although there is little physical proof of such, due to the time period, his works of fiction have been taken as an allegory to what we now call auras. Even today, epilepsy is a condition that lacks understanding. This was the case even more so in the 1800s. Depending on culture, epilepsy was either thought to be divine, or a product of witchcraft for quite a while. During my diagnosis and subsequent events, I often described my auras as falling into a dark hole. I suppose I’ve spent a bit of time in Wonderland myself.

I wake up in an unfamiliar room. The lights are bright. They sing like high pitched crickets. Can anyone else hear them? Is anyone else here? Where am I, anyway? I try to move, try to speak, but I can’t. I must have made a sound of some sort, because I see someone’s face approach me. “Don’t try to talk. You had a seizure. We’re going to move you to a bed.”

A seizure? That doesn’t make sense. I don’t have seizures. Before I can tell this stranger that, I’m being moved by 3 people. I still can’t form words. I still haven’t figured out where I am, or who I’m with. I hear sirens. One of the girls has a stethoscope. They start asking me questions. I know the answers, but I can’t put the answers into words. I don’t understand what’s happening. The sirens get closer, and the larger group of girls starts to panic. Five of them still surround me, and they refuse to tell anyone else why sirens are approaching. These five must be characters in my own wonderland. The one telling me what happened is the Cheshire Cat. The girl who carried me to a more comfortable place must be the White Rabbit. The quiet one is the Caterpillar. The other two seem nice, but they’re giving me king and queen of hearts vibes. That can’t be a good sign. Now, the paramedics rush in with a bunch of equipment. They attach sticky pads to my chest and head. They poke and prod me with needles. They ask me the same questions as the girls. I still can’t answer them. I still don’t understand what happened. It’s frustrating. I know these are the good guys, but they really like to push my buttons. They’re the Mad Hatter. They rush me into an ambulance and out of the strange, bright building. I look out the back of the ambulance. I seem to be in the woods. How the hell did I get here?

The ambulance rushes me to a hospital that looks like something out of the 50’s. I’ve visited family and friends in hospitals before, and I’ve never seen anything like this. The five girls who were surrounding me at the cabin are still here. The only thing separating me from the psych patient in the next “room” is a thin curtain. I can hear all of her business, and I know that she can hear all of mine. The doctor asks me the same set of questions the girls and paramedics asked. This time, I can form one to two word answers. I still have no idea what happened that morning or the night before. Or why these five girls have taken such an interest in me, when I only know the names of two of them. I’m told that the sticky stuff on my head was for an emergency electroencephalogram. I don’t know what that means, but I’m falling in and out of sleep. My body hurts. This headache is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. And I’m hungry. I’ve been here for hours. Wait. I’ve been here for hours. Where is my family?

I hear the doctor whispering to the girls who came with me. He mumbles something about a psych transfer. I’m confused. Finally, my mom walks in. I don’t know where my dad is. She’s with her friend. They tell me they’re taking me to another hospital. I’m still confused, but too tired to argue. I just need food, first.

After a stop for food, my mom and her friend take me to another hospital. This doctor asks me the same set of questions, along with another set. He wants to know if I’m a danger to myself. I don’t think I am. Did I say something wrong? Had I told these girls something I didn’t remember? I don’t know. They tell me they don’t feel that they need to keep me for observation.

I leave the hospital around midnight. I have texts from strange numbers asking if I’m okay. I have a feeling I’m not okay. I’m not okay, and I won’t be for a long time. But I don’t really know how to answer that question yet.

It’s been about two months since I was given the official news. My EEG was abnormal, and I am classified as having “juvenile myoclonic epilepsy”. This wonderland is not one I’m accustomed to, yet. The name is misleading, because it’s not something I’ll ever grow out of. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that. I still don’t remember what happened that weekend before I fell into the rabbit hole. I still wake up twitchy every morning.

The insomnia is the worst part. I wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, shaking. I’m not having a seizure, but I dreamt I was. In the dream, I was in a pool. Floating down the lazy river, when I began to seize. The pool was too crowded, and no one saw me. This is why I don’t sleep anymore. It’s easier to just stay awake. I’d rather not return to Wonderland anytime soon.

Another month, and I’m told I can drive again. This is a sense of freedom that had been stripped away after my first seizure. I’m ready for it to return. I’ve just returned from camping. I’m a bit tired, but I feel okay enough to go shopping. I think. I drive to pick up my friend, and we head to the mall. And…. into the rabbit hole I go. I remember nothing from arriving at the mall, to being awakened by paramedics. For some reason, I’m never wearing pants when these sons of bitches happen. The paramedics know me by name now. Their favorite question to ask me is, “who is the president?”. Depending on my level of lucidity, I usually make them laugh with my answer. At least I can be of comic relief to the people who save my life. My friend tries to tell them not to take me to the hospital, that I have a seizure disorder, but they won’t listen. My friend is quiet, but tries to help. She doesn’t visit Wonderland with me, but she’s there to hear about it afterwards. In my own wonderland story, she plays the role of Alice’s sister.

It’s another three months before I can drive again, but this time I can drive for quite awhile. It’s a feeling of freedom I haven’t known for a long time. That is, until I get myself into a situation at a swim meet. Maybe I have psychic dreams. Who knows. I can not stop twitching at the meet. I twitch so hard that I break my “Coach” clipboard. I’m lucky my iPad is still intact. I drive myself home, and remember nothing from there. I must have gone into the rabbit hole. My family greets me once I return from Wonderland. The good news here being, since I’m home, everyone knows not to call a paramedic.

After this, the seizures become more frequent and less life threatening. I was given rescue meds, just to be safe. They’re used once. And improperly. I sleep like a baby that day. And night. And the next day… and the next day. A seizure in Kroger, a seizure at the state fair, a seizure at the amusement park, seizures at work. They become a frequent occurrence. Simply a part of life that I would have to deal with. Luckily, my pants remained on for most of these. Despite the medic-alert bracelet I wear, so many people insist on calling paramedics. When four medications failed, surgery became a question. After all, why was I healthy for nineteen years, and suddenly I can’t walk out my own door safely?

One day in November, a year and a half after diagnosis, I walk out of my apartment door to go grocery shopping. I don’t know how long I am in Wonderland for this time. I am alone. No one familiar greets me when I return. This trip to Wonderland was different. I awake in an ambulance. These guys look familiar. The Mad Hatters. I try to talk, to no avail. I’m wearing a neck brace. This is not a good sign. I check. I’m wearing pants. I make noise to try to ask what happened. They inform me that I was found unconscious in the snow by the construction workers outside of my apartment, and I may need stitches. “Where?” I utter. They point to a bandaid on my chin while they take my blood sugar. Being curious, I rip the bandaid off. Yeah, I was going to need stitches. And some new clothes. At least I knew that was melted snow, and not pee. I notice that my glasses are nowhere to be seen, and my tooth is cracked. Great. I was nowhere near driving, but this is a major setback.

The less dangerous seizures continue. Falling in and out of Wonderland. It exists not only in seizures, but also in dreams, and in memories of seizures. Only being able to piece together events based on what I was told. Seizure on Christmas Eve, seizure at the zoo lights, random seizure here, random seizure there. The meds are not working.

January, I fall into Wonderland for a longer time. I’m there for three days this time. The actual seizure lasts thirty minutes, but the paramedics have to push meds to make it stop, otherwise I would be risking permanent brain damage. They rush me to a hospital, where I fall in and out of consciousness. They won’t let me get out of bed for any reason. I remember visitors, but I don’t remember who. I remember a lot of machines. I remember them finally changing my meds. This was another very different trip to Wonderland. No White Rabbit. No Cheshire Cat. Just me and the Mad Hatters.

After the med change, I only have one more seizure. I’m on my way to work, in the passenger seat, and I fall into the rabbit hole. It’s a quick trip. Uneventful.

And suddenly, the seizures stop. With one med change, they’re gone. No more rabbit holes. No more scaring the people I’m around. After three years of constant, terrifying, seizures; they’re gone. Alice has left wonderland. So to speak. Wonderland still exists. The nightmares are still ever-present. The memories are there. The twitches. I doubt those will ever go away. My journey in wonderland has been an adventure, that’s for sure. If I could change it, would I? Truthfully, I don’t know. It’s made me who I am. It’s made me mad, but after all, “we’re all mad here”, aren’t we? And I think the best are. I suppose if Wonderland is what it takes to gain perspective; just call me Alice.

[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.

[empressxmachina]

--Also on Wattpad--

Mouse Trap, pt. 3

“I can see you just fine.”

“Oh… Oh, my god,” Lauren breathed in her own panic and filth, slid down her wall with her back to it, toppled in a puddle of regurgitated food, sweat, fear, and tears.

If she was indeed in one of his spaces as it had appeared, then it was sensible that he could see her whenever he desired. Knowing how or, worse, why, however, was another story that she wasn’t sure that she wanted to read. As exciting as the technology seemed, was she as safe as this overbearing onlooker tried to claim?

With every new action and word, Lauren’s confidence waned.

The enhanced zoom on the screen was then stretched further out, revealing the entire plaza that held Lauren and later, eventually, the whole block in which it was contained. Everything not within a certain radius from the center was smudged into a blur, almost as if he rubbed it all out for himself, giving all that was untouched a tilt-shift feel. Her form, now more antlike than ever, was illuminated in a bolder, verdant glow to differentiate her from everything else, which proved immediately useful.

Mesa Metro was, in her eyes, the miniature megapolis she had only envisioned it was to him up and over yonder.

The snapshot then became a living map of sorts, changing to a silent video with a snail trail in Lauren’s same green hue following her as she exited the area, taking some insectile public transit as far as she could go before walking the rest of the way. The rest of the days between then and now was spent with her glow spiraling in the same place as where she currently was: home, never leaving, never having expected a response.

With as much surveillance as she had for her things and how dystopian Mesa Metro could be at times, she never felt more out in the open than she did now. Luckily for her, there seemed to be no footage of her inside the house. Still, how much had he already learned of her domicile with her glasses and watch just sitting there?

Did his omnipresence include space within walls, too, or various altitudes of places, or other angles than the locked bird’s-eye – more like a midday sun’s eye – view? What were the chances he already figured out her house’s floor plan and her place in it?

“I haven’t gotten to probe your existence from end to end to know for sure, yet,” a new message started, somehow still legible from her further distance away, “but much is already clear.”

“Y-Yet?” Lauren echoed, audibly coughing from her own confusion. Whether he meant that he hadn’t finished or hadn’t started, she could only wonder... and hope he’d reconsider both options.

But she didn’t have to, for long.

“One could say I’m already halfway deep in prodding, managing this conversation and all,” the transcriptions continued. “So, why stop now?”

Lauren’s heart sank, her wishes vanishing like his words every few seconds. ‘Halfway?’ In only some minutes!? She was officially stuck in quicksand with not enough calmness to get herself out. The remaining semblances of peace she could imagine were all in the after, nothing in the now. With that crater from a pen’s cap still fresh in memory, multiple visions of ends of days once again flashed in her head, ranging from elongated and cataclysmic to subtle and swift, all of his doing, surely, and it was all her fault.

“Well… with you not having manipulated your new ‘update’ for some time, now, perhaps you’ve seen enough of it.” Truer words had never been spoken. Lauren had seen enough of a lot. “Though with that research I appear to have interrupted, I would’ve guessed otherwise, believing you’d want as much as you could get.” That statement did nothing to relieve Lauren, either, proving he could go and had gone further into her data – her existence, even – on top of reading her psyche unfortunately well.

How deep would he go? How far could he go?

The dictating carried on. “You’ve fawned over me with your tiny files up to moments ago, and you’ll continue to do so. But in this now, despite all that…”

The ellipsis lingered, and Lauren waited for a judgment to be dealt unto her. Whatever she was to get, she deserved. She couldn’t say the same for Mesa Metro and all past it if it came to it, despite their flaws; she prayed she’d be forgiven when it was all over. That end wouldn’t be today, it seemed, as the foul stench of a new purpose – extreme subjugation or maybe just her upchuck – began to waft over her.

“…I grow tired of this single-handing for what should be a two-way affair, so I shall leave you to satiate.”

Before she could say or think anything else about this whole encounter, the disembodied domineered, shutting down his presentation, sucking every visual and word into a simulation centered on the screen. For uncomfortably long, it left a frozen void in which Lauren could only stare at her drained, draining self as she pushed off the wall and crept toward it.

Just as it started, it was nothing again.

Time went as slowly as her computer was dark, and she hated having to think for herself again. There were too many new variables now, and none of them made any sense.

“What… the fuck… was that?” Lauren interrogated herself, running a hand through her stringy hair, slumping in her chair. “Was… Was that shit real? Any of it?” With the pains in her body and the wetness on her clothes, there surely was no denying something bizarre went down just now. But saying that this was the first time she had ever gone delirious and malnourished in her own home would be a lie.

It was late. Lauren hadn’t gotten proper meals, exercise, sleep, or sunlight for days. The lack of lights on her computer showed that it wasn’t merely on standby or sleep mode but was entirely shut down, probably from inactivity. Her glasses and watch mirrored that, fading to a dim lime on the now dormant network connection. Her phone had died. Her room was a mess. She was a mess.  

Her present was a repeated past and a probable future. Nightmares as daydreams were a constant for her. While there was no way of denying the astral projection and municipal annihilation from days ago with her data and the outside news, she couldn’t think of any sane reason why a higher being like that – he – should waste effort on someone – something? – like her. Directly her.

She didn’t deserve the attention. She never did before, so why now?

Lauren could feel the essence of sleep attempt to overtake her, pulling her toward another haggard hibernation at her desk, despite her bed being within reach. On instinct, she began to pull her hoodie’s hood over her head and retract her arms out her sleeves to make a makeshift cushion that’d hopefully bolster her and any nearby gear and tools on her eventual fall out of consciousness.

A crick in her neck was eminent in a couple of hours as her figure faltered down… but the Fates decided to bring it in early with some sun.

Just as her eyes were to close, the computer suddenly awakened, shining its near-blinding light across Lauren’s scleras. She jerked back into action, seeing her lock screen come into focus.

“S-See?” she argued through a yawn. “It was just an update, after all. No need to worry.”

With no intention of continuing research further into the morning, Lauren decided to just play it safe, checking that the update didn’t set any progress back. If it had, she’d have to make a journey into one of her several external drives or servers and make a new surface-level copy. Going from program to program – note-takers, stimulators, other data aggregators – all appeared to be well, softening Lauren’s heart for a quick retiring to bed.

Her last stop was her blueprinting software, where she had a deconstructed view of the materials and layers used to construct her space-warping lenses and its logging watch supplement. So much technology stuffed within such a narrow space. Companies tried to do less with less success, yet here Lauren was, literally going out of the box, out of this world.

It was a marvel to see in action, and it was even more marvelous that it worked. Lauren knew she had prowess – she wouldn’t be freelancing, otherwise – but she was also her harshest critic. The collections of her own comments on her own works badgering how and why she did things in a particular way (and how they somehow managed to work) probably weren’t right for her mental state, but they pushed her to work harder with each new design.

The text and links in her margins and other documents linked externally were worthy of their own analyses and bibliographies. They all followed a just-as-intricate organizational system, too, categorizing thoughts by time, purpose, solution, and the like, along with graphic dividers like color, font, and size. With how frequently Lauren looked at her green sheen and its related script during testing and active use, she vehemently didn’t use them to jab at her own processes.

So, despite her tiredness, it was clear to see the lone flag of that scheme, amidst the waterfall of colorful banners and bubbles, slightly bolder and more massive than the rest.

“What?” Lauren questioned, scratching her scalp with uncertainty. Doing so showed her that she required a shampoo session, finding filth collecting under her nails, but that was an issue for another time. “Did… Did I make this?”

Hovering the mouse cursor over that flag, she found its author listed as not her name or alias but instead “<null>,” leading to several possibilities, all discomforting. A) it was her own comment, and self-referencing was apparently terrible, now, B) an invalid character was put in the wrong place, which could have its own map of reasons, or C) an unauthorized entity had gotten access to the system. Nothing in the background showed any signs of a virus, and nothing in the foreground gave any clue as to which cause was the true one. So, with bated breath, Lauren clicked twice and dove in.

The window hung for a period, a loading circle replacing the pointer and her anxieties with doubts of security again. She knew that doing anything when not at 100 percent or at least sixty percent had such a high probability of something going wrong or something important going missed. But she couldn’t back out now, not with her computer likely to lock up. Luckily, all stayed free and open, and that flag dimmed from being accessed. Though, from the looks of it, there was no reason why its reference should’ve frozen her system as it did.

It was a PDF with just a handful of pages, and two of them were blank.

The bookends were empty, and the inner layers didn’t have much to them, either. In fact, one of the pages was an exact copy of a print that Lauren had already made. Her materials list as diagrams was reposted as the second page. The page after that was similar, except that about half of the items were deleted. But the last page was a puzzle: an almost literal puzzle.

The second page was copied again; however, the missing items that Lauren knew were replaced with a new set in a similar style. They were all recognizable in some way, reasonably findable from a store or online, but a combination that she had never considered. Both as a group by itself and in totality with everything else, the question was how they all fit together.

Its creator, quickly made visible to not be herself, clearly knew what they were doing with the additional subtitle in the footer of the page: ‘to satiate.’ At the realization, a chill ran down Lauren’s spine.

It hadn’t been a dream.

There were no instructions, just visuals, and as the genius she was, Lauren knew what they all were meant to be, stating their purpose with a wheeze,

“An earpiece.” An optimized headset with a mic and speaker from which she felt a disgusting aura of déjà vu.

This was his earpiece: the one that put her in this debacle in the first place.

If her intuitions were right, then the construction wouldn’t be complicated. Maybe time-consuming, sure, based on the glasses and watch being the bases for it, but not hard. They would make things harder if she went through with making them, though. But did she really have a choice?

She was just a circuit in his machine, instructed to make new circuits for new machines for her circuitry in his machine to interact with the said machine and its circuits. It was laid out in front of her, like her monitor’s light across her face, including what would probably be an everlasting truth:

Her death would be heard.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

Csuapr 39? Continued

Called to his mother’s quarters, Keith glared at all those he passed as they stared at his dishevelled state. His eyes were red from crying. He was so tired of fighting with his husband. The words he tried to say always came out wrong, or were twisted by jealousy. Hearing Lance laugh like that... He wanted to be the one to make him that happy. He’d spent the morning choosing what blankets to have on their bed, making sure it was properly made, comfortable and safe for his husband... then Lance had tried to bath Kosmo. He trusted his husband, but why couldn’t he see how dangerous it could have been. Had Lance been alone and slipped or had a seizure... anything could have happened. All he wanted was Lance by his side, where he couldn’t vanish or leave him behind. His fears of being abandoned by his lover were twisting him into something he didn’t want to be. Lance wanted his husband back... and Keith wanted... He wanted to stop fighting. He wanted to stop these possessive “instincts” that kept fucking things up in his head from preventing him fucking things up. Shiro hadn’t been impressed, though being Shiro, he could see both sides of the argument. Both of them wanted Lance in a safe environment, but their individual differences of the definition of that environment was like comparing apples and oranges. A safe environment to him was not Lance in a soaked bathroom, clutching his stomach. His husband may have been laughing, yet Keith could smell the pain Lance wasn’t showing. He didn’t want to be the kind of man who had to know every tick of his husbands day. He didn’t want to limit Lance’s actions... but he was so fucking scared. He didn’t know how to work this out. He didn’t have the right words... obviously. He wanted Lance, what he’d been through didn’t matter. Well, it did. It mattered when Lance was having a panic attack, or screaming his lungs out as he came out of a bad nightmare. It mattered when the past robbed Lance of his future. But at the same time, it didn’t matter. Yes, Lance has changed, but so had he. They weren’t the same people they’d been when they were Paladins. He accepted the broken parts, even if he hated them, and didn’t blame him for using whatever coping mechanisms he’d needed just to get through the day. Yet everything he said came across as an insult to Lance. Daehra assisting in synthesising Lance’s medication was for Lance’s sake. His medication was on file, and a sample had been taken before it’d been destroyed. The lab technicians could have easily synthesised another dose. Yet he knew Lance wouldn’t trust that. He’d planned for it to be done before collecting his husband, but time had run over. It felt as if everything he tried to do to make Lance happier was cursed to backfire. Somehow the flywheel of his self control had slipped, leaving him spiralling into this ball of petty rage. Reaching his mother’s quarters, his eyes grew damp as his hand shook. His fist paused midair as he was torn between knocking, or punching the wall beside the door until he’d broken it. His mother obviously knew he was coming, as she’d messaged him that Lance had safety reached her. The door sliding open to reveal his mother, her angered expression turned to open arms as he found himself gathered into her hold, his bottom lip quivering as he clutched at her shirt “M-mum... I fucked up again... I don’t think... I’m not... I’m not ok” Hushing him softly, his mother then nodded “He’s here and he’s sleeping. I heard you had a fight, but he was more worried about you than himself. I think we need to have a talk” Nodding, Keith didn’t move to move, not a few long moments before pulling back and sniffling “Please... can I see him? See that he’s here?” “Here, come with me” Krolia briefly showed him Lance’s sleeping form. His husband sleeping on the chaise in her “sitting” room, a thick blanket covering his sleeping form. Leading him back through her quarters, his nose was assaulted by Kolivan’s scent as they sat on her bed. Keith wiping his face as they sat opposite each other with their legs crossed. His mother holding a small yellow package she must have picked up as they’d walked. His mind had been on Lance, not really caring where they ended up for this talk. Sniffling again, he wiped his nose on his sleeve “I’m sorry...” “I know you are. Lance knows you are too. He wanted to leave at first, but almost as soon as he’d said that, he was saying he couldn’t leave you over such a stupid fight” “I keep fucking up and I don’t know how to stop” Krolia snorted lightly, Keith supposing he deserved it “Keith, we all make mistakes. Lance has been telling me that you’re struggling. He didn’t want to break your confidence in him, only that he was worried that you’ve been struggling with your feelings. He explained a little about these instincts you’re both feeling, on top of everything else. He’s worried you’re not taking care of yourself or putting yourself first when you need to” “He’s my priority” Keith didn’t even need to think about the automatic answer, his mother sighing at him “He can be your priority, but you can’t live his life. He knows you want to protect him, then gets scared when you blow up at him. Since he’s been here, it’s been full on for both of you, and he worries you’re not doing enough of the things you like. He feels like he’s taking up all your time and you’re having no time for anything else” “Of course I haven’t been doing anything else. He got attacked right away” “But you stopped eating when he was in the infirmary. You didn’t leave his side, not even to shower” “That’s because...” “Because what? No matter what you tell me, I love you. I want to understand” Keith clenched his fists, staring down at his legs “I’m scared if I take my eyes off him... that he’s going to disappear and never come back. Dad didn’t come back... and you... you weren’t there either... I don’t want to be left behind again. I don’t want to fight with him... but I don’t want to lose him because I wasn’t there when he needed me. He could have been hurt today. He could have slipped. He could have had a seizure. I spent... I made sure everything would be how he’d like it. I wanted it to be perfect... but then I come back and he’s laughing with Shiro. I can’t remember when I made him laugh like that. You should have seen him. The wrinkles in the corner of his eyes as laughed so hard his face was red. We keep fighting. I keep saying the wrong thing... but how do I keep him safe? Everyone is moving on... so why am I still stuck? We spent phoebs away from each other, so why can’t we make it work when we’re back together? I don’t know what to do. I don’t own him. He’s not my possession, so why do I get so mad when anyone gets near him? I don’t want him to leave me... I don’t want him to go away. He said... he said he would if I fucked up again, but half the time I don’t know how I did” Keith’s words hung between them, Krolia taking a moment before holding the package she’d grabbed out to him “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I was there when your father died. Lance knows being part of a family is hard for you. He asked me for a favour, scared of upsetting me as he did. These are my memories. You saw them on the space whale, but you barely have anything to remember him by. Leaving you two was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I left to keep you safe... and I left because I believed that one day we’d find each other again. Seeing his death. Feeling your pain. It broke part of me. I can’t forgive myself for the pain you went through, but I can tell you all couples fight. I know you’re scared. I know you don’t know how to be a parent, but no parent ever really does. All we can do is try our best... He loved you. The day you were born... he was so worried, but the moment he held you... He loved you, and he lives on in you. Lance wants your children to know him. I want you to know him, and I’m sure in his last words and thoughts, he was sorry to be leaving you. I might not know your fears and pain, but I’m your mother. I love you. I am proud of you. You’ve grown into a courage young man, who loves so deeply that you can’t even think straight. Neither of you want to keep fighting. Lance doesn’t want to leave. All he wants is for you to live your life and put yourself first from time to time. He wants you to trust that he doesn’t want to go back to how things were. He wants a relationship where you both trust each other, and in each other. Loving someone doesn’t mean binding them to you. It means loving them through all the ups and downs as you work out life together. If you’re struggling, you can come to me. If you want to go to Altea and see your councillor, I’m happy to have Lance’s help around here. He’s had his medical issues for a while, and he’s trying to adjust to them. He was rambling, but he did clearly say that he left the bathroom when the floor was wet because he didn’t want to chance things. He’s trying to make the choices that are right, but he’s also under a lot of pressure. His hormones are telling him one thing, his body another, and his lover lives in constant fear... but above all, he feels lonely when you don’t tell him how you feel. If I could give you both leave I would, but unfortunately this tour must happen” “He doesn’t want to go... he’s only going for us” “Because he loves you. He’s strong. I seem to remember his birthday is coming up?” Keith nodded, taking the yellow package from his mother “3 movements” “Why don’t you take him out? I’m not sure if it’s a surprise or not, but he’s booked a scan on Altea on the day. Why not make a whole day of it” “Shiro wants to throw a baby shower. He wants to get Hunk and Lance talking again. Lance said he didn’t want to celebrate his birthday, but we agreed on going to dinner” Krolia’s eyes lit up at “baby shower”, his mother’s scheming mind already racing with the idea, skipping the “dinner” part of the conversation “A baby shower... He’d like that” Frowning at his mother, that was the second time he’d been told that “I don’t think he wants the fuss” “It’s not “fuss”, it’s his friends and family being there with him. I think it’s a great idea. It doesn’t have to be a surprise, if his nerves can’t take it. But having the acceptance of everyone is something he needs. I’m going to have to call Shiro” “He’s not comfortable with the pregnancy” “He’s young and he’s wondering if he’s done the right thing. We talked a fair bit about it before the Gala. He didn’t know what was normal and not. It’s one thing to be on the supporting side of the pregnancy and another to be the one carrying. Do you two need anything? He mentioned you’d been shopping” When things had been better. Easier. Uncomplicated by his jealousy and Lance was freed of the burden of being anyone but himself “Shiro asked me the same thing... maybe something for Lance instead of the twins? I wish I knew what happened to his wedding ring” “We’ve searched and haven’t been able to find it. I wouldn’t hold out on you if we had. I know how much it means to both of you. I love you both, don’t forget that. You don’t have to keep trying to do everything alone. The attack on Lance was an attack on all of us. More cameras have been installed across the palace, and we haven’t given up on finding who was behind it. Kolivan’s livid about it all. He must have watched and rewatched that video a thousand times by now. He might not say it, but you’ve become a son to him. Lance has impressed him, not only with his skills but with his sharp mind. He’s fond of both of you. Do you want to sit with him? I understand if you want to spend a few vargas catching up with your father. I’m working from here today, mostly because Lance is here, but because I want to be here for both of you, not locked away in the command room working on theories. If he wakes up while you’re gone, I can find something he can help me with” Keith’s fingers traced the back of the envelope. He didn’t have much in the way of photos of his father, yet he kind of felt he wanted Lance there when he opened it. He wanted Lance to see him... to cuddle into his side and kiss his temple the way he did when it was all too much “I want Lance to meet him” “Then open it when you’re with him. He won’t push” “I know he won’t. He knew it was hard enough for me to meet his family for Christmas, but he worked so hard at being accomodating... He gave me something I didn’t have and something I can’t even find the words for” “That’s because he loves you. Now give me a hug, then go see that husband of yours” Climbing to his knees, Keith wrapped his arms around his mother. He wasn’t sure he’d had some kind of therapy breakthrough, but he also couldn’t deny he didn’t feel better “I love you mum” “I love you too. Always, Keith. No matter what. I’ll help you both in any way you I can” Keith nodded, he knew his mother loved him. He knew it, but he was still scared she’d disappear again. This fear was only getting worse “Then... can I ask a favour? Can you call Coran, and have him come out? Lance said he needed space and time, so I want someone there for him if he chooses more time alone” “Coran would love that” * There wasn’t space for Keith to sit on the chaise without risking waking Lance. Sitting with his side against the padded side, he watched Lance as he slept. His hand sitting beside Lance’s without touching, where it’d lain for the last varga or so. Lance felt safe in confiding in Coran... so maybe Coran could help him too? Maybe Coran would be able to help them talk without him losing his head? After a hundred mental conversations of how this could play out, he froze when Lance’s long eyelashes flickered. A soft groan on his lips as his husband nuzzled into the arm bit of the chaise before freezing. “Keith?” “I’m not here to fight, and if you want me to leave you alone, I will. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I keep getting mad over the smallest and stupidest things... and I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I don’t want to fight...” Hanging his head in shame, Lance wriggled across on the chaise, wrapping his arms around him. Keith felt as if he didn’t deserve the soft gesture “I don’t want to fight either. I don’t. I hate fighting with you” “Why do we keep fighting?” “I don’t know” “I hate it” Lance nuzzled into his hair “So do I. I don’t know what’s going on with us. You’re so mad and I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong... I want to be happy with you. How can I make you happy?” “I... I don’t think I’m coping. I get so jealous of everything... I don’t want you to leave me... but I keep... I keep using the wrong words” “I’m not... Keith, I’m not interested in anyone that isn’t you. I can’t be like... that, with anyone who isn’t you. I don’t know how make you see that” “I know. But my head gets so busy. I keep getting... I keep feeling like if I let you out my sight you’ll be gone forever... I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you hurt because I wasn’t good enough. Not again” Keith’s body shuddered as his tears returned “Babe. Hey. Hey... you’ve been arsehole... but you had a scare too. I know you did. You didn’t fail me that night. That was not your fault” “I knew you were in danger” “And I knew I was in danger” “I got so mad at you and all you did was wash Kosmo. Nothing happened but I couldn’t get the thought out my head. You could have slipped. You could have had a seizure. And... you were so happy without me there. If I’m making you sad, then you shouldn’t here. I shouldn't...” “Stop. Ok. Stop. We’re only going to end up fighting again and I can’t. I can’t keep fighting with you. Shiro was trying to cover for me. He was trying to help because I made the mess. I couldn’t sleep so I was going to take a bath. I was feeling pretty tired and horny... my body had all this energy that my mind didn’t. I was running the bath when Kosmo jumped in. It all went to quiznak. He decided halfway through he wasn’t having it and teleported around before teleporting out and messing up the bed. I knew you’d worry... but I was feeling so fucking lonely that I stripped the bed and tried going to sleep like that. Kosmo teleported back. I was cold and wet when Shiro came. He wasn’t you, but I was grateful not to be alone... You’ve... be putting up a wall between us. Cuddles without kisses. Barely touching me sometimes, like I’m infectious. Then growling and getting jealous. I don’t know how to feel. Shiro tried to get Kosmo washed off, while I changed. When I went to check on them, Kosmo was misbehaving. I know it’s bad but I felt like less of a fuck up as I watched. Then he tried to run off with Shiro’s arm. Then he teleported him into the bath and knocked him down. He was trying to cover because he knew I didn’t want you worrying. I didn’t want you to know how much of a fuck up I am... because... I don’t want to lose you” The full story made much more sense. If he hadn’t been jealous of Lance’s laughter than maybe he could have taken a moment to find the humour in the situation “I wanted everything to be perfect when you came back. I had it all planned. I was talking to Daehra, while we watched the lab assistants make your medication so you wouldn’t have to worry about having a seizure with everything else going on. But then it wasn’t ready in time. I knew you wouldn’t take something you didn’t trust. So I was hurrying to get back. Shiro stayed. He watched it all. I don’t want you falling back into drugs... but I also don’t want something happening. Those seizures. Waiting for your body to stop spasming. I don’t want you to go through that. Especially not in front of people who might not understand. I know how upset it’d make you. I’m not trying to drug you. I... don’t want you thinking that. I’m in love with you. I want to work this out with you. I don’t want to keep being a jealous idiot” “I don’t know how to stop that. I don’t know what I can say or do. You wanted me to try but when you do you get angry and I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell Shiro not to talk to me. I can’t turn them all away... because then they’ll ask you. I’m scared of all of this... I keep going because I love you.. but then we fight and I have to fight it. I want to shoot up or hurt myself... and the only thing that stops me is the idea of hurting you. I know how to be uncle... I don’t know how to a baby. I don’t know how to have two. We can’t have babies and be fighting” “Lance, do you even want them?” Keith’s voice was low and rough, the question painful to ask “I want to. But then we fight and I hate myself all that much more. You like men... I’m not sure what I am. I don’t know if you want this body or are going through the motions. But we made them. We’ve heard their heartbeats. I’ve felt them move. I’m confused. I want to want this but then I seem like a freak. I want a future with you... I’m so scared of what I’m becoming. I’m some kind of monster. I can’t control my Altean magic. What if I zap you again? I could kill you... They’re our kids... I want to... I don’t want people treating me like a freak. I know it’s weird. I know it and people don’t need to tell me... still, I can... I can get through it if we... if we’re together... but we need to stop fighting. It hurts both of us and it hurts living and knowing it does” “You’re not a freak. You can’t help the Altean magic in your blood. You didn’t ask for it. You didn’t ask for anything that happened. Allura was stupid to leave you. If anything I’m the freak. I keep “Galraing” out over everything. I can’t relax, and I can’t stop worrying” “I know. That’s part of why I’m worried. It’s like there this switch in you that flips. I know you’re sorry. I know. I don’t know we get back to what we had, but I want to try” “Me too. I know I said I’d leave you alone as long as you wanted, but do you maybe want to come back to our room?” “Can we cuddle?” “Yeah. Yeah. I’m sorry I was pulling away. I am pulling away. It’s not because I like someone else, I just get scared” Lance nodded as he pressed a kiss against Keith’s hair “I know you do. Maybe we can talk to someone? Together?” “I asked mum to invite Coran out here. I know you wanted to be alone, but I also know you don’t have many friends here and I wanted you to have someone here that you trusted. I... I’m proud that you turned to mum. She loves you so much” “I feel like I rely on her too much, but she’s the only Galra I know who’s pregnant and can tell me about what’s going on with my body” “I want you to talk to me. When you’re scared... I want to know” “I’m more lonely than scared. I don’t want to feel lonely” Shifting position, Keith took Lance’s face in his hands. His husband nuzzling into his right hand affectionately. He didn’t like his husband feeling lonely or isolated. Their fighting would have only served to make him feel worse, yet when he looked at the black eye he’d given him, he felt so quiznakking horrible “I can’t promise I won’t mess up again” “And I can’t promise I won’t make you worry” “So we both have things we need to work on?” “Yeah. Let’s go back to your room. I’m sorry Kosmo messed up our bed. I get why you got angry, because you were disappointed after working so hard. I would have been angry too” “Yeah, but I should have listened. I shouldn’t have lost my temper simply because the bed was a mess. Are you ok, though? I could smell pain when you were laughing” “Pregnancy pains. Just some cramping from laughing so hard. They’re not too bad, Mumma K explained that because things are growing and shifting inside that happens. We need to work on talking instead of relying on each other’s scents. My therapist would love you. They always say I catastrophise everything. Instead of looking for the good, I fixate on all the possible bad. I think you do that a lot too. Instead of enjoying what time we have together, you think of everything that can go wrong. Coran’s good to talk to about things. He won’t tell... but the important thing is finding someone you’re comfortable to talk to. You’re the one who told me that” Keith let out a scoff of sorts “That sounds to smart to have come from me” Leaning down, Lance rested his forehead against his “You’re pretty smart when you want to be. Rest of the time you’re kind of an idiot” “But... I’m still you’re idiot?” “Yeah. Can we make a new rule?” Keith would do anything if it meant receiving Lance’s forgiveness, though there was a sense of foreboding “What is it?” “That you remember I’m married to you, you idiot. That you are the only person I’ve had consensual sex with” “You’re the only one I’ve been with too... I don’t want to be with anyone else” “Then stop trying to marry me off to Shiro. It’s creepy and I don’t like it” “I’m sorry. I get so scared you’ll see you can do better” Lance pressed a soft kiss against his lips “You’re the one who can do better. You’re gorgeous. You’re smart and you’re fun to be around when we’re not fighting. Plus, Mami has permanent adopted you. I couldn’t break her heart by downgrading in the husband department” “I gave you a black eye” “And I tried to bash the shit out of you while going off the drugs. You don’t blame me for that. I don’t blame you for your nightmares” Keith paused, Lance stealing a kiss, before continuing “See. You know I’m right. Come on, let’s go before Mumma K throws us out” “She’d never throw us out. She loves you too much” “She loves you even more”

[grimmtnykan]

The Nykan Situation: Episode 1

     "Hurry up, Grimm!"

    "Ugh...Five more minutes."

    "Do you want to go out and play today, or not?"

    Grimm opened his eyes to see his older brother, Jacob, looking down on him. School was cancelled due to the heavy snowfall. Jacob made a promise to Grimm that they would play in the snow if they had a snow day, and what better day than today? Little Grimm shot out of bed and scurried to his closet to retrieve his winter attire. He made sure he was bundled up to go play out in the cold, wrapped up in a scarf and other necessary clothing items for the cold. Jacob was wearing his signature black trench coat and could see the excitement through his brother's bright blue eyes. The two ventured off into the snow and ran across the street, laughing on the way, the snow falling upon their pink and chubby faces.

    "Wow, it kinda looks dead in the park today. I figured more people would be here." Jacob said as he put his hands into his pockets. Grimm couldn't contain his happiness any longer and just dashed for the park. Grimm was a very happy kid and always found energy inside of him to play with his brother. Jacob was sixteen and spent most of his time in Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Grimm would be going into said school in the next upcoming year. Not only would he get to spend more time with his brother, but he would learn how to harness the powers within magic and go on his own mystical path. Life was good for both of them.

    "Well, if it isn't Jacob Nykan. The freak on the block." said a nearby voice. Jacob and Grimm looked up from playing in the snow to see three people. Jacob's had problems with them before. When he attended a muggle school in his hometown, these three people would always bully him. Jacob wasn't exactly a very extroverted person; in fact, he didn't like human contact at all. Unless it regarded family, he could care less about making friends or even holding a stable relationship. Being introverted in their small town wasn't seen as "normal."

    "Aw, look! He's with his little brother. Just look at how scared he looks!" cackled one of the other boys. The group walked closer to the two siblings and Jacob stepped in front of Grimm. Grimm wasn't very great at handling confrontation. He had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was afraid of what their intentions consisted of. Would they hurt him or Jacob? Would they harass them? What did these three want?

    "What do you want, Kai? I told you to stay away from me." Jacob said in a stern tone.

    "You got another thing coming if you think I'd obey someone like you. I take orders from no one, Nykan!" said Kai, a silver headed boy. He rubbed his hands together as he looked at Grimm. "That's a nice, red scarf you got there. Red is my favorite color." he spat.

    "Bet it's pretty valuable." snickered Everett, the tallest one in the group. Jacob tried to shove Grimm behind him, but Everett stopped him by grabbing his shoulder.

    "Be a nice thing to have, ain't it?" said Darren, an orange headed, dark skinned boy. He looked at Kai as he cracked his knuckles. Darren and Everett grabbed Jacob and held him back. Kai, on the other hand, grabbed Grimm by his scarf. Grimm could feel himself choking and tried slapping at Kai's hand to make him stop. Tears flooded his eyes and he gasped for air, panicking. Jacob thrashed all around with Darren and Everett.

    "Y-You can't have it! My mom made it for me and it's mine to keep!" squealed Grimm. He tried to stand his ground. He thought that perhaps they'd leave them alone if he showed any sign of courage. Kai cackled as he slowly lifted Grimm off the ground, tightening the scarf around his neck. Jacob loosened the grip that Darren and Everett had against him and he launched himself at Kai. The two wrestled with each other, Jacob's clothes being ripped in the process. Grimm got up from the snow and ran behind a tree, hiding. His legs felt weak, his mind raced, and his heart was beating right out of his chest. Grimm peeked his head from behind the tree. Jacob laid on the ground, not moving. The three bullies kicked and cursed at him. They saw Grimm and began to make their way towards him.

    "Don't go near him..." Jacob said under his breath. The three bullies stopped in their tracks and began to panic when they felt their bodies being lifted in the air. Jacob was raising his arm up in the air as he got up and struggled to stand. Grimm stared in shock. What was going on? Jacob's eyes began to glow eerie green.

    "You can bother me as much as you want...Yet, when you mess with my family, that is where I draw the line!" Jacob spat. He clasped his hand into a fist and the three bullies howled in pain. Green swirls of light wrapped around their bodies slowly, and as the light reached higher, their bodies would disappear. They were being vaporized. Eventually, the light secluded their screams and person. Everything fell silent, Grimm feeling confused and scared. He wondered what he had just witnessed. Jacob walked towards him and got on one knee.

    "J-Jacob...What did you do?!" he whimpered.

    "I did what I had to do in order to protect you. Listen, Grimm...We are both destined for greatness, and with people like in our way, we need to take them down. Let's keep today between us. Do you understand?" Grimm stared at his brother. He didn't understand what was going on at all, but he trusted Jacob.

    "...I understand." the two made their way back home in silence. They had enough playing in the snow today.

----------

    Grimm opened his deep, blue eyes to only see a clear sky and shade from the tree he lay under, blocking out the sun. The two strands of hair slightly blew in the wind to give him a better view of his sights. The young man sat up and scratched his head. Grimm was in average shape for a boy his age, seventeen. His hair was a light shade of brown, buzzed all around each side, with a couple bothersome strands resting over his forehead. He had a light stubble across his jawline and chin. He spoke with a southern accent that originated from the depths of Tennessee in the states, but faded slightly over time due to being in a different environment for so long. Of course, he would go back home every summer to his caretaker, Duke Kelling. Duke was a family friend of Grimm's parents who passed away in a house fire when he was eleven, which was the same night Jacob disappeared.

    "I fell asleep again, damn. Madam Hooch'll want an explanation." he said to himself. He got up and dusted himself off and walked up the trail that led to the training grounds. He was lucky, he got to his class just in time. As we walked over to the rack of brooms to grab one, he felt a presence developing towards him.

    "Hey Grimm!" said a familiar voice. Cesily Eurodite. Cesily is a Norwegian sixth year Gryffindor with hair red as a brick and thick as a shrub. She fixed her glasses as she smiled upon her friend. "How are you? You look dead."

    "I actually just woke up. I skipped potions class last period because I honestly just hate that class. Professor Snape is really a pain. Same for that student teacher, Shiro." Grimm replied to Cesily's remark, grabbing a broom and patting Grimm on the back.

    "Well, year six is almost over. It's been exhausting and trust me, as soon as this year is over, we'll go to Hogsmeade and drink ourselves silly with butter beer and do...I dunno, maybe watch Full House on repeat."

    "We do that everyday already, Cy."

    "And we'll do it again!" she chuckled. Grimm used to hate the idea of summer. Not only because it can be ridiculously hot, but because of how he would leave hearing the rumors about him from the past. When word got around about his well known brother disappearing and his family dying, people suspected Grimm to be behind it.

"He is working with he who must not be named!"

"He died discovering a cursed vault!"

"He is on the run from The Ministry of Magic!"

    People to this day still speak about it. It doesn't help that Grimm brought attention upon himself after discovering an ice knight in a cursed vault and slaying it, helping organize campaigns and activities for the school, excelling in courageous based classes, and the constant rivalry he causes between Gryffindor and Slytherin. He has done and accomplished a lot in the past years he has been at Hogwarts, yet he felt there was so much more he could do and discover, such as finding Jacob. There is still so much to do, yet so little time.

    "Hopefully this summer won't be a pain." said Grimm as he hopped on his broom.

--------

    Evelyn, Seraphina, and Tay were hanging out in Hogsmeade. The three of them didn't have class for the rest of the day, so they decided to head to town and screw around. They were currently at The Three Broomsticks enjoying a hot meal and butter beer. Evelyn was dazed, staring out the window and thinking.

    "What're you thinking about?" Tay asked. Tay Guinvere is a sixth year Ravenclaw who was quite determined for high marks and obsessed with tea. Her hair was a dark brown and fluffy as can be, though being short to her shoulders. "You look bored."

    "Yeah, what's wrong?" Seraphina asked. Seraphina Steinhaur is a Gryffindor in her sixth year. Her skin is pale like her white, snowy hair. Her eyes, amber like peanut brittle. Unlike her two friends, she was more outspoken and loud.

    "Oh nothing. I'm just thinking of something that happened yesterday. It isn't important" Evelyn replied. Evelyn Fawley is a Hufflepuff in her sixth year. She has woven blonde hair with emerald green eyes. Freckles danced upon her rosy nose and cheeks. She was quite popular, and not just because she is a part of the sacred pureblood family but because of her charisma and charm. People often labeled her as nice and outgoing, but she wasn't so sure if she could identify with that statement.

    "I bet it's boys." Seraphina teased.

    "Too bad we can't do that because we're le--" Tay was cut off.

   "It's not about that, stop trying to expose me." Evelyn took a sip of her butterbeer. "I said something to Grimm and I think he hates me now."

    "You told him that he looks like a wannabe trucker?" Tay chuckled as she chugged her butterbeer.

   "No. Not yet anyway. We have to save that for another time." replied Evelyn.

    "Well then what's the big deal? You're not exactly a mean person. You're a Hufflepuff! There's no way you could be mean." said Seraphina. Tay looked at her and for a moment and then back at her butterbeer.

    "Well...I said something to him a few days ago and I think he's mad at me." Evelyn admitted. "We were both looking through the journal we found in Filch's office that belonged to Jacob, trying to decipher what it said. It was written in this...weird language of some sort. No one we knew could translate it and the library had absolutely nothing to help us. Things got tense later that night."

----------

    Grimm groaned loudly and threw the journal down. Inside of it appeared to be scribbles and exotic shapes combined together. That was the only thing in the notebook, this foreign writing. He began to grow frustrated.

    "What the hell does this say?! Why would he write his journal in such an awkward manner?" Grimm picked the journal back up and began to study the board he put up in Jacob's room, full of notes and other items that included information about their evidence.

    "Grimm, can I say something?" Evelyn said as she put down a book. He looked over at her. "Isn't it possible that perhaps, he doesn't want to be found?" Grimm stared at her.

     "And why would he want that?"

     "I don't know. Maybe something serious did happen and it caused him to go into hiding. I just know that sometimes, people just want to be left alone." Evelyn replied. Grimm looked over at the door.

     "So far we've hardly gotten anywhere with this investigation. We are lucky to even have a ghost or centaur mention him to us, and we're in year six! We've been looking for him since year one. I'll help you in any way I can, but...I think we're getting nowhere once again--"

    Before Evelyn could finish, Grimm turned around and stormed out of his room and into the night. He didn't come back for a couple of days. He hasn't even spoken to Evelyn since then. Nor looked at her. Let alone anyone in all of Hogwarts.

----------

    "That wasn't cool." Tay blurted out. "I understand he cares for his brother, but he doesn't have to treat you like that."

    "I can somewhat understand his reaction. If my only form of close family went missing with no explanation, I'd be concerned and worried too. I'd try to find them. We all have found evidence regarding Jacob's disappearance. Maybe he feels that he's too close to the matter." Seraphina pitched in.

    "I don't care how close we are, I just...want him to stop being mad at me. What should I do?" Evelyn asked.

    "Apologize?" Seraphina suggested. "Perhaps you could give him some sort of treat."

    "Nah, that's lame." blurted Tay.

    "You have a better idea?" Seraphina barked.

    "No, but it sounds corny." replied Tay.

    "It's better than nothing. Maybe it will bring us both some closure." said Evelyn.

    "I'm sure it will, even if you bring him a food based treat. You can stab him to death and offer him a sweet roll as an apology and he'd forgive you." said Tay. The three girls laughed and joked for the rest of their visit at The Three Broomsticks. An hour had gone by and Evelyn noticed Grimm sitting in the courtyard reading a book. She approached him with careful steps, hoping to not distract him too obnoxiously.

    "Hey Grimm!" said Evelyn cheerfully as she walked up to him. Grimm lifted his head up.

    "Oh, hey. What're you doing here?"

    "I just wanted to ask you if you could maybe hang out tonight? I don't have any plans and I was hoping you didn't either." replied Evelyn.

    "Tsk, well you kinda came at the wrong time. It's Friday and every Friday, Cesily and I binge Full House Well, technically she makes me binge it with her, but it's better than studying." said Grimm. Evelyn's expression went blank for a minute. Was he just saying this because he was upset with her?

    "Oh, okay. Maybe another time then." she said before she could turn to walk away.

    "Hey, maybe you could join us?" said Grimm.

    "Grimm." she clasped her hands. "I am a Hufflepuff. I cannot just enter the Gryffindor common room."

    "...I never said it was in the common room." said Grimm as he smiled.

   "Oh. Then where are you watching the movie?" Evelyn asked.

    "I can't say. Just meet me on the training grounds around 7:00 pm." Grimm closed his book. "I need to get to transfiguration class. I'll see you around?"

    "S-Sure! See you until then." Evelyn said as he walked away. She wanted to apologize and say something else to him then and there, but words refused to climb up her vocals and escape. As of lately, it nearly felt impossible to speak to Grimm. Was it because he was disassociating himself from everyone, or was it her own fault for feeling that she was at fault for the little things she has said, done, and thought? Either way, she felt trapped in this communication based wall. She sat down on the same bench he was once sitting at, and just began to think, and imagine herself in a more confident aura. Later that night, Evelyn dressed out of her robes and wore only a casual outfit. She sat outside in the cool breeze as the sun began to sun. It looked as if the fallen wizards and witches were painting the sky. Oranges, yellows, pinks, and even blues flooded the sky like a hurricane. It was absolutely mesmerizing. The freckled blonde wished she could enjoy this sight for all of eternity. Scotland certainly did have a wondrous atmosphere, and golden hour was its peak.

    "Hey." said a familiar voice. It was Grimm. Evelyn turned her head around and stood up from the soft, green grass and greeted him.

    "Follow me." he said with a blank stare.

    She followed close behind him, occasionally looking at the horizon. Grimm only wore a black shirt, cargo shorts, and black tennis shoes. Why was he wearing black on such a warm day? That's a fashion curse, Evelyn thought. His face was unreadable. She stopped eyeing him for a minute only to see they were headed into a small patch of woods. Ahead of them was a short, but thick tree with what appeared to be a tree house at the top. Grimm grabbed the latter and began to climb up on it to enter the small home. Evelyn climbed up after him and viewed the room. There were bean bag chairs, rugs, curtains over windows, cans and bottles of soda and water, some clothes laying about, blankets, and a television with a DVD player.

    "Wow, full on man cave, huh?" said Evelyn, jokingly.

    "Yeah. We built it a while back. The second years and above were being rude to us as first years, so we first year Gryffindor's built this with the help of Hagrid. We come here when we need to." Grimm said with a smile. "There wasn't a lot of us. So it was just me, Ben, Rowan, Cesily, and Seraphina. But... Now it's just the girls and I."

   Evelyn eyed at him with a sombering look. She sympathized with him. During the first half of sixth year, Rowan Khanna had died by the hands of Patricia Rakepick. Grimm, Merula Snyde, and Ben Copper were battling the traitorous witch in the forbidden forest and she had casted one of the unforgivable curses at Ben. The killing curse, Avada Kedavra. But Rowan had followed them in a desperate attempt to protect them, to which he did. But he ended up dying as a sacrifice, pushing Ben out of the way before he could be struck by the evil curse. It put a massive effect on Grimm and everyone around Hogwarts. Due to the massive wave of sheer anger and melancholy, Grimm and Ben had a falling out. They haven't spoken since Rowan's death. Evelyn lifted her head and changed the subject to a more happy matter.

    "Wait, there are no outlets. How does the TV work?" Evelyn asked.

    "We use Accio. Electricity is expensive. Good thing we can use magic. It's not like we'll get in trouble either since we're still on the campus." Grimm said.

    "Smart. So, where is everyone?" asked Evelyn.

    "They'll be here later. They went to fetch some snacks for tonight." Grimm answered. He sat down in a red bean bag chair.

    "Hey, there's something I wanted to talk to you about." Evelyn said as she sat down on one of the rugs. Grimm looked over at her.

    "I...I'm sorry for what I said a few days ago. I know how this investigation means to you. I hope I didn't make you too angry." she stated in a sad tone. Evelyn looked up at him. "You looked pretty upset when you stormed off." Grimm sighed and looked at her.

    "I'll be honest, I wanted to protest, but I heard something. I heard a familiar voice, it felt haunting, yet calming. I ran out to investigate it and was frustrated when I couldn't see or find anything." Grimm explained.

    "Whose voice was it?" Evelyn asked. Grimm looked down and choked on his words, wiping his forehead.

    "It was Jacob's."

BREAK

    "What?" Evelyn asked, wide eyed.

    "I heard Jacob calling my name. It became more intense, more profound. Each minute I got closer, he got louder. That's why I haven't spoken to you or hardly anyone. It's... All I can think about. It gives me chills." Grimm's voice grew shaky and quiet. "I'm not mad at you. I'm just--" Before Grimm could finish, the trap door opened and up came Cesily, Tay, and Seraphina.

    "Oops, did we interrupt something?" Taryn teased. Cesily and Seraphina followed up with a chuckle.

    "Uh, no. Then again, a notice would've been nice." Grimm sneered.

    "Yeah, yeah. So Evelyn, you're joining us for binge night?" Cesily asked.

    "I suppose so. I've never done anything like this before. Or at least it has been a very long time since I have. I also had no idea Tay and Sera would be joining us." Evelyn stated as she glared at the two. They just smiled at her and stuck their tongues out.

    "Well, why are we still chatting? Let's start the show already before I fall asleep." Seraphina said impatiently. Cesily used Accio to start the television. It has been almost an hour since they watched the first season. Grimm noticed how everyone except for him seemed to be so in depth with the show. It was as if they were hypnotized. Why wasn't he the same way? He had been waiting for tonight all week; but, when he finally got the chance, it felt less exciting. As he thought to himself, he began to wonder if he would feel the same way if he would ever discover the whereabouts of his brother. Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light.

    "What was that?" Tay asked in a worried tone.

    "Was it lightning?" Seraphina said as she sat up and looked around.

    Evelyn sat up and poked her head out of the window to see a bright light hanging in the sky, directly above Hogwarts. It got brighter and bigger, combusting and causing the Earth to quake terribly. The group hollered and began to panic. Grimm fell out of the window and landed on his side. He croaked in pain, his vision growing blurry. He could have sworn his ribs were broken. All he could hear the faint voices of his peers call his name as his hearing went from clear and precise to silent and dead. He closed his eyes and he saw nothing but darkness.

    "Grimm... Grimm..." said a quiet voice. Grimm couldn't answer. He could hear and see in this vision, but he couldn't speak. It was as if he was in some sort of paralysis. "I've risen, Grimm. The time is now!" the voice roared.

    "GRIMM!"

    Grimm's eyes shot open and he saw the four girls beside him, helping him up. The earthquake turned into a chaotic storm. Rain poured down immensely. Thunder and lightning cracked and ran throughout the sky like it was a horse race. Wind pushed down on everyone, like a pressure weight.

    "Protego!" Cesily yelled as she waved her wand. A large shield of blue grew around the group and they made their way back to Hogwarts. It only took a few minutes, but they eventually made it back in time before the storm worsened. Students gathered around in the main hall. Some students were conversing with each other; other students were in a panic about the situation.

    "What's going on?" Seraphina asked.

    "It appears as if there is some sort of birthday party going on, Miss Steinhauer." said professor Snape. "There's a storm happening and it's causing destruction and chaos. What else could it be?"

    "Guys, please put me down..." Grimm said meekly. He felt his legs fall beneath him and he fell onto his dirty palms, suddenly dry heaving. His eyes were bloodshot as he turned on his back, shaking. He felt hot, boiling, and his skin was flaring a red tint. Grimm's fingers dug into the cement floor.

    "Grimm!" Evelyn exclaimed as he fell.

    "GUUUUUUUUUURRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHAHAAAAAAAAHHAGGGGHHH!" Grimm howled in pain. His body twisted and turned awkwardly, crunching and popping being heard all throughout his body. Wizards and witches turned their heads to the commotion and rushed over, only to be forced back by the staff.

    "What in the world is going on here?!" shouted one of the professors as they made their way through the crowd to get to the scene.

    "It's Nykan!" replied professor Hooch.

    The Professors that were there at the scene, which consisted of Flitwick, McGonagall, and Hooch. They gathered around to calm down Grimm.

    "Don't touch him." boomed a voice as it approached the scene in purple and golden robes.

    "STOP THE P A I N!" Grimm screamed. His voice sounded deep and ragged. His ears grew to a pointed arrow head-like shape. His deep blue ocean eyes transitioned into a cyan blue full of electricity, with his pupils turning into slits. He arched his back in pain, immediately punching the ground as an instant reaction. His fist slamming into the ground, causing it to crack and creating a pothole. His clothes began to shred as his body began to stretch, growing from a scrawny teenage boy, to the body of a boulder.. His muscles grew and his veins popped out. This made Grimm begin to cry in anguish. The pain was so surreal. It felt as if he was being impaled by his own spine. To him, this sensation felt as if rocks, pins, and needles were having a race in his body. In the middle of his chest, a bright blue X began to appear. As soon as the light disappeared, the symbol looked like nothing more than a large scar. Grimm stopped freaking out almost immediately and just relaxed onto the floor, panting heavily. The young boy's face was drenched in sweat, tears, mucus, and saliva. Everyone stared at the restless student, jaws dropped at this extraordinary change.

    "The race of Apoth." mumbled the once booming voice. It belonged to the one and only, headmaster Dumbledore.

    "Sir?" Hooch asked.

    "The birth of a lost race. Apothians." Albus Dumbledore stepped closer and got onto one knee, cleaning Grimm's face with a handkerchief and sitting him up.

    "The race of Apoth is a long lost collective race of mortals who would be granted powers from higher deities, particularly Norse gods. The race disappeared mysteriously over 5 centuries ago. Not much is known of their race, except the formation of their symbol that is upon their chest. It forms when they have officially been gifted the powers from the deities. That is, if they are seen as worthy." said Dumbledore.

    "But why Grimm? What is even going on?" Cesily asked. Truly, no one had any idea what was going on. Their classmate had just gone through what seemed like an ultimately traumatizing event and for what reason? And what was with the mention of gods? Hardly no one in the wizarding world believed in such a concept.

     "The Savior's weren't the ones to give him this beauty." said a voice from outside of the grand window. Everyone turned their heads to see the windows suddenly shatter. A bright light poured in, and appeared a tall, fit man. He had coal black hair, pale skin, and wore a jeweled, black robe. He lifted his head to reveal his bright green eyes, and wore half of a white masquerade mask that rested upon the right side of his face.

    "I did." said Jacob Harlis Nykan.

     "Jacob?" mumbled Grimm. His eyes widened as he wheezed. Dumbledore patted his back to relax him.

    "Hello, Grimm. I hear you've been searching for me." Jacob said as he walked towards his younger brother.

     "Only for six years." Grimm replied as he attempted to stand up, but McGonagall and Flitwick stopped him.

    "How did you get here? Zoro banished you!" Dumbledore stated.

    "I figured you'd know that question already, professor." Jacob replied sternly. "I've come for you, Grimm. I've gifted you with 10% of the power the Lost have given me. Eventually, you can become immortal like me, and we'll become gods. We can rule the world! We can avenge our parents. We can have what we have ever wanted! It's your destiny, Grimm! Remember when we were young and I said this to you on the playground? You and I can be one, once again!" said Jacob, as he reached out his hand. Grimm stared at him, confused. Why was Jacob going on about world domination? He had so many questions, but he didn't know where to start.

    "W-wait... You disappear for six years, and ask me to help you rule the world? You've been here for hardly a minute! You could have at least bought me dinner first!" Grimm said as he struggled to stand.

    "All I ever wanted was to see us become a family again. That's all I ever wanted... even ma and pa." Grimm said, his voice cracking.

    "We can, Grimm. Yet, you'd have to agree to rule beside me and bring this cruel world to its knees! We need to show this godforsaken planet that the respect for the gods has been lost, and we as new gods deserve to be worshipped. We deserve the happiness and glory we dreamt about as children." Jacob said.

    "I don't want that! That would require me harming those for something I want, and that's not how I roll. You can do what you want, but I won't participate in any of it. Just listen to yourself, Jacob!"

    Everyone silenced.

    "Stand down, and come home with us. With me, brother." Grimm said as he slowly approached his sibling.

    "It seems I've made a mistake. I expected better of you, Grimm. You've disappointed me." Jacob snarled. "You really are pathetic!"

    Jacob yelled as he raised his arm and swung it to the side, casting a large wave of green energy to hit Grimm with. Grimm gasped and jumped towards the side. The blast of energy destroyed the main hall's entrance, causing it to explode and create an immaculate hole in its presence. Grimm staggered upward and looked at his brother. Before the professors could cast their wands, Jacob jumped towards Grimm and grabbed him by his throat, punching him in the air and straight through the roof. Jacob launched himself after him, opening his hands and spewing what appeared to be like green lightning from them. He eventually reached up to Grimm before he could fall back down. Jacob grabbed what remained of his shirt and turned him over, back facing the ground.

    "Elektrisk slag!" Jacob shouted before the blasts of electricity pushed Grimm down into the ground, creating an impact crater. Grimm could feel himself fading in and out of consciousness, his breath becoming short and rapid. Jacob flew down to face him.

    "Tragic. Here you are, a part of a long lost race, and you don't even know how to use your powers. You don't even know how to summon your own våpen. That is something every Apoth knows instantly after transformation. Your instincts should have blocked my attacks." Jacob spat as he kicked Grimm in the face.

    "You always were weak, Grimm. I can remember the first time you dealt with that group of bullies. I had to deal with them for you. In the end I ended up killing them. I turned their bodies into dust. And you know what you did? Cry, like a pathetic waste of space!" He shouted as he slammed his foot into Grimm's gut. Grimm cried in pain, too weak to move.

   "You are nothing but shit. I don't see how we could ever be in relation. You are not worthy of being my brother or a god. You are my enemy, and I must kill my enemies before they get in my way!" Jacob said before lifting his leg to kick him again. Grimm grabbed his foot and held it, refusing to let Jacob harm him once more. His new biceps and triceps flexed intensely, veins popping slightly.

    "I...I AM NOT PATHETIC!" Grimm screamed as he suddenly lifted himself up. The two were suddenly surrounded by blue flames. Grimm pushed Jacob in the air and flew after him, trails of blue flame following behind him. He balled his fist up, reaching it back and nailing him in the face. This force of strength caused Jacob to fly across the sky, creating a sonic boom wave. Jacob used his mass to stop himself from flying any further. He felt at the right side of his face, feeling a thin crack in the center of his mask.

    "You'll pay for that." Jacob sneered. "Fare!"

    Jacob raised his arm and a long horizontal line of vivid light appeared. What was revealed before Grimm was a long, curved tip sword. Along the blade was glowing green Norwegian lettering that spelled out Fare. The handle had a spike attached to it at the end. Around the saber, waves of green energy produced amongst it. Its power was pressuring Grimm.

    "I won't use all of Fare's power on you since there's no point. As soon as this blade touches you, you'll die. After all, it's what you deserve for betraying your only family." said Jacob as he swung his arm to the side, unleashing a blast of energy at Grimm. The energy broke into many parts, spreading like arrow heads. Grimm dove down, but was struck by one of the arrows. It went through his arm and blood began to cascade down his bicep to his finger tips like a river. The new born Apothian cursed and held his arm as he shot his head up to eye his brother. His eyes flashed, glowing furiously. Grimm screamed Jacob's name as he flew towards him. An aura of white formed around him as he aimed his attacks towards his older brother. Grimm punched as fast and as hard as he could, but Jacob dodged every attack. He raised his sword to slice at Grimm, but was stunned to see Grimm grab it. He tried to remove the sword from his grasp, but Grimm held tightly. The saber cut into his skin but he refused to let go.

    "What?!" Jacob exclaimed confusingly. Grimm threw his sword to the side, causing Jacob to go flying with it. Grimm didn't throw as far as he anticipated, however. He could feel his body becoming weaker and more exhausted. Jacob turned to laugh at the boy's poor attempts to fight. "It appears your energy is draining, Grimm. It's just as I expected."

    "W-What do you mean?" asked Grimm.

    "Apothians can only use their max power gifted by the Saviors if they have at least 10,000% of energy. Right now, your energy is only at a measly 10%. My energy is at least a little bit over 9,000%. That's why I haven't even broken a sweat since this battle. I estimate that in about 15 minutes or less, you'll fall right down to the ground and either die or be close to dying." said Jacob. Grimm met his piercing green eyes with hurt and frustration.

    "Face it, you won't defeat me in time before you die. I honestly expected a more... exciting fight." said Jacob. "No matter. At least this battle is done and over with. I have more important things to do. But first... "

    Jacob turned to shoot a beam of energy from his hand towards the school.

    "NOOOOO!" Grimm screamed as he flew in front of the beam. He began to think of his friends and peers, the many lives that could be injured, or even lost, at this beloved school. He pressed his back against the front of the beam, feeling the energy sting and burn his body. He didn't exactly know what he was doing, but whatever it was, it seemed to work. Grimm looked to his side to see Jacob gone. That bastard, he thought. He turned around and used all of his might to turn the beam the opposite way from the school. Grimm shoved his fist through the beam of energy, burning his hand, and threw it like an Olympian would with a spear. It landed in a patch of woods and exploded, causing another crater in the ground. A huge gust of wind blew as an effect. Grimm turned to the school and flew back towards it, becoming weaker as he got lower. He laid himself in front of the main gates to Hogwarts. As soon as he landed, many professors ran to help him.

    "Madam Pomfrey, get him in the hospital wing!" ordered Headmaster Dumbledore.

    Many professors crowded him, picking him up and carrying him to the wing. It had been several hours since the incident. Everyone was talking about it. Evelyn, Tay, Seraphina, and Cesily sat outside of the hospital wing, waiting for news about Grimm's health.

    "So, are we not going to discuss what just happened?" Tay asked.

    "What can we talk about? I'm still confused about the whole thing." stated Cesily.

    "That battle was... Intense. I feel really worried, guys." said Evelyn, tapping her foot repeatedly.

    "Look at this mess! If Nykan had never come here, then none of this would have happened." said a sharp voice, t'was Danie Lopez, a well known Slytherin. She was popular within her house, but still rather very cruel to others. She and Merula Snyde had a lot in common, but even Merula knew when to stop. Danie is a latina girl with skin of a chestnut. Her hair was short, but curly. Glasses rested upon her face, sitting in front of her dark and sharp eyes.

    "He's probably dying, or something." said Ismelda Murk, another well known Slytherin. The girl has greasy black hair and a pale freckled face. Bags under her eyes were very existent due to the lack of sleep.

    "If he was dying, then it's well deserved. Now, let's head back to our common room. We have work to do for the ball committee." said Danie.

    "Yeah, I'm ready to go. If I don't, my inner zen will disappear." Evelyn sighed. "Will you guys let me know about Grimm's health if you hear anything?"

    "Yeah, totally." replied Seraphina. The rest ended up going back to their common rooms. Meanwhile, Dumbledore stood at the window inside his office, staring at the moon.

    "Headmaster?" said a low voice.

    "Come in, Professor Snape." replied Dumbledore.

    "I think we should make arrangements to speak about the incident tomorrow morning." Snape stated. "The student body will want some questions answered. As well as our newfound student teacher."

    "Perhaps. I will look into it. I am more worried about Jacob Nykan's arrival. We banished him to the spirit realm. How could he have possibly found his way out?" asked Dumbledore.

    "It may have to do with the tranquility and overall status of his abilities. Or as what students say these days," Snape raised his hands to move his fingers up and down to form quotation marks, "Who knows."

    Dumbledore walked over to his desk and opened up a safe, which contained a journal full of notes inside. He opened it and began to look over a few things held within the book.

    "We banished him to keep him safe from destruction. If he was even captured by the Ministry of Magic, then he would have eventually found a way out. Due to his immaculate prowess, I doubt we will be able to do such a thing again." Dumbledore stated.

    "What do you suggest we do?" Snape asked. Dumbledore raised his head slowly and closed his eyes.

    "Jacob Nykan has strayed too far from the path of holiness, gratitude, and peace. There is only one thing we may be able to do, but it'll be a lot of work." Dumbledore said as he closed his book.

    "And what is that?" Snape asked.

    "We need to contact Zoro again. Jacob Nykan needs to die." Dumbledore answered.

END OF EPISODE 1

[mrdanielbond]

Bond’s New Flatmate (Chpt. 6)

“Hard headed or very naive?”

[Main characters: James Bond x Reader x Jonathan (See author’s note!)

Plot: Two weeks have passed since the incident at the shared flat with James’ and now the reader is trying to pick up the pieces and move on when she is suddenly questioned on her stubborn nature. In an act to remain bold - are the walls breaking down in front of the one person who shows concern?

[Word Count: 2500+]

[Warnings? None so far, I think?]

[A/N: It’s here! The next addition to the Bond’s New Flatmate series! I know, I know it’s been long but the reception received for the last part was fantastic! Sorry there’s a little less James in this one. There have been changes made in comparison to the preview as I’ve decided to shift things around. Here’s all I have for this part, I hope you enjoy it! Also a reminder that Jonathan is an actor of your choosing. I have the three main men below, just because they fit the picture!]

It had been three weeks since you left the nightmare situation at your shared flat with James, just as you were about to call it that anyway. In all honesty, things had been looking up. You spent your time in a hotel near central London. It wasn’t as extravagant, suited to James and Madeleine’s touch. It was affordable but was something that now may have caused you to dip into your savings for the duration of your stay. Your phone had remained switched off for over a week now and you kept yourself in a small, comfortable bubble. The hotel room you stayed in was nothing much, there was a bed, a chest of drawers for your clothes and a window, facing the building of a brick wall on the other side. It was a budget hotel, what could you say? You could’ve stayed with your ‘husband’, if you should call him that, although he was out of the country on important affairs with M, leaving him upset that he couldn’t do something about your situation. He even offered you his house key, although you made it clear that you did not want to intrude. No one else at work knew the struggle you were facing either.

But at least you could finally breathe. At least you were no longer in a toxic environment. Every morning so far you woke up in a slightly better mood than you had felt in weeks. Although, there was no denying that you missed your bed at the flat, or being able to have a kitchen where you could make your own coffee and you missed being able to have someone to talk to. Aside from James’ curiosity running wild all the time, you missed his quirky advances, his flirtatious behaviour, the only man that could tolerate your level of sarcasm since Q and then try to comeback with something similar...Somehow, you missed him.

Alas, he was in the past now. He had not contacted you at all and as you had packed all your things there was no reason for you to go back to the flat. It was clear he made his choice the moment Madeleine revealed to you all the secrets you shared with him. Of course, he chose to defend her. She was always in the right. She was always going to be in the right. The past remained in the past and James was not your concern anymore.

When you switched on your phone to check the time, you had been bombarded with messages from your family, some of your friends but none of them were from him. Of course none of them would have been from him. You were forced out of your dazed state when your phone buzzed violently against the nightstand of your small room. Someone had tried to call you.

Quickly, you pulled your phone up and found yourself alerted by a voicemail from Jonathan. You listened to the voicemail, his voice suddenly comforting your state of panic.

“Good morning Y/N. I thought it would be better to call you rather than text...I um, just wanted to check up on you seeing as I haven’t heard from you since we last met up, I hope everything is alright. Hopefully you’re alive and well - we both know it would be a shame if that wasn’t the case because of a certain someone.” He chuckled nervously. Just hearing the anxiousness in his voice made you beam with happiness. “Or I really hope I haven’t put you off me entirely with my promise drink. Though, it was a part of the bet so we’re both accountable for that. Anyway, don’t mind me - I’m just blabbing on. I also wanted to say I’m sorry that I couldn’t contact you sooner, work had been keeping my busy but maybe if you’re free, we could go out for some tea or coffee? Whichever you prefer. Just drop me a message if you’re up for it. Bye.”

This man made you feel differently to Q and James altogether. He made you smile from the moment you came across him. Jonathan had been caring all these months he had known you and witty and funny and even spontaneous - all at the same time. He tolerated your constant rants and supported you when you didn’t expect him to. How was he so courteous in the mornings over text as well? By night, he was a cheeky, flirtatious and sarcastic man who understood your sense of humour! The atmosphere was definitely different to Bond, which was nice for a change. Not to get started by his looks too...He was so handsome! The man never pressured you into talking about your husband or attempted to be intrusive. He was simply fun and easy to talk to and you could’ve done with seeing him to cheer you up. He was what you needed right now.

-

Hey, I’m alive and I’m down for a drink! Don’t worry, it’s going to take a lot more than one disgusting drink to keep me away! (:

-

Within seconds, Jonathan responded. Clearly he wasn’t afraid to make it known that he had been waiting for you.

-

Thank goodness you’re alive! But oh. I do love a challenge. ;)

Let’s say we meet at 10.30? I could send you the address or pick you up?

J.

-

It was sweet of him to offer picking you up, although you hadn't told him about your current state and wouldn’t want to burden him with the revelation either, You both agreed on a time and place and now it was time to get ready. There was something about this man, he saw you on a couple of occasions without make-up on, even in your worst state yet this time round you wanted to make an effort for him. The least you could do is at least make yourself look half decent to meet up with the handsome man you befriended. So you opted for a white blouse and navy blue jeans to compliment it, with very little makeup so you don’t like like you haven’t slept in months, which had been the case.

Once you arrived at the small café, which was 45 minutes away now that you didn’t stay in central London but you weren’t going to tell Jonathan that, you scanned the cosy place. He messaged you when he had arrived early, while you had still been on your way there. The look on his face was worry. He was looking around for you and it was very clear he had been doing so. Eventually, his eyes met yours and the worry vanished. A smile emerged as he rose to his feet quickly.

The man wore a burgundy sweatshirt with a pair of black jeans this time that fit perfectly around his lean physique. His hair was slightly unkempt and it was clear he had been growing his stubble out. You made your way to him and were caught in a warming embrace. It had been the third time you met this man in person but over the past few months, the two of you felt as though you had known each other much longer. You weren’t one for much contact either but with Jonathan, you were definitely willing to let that slide.

“Thank goodness you’re here. For some weird reason I always think you’re going to stand me up.”

“Well sadly, I’m still alive.”

He quickly held his hand over his chest, where his heart was, “Oh no! I’ve been burdened with this fierce yet beautiful being! What ever will I do?” His theatrical tone caused you to laugh, something you hadn’t done in a long while. You realise how long you’ve been standing before him, looking up at his observant smile. You hadn’t known that he had been noting to himself how much he had missed and loved your laugh. Soon you cleared your throat and looked towards the seats.

“Maybe we should-”

“Oh right! Yes Ma’am!” Jonathan quickly answered. He pulled your seat back and took another small bow, “My lady.”

Once the giggles were aside, you both looked at what was on the menu. Your eyes kept to the menu and avoided his own and he noticed that from the silence.

“So, Y/N, how have you been? Is everything alright at the flat?”

“Mhm. All fine.” You quickly mumbled, burying yourself in the menu. “Full English seems nice. Maybe a vanilla laté - but an earl grey seems nice too.”

“I’m with you on the earl grey - you seem a bit funny today, is there something you want to tell me, love?”

Oh. The term of endearment caught you off guard. He’s said it before in a joking manner but this time it felt more meaningful. You were not going to tell him you were technically homeless. You just weren’t going to do that to him.

“Nope. Not really. How large do you think the portions are?” Jonathan shook his head, giving a sad smile. “Look, I’m fine. Just feeling really peckish today - that’s all.”

“Right.”

You had to control the situation before he could enquire any further. “How has work been for you anyway? Didn’t you say you were off to Thailand like last month?”

“I did, thought I was going to have a blast, turns out it was otherwise. I just happened to get caught in a shitload of meetings with the Chief of Staff and other agency boards, I would’ve enjoyed it much more if I were in some pub competing against you in a drinking competition.”

“Which you would lose, might I add.”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, dear. I’ll have you know I’m still sober after eleven drinks.”

Before you could retort anything else, the waitress came to your table and asked for the order. Once your meal arrived, you dived straight in, desperately trying to avoid Jonathan’s eyes. Jonathan continued to look at you with the same sad smile he had before. You noticed and stopped eating.

“You’re not going to give up on this are you?” You sighed.

“Not a chance in hell. Y/N, you don’t have to feel like you can’t tell me anything.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Well I’m not going anywhere and I’m here to listen, so we’re stuck here until someone starts talking.” He sat back and folded his arms.

“Alright.” You huffed, “I’m only telling you this so you can stop staring at me. I left the flat a couple of weeks ago and have been staying in a hotel ever since. I don’t have anywhere else to live but that is not a problem because I am in the process of trying to find somewhere else to live! So don’t even bother worrying about me.” You casually shrug and sipped your tea.

The look on Jonathan’s face was what you didn't expected. Usually he was so calm, but right now he seemed hurt - angered by the news. “What?! Darling, you could’ve just messaged me so I could take you to my place! I told you that my flat is always open for you!”

“I don’t want to impose. You have a busy life and having me around isn’t going to end well.” You laughed and shook your head. Truth be told, you found these weeks hard. You looked down and scratched your head and you hadn’t known where this had come from but you felt your tears starting to well.

“It’s been hard - hasn’t it?” His hand moved slowly to your arm, as if asking for permission before he could touch you.

You looked up and laughed, “So hard. But I’m going to be alright because I’m going to find me somewhere to live, even if it does mean moving out of London and finding another job.” You sighed.

“It does not have to come to that. I won’t let that happen.” Jonathan said earnestly. “Which hotel have you been staying at?” You gave him the name. “That’s just outside of central London! Did you walk here?”

“Hey, it wasn’t that bad!”

“Let’s finish up, we’re going.” He said, quickly finishing his earl grey.

“What? Why? Where are we going?”

“To check you out of that gloomy hotel you’ve been staying in and move your bags to my place.”

“Oh no.” You laughed, “No, no, no. That is not happening. I said I’m fine on my own.”

“Look at you Y/N! You aren’t happy! Sometimes I wonder if your stubbornness is actually getting you anywhere or if you’re too hard-headed to realise where that attitude has gotten you? No one ever said you can’t ask for help and I made it very clear to you that I am always available for you.” The silence between you two was tense for a brief moment, it was clear Jonathan was not having it. “Let’s go. You’ll thank me later for this.”

You were hopeless in your attempts to fight back and now you had your bags outside the hotel and noticed Jonathan stood outside his car, waiting. He smiled once again and helped you carry your bags into the back, like the gentleman he always was. Once you both sat together, he looked at you as though he had been meaning to ask something but had been restrained.

“He didn’t...he didn’t kick you out - did he?”

“Oh no! I left on my own accord. There was a fight, it got messy and someone had to leave, so I volunteered to go.”

“Good, because if you need me to show him I’m the man of action you say I am, I am more than willing to do so.” He winked before starting the car and the playful mood was back.

The two of you eventually arrived at his flat. You realised that this man had a lot to him. For someone who often wore jeans and a t-shirt or a leather jacket and with the casual car he drove, he liked to hide the fact that he had one hell of a home. Right in the heart of London, on the top floor, his flat was modernised with greys, silvers, blacks and red. The view of the city was the first thing you saw entering his home from the large window and similarly to a penthouse design, the living space was much larger than James’ own, yet somehow much cosier. There was more furniture to it and a fireplace in front of it all.

“Welcome to my humble abode. Or as they say, mi casa es su casa.” He casually said as he carried your bags into the front space.

This man had been living it large all along and there was no way you could ever guess that from his demeanor. The rough man you know to wear even casual clothing at a smart dress event, had owned an extravagant, beautifully designed home. It was remarkable.

Maybe you did have to thank him for this after all...

[nofuckingfighting]

Birth

Every day you inched closer to your due date and every day you grew more excited to meet your baby girl. However every day Tommy’s overbearing fussing seemed to worsen. With you now nearing the nine month mark he was reluctant to let you out of his sight. Always on edge, he’d panic over every sound and movement you made. It was sweet how much he cared but the constant stress was driving you a bit insane.

You forced him to let you both carry on with at least a semblance of normality. He was still working but never more than a short drive away. You spent a lot of time resting - thanks to both your discomfort and his pleas - but would sometimes make small visits to see friends and family.

Today was one of those rare days where Tommy had gone out on business and you’d got up and gone round to Polly’s. The walk was mercifully short but still the extra weight of your bump took its toll on every step. Seconds after you made it through the door Polly had you sat in a seat and a cup of tea in front of you. The other Shelby brothers were moseying around the kitchen, grazing at food.

“How you feeling today then?” Polly asked, pouring herself a tea.

“Sore, tired, ready for this one to make an appearance,” you lay a hand across your belly.

“I know the feeling,” she chuckled.

“So you’re naming the baby Arthur, yeah?” Arthur teased through a mouthful of toast.

“Pol says it’s a girl, so I think that’ll be a no,” you smirked.

“If you want a good name, John’s the obvious choice,” John piped up.

“Yes you’re right, our beautiful little girl is going to be called John.”

He stuck his tongue out and you mirrored him, tossing a newspaper his way. You always felt like a kid again around the brothers, it was hard to believe you were about to have a child of your own.

The conversation continued, Polly’s questions interspersed with the boys’ teasing. That was until an unfamiliar sensation cut you off mid sentence.

“(Y/N) what is it?”

When you looked down liquid was gushing down your legs and splashing onto the floor. Shocked, you couldn’t fathom a response, so Polly rushed over, swearing at the sight.

“Holy Jesus, your water’s broken.”

“Polly,” you couldn’t say much but a frightened strangle of her name.

“Well your wish has come true, this baby’s coming out. John, call the doctor. Arthur, go and find Thomas, fucking quickly.”

Both boys scurried off with alarmed faces, leaving Polly to sit with you, helping you to breathe.

“Everything’s going to be fine, (Y/N), you’ll have your baby girl in your arms soon.”

She kept repeating the calming phrases, despite the fact they were having little effect on your panicked state.

“Um, Polly…” both of you snapped your heads towards a sheepish John, “Doctor said he’s stuck outside Small Heath.”

You turned to Polly, terrified tears threatening to spill as your world seemed to crash around you. Silence choked the room until Polly leapt to her feet.

“Right fine, I’ll do it myself, I delivered our Ada’s baby, I can deliver yours. We’re going to be alright, I promise.”

As much as you trusted Polly you couldn’t help the nervousness that overwhelmed you, your expression making your fear evident. Knowing you needed reassurance she snapped into action mode, listing items for John to retrieve. She led you up to the bedroom, settling you on the bed and propping you up with pillows.

“Polly, where’s Tommy?” your words were shaky, you’d never sounded so helpless.

“He’s coming, love, don’t worry about that, he’ll be here soon.”

Unsatisfied with her answer you lay back and let out a whimper as pain shot through you.

Contractions were even worse than you expected, you thought your body was going to split from the pain. Polly kept reminding you to breathe through your cries. Moans of pain became almost screams as the contractions got stronger and more frequent. Time had become intangible, minutes felt like hours and hours felt like days.

“Where the fuck is she?” the shout came from downstairs, the sound of Tommy’s voice filling you with relief.

Quick and loud footsteps echoed through the house as Tommy rushed up the stairs. The door flew open and you were finally met with the sight of your husband.

He let out an involuntary whimper when he saw the sweat dripping from you and the pain scrawled across your face. Disarmed by the feeling of helplessness he froze, only jumping into action when you let out a groan at another contraction.

“Tommy,” you whined his name as he fell to his knees beside you, hands taking a tight grip of your own.

He hushed you shakily, trying to remain strong but faltering at your obvious pain.

“I’m so sorry, should have been here,” he used one hand to wipe the sweaty strands of hair from your forehead.

“Tommy-“

“I knew I should’ve stayed with you.”

“Tom-“

“You said I was fussing but-“

“Tommy! Could you maybe do this when I’m not in labour?” you snapped.

“Right, right sorry.”

It wasn’t hard to see how out of control he felt, desperate to ease your pain but not knowing how to. You rested your head on his shoulder, breathing deeply the way Polly told you to.

“(Y/N),” Polly looked up from between your legs, “I think you’re almost ready to push, love.”

“Tommy, I’m scared,” your voice wobbled.

“Stop that, if there’s anyone strong enough to do this it’s you,” Tommy decided to leave out the fact that he too was terrified.

The worst contraction yet ripped through you, you screwed you eyes shut and threw your head back. Once the pain began to ebb you looked up to see Tommy’s contorted face. His anguish half from watching you suffer and half from the fact you’d gripped his hand so hard he thought bones would crack.

“Fuck, Tom, sorry.”

“Don’t be, you can do anything you want to me if it will make this easier.”

You managed a smile as he kissed your cheek, uttering more reassurances.

“(Y/N), it’s time,” Polly nodded, “Thomas, can you go.”

“What-Pol I’m not leaving her,” he implored.

She sighed, not even bothering to argue, “Fine, fine, just keep her as calm as possible.”

Keeping you calm wasn’t much of an option once the pain of pushing kicked in. There was nothing like it, your body wanted nothing more than to stop but there was no way out. You had to keep pushing despite the feeling that you may actually faint from the agony.

Tommy was a mess beside you, forgetting how to help when faced with your blood-curdling screams.

“Polly will you fucking do something!” he shouted at his aunt.

“There’s nothing I can do, Tommy,” she bit back, focused on the baby between your legs.

“You have to help her!” he begged over your cries.

“Thomas, stop talking to me and start talking to your wife, god knows she fucking needs it.”

For once Tommy Shelby actually did what he was told. He spoke in your ear - reminding you to breathe, praising your efforts, telling you he loved you. It was the homely sound of his voice that helped you through the final pushes. By that point you felt barely conscious but found it in you to keep pushing until the sound of a baby crying filled the room.

It astounded you how loud the crying was, with everyone else speechless it was the only noise to occupy the room. You watched through blurry eyes as Polly cut the umbilical cord and wrapped the baby in a blanket.

“Here’s your baby girl,” Polly smiled, slowly bringing her to your chest.

“Hello,” you cooed with a watery smile, your mind in a hormonal haze.

You only noticed you were crying when a tear splashed down onto the baby’s head.

“It’s a baby, Tommy,” you chuckled breathlessly through your tears.

Only when he didn’t respond did you drag your eyes away from your daughter and to him. He was frozen, mouth hanging slightly ajar, a tearful cloud shrouding his blue eyes.

“Tommy,” you brought a hand to his cheek.

He nodded slowly and swallowed, eyes never leaving the little child in your arms.

“It’s a baby,” he repeated your words in a trancelike state.

Polly had left you two alone after making sure the baby was fine and congratulating you both. You were now sat in silence - you, Tommy and your daughter. She was curled sleeping in your chest, wrapped in your arms, and Tommy was gently caressing a finger over her cheek.

“Do you want to hold her?” you whispered to Tommy.

Wordlessly he nodded, holding his arms out for you to carefully lift your daughter into. It didn’t escape your notice that his hands were shaking slightly, this probably being the first time in a while Tommy Shelby felt truly nervous.

He let out a sharp exhale as she came to rest in his arms, a rare smile spreading across his face.

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” you hummed.

“Of course, she’s got you as a mother.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed, the post-birth haze still not completely ascended.

“I think she looks more like you,” you mused.

“I can’t believe this is our baby,” he was shaking his head in bewilderment.

“I know, we’re parents, me and you.”

“I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

You stayed like that for a while, talking quietly and never able to look away from your baby girl.

After a while the door coyly opened, revealing the other three Shelby brothers.

“Can we see?” Finn asked with a grin.

You nodded and they approached cautiously, peering to get a better look at the baby in Tommy’s arms.

“God help the poor thing, you two as her parents,” John teased, laughing at Tommy’s inability to smack him whilst holding a baby.

“Ah, she’s got the Shelby good looks that’s for sure,” Arthur winked.

“Will you two keep it down,” Tommy whisper-shouted, gesturing to the sleeping infant.

Even you joined in with the giggling at Thomas Shelby, feared gangster, in full blown dad mode.

I quite clearly know nothing about childbirth plus I wrote this when I was ill so all in all not my best work (gif by haedall)

[harleywords]

The Thrill of Change

Genre - Comedy

Word count: 2468

Synopsis: A businessman becomes addicted to the thrill of making absurd changes to his mundane office life. Hijinks ensue.

Today I did things a little different. I figured I’d be better for it, but it only made things worse. No, not worse… for something to get worse it has to be bad to begin with, and it wasn’t. Bad, I mean. But things change, people change; at least that’s what I’ve heard. People say that all the time, in fact they’ve said it so much throughout history that people almost exclusively use it ironically now. Anyway, I thought I’d give it a try-- that was my first mistake. Actually it was my only mistake, but there were a whole lot of smaller mistakes that fall under that main big one; changing myself. And I dragged my colleagues down with me.

Now, I’m a civilized man. I wear my tie around my neck just like anyone else; or at least, I have done so since that one incident in which someone finally came forward and told me I had been doing it wrong all these years. I appreciate that. If ever I’m doing something incorrectly, I want the right method to be made known to me as soon as possible. I love doing things right. You could say I have a passion for it. Or I would if I ever felt passionately about anything. If I were to be passionate about something, it would be rightness. I think that’s good, which pleases me because I love being good as well. That would be my second passion if only I were capable. Goodness and rightness are very important to me, even if not to the extent of passion. If I saw someone doing something bad and wrong, I wouldn’t stop them. If I were passionate I suppose I would… maybe that’s something I should strive for? It’s too late now, of course; everything’s changed.

It all started a couple of nights ago when I arrived at work only to notice I forgot my tie. I ran to my cubicle, clenching my trench coat at the chest to cover my shameful error, when I suddenly remembered that my backup ties were at the cleaners. It was closed today. I was about to just totally freak out when my good friend and arch nemesis, Cecil, arrived at my small workspace with a glint in his eye.

“I couldn’t help but notice the way you were holding your trench coat.” He smirked. “Any man of mighty brains and impeccable taste in clothing could clearly see that you were hiding something-- or a lack thereof.” He spun a No. 2 pencil between his index finger and thumb, wrist limp and elbow nonchalantly propped against the corner of my cubicle wall. He raised the coffee in his dominant left hand to his lips with a look of better-than-you-ness. At the time I couldn’t recall the term “superiority,” so I won’t use it here in order to stay true to my recollection of these harrowing events which took place recently enough that I can sort of remember what I was thinking at the time they happened. For example, after my thought about his look of better-than-you-ness, I remember not remembering what I had for breakfast and feeling concerned about it. I spent the next few minutes trying to dig around in my brain for the memory of my morning breakage of fast and missed everything he was saying to me during this time. At last I had it-- Chinese takeout. How silly of me to forget; it was a Tuesday, of course I had my Tuesday breakfast Chinese takeout.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked Cecil with a triumphant grin at the flawless recollection of my latest meal. I recalled the moment of panic when I opened my fortune cookie. The delicate slip of paper inside ripped in half with the cookie, and on it were the mangled words; “There are big changes ahead for you.” This meant nothing to me at the time, but now I was beginning to wonder about its significance.

“I said I think I have an extra tie for you to borrow.” Cecil repeated with exasperation. He hated repeating himself. He often faked it to get back at whoever didn’t hear him the first time, for instance; say he had told you: “You have something in your teeth.”

“Come again?” you would respond.

He would then change it to, “Catch the game last night?” And stomp away in a huff of frustration and-- ah yes! Superiority. That’s the word. (Please excuse me, I am still following my train of thought from the other night.) Of course, he would probably never utter the words “catch the game last night.” Cecil’s most loathed phenomenon in the world is that of cliches. He hates cliches. Just hates ‘em.

Anyway, he must have felt the tie thing to be far too important to change in his second go of suggesting I borrow one of his, because he repeated it for me and I graciously accepted his offer.

“You are too kind, too kind.” I shook his hand violently but at the time it was holding a cup of hot coffee which splattered all over my work area and sensitive skin. I didn’t mind, though; I was overjoyed by this solution to my terribly embarrassing problem. “I promise to return it good as new!”

“Good as new?!” the pencil in Cecil’s right hand snapped at the clench of his fist, the two separate pieces falling to the floor in a clatter that to me resembled the cries of a close bond being severed, two kids in love being taken from each other by cruel circumstance. “I have half a mind to retract my offer at that overused phrase, and to punch myself right in the face for saying I have “half a mind” to do something-- but this tie thing is far too important. I’ll get it to you right away.”

I spent the rest of the day in a constant state of anxiety at the thought of having to wear someone else’s tie, but a foreign tie is better than no tie. Then a strange thing happened to me, and I realized the thrill of being anxious all day. It was… exhilarating! The adrenaline rush coursing through me whenever I looked down or caught someone glancing at my chest was unlike anything I’d ever felt before, and although it made me feel uncomfortable and sweaty, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. It was exciting, it was new-- it was change.

I wanted more. I started small; shifting everything on my desk askew so instead of being at right angles they were all tilted towards me, as if they were an audience watching me work. My computer and the long list of monotonous company emails within suddenly became a ferocious lion in the coliseum, and I a gladiator, conquering each reply with a mighty swing of my sword (in this case my sword was my keyboard, just in case my metaphor confused you ((I often have trouble with metaphors))).

Later I added almond milk to my coffee instead of my usual 2%. It was really weird and I didn’t want to imagine how they milked the almonds, but I enjoyed every sip with delight and defiance. At the end of my workday I turned left at my cubicle instead of right to get to the elevator, which was a little stupid in hindsight because my cubicle is at the outer corner of the building near the elevator, so I had to go the long way around… but then I took the stairs! I was washed in the sweat of heros. My knees felt like creaky hinges by the time I completed descending the 36 stories, but it was worth it for the thrill. I felt unstoppable, untouchable.

I jaywalked!

I lived.

I could do anything in the world, and the only person that could stop me was me, and I wasn’t near finished yet. I ran into my co-worker, Trent, on the street opposite that of the office.

“Your hair looks great!” He called out to me.

“Thanks!” I beamed at him. I re-parted it on the other side of my head in the bathroom.

“Hey, a few of us guys that were working late are going out for a beer. You wanna join?”

I suddenly realized that the sun had begun to fall during my trip down the stairs.

“Why, yes!” I would have been home eating my Tuesday frozen burrito with my cat and watching Glee by now. “I would love to join you!” Tonight’s episode was being recorded on the DVR as we spoke. Glee would have to wait.

Trent walked me to his car where we met up with Cecil, two accountants named Murlock and Roy, and some guy I’m not entirely sure works with us or even knows any of us, Norman. Throughout the night I believe everyone was casually throwing out subtle hints to find out who invited him, but no one seemed to show any relation to the large, bald, tattooed man in his impeccably clean wifebeater. That’s okay, though; I always carpool with people I know or am formally introduced to. This was a first, and an exciting one at that.

When we reached the bar, called Beers,  I left my suit jacket in the car. I never take off my suit jacket, not until I’m about to get into my jammies. They have clouds on them.

Everyone shouted “Norman!” when we entered, but anyone I asked wasn’t sure how they knew him. There was even a burger named after him. Fascinating fellow.

The entire event of attending a bar hangout session with friends was new to me, so I had nothing to do differently than usual since there was no usual. As the night wore on I became accustomed to the activity, and my new restless spirit needed something different. I needed more change, more excitement. I needed an outrageous gesture, so I lead the bar in song. No one knew the words, as I just made them up, but I sang it all the way through proudly atop a table. I kicked a pyramid of shot glasses which crashed to the floor and the bartender began to approach me, but I was too clever. The guys were enjoying my display, and followed me as I ran out of the bar. We laughed together on the sidewalk. I put my tie around my head like they do in the movies. Cecil smacked me across the head so hard the tie fell off and he proceeded to put it on himself. He was wearing two ties. He was changing… just like me.

The night was ours. The city was ours! We wandered the streets blind, ready to take on the world. I kicked a rock and it broke a window. I felt bad but I trekked on. We gave money to a homeless man. He spat on my shoes and angrily tweeted about it right before our eyes on his shiny new iPad. The wallpaper was something about a pipe not being a pipe. I was baffled by this but I was determined to continue enjoying myself.

We entered a dimly lit building. I was drawn to it by the purple neon lights framing the windows, but it had some questionable items for sale… by that look on your face I’m assuming you want me to move my story along. I can also tell by the tapping of your foot and exasperated sighs and also by you telling me to get a move on. I understand your signals. People have often said I am very perceptive.

The next couple of nights my new best friends and I followed the same routine; after work we headed to Beers and had Norman burgers. We got rowdy and meandered around the city until we were bored. I stopped feeling the adrenaline rush, and realized changes were becoming routine for me. They weren’t fresh, exciting. I needed to do something huge. I needed to do something drastic.

I needed to bring a giraffe into the office.

Acquiring the beast was surprisingly easy, but getting him up the stairs was the real challenge. Fitting him in my cubicle was a bit of a debacle, but he found a tolerable way to rest his head 7 cubes down. What I realized is… no one cared. No one changed what they were doing. They just pretended not to notice. That’s when I lost faith in my colleagues. Even Cecil, who had begun gossiping at the water cooler and saying things like “lovely weather we’re having” with no bigger reaction than a cringe and a nervous twitch, passed by me hurriedly without making eye contact. My full-grown giraffe was the pink elephant in the room, and people ignored it because it was easier than dealing with the situation. Because hiding behind your massive pile of papers that don’t even seem to have a purpose other than being assigned to you is more convenient than taking a giraffe out of the workplace, let alone bringing him in. I suppose that’s how they’ve dealt with me for all these years.

It’s rough being an antelope in LA, but I’ve always tried my best to blend in with society. Luckily I’m not an antelope in LA. Gotcha goin’ there for a moment, didn’t I? Nah, I was living around the center of Vancouver at the time. I’m not adventurous enough for LA… although now I suppose I am. I will move there! No, no… I promised, no more changes. From now on I’m doing things the right way, the good way. I will be good and right as I was before. Like I said, I am a civilized man, even if I am an antelope. I can restrain myself. I can wear my tie around my neck. I can take the logical route to the elevator, and I can descend it with ease in enough time to make it home for Glee and frozen dinners with my cat. That way I can avoid situations like these, and live the rest of my life the easy way, like I did before. I wouldn’t light any more office buildings ablaze and take refuge in the woods outside Vancouver. If you let me out of here I swear I won’t cause you any more trouble, Officer. Can I call you Off for short? OH can I call you Olaf?! That would be sweeeeet.

Anyway, that’s it I guess. Say, don’t I get one phone call? What do you mean it doesn’t work that way here? Who is in charge of this establishment?

Psh, Animal Control… more like animal dominion, am I right? Or is that just a fancier word for control?

The End.

[imaginetonyandbucky]

Fairytales

Part 2 of 2

A/N: I got all the Russian endearments from a website that listed endearments. I put them in Google translate and they seemed vaguely right, so... sure.

He was really not expecting this. And he wasn't ready for this conversation, not really. The panic he was feeling must be showing on his face because Bucky slouched, making himself look smaller. He looked like he hadn’t been sleeping well, which made Tony’s stomach clench with guilt. He had done that to him.

They stared at each other, before JARVIS broke the silence. “Would you like me to save the simulation results, Sir?”

Tony jumped. “Yes, yeah, save and shut it down, J.” He took a deep breath. He was an adult. He could do this. “Wanna sit?” He waved a hand at the workshop. There was the couch that he had transformed into his bed, and a few stools scattered around.

Bucky nodded, and chose the couch. “Sit with me?”

Tony sat. He was an adult. He could do this. He opened his mouth, but Bucky beat him to it.

“I’m sorry.”

Frowning, Tony turned to face Bucky. “For what?” Buck didn’t have anything to be sorry about. He was the one who ran and hid for a week, ignoring his soulmate. He was the one who was a complete asshole, not Bucky.

“For-” Bucky paused. “Whatever you need me to be?”

Tony huffed out a laugh. “What a pair,” he muttered, shoving a hand through his hair. He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry. I was an ass. I should have said something. Or not hidden away. For so long. Or said something. Sooner. Did I say that?” He mentally cringed at that terrible apology. “It really had nothing to do with you, but I took it out on you.” There, that sounded like an apology from someone who had their shit together.

Bucky nodded slowly. “I thought it was. Me, I mean. I understood.”

Tony reached over and took his hands. The contrast between the metal and the flesh hands was startling, but this wasn't the time to geek out. “No.” He said it firmly. leaving no room for disagreement or questioning. “This was 100% my hang ups.”

“That's what Natasha said. And Steve. And Clint, and Bruce, and Pepper, and Rhodey.”

Tony colored. “They all talked to you?”

(Watch out for the break!)

“I was pretty bummed,” Bucky said frankly.

Well, ouch. He probably deserved that. He definitely deserved that. “I’m sorry,” he said again. It was all he could say. “Tell me how to make this up to you.”

Bucky smirked, and there was an echo of the old Bucky Barnes from the war reels in it. “I can think of somethin’.” Then he sobered, looking more like the man Steve had brought in two weeks ago. “Give this a try?”

Tony could try. He was the king of trying. Plus, that smirk. It would take a saint to resist that.

He definitely wasn't.

“Yeah. I can do that.”

--

It wasn't easy. They had moments of awkwardness, and they had to sometimes pick their way around each other’s triggers, of which there were plenty between the two of them. They had arguments, and they spent time apart cooling off. But they both tried.

Sometimes Tony overcompensated for being an asshole for that first week, but Bucky would gently remind him that he accepted him exactly as he was, hang-ups and all, and Tony would quickly settle back into relative normalcy.

“Hey snowflake,” Tony said cheerfully. They had had a talk the night before, which was a nice euphemism for crying while talking about their emotions and needs. But like always, today was a fresh day. They had promised, early on, not to go to bed angry at each other, and it helped a lot. Their fights were further apart, and they were closer than ever. “What's up?”

“Can I just come see my cахарок[1] for no reason?” Bucky asked, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist from behind. Tony was sitting in a stool, working on another project for SI.

“Sure you could. You haven't yet.”

Bucky kissed the side of his neck gently, and Tony melted into his arms. “So, what brings you down to my lair?”

“I brought you coffee,” he said, nodding towards the mug that was set on the work table. “And some cookies.”

Tony lit up. “Coffee? For me?”

Bucky nuzzled his nose behind Tony’s ear. “For you, baby.”

Tony half turned in his seat and kissed Bucky. “You’re my hero.”

“I know.”

“Want to stay and help with the gauntlets?” Ever since Bucky had seen Tony working on the Iron Man suit, he had been obsessed, asking question after question, and would be content to sit and watch Tony work on even the most mundane of details if it had anything to do with the suit. Eventually, Tony had started offering to let him help, and Bucky had nearly vibrated off the seat, he was so excited. When Tony asked, Bucky had shrugged, and evaded his eyes about why he loved the Iron Man suit so much.

It wasn't that important, and it was honestly pretty flattering, so Tony let it go, since Bucky seemed so embarrassed.

“Absolutely!” He seemed as enthusiastic as ever.

--

They started going out on dates, a month after they broke the news that James Buchanan Barnes was still alive, courtesy of a knock-off serum. They spun the story a little bit. Since the Winter Soldier was a ghost story for even top intelligence agencies, they didn't release that Bucky had been the Winter Soldier. All that was stated was that he was alive due to a bastardized super-soldier serum and some non-reproducible freezing methods. The very idea that a second super-soldier from World War II was still alive and young was more than enough to feed the media frenzy.

It was assumed that the real story would leak eventually, but until it did, this allowed the public to see the new Bucky before they saw him as a weapon.

Probably. The public was fickle.

Plus he was soulmates to Tony Stark, who was sometimes America’s darling and sometimes the devil incarnate. He could never keep up. He still felt a pang of sadness in situations like this that Bucky was saddled with him as a soulmate, but Bucky had said over and over that he was more than delighted to have him as his soulmate. He had no choice but to believe him.

“Here, try this,” Tony said, offering his fork to Bucky. It was salmon with a citrus sauce. Ever since they had started going out, Tony had delighted in introducing Bucky to new foods. Before the war, Bucky and Steve had been poor. During the war, the army was more interested in easy and moveable than interesting, and Hydra? All Hydra cared about was that their Asset was functional.

So now he got to show Bucky new things every time they ate out. Sushi. Fish. Duck. Escargot had been a memorable experience. They had even both tried snake, at a restaurant in LA. Tony because he would try anything at least once, and Bucky because Tony had dared him.

“It ain’t snail, is it?”

Tony shook his head. “Just salmon. You'll like it.”

Obligingly, Bucky opened his mouth and let Tony feed him the bite of salmon. Swallowing, he nodded. “S’good.”

Tony felt a flush of warmth, having picked something his soulmate liked. It was ridiculous, but he liked pleasing Bucky.

“How's your steak?” No matter where they were, if steak was on the menu, then Bucky got it. He had a ranking of every steak he had eaten so far, with several categories. Tony wasn't sure how he assigned points or kept track, but between Bucky and JARVIS, there were nearly twenty different steaks on the list now.

“Great!” Bucky said enthusiastically. “Better than last week’s steak. Want some, Лучик?”[2] He offered Tony a bite.

Tony accepted, just like he did every time. “You're right, this is better.”

Bucky gave him a quick kiss before stealing a bite from Tony’s plate.

“Hey!”

Laughing, Bucky offered Tony another piece of steak.

--

Tony still spent a lot of hours in the workshop. He did, after all, work full time as the head of R&D for SI, full time as a consultant for SHIELD, and full time as essentially the quartermaster who also designed the weapons for the Avengers. Bucky never complained, since Tony put in an effort to watch the time, and if he forgot, to leave when Bucky came to collect him.

“My Дракончик[3], you've been down here for hours,” Bucky said, startling Tony.

Tony steadied the soldering iron before he dropped it. “It's only been what, ten, twelve hours? I've gone longer, haven't I J?”

“Sir, it's been nearly twenty. And while you indeed have worked longer without sleep, that doesn't mean you should.” JARVIS’s tone was disapproving.

Frowning, Tony pulled up a clock. “It really has been twenty hours. He tried to stand, but his back protested and he sank back down. “Ouch.”

“What’s wrong?” Bucky’s voice was worried.

“Just knotted up my back pretty badly,” Tony admitted. “Have to move slower.”

Bucky settled his hands on Tony’s shoulders. “How about a hot shower, and then I give you a massage?”

Tony could already feel the knots disappearing. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Bucky brushed a kiss over the top of Tony’s head. “You did nothing but be you.” He helped Tony stand, and walked with him to the elevator.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, cupcake,” Tony told him.

“You're in no shape for what I want, Зайчонок[4],” Bucky said, his voice deep and gravelly. “At least, not yet.”

Tony felt that tone go all the way through him down to his toes, but he gave Bucky a baleful look. “Did you just call me a bunny?”

Bucky had the grace to look embarrassed, but didn't take it back. “You are pretty cute, Зайчонок,” he said, flicking Tony’s nose.

Tony rolled his eyes as the elevator door opened but didn't press it. The nicknames, as silly as they were sometimes, made his heart go a little bit gooey. “I believe you promised me a hot shower and a massage?”

“To begin with.”

--

Tony had been tossing the idea around for a while now in his head, and had even worked out a few schematics, but he wanted to ask Bucky before he went any further. The arm, while a serious piece of engineering marvel, was old. It needed near constant updates and maintenance, and while Bucky never said anything, he could tell it was causing him some stress. And the maintenance sometimes caused pain, which made Tony feel like the worst person in the world.

“J, can you get Bucky down here?”

“Of course, Sir.”

In under three minutes, Bucky appeared. “What’s up, котенок[5]?” Kitten was his favorite endearment for him, and it was growing on him. Other still made regular appearances, but котенок came out once or twice a day.

“So,” Tony started, suddenly hesitant. The arm was a painful subject for Bucky. Literally painful, given the way it was grafted on to him. Clumsily, he searched for words. He finally just blurted it out. “I want to build you a new arm.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“Only if you want me to!” Tony said in a rush. “It's just- I know maintenance is sometimes painful and it's tedious and I know that it's heavy and it's a lot of work and I could help with all of that, but only if you want!” He repeated.

Bucky was looking at him with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open.

“Please say something.”

“You’d do that?”

A little hurt, Tony frowned. “Of course I would.”

As if realizing, Bucky hastened to explain. “It just seems like a lot of work, when you could be doing more important things.”

Softening, Tony crossed the room to him. “James Buchanan Barnes. There is nothing more important to me than you.”

Bucky clutched Tony’s hands. “I love you,” he said, suddenly.

Tony blinked.

“I know that emotional things give you hives, but-”

Tony raised one of their clasped hands up with his pointer finger held upright in a ‘hold on a second’ gesture. He processed the words. Bucky loved him. His soulmate loved him. Him.

Maybe fairytales did come true, sometimes.

“I love you, too,” he said hoarsely. “I really do.”

Bucky reeled him in close, and kissed him long and hard. Tony let go of Bucky’s hands to wind his hands around his neck and into Bucky’s hair.

Breaking apart for breath, Bucky peppered Tony’s face with little kisses. “I just couldn't hold it in any longer. I love you so much, Tony.”

Tony pulled him in closer, and just held him in a hug. “I'm so lucky to have you,” he replied. “And I love you too, Bucky.”

[1] cахарок - sugar [2] Лучик - sunbeam/ray of light [3] Дракончик - little dragon [4] Зайчонок - bunny [5] котенок - kitten

[sunflowerheartwriting]

Dragonic: 2

AN: HAPPY GAJEVY DAY!! Even though this doesn’t have our fav couple it does have our favorite person! Levy of course! So here’s another update!! You can read the previous one on FF.net and AO3! :D

Pair: Gajevy (of course!)

Summary: When the Iron King is nagged into getting a tutor, he is pointed in a direction by a Queen who wants to help her friend in a poor situation. What happens when an old language brings these two together. (Kingdom AU)

She sat there for hours reading the language she loved ever since her father taught it to her. She often spoke out loud to make sure she kept her pronunciations correct and would repeat a word or phrase until it sounded right to her ears. Language was a passion her father passed down to her, so practicing it relentlessly was like making sure she kept something of her fathers.

“Levy, it’s almost time.” Warren spoke softly, causing her to close her book with a snap. “It always amazes me how many books you can read within a short amount of time.”

“Me too sometimes, but thanks for always pulling me out of my trance. I don’t want to make the Master angry again.”

The look on his face was grave as he remembered the time she got in trouble because she missed her curfew. She told him to warn her when four hours past so she could be sure to leave. He regretfully forgot and haven’t forgotten since. The look on her face when he saw her next was torture enough and caused his guilt to lodge into his heart.

“I put everything on your cart, now go, your curfew is fast approaching. I’ll put the books away.” He spoke, already collecting the books that surrounded her.

“Thanks, Warren! I’ll see you in a week or two.” She hugged him before running to the front of the store to grab the cart her friend supplied her. Grabbing the handle, she pulled it onto the road and towards her home. As she walked at a brisk pace walking on the shady side of the road attempting to avoid the unbearable summer heat, she whistled a tune her parents used to sing to her. The song was in Dragonic and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t sing it correctly. She forgot many of the words but the tune stayed in her head, so she settled for either humming it or whistling it.

She stopped only to give her lunch to a small boy that seemed to be lost and malnourished. “If you go to town, go to either the cobblers or the florist. Tell them, Levy sent you and they’ll help you.” he nodded his head vigorously with his mouth full of bread and meat.

When she made it back to the ‘House of Purity,’ she gave the shoes and clothing to the respective persons then tucked the wagon into the small shed near the gardening tools for safe keeping. When she was back into the house she was rushed by small girls that were used only for housekeeping until they were of age just like her. She tried to help them and give them tips whenever she could.

“Ms. Levy! You’re back!” the small girl with dull red curls beamed as her friend with straight brown hair grabbed Levy’s hand.

Bending down to talk to them softly, she asked, “did you gather everyone?” and she smiled when the girls nodded their heads. “Alright, shall we go?” she asked as her little friends nodded their heads holding her hand.

They walked together to Levy’s bedroom where three other small girls could be found in-between her bed and Faye’s bed. With them now sitting in a small circle, using the beds for cover, Levy begun. She removed a book from underneath her mattress, opening it to a familiar page, placing it in the middle of the circle. Each of the children tried their best to sound out the words in hushed tones with Levy encouraging them in an equally hushed tone. Every day, before or after dinner Levy would do her best to teach the young girls how to read and write. It was forbidden in the house so they snuck around a lot, constantly changing locations, so they won’t get caught.

She was almost done correcting her small students on their writing, when someone bounded in.

“Levy! We must get dressed there’s a suitor com-” Mary, her other roommate stopped when she saw the students and her.

She’s never liked Mary and Mary never liked her. There’s something about her that just makes Levy want to distance herself away from Mary as much as possible. She had a constant bad attitude and was the masters personal tattle teller whenever she saw something that was against house rules. So, of course the smile that quirked her lips made Levy both irritated and fearful. Mary turned on her heels running out of the room and probably straight to the master’s office.

“Quickly, little ones, to your rooms! I’ll take care of this!” She said sternly gathering her sparse supplies as they hurried to their rooms. Thinking on her toes, she hastily stashed her supplies under Faye’s mattress praying he would only flip hers over.

She stood in the middle of the room with her hands behind her back, waiting for the master and Mary to come into the room. Raising her chin high and stiffening her back as the sound of heavy footsteps could be heard, she prepared herself. The heavyset man dressed in fine robes and slick brown hair stomped into the room with Mary following close behind him. It always irritated Levy how he could dress and eat well but he couldn’t spare any jewel when his ‘precious girls’ needed it. He only spent jewel on them when he had too.

“Levy,” he snarled, his breath causing her face to scrunch up in disgust. “Is what I heard, true? Are you teaching my girls to read?”

Raising her chin higher to look up to him, “I do not deny it.”

She watched as his eye twitched and his jaw clench in anger. “What have I told you about filling my girl’s heads with silly thoughts of academics? They don’t need to know how to read or write!”

“It does matter. We have every right to learn as much as you do. Just because we are females does not mean we don’t have a right to education and-”

“SILENCE!” He yelled raising his hand as if wanting to strike her, “I will deal with you and your students once, we are done with our suitor. Now get dressed.”

Panic flushed through her as she thought of her little friends being punished. “NO! Please, don’t punish them! Punish me, give me all of their punishment, please! This was all my idea, not theirs.” She begged her confidence failing. They were too young to go through the punishment he usually inflicted upon his girls and she would rather her take all he had than watch their sweet faces sink in and become frail.

He stood there for a moment pondering it over as he twisted the edge of his thick brown mustache in between his thumb and pointy finger. “This is the second time I have caught you trying to teach my girls and this will definitely be the last.” He spoke a sinister smile forming, causing her to falter. “For a week you will be given Mary’s chores and she will be given yours. You will also eat only one small meal a day in the morning only. You will not meet the suitor today, as well as be dismissed from eating dinner tonight. If you pass out during your work, you will be given an extra day to your punishment to make up for lost time. Am I understood?”

Lowering her head in defeat she spoke, “Yes, Master Everlue.”

“Good, now I suggest you get some sleep. You start at dawn.” He stated as he turned his back on her leaving her and Mary in the room alone.

“Good Luck, surviving in the heat, Levy. I’ll tell you all about the suitor, if he hasn’t chosen me.” she spoke arrogantly as she sauntered to her trunk to get dressed in her finest gown.

Levy ignored her as she slumped onto her bed, waiting for her and her roommates who came in later to finished getting dressed. Once they were gone, she removed her supplies from underneath Faye’s mattress, folding the sparse pieces of paper, placing the stump for pencils, and book deep in her trunk. Sighing, she ignored her rumbling stomach as she forced herself to sleep. Falling into the same the dreamless sleep.

She woke up as usual before the break of dawn, and got dressed in a lightweight brown dress, leaving her feet bare and using twine to secure her hair up into a bun. When she made her way to the kitchen, being greeted with a solemn look from Joy and a plate with only a biscuit and a small apple and cup of water.

As she sat down at the table eating her sparse breakfast, Joy spoke. “Don’t worry about the girls. They didn’t get punished. They did get yelled at but I guess the Master is good for one thing and that is his word.”

Finishing off the remnants of her breakfast, Levy stood up from the table, walking to the back door. “Look after them for me, will you. I know I won’t have the strength to help them for a while.” Joy agreed before Levy left for her work.

Mary’s job was to tend to the gardens and not so lucky for Levy, there were many gardens. Mary was perfect for the job because she was raised on a farm before she was sold and was a very sturdy woman. Much stronger than most of the girls in the house, but you couldn’t tell. Looking around, Levy surveyed the vegetable gardens and the four fruit trees they had. Lettuce, potatoes, carrots, snap peas, tomatoes, apples and peaches. She had to pull the weeds and collect the crops that were ready.

“I’m so glad I read a few farming books,” she sighed to herself as she grabbed the first basket heading to the lettuce patch first.

She slaved for what felt like days under the watchful eye of the sun, causing her sweat to drench her dress. Every so often, Joy would come out to give Levy a drink of water, trying to sneak her pieces of food. Levy would decline, refusing to get another friend in trouble, but her aching body cried for nourishment. All she could do was ignore it, humming her usual tune to distract her from the hunger pain in her stomach, remembering the first time her father sung it to her.  

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

“Daddy, that was beautiful! Where did you learn it from?” Levy was only a small child, so curious about everything around her. Her father ruffled her hair, before tucking her tightly into bed.

“A student of mine was singing it during our lunch break. He’s a very difficult student to teach, but I think he’ll learn what he has too eventually.”

“Is he nice?”

Her father thought for second before chuckling, saying, “in his own way, he is.”

“Can you sing it to me, again?” she yawned, her eyes drifting close as her father chuckled lightly before singing the song again.

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

From then on, her father sung that to song to her until that last night they were together. She wished she would’ve asked more questions about his students, she would’ve tried to track down who he learned the song from. But from where she was standing, she couldn’t do anything except feel her body shake with hunger and fatigue take over every muscle as she walked back into the kitchen with the last batch of apples to be cooked, pressed for cider or sold. Downing another glass water, Levy realized drinking water helped the aching in her stomach somewhat but it also didn’t because she had to constantly go to the bathroom.

Going to the bathroom she shared with the other girls of the house, she hastily bathed so she could finally rest her sore limbs in her bed. And once she was safe under her covers, it didn’t take long for sleep to take her

If you told Levy, that her punishment lasted exactly week, she would call you a liar and insist it lasted a month. The last few days were the toughest, as she desperately wanted to lay down in the field and just go to bed or even sneak into the kitchen to eat more food. She knew exactly what her master was doing with only giving her a small breakfast. It was giving her a taste of what she was missing, causing her hunger to grow and grow. On her last day, the master was waiting for her by her insignificant breakfast of a single peach.

“Why, good morning, Levy. You have done very well for a person of your size. I’m surprised you haven’t passed out, but my dear, you have lost a lot of weight.” He smiled his hands resting on his oversized belly.

“Good morning, Master and thank you.” she spoke as she curtsied, holding out her dress, before straightening. She looked at him, waiting for him to speak, seeing the proud smile on his face from the clear look of hunger and exhaustion on her face.

“Before you eat, I wanted to give you a task. After you are done with the gardens, you must go to the next town over and deliver this message for me. I heard that a King will be riding through these parts soon, and I want to be sure he stops here before he departs.”

Levy, desperately wanted to cry out how ridiculous it was for her to finish the gardens and walk to town before nightfall. But she didn’t have the energy and she definitely didn’t want another day added to her punishment.

“As you wish, Master.”

“Excellent! You may fetch the letter from Joy when you are done and Levy, you may not carry a bag with you. Only the letter.” He said sternly before brushing past her to walk back to his office.

Siting down with a huff, Levy ate her breakfast savoring each bite as Joy examined her.

“Be sure to eat more before you leave,” she whispered.

Shaking my head, “No, I can’t. I know I cannot last much longer but I only have until tonight and my punishment is over. Promise me tomorrow morning that I’ll have a big breakfast.”

Joy frowned at the tired girl, not liking how she looked but agreeing otherwise. She watched as she walked slowly to the gardens leaving the letter on the table. “The Master has gone too far this time.” She spoke to herself.

By great luck and planning, Levy didn’t have much to do, besides pick the snap peas and collect the last remaining fallen apples and peaches. Once she stored the food into the pantry, Joy handed her the letter and a cup of water before sending her on her way. Tucking the letter into the pocket of the dirty apron she still wore, she walked as steady as possible to her favorite town. But this time with every step, her feet felt heavy and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

Her usual 30 minute walk took an extra 45 minutes due to her slow pace and suffering heat, but she was relieved when the town was within sight. She was glad that Jet, Droy and Warren were busy with regular customers to see her walk past, but she’s sure they probably wouldn’t recognize her in her somber state. Taking a deep breath, she walked to the Head of the Town’s office. She quickly deposited into the hand of the secretary stating simply, “this is for the King that is rumored to arrive. Please, by my Master Everlue’s request deliver it to him.” It didn’t come out as smooth as she thought, it was more slowed with her vision blurring in and out of focus and a migraine sticking spikes into her eyes and brain.

“Are you alright, sweetie?” The secretary asked as the starving girl stumbled to the door.

“Yes…just need…some air.” She muttered before leaving. Her staggering increased when she got onto the road as horse drawn wagons dashed beside her and people bumped into her.

She stopped for a moment to only shake her head, trying to get her vision to finally focus, but as soon as she took another step her vision went completely black.

“Hey! Watch out!” a tall man yelled as he pulled the reigns of his two horses, stopping them from stomping on the girl that just collapsed in the street. His horses were of top breed and the carriage he pulled was dark blue with gold flame details. Everyone knew someone important was in the carriage and knew to keep their distance unless called upon. The tall man, jumped down from his seat, inspecting the girl that fainted in his path. Recognition and disbelief painted his face as he scooped the girl up princess style, carrying her to the carriage. Their awaited someone he knew, he had to explain why he stopped, and he knew they would want to see for themselves.

[angstymarshmallow]

Covert Action Part 2- A Most Wanted Fanfic

[A little note: I wanted to do a part two to this so long ago but lost the inspiration to finish until recently. Since this a continuation - part one is right here. Most Wanted is such a favourite of mine and I wanted to finish this in time before the choicescreates deadline. Kudos to the lovely ladies @mrswalkerwrites @ladyashtonofcordonia and @blazerina that helped me work through some qualms I had with writing this and for supporting me! Also huge thanks to Mags for never giving up on this story @diamondsaregold. There are subtle mentions of torture in here so in case this may be a trigger for you.]

[Summary: Samantha Massey is gone. There is no trace of her, but David Reyes and the rest of the team refuses to give up until they’ve found proof that she hasn’t disappeared off the grid.]

#Choicescreates Round 27 Book: Most Wanted Rating: Teen Pairing: None Hosted by: @pb-choices , @holly-park

“Sam? Sam?! Dammit Sam!” David Reyes’s voice sounded nearly shrill to his own ears, and mildly off-putting compared to his regular facade. When he couldn’t hear her answer - not even the grumble of her agitated breath inside his ear anymore, his feet carried him faster. It had to have been minutes he remained listening. A car started and he could hear grumbles of distinct Spanish.

Shit, shit. Panic flew to his chest and refused to budge as he muttered quick excuses as he rushed through crowds of people. He saw Ryan Summers out of the corner of his eyes, shooting him a puzzled expression before his own darkened in understanding. He spared the celebrity a firm nod, and otherwise ignored the rest of patrons in the hall. Dodging between the flood of guests, he flitted with increasing speed and all he could think about was finding his partner before it was too late. 

The nearest exit had to be around here somewhere. “Massey - this isn’t funny,” he croaked, “get the hell out of there.” His breath quickened, “now.”

The voice on the other line hadn’t been his Sam when he finally heard an answer. It was too low and thick of a heavily accent that didn’t sound as if it belonged to his southern partner. His stomach bunched into knots as the man spoke crisply inside his ear. 

“You follow us and we kill her.” There was no mistaking the venom inside the tone, nor did his threatening promise fall on deaf ears. It was one of Santos men, if Dave was a betting man, and he was -  their case had suddenly become a lot harder.

The detective could barely keep a rein on his temper to snap back at the man, and demand for Sam. He needed to play it coolly. He was Reyes - the Dave Reyes. He couldn’t allow his anger to dictate his own dealings with people. He was a negotiator - not a shit disturber. He tried for patience before speaking.

He wasn’t a man of action without having some sort of plan - but the fresh panic made it difficult for him to think on his feet, and it refused to subside no matter how much he tried. Split seconds turned into a minute, before he spoke thinly. “Look, you don’t need take a civilian. She’s just my date to the gala.” He knew the man on the other line had figured who he was at this point, “I’m a far better trade than her.”

The voice laughed, before he heard the sound of another person - too familiar for it to be anyone except the man they had been hunting for months, speaking clearly inside his ear. “Please do not take me for a fool detective Reyes.”

He nearly stumbled in his step. He hadn’t expected them all to be travelling inside the same vehicle. Shit, that meant they took less men than he had anticipated. “Santos, I don’t think we’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.” He tried to sound smooth, but his pulse was racing as he skirted another corner of the hall. How many did this godforsaken manor have?

“I know exactly who you are Mr. Reyes.” The man tsked, “And this woman too. Samantha Massey, si?” 

Dave swallowed so loudly, that Santos laughed. “I think you’re mistaken. I never take work home with me, and I definitely never mix business with pleasure.”

“That’s not what I’ve been told.” He tsked. “Ah detective, while I enjoy our little game I have other things to attend to.” A pause. “We were always three steps ahead of you.”

He cursed. How had he known? Had Sam been right this entire time? Did someone tip Santos off before they arrived here? His voice faltered, “Listen, Santos -” 

The line went dead before Dave could finish his sentence. He flung a string of harsh expletives,. As if the situation couldn’t have gotten any worse - there cover was blown. 

When he discovered the back entrance of the manor, he quickly sifted through, however his new hope of finding them was short-lived the moment he stumbled outside. His feet merely hit the gravel pavement in the same split seconds of hearing car tires screeching before his eyes turned sharply towards the sound.

Santos’ car had been too dark for his eyes to follow; blending in with the rest of the midnight air before it quickly merging into traffic. Running his hands through his hair, he stared baffled for a moment, wondering how their plan had turned from bad to worse before he could grapple with their circumstances. Giving himself a mental shake, he called the precinct while his eyes caught the sight of the discarded earpiece, almost gleaming under the quiet moonlight.

At further inspection, the device had been deliberately trampled on and with its ruined state any hope of chasing after them had dwindled into nearly nothing. Reza had been the that answered and Dave had quickly begun speaking before the man could say anything.

He uttered another foul curse in the middle of his sentence. The panic was back and it threatened to make him utter a strangled noise of frustration, as he pocketed the earpiece and swung his gaze towards the front of the manor. 

For the first time in his life, detective Reyes was unsure how to proceed.

Sam Massey was simply gone.

-

Nightmares were Dave Reyes’ best friend. 

They were acquaintances when his mother died, distant friends from the father he had long become estranged to, and by the time he turned a detective with the endless cases a constant bundle by his desk - it became family.  

Usually his nights were filled of them, torturing him through an influx of hazy images and noises. They never allowed for more than five hours of rest. They clung to his mind long after he had awoken and often times he broke out into cold sweats from just the severity of them. Then with added aggravation, the detective would yank his sheets off from on top of him, and his feet would slid into soft bedside slippers before leading him to his balcony for a quick cigarette.

Tonight had been no exception. 

Half naked, he padded towards his balcony, arms bunching with tension as his lips inhaled the familiar comfort of smoke filling his bruised lungs. He shuddered once at morning air but otherwise stood impassively as he watched the rest of the city.

His eyes searched below while he inhaled. He watched the early risers that crossed streets briskly towards the subway line, as he listened to the sound of morning L.A. traffic. 

These little things comforted him. They had often given him normalcy, made it easier for him to cope with his career. However, they couldn’t deter his mind from lingering on the blonde woman he had grown accustomed to seeing as early as dawn breached the horizon, and stepping inside the station without her suddenly hit him like a swift punch to his gut. 

There would be no Sam Massey waiting by his desk with a scowl on her face today. And if he was being completely honest with himself, the more his thoughts lingered, the more he realized how empty he would feel stepping inside of the LAPD department without her.

Stubbing his cigarette on the railing, he dropped it and watched it fall before turning on his heels and walking back inside. He was wasting precious time. Sam wasn’t gone yet, and he had at least twenty-fours before he might never see her again.

He dressed quickly that morning, pulling out the first suit he found and didn’t idle with coffee or toast this morning. His mind had already switched to work, and he only stopped by the front door of his condo.

His eyes caught by a picture he took with his team months ago when Sam had signed on officially into this department. They had taken a picture to celebrate, and he remembered dimly alcohol had quickly followed.

Sam was scowling at the camera.It wasn’t unusual for her to but now on closer inspection, he found her eyes smiling back instead of shooting daggers the way he expected them to. Even if she never had admitted it to him, he knew the woman never regretted a single moment of transferring to their unit.

Shrugging on his jacket, he left with his keys in tow before humming under his breath and hurried to catch the next subway.

-

The LAPD precinct was bustling with a particular lively morning attitude that didn’t mirror Dave’s as soon as he stepped inside. No matter the time of the day, he could admit there was always something happening. People piled into the department almost as soon as the day begun.

Police officers took civilian reports while others have stopped near the receptionist desk. Dave swept past it, only pausing long enough to give the familiar woman a wan smile before briskly walking ahead. He didn’t feel in the mood for their usual morning banter; he was too focused, too preoccupied and the more time he spent looking for Sam - the sooner he would find her. 

The doors rung close and he shifted uncomfortably inside the shaft until the doors opened once again to his familiar floor. 

Nikhil and Reza were the first people Dave noticed near the entrance. Nikhil’s signature blue jacket with white stripes always gave him away and Reza not unusually frazzled, had his arms crossed against his grey sweater as he spoke. They were talking in hushed overtones and seemed to be in deep discussion before they noticed him.

Reza was the first to greet him and perked up immediately at the sight of his friend.  “Dave!”

Dave couldn’t return his sentiments entirely. It was not that kind of day. He forced a smile. “Morning,” He murmured. “Any update?”

Nikhil, seemingly less oblivious simply nodded before gesturing to Mirasol. “She’s going through Santos profile again. We’re hoping there’s something we missed that’ll help us locate Sam.”

Before Dave could respond, he heard Captain Beckham’s voice booming until the woman appeared in front of him. Her eyebrows were raised and her hands were on her hips; and Dave knew the moment she spotted him that she was not going to be in the mood for pleasantries.

Her eyes were furious but she merely jerked her head towards the direction of her office.

Nikhil and Reza gave him sympathetic looks before getting back to work. Dave mouthed a phrase of distress towards them, but they politely ignored. They all knew what it meant when Beckham used that tone.

“Captain.” Dave greeted as he closed the door behind them.

She barely sat behind her desk before she exploded. “What the hell were you thinking Reyes?” She demanded hotly, “what happened to sticking with the plan?”

He decided to wait until her tirade was finished. He knew better from first hand experience, that it made more sense to wait than interrupt her.

“I never thought I’d see you break orders, especially for such a high profile case.” Her hands went up to cover her face, and when she glanced up again at him, her face softened. “Jesus, and now Sam’s missing…” she trailed off, “how’re you?”

Dave shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He didn’t know why she was asking him. How did she expect him to answer? Sam was gone, and he was partially to blame. He ignored her question. “I’m sorry we ignored your direct orders,” he began stiffly, “the situation changed rather quickly.” His jaw tightened, “and someone knew we were going to be here.”

The captain’s eyes narrowed and she lowered her voice, “you think someone got wind of this,” she frowned, “from our department?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.” He ran frustrated fingers through his hair while his brow furrowed, “but what I do know is that they knew exactly who were even before Sam made contact.” 

She bristled, “there’s no way -”

He sighed, “Santos pretty much confirmed it when I spoke to him.” He slipped his hands inside his pockets, “someone tipped them off Captain. Someone deliberately placed us both in danger that night.”

The captain sat back inside her seat. “But that’s impossible.” She muttered thinly. Her face twisted before eyes flitted back. “There were only a small amount of people that knew about this operation.”

“Well either the info got leaked or,” he lowered his voice, “we have a mole inside the precinct.” It dawned on him as he said it that this case had become far bigger than he anticipated. Dirty cops? Drug lords and arm dealers? How far did this all run?

She leaned forward inside her seat, propping her elbows on the desk and sighed as she mulled over his words. “This is more dangerous than I thought,” She spoke as if she had been reading his mind. “I don’t want anyone catching wind of this, well anyone else.” 

“You want me to keep it quiet, Captain?”

“For now. Yes.” She raised her eyes to meet him with a careful expression, “only the team needs to know about this while I do a little bit digging myself.”

“And what do I do? You can’t expect me not to look for Sam.” His voice changed, raising with every word he uttered until the captain’s eyebrows arched shrewdly at him. “Sorry, I just -” He made a noise of frustration under his breath.

“I know.” She said quietly, softly sighing. “I know.”

Silence clung for a few hesitant beats as Dave shifted on his feet. “Continue investigating, you’re one of our best and I’m sure team are more than eager to help you find her but,” she lowered her voice again into almost an inaudible, “keep this quiet. If what you’re saying is true - then we’ve got a lot on our plate.”

Dave agreed, inclining his head at her before he headed to her door. He was already formulating his next plan when the captain called out to him.

“Oh and Reyes?”

He turned to meet her firm nod, “Be careful.”

He nodded back, before disappearing down the hall. He was still reeling from their discussion when he spotted Mirasol by her desk. He didn’t waste anytime, he took quick strides in her direction.

She was too wrapped in whatever busied her screen at his approach. Her hair was in a simple bun - it’s natural state, Dave thought by all means as he cleared his throat to catch her attention.

No such luck.  

Her tiny frown was a comfort that reminded him too much of Sam as he leaned against the corner of her desk. “Good morning,” He greeted, and this time he placed a lot of strain in keeping his tone friendly and light.

Her dark brown eyes snapped up at him. Something passed between them bfore he felt them turn sympathetic. “You can cut the bullshit.” Her face softened a little from it’s usual half scowl, “ I know you’re having a bad day.”

“A bad day,” Dave agreed, “probably a bad week. I just need to know if there’s anything we missed. Something that could help us figure out where Santos took her.”

Mirasol shook her head, “nothing much from my end other than what we already know about him.” Absently, she gripped the chain around her neck. 

“I was analyzing the footage from the security camera from the gala last night,” Reza mumbled, walking over with Nikhil in tow. “I was hoping I could catch their licensed plate of their vehicle or something else that could point us into some direction.”

“Did you?” Dave lifted a brow.

“I did!” Reza’s enthusiastic nod didn’t last long. “But it doesn’t add up. It belonged to a man from one of the mechanics downtown after I ran his prints. The car’s a rental.”  He folded his arms.

“Well that’s better than nothing,” Dave muttered, sighing under his breath. “I should go talk to him, maybe see if he’ll give us a name -”

“You and I both know he won’t.” Nikhil interrupted, running a hand through his jet black hair. “Besides, I called as soon as he opened and he doesn’t remember the name of the man.” He rolled his eyes, “likely story but I’m sure one of Santos’ men must have paid him off or something.”

“But there must be something,” Dave insisted.

“He did mention the man who rented it had a tattoo, some kind of a half moon -” Nikhil gestured with a flicker of his wrist towards Mirasol, “sketched but it’s not enough to go on. The mechanic didn’t recall what the man looked like.”

“That’s not coincidental.” Dave straightened his shoulders. He was fighting through blind panic. None of this was much to go on.

No, not here. 

He couldn’t lose it here. 

His team was looking at him with the same feelings he had been wrestling with all night. He couldn’t abandon all hope. And this was Sam Massey he was talking about - she was tough as nails. No matter where she was; he would find her.

He rolled up his cuff-links. “We’ll start over, look at everything we have.” His tone had an edge of desperation he couldn’t quite mask. “There’s something we missed,” there has to be. He wasn’t giving up on her, and as he glanced at the grim determination on their faces, he knew they wouldn’t too. They would work as a well oiled machine until they found her.

-

Meanwhile on the other side of town…

Samantha Massey’s fingers clenched until she could break the surface of her own palm, scratching nimbly to distract her. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain she felt once the man in front of her fists had connected. That had been much worse, knocking the breath right out of her before she inhaled sharply. For a moment, she swore saw stars.

Her eyes threatened to glaze over and tears formed from the stinging sensation that was left behind. The pounding inside her head increased. She spat out blood at the side of her feet as the man loomed forward, close enough for her to smell faint alcohol on his breath.

The man had switched between Spanish and English during the evening but now that it was morning, he seemed to simply had it with how stubbornly quiet Sam had been.

It was difficult when torture had started, but she’d be damned to break down in front of anyone - let alone a complete stranger who for all intense purposes, would be at the bottom of her boots if she hadn’t been tied to this chair. She glared at him, drawing her teeth back to spit again. 

“How did you know Santos was going to be at the gala?” The man’s voice rumbled.

She didn’t respond. 

It was better to keep conversation to a minimum anyway, and for the most part, she tried to distract herself with her surroundings; making a mental note of anything that stood out to her. If she was going to get out here alive, she had to make sure she knew an exit way. When she got out alive, she corrected herself. 

The man’s breath was nearly by her neck, and she bit back the shudder she felt creeping up her spine when she heard him speak. “You know there’s other ways to get you to speak…it doesn’t have to be so hard.” His hand had traveled up her thigh and she dug her heels inside the ground beneath her feet.

When he pulled away enough for his eyes to roam her torn cleavage, she reeled her head back enough to connect with his. The explosion inside her head had been almost instantaneous, and she gritted her teeth before she could cry out in pain.

She took some satisfaction in seeing the man stumble back, clutching his head before snarling at her. “You stupid bitch!”

She would smile if it didn’t hurt so much to breathe. “My momma could hit better than you.” She sneered.

She braced herself for another punch until she her heard another voice join the room. Her eyes were nearly swollen shut, but she could still make out the handsome gentleman dressed inside his tailored suit from last night.

“Milo, that isn’t how we treat our guests.” The gentleman tsked. 

The other man had bowed his head gravelly as he approached, and muttered an apology that Sam barely caught.

She waited until Santos was right in front of her before she spat blood by his feet.

He barely jumped out of the way in time, before fixing her with a dark expression. “You know this would be over if you just told us what we wanted to know. I am a patient man after all,” he pulled up his cuffs, “but eventually patience has its limits.”

Sam snorted, and flinched almost a second after. She felt her skin crawl as his hands deftly held up her chin.

“Such a pretty face. Tis a pity really, I could cover you from head to toe in jewels, if you’d only give me what I want.” His fingers gripped her chin so tightly that it stung. “Who else knows how deep my market runs, hmm? Who else in your department apart from Detective David Reyes knows about my plan?”

At the sound of her partner’s name, Sam stiffened. Her eyes shot daggers at the man and Santos chuckled in response. “Yes, I know all about him too.” He tsked, “for people that work under the law - you two haven’t been very bright.”

Stubbornly, she remained quiet.

“And if you aren’t careful, Reyes will soon join you here. Or,” he added softly, voice a menacing whisper, “maybe I’ll send you in pieces to his doorstep if you don’t give me what I want.” 

His eyes held hers and she didn’t waver in her glower. Eventually, he released her chin, and when he did droplets of blood dripped from his fingers. “This one is stubborn,” he stood and his smile made her heart lurch. “But even the most stubborn can be broken.” He stepped back and nodded to the other man that Sam had almost forgotten. 

She knew even before she felt the sharp pain shoot up her spine that there was no way she was getting back out alive. Not unless she told them the names of all her team. She wouldn’t - Billy had raised her better than that and her lasts thoughts were of him before she felt darkness threatening to grab her under again. This time, she succumbed as her screams seemed to echo throughout the room.

-