#if i had remembered sooner i would have drawn something more elaborate but i didn’t so take an edgy looking frisk

[theoldworldsrunnerup]

I can’t believe I almost forgot about Undertale’s anniversary AGAIN.

Happy eighth anniversary Undertale!!!! This game is so important to me and I’m so glad I discovered it all those years ago. In 2016-ish, I watched a playthrough of Undertale’s pacifist route by one of my favourite youtubers at the time, and later in 2018, I got into the entire game and became obsessed with it. Soon after, I joined the fandom, and I found so much incredible fanart, which inspired me to start drawing as a hobby and start posting online.

It really doesn’t feel that long ago since I first got into Undertale and its fandom, but it’s been five whole years, and it’s so hard to wrap my head around that lol

[merakimelareloaded]

Beauty is the Beast

The following fan fic is my @mlsecretsanta gift for @buggachat for the 2020 gift exchange.

I sincerely hope Buggachat enjoys this fic, as her content has brought me a lot of joy over this past year and this gift is a chance to pay some of that back. It’s a multi-chapter fic, and I’ll be working as hard as I can to update it frequently.

Summary:  When a talented young bard with something to prove walks into the life of an isolated young lord with a dark secret, not only do they find themselves drawn to each other, but also closer to the thruth about themselves.

Rating: I recommend Teen & up, as there will be some description of semi-graphic violence down the road.

Read on Ao3 instead

Chapter One: Enter the Bard

It was a quiet, average day for most in the bustling village of Miracule. Most, excluding one young bard named Nino Lahiffe, who was currently doing his best not to panic as he made his way to his new job at the Agreste estate. As an excessively wealthy noble family, they could afford to hire not only cleaning staff and knights, but also entertainers such as musicians and jesters. What Nino wasn’t expecting at the time of his hire, was that he was expected to move into one of the spare rooms of the property, so that if anyone in the family felt the urge to listen to music, he’d be there within five minutes. At the time he was too stunned to turn it down, but as he approached the gates, he wished he had. The idea of living with snobby rich people only for the sake of catering to their whims sounded awful, and that’s before thinking about how much they’d judge his appearance and his lack of etiquette. So far, he’d only met the head of staff, and even she looked down on him! He didn’t even understand why he got the job in the first place.

“If those people are smart, they’re going to care more about how talented you are than how expensive your clothes are.” His mother had said that morning. He almost laughed at that, remembering that with Princess Chloe as the only noble person he had met before, there was every chance they’d care more about his clothes than how well he can play the lute. He figured even if they were all as dreadful as the princess, it would still be worth it for the salary he’d expect on the job. With the money he’d be able to send back home, his parents would be able to upgrade their house to make it safer at night, lest the beast that terrorises the village and surrounding areas feels the urge to attack. It hadn’t ventured that far into the village too often, but it cheered him greatly to know he was helping keep his loved ones safe.

Reaching the gates, his thoughts immediately sobered. Guarding the entrance were two intimidatingly large men, who both glowered down at him as he came to a stop before them. Quickly, it dawned on him that he had not been given instructions for entering the estate. Watching their expressions grow impatient, he cleared his throat.

“G-Good morning.” He stammered out. The men didn’t react at all, faces locked as if waiting for him to say anything of value.

“I’m meant to be starting work here today as an in-house musician. My Name is Nino Lahiffe.” He continued. Still no reaction. Suddenly, Nino became anxious of the chance that he had misunderstood what he’d been told. Was he meant to arrive a different day? Was he not meant to come at all, and he hadn’t actually been hired?

“H-Has Madame Sancouer told you I was coming, or do you need to check with her before letting me in?” Nino asked, hoping name dropping the head of staff and a question would spring the imposing men into action. While the one on the left didn’t move, the one on the right let out an unpleasant laugh.

“You expect me to believe that Lord Agreste went and hired a scrawny street urchin instead of some upper-class musician?” The one on the right questioned in a cruel, mocking tone. Nino furrowed his brow, forcing his anger to quell as much as he could.

“No, but I do expect you to believe he’d pick me. I am no street urchin, sir.” Nino replied as firmly as he could. He may not have anywhere near as much wealth as the Agrestes, but he was far from destitute. Even if he was, it gave the man no right to look down on him. The laughing expression dropped back to a scowl, now far more irritated than before.

“You’ve got some nerve talking to me like that! I ought to beat you bloody and leave you for the beast, you little –”

“That’s quite enough, Sir Talan.” A sharp, familiar voice interrupted. Through the gaps in the metal gate, Nino could make out Madame Sancouer standing stoically behind it.

“You were instructed to intimidate away unwanted guests, not insult those who have been invited here. As a member of Lord Agreste’s staff it is unacceptable for you address your equals in such fashion, even more so for him to be seen talked to in such a way. You won’t be warned again.” She scolded coldly, not looking up from the scroll in her hand. Without any warning, the guard on his left silently turned to pull the lever behind him, which seemed to activate something metallic sounding and before he knew it the gate was lifting.

“Follow me, Lahiffe. Lord Agreste does not have all day.” Madame Sancouer said blankly, before pivoting sharply and walking further into the property. Nino ducked past the intimidating men, pretending not to see the one on the right scowling angrily at him, and paced quickly to catch up with the woman. His stomach flipped with anxiety as he followed her down the path leading through a large courtyard scattered with knights who were training very intensely. Between the imposing gate guards and Madame Sancouer, he wasn’t sure who he was more intimidated by. Sure, those men could probably snap his neck with one hand, but Madame Sancouer had complete control over them, not to mention she could read. He didn’t even know if noble women were allowed to read, let alone someone who was part of the working class. If she’s expected to read, what expectations did this Lord Agreste have of him?

Sooner than he’d have liked, they had wound through several hallways until they reached a set of large doors that Nino could only describe as “excessively glamourous”, as the carvings in the rich oak were far more elaborate than he’d ever think was necessary. Looking over at Madame Sancouer, Nino couldn’t help but feel as though she looked somewhat nervous. The feeling in his stomach worsened. If she was nervous, then he really didn’t stand a chance. Madame Sancouer schooled her expression back to neutral very quickly, before knocking clearly on the door.

“What is it Nathalie?” A man’s voice called, muffled but the door.

“I have brought the court musician I had hired. I thought it be best you appraise him before he settles.” Madame Sancouer replied with a clear, yet blank tone.

“Very well. Enter.” The voice said abruptly. Without hesitating, Madame Sancouer pulled the one of the double doors open and gave a subtle gesture for Nino to enter.

If he thought the doors were a lot, they were only a taste of what was to come with the room they lead to. Between the chandelier and the gilded tapestries, everything about the room screamed “I have more money than I know what to do with”. Towards the centre back of the room stood a massive, black table that was just as elaborately carved as the door. Standing on the other side of the table was an older man with fading blond hair that was slicked back out of his face, which wore an expression that somehow showed focus and boredom at the same time as he looked down at the map that was spread out in front of him. The fact that the man was yet to look up gave Nino the confidence to shift his focus to the painting on the wall behind him. The painting was enormous, stretching from the floor to the ceiling in height, and depicted the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. He couldn’t believe a real person could hold such beauty, so he could only speculate that either she was the product of an artist’s imagination, or the woman’s feature’s have been heavily embellished. Before he could ponder if that were commonplace for nobles and royalty, the man standing at the table looked up at him, forcing Nino’s attention back down to meet his gaze. He immediately regretted making eye contact with the man, as the moment their eyes locked, Nino felt as though he had been shot with an arrow with how sharp his gaze was. Was he not meant to make eye contact with the lord? Should he look away? Or would looking away show weakness? Nino severely wished he knew the first thing about etiquette before coming to this nightmare place.

“Nathalie.” Was all the man said, not breaking eye contact with Nino.

“Yes, my lord?” Madame Sancouer voiced.

“That is a child.” The lord stated. Nino bit back a retort, knowing that talking back to this man would be the stupidest thing he could do in this moment. He wasn’t a child, he was seventeen and soon to be eighteen, so he was essentially an adult at this stage in his life. Hell, most in the village were considered adults by the time they were sixteen as they could efficiently work and bear children. Nino was even tall for his age, so he’d gone passed annoyed and into confused as to why this man thought he was a child.

“I believe a more fitting term would be young adult.” Madame Sancouer commented dryly, which surprised Nino. He wasn’t expecting her to be in a position to sass her boss.

“That may be, but in terms of what talent he could have possibly accumulated in his life for music, he is essentially a child. I know I made it clear that you were to find the best.” Lord Agreste elaborated in an irritated tone, his eyes scanning up and down Nino like an apex predator.

“I have followed your criteria. “Best” does not mean “most experienced”. Out of everyone I saw, he showed a range of becoming qualities that made him the best suited to our needs. He not only had just as much talent as men several years his senior, he also has an impressive repertoire and was far more up to date with modern styles than the other candidates. He composes his own music too, so you’d be far less likely to grow bored with his playing. As for his age… if I may be candid, I believe it would be good for Adrien to practise with someone his own age. After examining his training with the knights, his performance always improved when partnered with a knight that was closer to his age.” Madame Sancouer explained thoroughly. Nino hoped his dark skin hid the heat that was rising to his cheeks. He had no idea he had made that much of an impression on the stoic woman. But his joy at the appraisal halted at recalling the name she had mentioned. Adrien. Where had he heard that name before?

“I hope this isn’t some poor attempt at giving my son a friend, Nathalie. He is already friends with the princess, he doesn’t need some common boy for company.” Lord Agreste groaned, rolling his eyes and finally shifting his gaze away from Nino. That’s right. When he had met Princess Chloe, she had mentioned her friend Lord Adrien and prattled on about how the two of them were perfect for each other and when they got married no peasants would be allowed to attend because she didn’t want them to ruin her big day with how filthy they were. If he had known that a requirement of his job would involve spending time with someone who was a perfect match that nightmare girl, he’d have definitely turned it down.

“It was merely a choice I made based on observations of Adrien’s performance levels. Nothing more.” Nathalie replied, expression completely schooled to show no emotion. Lord Agreste sighed before returning his attention to the map.

“Very well. Take him to his room, then introduce him to my son.” He commanded with a lazy wave. With that cue, Nino hastily followed Madame Sancouer out of the room, eager to leave the intimidating man’s presence as swiftly as possible. She led him down more corridors and across a couple of different courtyards, eventually leading him into a section of the estate that while much plainer than where he’d met the lord, was still considerably more decadent than the home he grew up in back at the village.

“This is the staff quarters, where you’ll be staying while you are employed by Lord Agreste. When you are not summoned, you may stay in your room or relax in the courtyards where you can be easily found. If you for some reason need to be anywhere else on the property make sure the nearest guard is aware of where you are going so you can be found quickly if you are called upon.” Madame Sancouer explained to him as they made their way down a hallway, before they came to a stop in front of a simple, unmarked door.

“This is your room. Put down all your possessions except for your lute, then we’ll go to the young lord’s quarters.” She instructed, standing stiffly by the door as she waited for him to finish. He quickly entered the room, placing his worn-out bags on the decent looking bed. The room looked pretty good to him. On the opposite side to the bed, he had a dresser and a desk, and the far wall had a large window that opened out to a balconette that was just large enough for a person to perch on if they wished to sit and feel a nightly breeze. He couldn’t ask for more, really.

Deciding he could inspect his room further later, he darted back out of the room, shutting the door behind him. With a brief nod, Madame Sancouer was on her way again, leaving Nino to trail behind once more. As they walked, Nino silently prayed that he would not have to spend too much time with young Lord Adrien if he was anything like Chloe. After what felt like walking to the opposite side of the property, it finally clicked that Madame Sancouer had said the young lord had his own quarters. This section of the estate was twice the size of the staff quarters, and a thousand times more extravagant.

“How can one person need this much space?” He thought out loud, immediately blanching at his lack of control. Madame Sancouer quirked an eyebrow at him, before turning her eyes back to the direction they were walking.

“The young lord is prohibited from leaving the estate, so Lord Agreste decided it would be best if he was provided anything he could want or need within his quarters, so that he may never be tempted to leave.” She answered. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes. One the one hand, this guy sounded just as pampered as the princess. On the other hand, he felt a little sorry for him. A gilded prison is still a prison, after all. After a few minutes, they reached a beautifully decorated set of double doors that were lined with several locks, with a bored looking knight standing guard. When the knight noticed their approach, he jolted into a better posture and scrambled for the set of keys on his belt. Meanwhile, Madame Sancouer pulled out her own set of keys and made her way to the door. Nino watched as she unlocked half the locks, and the knight the other half in pure disbelief. What in the world did Lord Agreste think was going to happen to his son? Surely nobody would want to kidnap him that bad. Once the locks were done, the knight pulled the doors open for the pair of them, gesturing for them to enter.

As Nino walked in, his eyes blew wide open in shock at the size of the room. He’d guess it was as large as his entire house back home, and this was only the bedroom! Looking between the canopy bed, the bookshelves, the chaise lounge, and the clavichord, he wondered what all the other rooms were even for. He scanned the room looking for its inhabitant, only to realise nobody was in here.

“Adrien?” Madame Sancouer called out, only looking nervous for a second before managing to school her expression once more.

“I’m out here, Nathalie!” A bright voice chimed back from beyond the window, which he soon realised was more of a door, which lead to a large looking balcony, from what he could see. Madame Sancouer led him to the glass doors and out onto the sunny balcony.

On a stone bench pressed right against the rail of the balcony sat a poised looking young man whose golden hair caught and bounced the sunlight as though it were made from its beams. Like the senior Lord Agreste, he was also dressed exquisitely, his black jacket and pants fitting his lean form perfectly. The young man had his head turned away from them as he leaned on the rail to look at whatever view he had.

“Adrien, you have a visitor.” Madame Sancouer announced. The young man, now confirmed as Adrien, perked up as he turned to face them. Nino held back a gasp as he took in the young lord’s face. His vivid green eyes were a perfect match for the woman in the portrait, and the young man’s face was every bit as beautiful as he had previously speculated was impossible to be real, if not more. Adrien’s expression brightened with visible excitement as he looked at Nino. The bard wasn’t sure what confused him more; why this guy was so excited to see someone he’d never met before, or why his own heart was suddenly beating so fast.

Next Chapter

[rainydaydream-gal18]

The Mandalorian: Imagine Din Being Protective (Part 2)

(Author’s Note:  Someone requested this, so here it is!  

Here is the link to part 1!  This could also be read independently.  I hope you enjoy!

Warnings- fighting, blasters being shot, reader gets injured but nothing gruesome)

   You inhaled deeply as the enemy drew closer to your hiding spot.  The child was out of harm’s way.  You didn’t have to fear for his safety, at least.  Din was engaging the enemy elsewhere, and you were hiding behind some ruins just outside the Razor Crest.

   Footsteps crunched louder and louder in the brush, and you clutched the blaster with an iron grip, closing your eyes to gather your courage.  You may not have any formal training, but Din taught you a few things about shooting.  Perhaps you could hold them off for a while.

   You peeked around the corner, aiming the blaster at the first sketchy character that approached.  He caught sight of you.  You fired before he could react.  You hated the strangled cry that echoed in the air, but this was a matter of self-defense and to protect the child.  One of his companions stared for but a moment before running at you with a holler.  You fired off a few shots, jumping to your feet.  This one went down, and another leapt at you.  He knocked the blaster from your hands and brought down the stock of his weapon on the weak spot of your shoulder.  You yelped, reeling for a moment before throwing a punch.  Another set of hands grabbed you from behind.

   There were only two of them left, but it was enough to subdue you.  Even so, you struggled and fought and tried to wrestle your way free.

   “This one’s feisty, but obviously untrained in combat,” the one hissed.  “Perhaps we can take her with?”

   This made you struggle even more, managing to elbow him in the chest.  “In your dreams,” you spat.

   Suddenly, there was blaster fire, and the one set of hands left your shoulders as the owner crumbled to the ground.  The other one let out a battle cry and left you to attack whoever fired, but they were thrown to the ground.

   You turned around, panting, to see Din with the child in one arm.  The child’s expression lights up when he sees you, and he reaches toward you with eager little arms.  A small squeal leaves his mouth, and despite the pain from your recent injuries, you smile.

      “How did he…?”  you walked over, opening your arms.  “He was supposed to be on the ship.  I put him there so he’d be safe.”

      “He was worried about you,” Din said matter-of-factly.  “He came to find me, and I’m glad he did.”  He angled the child in your direction so the little one could make the transfer to you.  Everything seemed to fall into place the second you held the baby in your arms.  It was a feeling of overwhelming relief- like you found something that you didn’t realize you were missing.  As the child looked up at you with those big eyes and placed a hand on your cheek, you released a small gasp at the emotion that hit.

   Boy, this kid had really grown on you.

   Din’s visor stared in your direction, and though you weren’t sure exactly of the kind of expression he had under that helmet, you figured it was one of curiosity.  You embarrassingly turned your face away so he couldn’t see the emotions that played out on your face.

   “He’s okay,” Din assured you, modulator crackling.

   You nodded, but didn’t say anything.  The Mandalorian took another step forward, and you were forced to meet his gaze.  A shiver ran down your spine at the man under the helmet that seemed to see past your attempts at a wall.  It wasn’t meant to keep others out. It was meant to keep others from thinking you were weak.  The last thing you wanted was for Din to see just how shaken up you were from your first fight with an enemy.  Your shoulder hurt from the blow, and you most likely had some bruises blooming on your skin here and there.

   “I know,” you said finally.  “And I’m glad he’s okay.”

   The child stared at you, watching the exchange with piqued interest, as you hugged him just a little tighter.

   Din gave a nod, probably realizing you weren’t going to elaborate.  He’d been awfully protective before even at the possibility of anything hurting you, so how could you tell him that this fight had not only left you bruised, but also scared?  Not just scared for you, but the child as well.

   When the three of you boarded the Razor Crest, you let the little one get settled down for a much-needed nap before hunting down the medical kit.  You shrugged off the jacket with a hiss so you were left in a tank top, and the area where you’d been hit with the stock of the blaster was already darkening.  Trying not to move the injured area, you rifled with one hand through the med kit in hopes of finding a bacta patch.

   In the midst of your search, you hadn’t heard anyone approach.

   The Mandalorian stood next to where you were seated.  Your eyes snapped up to look at him as you quickly rested a hand over your shoulder.  He shifted his stance, leaning so that his hip jutted to one side as he took in your attempt to hide the injury.

   “It’s nothing,” you said.  “Just need a little fixing up, is all.”

   Din’s gloved hand left his side and paused closer to you in a silent request.  You nodded, and Din removed the glove from that hand before doing the same with the other.  His fingers found yours with such care for a warrior.  He lifted your hand away from your shoulder to better inspect the injury.

   The words seemed to fall from his mouth immediately. “I’m sorry.”

   You shook your head.  “It was bound to happen.”  When he didn’t voice a reply, you added, “seriously, you can’t expect to be everywhere at once.”

   Din’s hand ghosted over the bruise, causing you to wince.  He remained silent as he sifted through the med kit and pulled out a bacta patch. Your shirt strap was moved to the side with care so the bacta patch could be applied.  You averted your gaze, heart racing, and sucked in another breath at the brief pain from the contact.

   “It should heal quickly,” he said.  You pulled your strap back into place, standing to your feet.  “Are there any others?”

   “That was the worst of them.  Everything else was minor.”

   His visor never left your face as he stood there and studied you for a minute longer.  No doubt he knew something was still off about you.  Finally, he spoke up about it.  “Something’s wrong.”

   You hesitated.  “It’s just…”

   He tipped his head slightly.  “You know you can tell me.”

   “I’m just worried.  Like I said, you can’t expect to be everywhere at once.”  The words came spilling out.  “It’s too much to look after the kid and me.  Even he’s a better fighter than me.”  You gave a humorless laugh, recalling how the kid used some mind trick to defend himself and others on occasion.

   “You handled yourself until I arrived,” Din pointed out.  You thought back to the first enemies that you managed to take out before being overwhelmed.  “You protected the little guy.  It was very admirable.”

   “Well of course I protected him,” you said quickly.  “How could I not?  But what if you hadn’t gotten there when you did.  What if…?”

   “You must know by now that I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”  The words were spoken so evenly, but they carried a weight that left you speechless.  “Or him.”  He nodded in the direction of the baby’s little makeshift hammock.  You merely nodded, and Din continued.  “But maybe it would be a good idea if I made your training a priority.”

   You looked up at his visor with wide eyes.  “Really?”

   “Yes, we start tomorrow.  I should have done this sooner.”

   You gave a small nod, feeling a bit of relief replace your mood.  Things would improve.  Soon, you would have some training behind you and feel a little more secure in contributing during these risky missions.

   A warm, glove-less hand reached up to hold your chin, tipping your face up to the Mandalorian’s visor.  You wondered if he’d say something else, but he remained silent for a minute or so.  Meanwhile, you felt your heart pounding once again from the vulnerability in the moment, and also because you had indeed developed feelings for the stoic warrior.  It went beyond the initial attraction when you saw his gentle side; how patient he was with the kid as well as you, when you caught him chuckling at something the little one did on occasion, or how he would sometimes watch you with a silent, protective air about him- as if at any moment he’d jump to your defense.

   It was a strange thing to want to kiss a face you’d never seen.  It was strange to be drawn to an individual but come face-to-face with a helmet.  Or to want to be held in arms that you’d rarely seen in anything but beskar armor.  It left you unsure of what to do in these moments.

   “I, um, I’m getting cold,” you said, gently pulling your chin back from his hand.  Din was quiet as you slipped your arms into your jacket, wincing when you moved the bad shoulder.  You flashed him a small smile to break the tense moment.  He packed up the med kit and put it away.

   “Remember, training tomorrow.”  He pulled his gloves back on, and you thought you heard a smile in his voice as he cast you one last look over his shoulder.  “Try and get some rest.”

   “Yes, sir.”  Once he left the room, you muttered. “Yeah, yeah... just make my heart beat and expect me to go right to sleep.  Thanks, Mando.”  But as you got comfortable in your cot, a smile tugged at your lips.  You’d be officially training with him, and you were intrigued to see a whole new side of him.

PART 3

[datawyrms]

Prove it with one hand behind your back

Dannymay day 12: Gloves There is reference to the events in Hypothesis, but can be read stand alone. Now Ao3′d “Uhhh, Danny?” Jazz called up the stairs, laundry basket under her arm.

“What? I’ll get my stuff when it’s dry!” Her brother yelled back down, apparently not interested in leaving his room so they could speak semi-normally.

“Normally it would be my duty as your sister to throw your wash on the floor. Were you aware your laundry is glowing?”

Her frazzled brother appeared at the stairs then, taking them two at a time. “Geeze Jazz, tell the whole neighborhood why don’t ya?” he hissed as he passed.

“Mom and Dad aren’t here, and you’re welcome.”

“Obviously. Jerk.” he made an exaggerated frown at her before ducking into the washer, dragging out handfuls of the expected tee-shirts and jeans followed by an impressive amount of mismatched lightly glowing gloves.

“You’re taking trophies now?” she raised an eyebrow, unsure what to make of it. Not a single one had a pair, and none of them were even his ghost form’s hazmat gloves. Quite a few of them looked rather elaborate, some very interesting embroidered patterns making it obviously not something of her brother’s making. Delicacy was not his strong suit.

“Huh? No! These are-” he paused, taking a breath as he covered the glowing handwear with several shirts. “You remember that whole Sam got dragged to the ghost zone because Aragon’s an idiot thing?”

“The self important dragon shapeshifter with some serious hangups and anger issues?”

“Yeah, that one.” he nodded, rubbing at his chin. “Did I mention Dora sort of knighted us for helping drive him out of power?”

“No, but I’m pretty used to you leaving out important details by now.” Jazz smirked as her little brother rolled his eyes.

“It was nice of her and all but apparently they have a sort of tradition in her Kingdom? Where to show you’re worthy of joining the Queen’s guard you challenge one of the newest knights to a duel.” Danny paused to fish out one of the gloves. “Giving over a glove is basically how they ask for that duel. All very formal, I’d write it down if I could explain how I know without completely blowing my cover.”

“So you’ve got a bunch of medieval ghosts throwing gloves at you and wanting to duel...and you decided to wash them. At home.” Jazz crossed her arms. “Seriously?’

“Where else was I gonna do it? I thought they’d make decent proof so show Dad ghosts have society and rules.” He paused, throwing the glowing thing back under his regular clothes. “Then I remembered there’s no way I could explain how I got these. So now they’ll just smell nice in Sam’s closet or something.”

“Your closet a little too risky this time?”

“Nope. All of these belong to Sam. She’s the one getting all the challenges, not me.” he glanced down at his basket. “I think she named some of these.”

“It’s it a little unfair for a ghost to fight a human? That goes against the whole honourable and fair thing it seems to be going for.”

The half ghost grinned. “That’s what they think! Challenged gets to set the rules, and it turns out ghost knights are really, really bad at adjusting to ground only combat.”

Jazz blinked, the part that had been bothering her clicking into place. “Wait, so there’s that many because you’re still the newest knights?”

“Wasted every single challenger. I keep trying to convince them they’ll have a better shot against me, but noooo, they insist on trying to best the ‘breathing banshee’.” he shrugs. “Most of em would absolutely wreck me in a proper fight, I don’t usually need to fight ‘fair’ or anything.”

“So why don’t they go after Tucker? Getting all the way out here for a tradition can’t be easy.”

“He still insists he’s Friar Tuck. You don’t swordfight the clergy. None of them have actually called him on it, so maybe he is?” his brow furrowed, thinking on that. “Maybe I should ask Dora that sometime. Find out if we need to worry about some ghost pope later. Would not want to be the guy who punched the dragon queen’s ghost pope.”

Jazz couldn’t suppress a snort, easily able to picture such a mishap. “A year ago if you said that I’d say you should be committed. Now I’m just nodding along.”

“Even if you were saying it now, I’d get out.” A wicked grin accompanied a flash of green eyes.

“Very funny, dork.” Still, the idea was worth thinking about. “Well I can see why you wanted to try using them as proof.” The project was rather important to Danny, seeing as it was his best shot to get their parents to re-evaluate their ‘ghosts are mindless’ stance. “Maybe you could get Tucker to film a fight? Sam keeping ‘contaminated’ gloves wouldn’t seem that weird, and the variety can prove it’s not just one ghost mindlessly repeating the same behaviour.”

“I’d still be stuck explaining how Sam became ‘Sir Manson’ in the ghost zone. Which seems like a disaster waiting to happen.” his shoulders sagged. “They’ll think I made it up or Tucker did some video editing.”

“I still think it’s worth trying. Sam’s got a rich family, you could probably think up an excuse that she’s practically ‘royalty’ and that’s why they come.”

“Eh. Maybe. Don’t tell Sam but I’m giving the challengers tips now. The sooner they stop coming, the sooner I can stop getting all antsy about a ghost attack where I find out it’s another steel welding glove thrower.”

Jazz set her shoulders, determined to get some of that humour back in her dispirited sibling. “Use that. They owe you if you help them out, don’t they?”

“Well, I guess they do. Like I’ve had them tell me stories about what it’s like for them, if they remember stuff or have always been ghosts, they’re pretty chatty to a ‘fellow of the sword’...but it’s all stuff I write down. I can’t prove a ghost told me. I can’t film it, or have Dad listen in. The second they call me ‘Sir Phantom’ I’m toast.”

“He said he’d at least listen to what you found, right? It can be a starting point, and if you have some really specific detail it’s less likely that you made the whole thing up.” she stopped to ruffle his hair. “That, and if you were going to make something up, you’d have some star ghosts or ecto-aliens.”

“I would not!”

“Yes you would. And you’d draw them little space ships and everything.”

“...Okay maybe I’d make up some ships.”

“A lot of ships. With long complicated names. With scientific reasons for those names. Cus your my dorky little brother.”

“Well you’re my nagging big sister. You get to be the black hole equivalent.” 

“Just don’t give up on the idea so quickly, okay? It’s a good one, and it really can’t hurt too much to try.”

A small smile returned as he elbowed her “Careful, or they’ll think you’re being influenced by ghosts too.”

“It’s not like their theories can have any more concrete proof than yours does. What are they?”

“Dad thinks ectoplasm naturally ‘homes in’ on stuff over here, and that’s how they’re finding the portal.” he closes his eyes, foot kicking at the floor. “He’s got this box thing? A lot of box things with different kinds of ectoplasm to see if they move towards ‘our world’ over time. I keep forgetting it’s floating right next to the portal and almost kick it.” his face turns into a grimace. “Dad thinks ‘that ghost kid’ is messing with his experiment on purpose now, so that sucks.”

“Well you could mess with it on purpose, that would be intelligent.”

“Nope. That would be the ‘natural aggressive action’ towards human materials. Tried it.”

“What’s mom’s hypothesis then?”

“That the portal always being here makes this part of Earth more ectoplasm rich so they’re drawn to enter here instead.” he waves a hand. “She’s half right? I don’t think strong ghosts can go all that long without ducking back home to recharge. She’s using the frequency of ‘higher level’ ghosts as proof that they ‘need’ a certain level to function outside of the ghost zone.”

“Another theory you’re accidentally stomping all over.”

“Since they almost never spot ‘Phantom’ going back to the Zone, yeah. I apparently account for ninety four percent of all ghost sightings. Yet only three percent of that is being spotted outside of a fight. Which sounds really bad! No wonder they think I only think about fighting other ghosts.” he rubbed at the back of his head. “I think she plans to test that by uh. Sticking a ghost in a place with no ectoplasm to see how long they hold out, if at all. So I’ve kinda been...making sure she can’t do that.” he swallows, his glance towards his sister more timid than anything. “It'd be a really, really nasty way to die. From what I heard.”

“Good for you. She’ll thank you once you prove that sort of thing would be unethical.”

His frown didn’t move. “If I prove it. So far I’ve just proven they really don’t like that ghost kid.”

“From what I’ve heard you’re the one with the most solid proof. Once you’ve shown everything you’ve collected, then you could try convincing them to see for themselves you aren’t making it up.” Jazz urged, not wanting to watch her little brother give up again.

“Even if I could convince Dad to come in the specter speeder with me we’d scare most ghosts off. The ones we don’t might want to beat me up, or not use a name I can’t explain away.”

“Sam gets to set when one of those challenges happens right? Invite him to one of those.”

He blinked. “...I guess that might work. If Sam made it clear that they couldn’t say my name under any circumstances. There’s one lady who keeps coming, insists she’s going to be the one to get to succeed after ‘Slapping Sir Manson with her glove’, she might be down for that…” he caught the weird look Jazz was giving him. “Oh. Apparently if you’re rivals hitting the person with your glove is ‘provoking your betters’ into a fight? So it’s a respect thing? I don’t really get it. Sam thinks it’s great, which I didn’t see coming but I didn’t think we’d still be having ghost knight fights either.” he let out a breath. “I’m rambling again.”

“You know, if Mom and Dad could see how you talk about this stuff they’d know you aren’t making it up. Looks like ghost research does run in the family.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “I’m a ghost hunter if anything. It’s just nice being able to chat instead of fight sometimes. The ghost zone is pretty neat. If you know, half the stuff in there wasn’t trying to skin me alive.”

“I still think you have a good shot. You know it’s true, so they’ll have to see it given enough time.”

“Maybe. Can’t really talk about this stuff to them though. Gee dad, how do I know about Frostbite? Well when I stole the Ecto-Skeleton and shoved back Pariah Dark this whole tribe of yetis decided I was their Great One. So now we’re pals. Oh what’s that dad, you say the ghost kid did that? Funny thing!” he dropped his arms with a scowl. “That’d go over like a lead balloon.”

“Maybe stick to the dragon queen society for now. It’s not like anyone over here saw that. Then you can expand into the rest of the friendly areas.” she put a hand on his shoulder. “One step at a time Danny, you’ll get there.”

“I hope so. If it doesn’t, I blame you if I’m torn molecule by molecule.”

“Ew Danny! Don’t be so morbid, it’s not good for your development.”

“Is it morbid if I’m dead?” he winced from his sister’s whack to the head. “Ow! Half!”

“Better. Now scram with all those gloves before someone thinks you robbed a ghost antique boutique.”

“You’re such a busybody Jazz.” the half ghost teased before darting off with his half spectral laundry. It wouldn’t be an easy thing to convince their parents, but he did seem to be on the right track. So of course it was her job to make sure he stuck to it. Siblings had to look out for each other, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[werejusttouchingeachother]

DUBAI 2019 [August 28th, 5:00AM]

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 T/W: cursing Words: 2446 A/N: its... the final chapter. i hope it isn’t too disappointing and i can’t believe i just finished my first series (altho short) on here. this is a big moment and i’d wait longer to upload it but it seems right to do it on KyoongDay. for anyone and everyone who’s been with me through the whole ride, @realllllrica​ @jongins-laceglove​, @mongryong-the-corgi​ for hitting me up constantly with feedback, @hkynm​ for the constant support and discussions about baek and writing, @exosnet​ @bbh-net​ for all the support, silent supporters like @baekyoonbi​ @tiredgirltingz​ @lolii-moon​ (YES I SEE AND LOVE ALL OF YOU) and even the anons who reached out and everyone else, i love all of you and thank y’all so so much, may all your lives be filled with the same warmth and happiness that Baekhyunee emits ☀️💕

Dubai International Airport

His hands are nervously drumming against the handle of his luggage as he looks around while you quickly respond to Seoyeon’s text. You push your phone back into your pocket, swallowing slightly as you catch Baekhyun’s gaze from where he stands next to the car while Manager unloads all the bags from the trunk.

It had only been two nights ago when you’d taken Baekhyun to Trance and shown him all of Dubai. Earlier that day, you’d almost broke down as he left your office and thought that you were having a rerun of what happened at New York.

And yet, you didn’t. It felt like ages ago and it killed you now because as you gazed at him, you wished you could redo it all again just to relive every moment with him, the good and even the bad if only it meant to be in his arms again.

No matter how many times you’d been through this, it killed you every time you had to watch him leave.

You sighed as Baekhyun gave you a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes. Jongin elbowed your side and you turned to the tall man, giving him a small smile as he cocks his head in the direction of Baekhyun.

“Go hug him before he starts crying,” Jongin teases and Baekhyun glares at him, already opening his mouth to curse at him. You grab his hand before he can and drag him around the Prado car, taking him to the front that’s facing the wall for some privacy as you look at him.

“Hey,” you say, cupping his cheeks with your hands. “Don’t stress so much. It’s okay. I’ll fly down sooner than you think, okay? You’ll be busy with SuperM and all the shows at America for a while anyway so forward your schedules to me and we’ll figure something out. Okay?”

He nods, sighing softly in between your hands as his gaze drops to the floor. You squeeze his cheeks slightly and his gaze darts back up as you mumble, “Eat properly, okay? I’ve told Jongin to tell me if you skip meals so you better not do it.”

“You too,” he rolls his eyes, pulling away from your hands and gripping them in his own instead. “You better not lose weight either.”

“You know I won’t. Seoyeon doesn’t let me.”

At this, he pouts. “Maybe you should come with me to monitor my eating and I won’t skip then.”

“Baekhyun.”

“Seoyeon can come too! To monitor you! We can form our own support triangle!”

“Shut up,” you laugh, shaking your head at him. He sighs as you encircle your arms around his slender waist, hugging him tightly to you.

“Soon,” you mumble softly. “I promise.”

Baekhyun holds you to him, asking, “Where’s your car?”

“The parking lot below this.”

“You can’t come see me off inside the airport, right?”

“No, the fans have been waiting for hours.” You look up then, tilting your head back to gaze at him. “Also, Dubai airport security is pretty strict so I can’t get very far inside without a ticket.”

Baekhyun sighs again before pulling back. You stare at each other in silence, eyes stinging slightly as you force yourself to not cry because you know if you did, it’d just hurt him and get him upset too which would then make you feel worse.

He doesn’t say anything as he leans forward, cupping your face and kissing you. You stumble back slightly as he leans his entire weight onto you, your back pressed up against the side of the care as his lips press into yours deeply in a way that you were certain he was savouring and cherishing each nanosecond, memorising it until the next time that your lips could meet again.

You hear someone clear their throat and Baekhyun pulls away reluctantly. He immediately crushes you to his chest again, hugging your head until you’re suffocating and you’re almost thankful that you can’t see him because you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep a grip over your emotions.

Baekhyun loosens his grip around you and you smile as you feel him gently kiss the top of your head before finally letting go. You smile up at him and he gives you one quick kiss before turning around.

You take in a shaky breath and step away from the car as Baekhyun quickly strides to Hyungnim, grabbing the passport and ticket from his hand as he headed for the glass doors at the right corner of the parking lot, leading to the airport. Jongin and Hyungnim turns to give you one last friendly wave and you nod at them with a smile as they follow him inside.

It was an unspoken agreement that both you and Baekhyun abided by—no matter how much it hurt, it always hurt a lot worse if you turned for one last glance so you both always left without looking back.

Your phone suddenly rings with the familiar notification bell saved for Baekhyun and you furrow your eyebrows, grabbing it from your pocket to check the message.

[4:13AM] So you may wanna check the backseat of your car for some pictures from a secret folder that I may have left for you to miss me.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you read the message. Secret folder, what—

Your eyes widen as it strikes you what exactly he’s talking about and you quickly run to the right, leading to the stairs downstairs to where your car was parked.

You’re slightly panting as you unlock the car door, and dive into the backseat, closing the door behind you.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out when you notice a familiar beige box placed on the floor of the car, grabbing it and placing it on the seat.

You grin like an idiot as you open the Louboutin box, fingers finding a hard white paper and turning it to read his familiar handwriting:

Ha, fooled ya! ^^ I know you haven’t worn out the ones I gave you last time (I know everything, okay?) but I really put a lot of thought into this so I hope you use them well. Also, check the glove compartment for the secret folder photos kekekekeke

You mutter curses under your breath as you bite down on your lip to stop yourself from splitting your face open with your grin as you pull away the paper wrappings and gasp aloud when the shoes are finally revealed.

The first thing you notice is that they’re customised—a sleek red body covered with what appeared to be black lacing.

You peer closer and your eyes widen as you feel your heart stutter slightly.

The intricate designs adorning the lace were the exact same that you’d drawn by your own hand decades ago; your first design as a child: the half-circle sun you’d drawn in between two upside-down v’s that were mountains.

A design that was familiar and known to every kid whether artistic or not, it was the one you’d been most proud of as you incorporated it into your very first designs that you’d launched at Paris—both for children and adults, by developing the base circle and triangle into a more elaborate geometric pattern with bold and monochrome colours in a way that it struck as familiar and funky to everyone alike.

A detail you’d gushed about in passing, long ago to Baekhyun—not having expected for him to remember it.

You gaze at the red-soled heels in awe, exhaling softly in disbelief as you wonder how he even thought of doing this. The geometric designs added a beauty to the Louboutins that you didn’t even dream of, heightening its beauty with the complementing red-sole.

You glance at the note again, eyes falling on the last words and reminding you of the glove compartment.

Feeling too impatient to step out, you just throw your leg over the steering and climb to the front seat, grunting as you feel the gearshift hit your side in your hurry. You sit down with a heavy breath, mentally preparing yourself for the photographs of yourself that your insane boyfriend had, for some reason, thought would be hilarious to print them out for you.

“Byun Baekhyun, I swear to God,” you mutter under your breath, opening the glove compartment slowly. “If it’s the blowjob pictures, I’m gonna—”

You stop as you notice the familiar black album cover of City Lights that you were certain you’d last seen in your apartment, next to your sound system with the marker that Baekhyun had carelessly left without placing it back in the shelf.

Frowning in confusion, you take the photobook carefully, recognising it as the one without the photocards. You pull it to your lap, feeling the hard circular disk and opening the last page where it was, except now the shiny silver surface had been signed with the marker:

To my love, my soul and my heart My moon, Y/N

You smile as you read the words, fingers flipping through the photobook and suddenly, a paper falls out onto your lap.

Placing the photobook back in the compartment, you unfold the paper and start reading the letter:

I hope you’re happy cause I didn’t sign anywhere except on the disk, okay? I just wanted to write this because I know I don’t have enough time to tell you and there’s so much I want to say. I’m sure you remember this but the first time I left you in 2017, at Paris—I ran back to the airport’s parking lot and found you in your car just like how you probably are reading this right now, to confess to you for the first time. I knew it was too quick and I knew it might scare you but I wanted to say it anyway. We’ve always rushed, Y/N. I rushed to judge you at Paris, you rushed into a grudge because of my ignorant words. We both rushed at that power room and then we waited what seemed like forever to finally admit the truth to each other. We waited forever to kiss and god, we waited fucking centuries to have each other. I didn’t care when I finally told you I love you because I knew I didn’t want to wait anymore. Because I meant it. I meant it then and I mean it every day—on the many days that I drowsily say it at the end of a call, on the fewer days when we’re both so busy that we forget to remind it to each other, and on the even lesser days that I mumble it into your hair when I hold you close in my arms. I know you hate it when I apologise for the way things are because you say they’re already perfect as is, and I know that if I doubt it, I can always look at you and be reassured of the same. You see me as your beacon of hope, the sunlight in your darkness but you have no idea what you do to me, Y/N. You’re the strongest person I know. The first time I saw you at Paris, you’d been yelling at poor Jun Ki about the broken lights and I remember thinking that you were like some kind of ice queen in her own lair. And then as I pissed you off throughout the show, turned you on at the power room, watched you fall in love with me over tteokbokkis at Paris (okay, it was me who fell in love), I realised how much of a front you’ve put up all your life. And now, I realise how much you’ve grown ever since that first time I met you. Now I’m not crediting myself for it (maybe a little bit) but I like to think that I had something to do with warming all that ice down, melting it away with my light.

You call me your sunshine but you’re my moon, Y/N. Being blinded by these lights all the time, you’d think it’d be easier to see but there’s so many times when I feel lost and helpless, where I have to shine blindly in the direction of the cameras and just blindly smile, pretending that I’m okay. But then you’re there to hold me, you’re there to guide me with your light through the dark. You’re there to tell me that I am okay and I can finally believe it because I know you’re there, holding my hand in my dark that’s blinded by light. You think I shine down on your darkness but you guide me away from mine. There aren’t enough words in any language to ever express how much I love you for the comfort that you are, for the home that you’ve become. And even if there are, I don’t know half as many languages as you so this is the best I can do, okay?

I know you’re a lot better than you were when we first met but I still want you to take better care of yourself, Y/N. I trust Seoyeon to make sure that you aren’t skipping meals and I’ve told her about your little couch situation, so you better start sleeping on that bed, baby. You may not be a model on the runway but it’ll hurt your back and neck and you’re almost always on your feet during your shows so please sleep better. Listen to Jongdae in your room, if that helps (or I’ll make covers of his entire album and send it so you can listen to me instead. Yeah, I’ll do that. Delete his album, don’t listen to him in your room, he has his girlfriend for that). Also as much as I enjoyed your little Arabic tradition, please don’t do it too much. I looked it up and it DOES have tobacco and it IS harmful so you better find another activity to do when you’re stressed about work. Again, I’ve mentioned this to Seoyeon and I think she’s banned you from shisha so yeah, don’t be mad but I love you hehe ^^

My ice queen who became my moon, I love you and miss you already. Fly back to me as soon as you can. Always wanting to stroll more streets with you in yet another exotic city. Always wanting to listen to you throw shade on more tourist guides. Always waiting to be in your arms again.

Your favourite man in the world, Always your sunshine, Baekhyunnieee 'ㅅ'

[the end.]

[capnjay21]

A House is Never Still Epilogue

Five years ago, Emma Swan disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Killian Jones’ disappearance, well, not so mysterious – given the denizens of Storybrooke all but blamed him for her murder. Drawn back to town by a series of strange events, he soon realises the story of what really happened the night she vanished is beginning to unravel, and what’s more: it isn’t over.

A/N: and there it ends! thank you all so much for jumping on this crazy train with me. I hope I might see some of you on some other fics in future, but for now peace & love, thank you to every SINGLE one of you that decided to click on this little piece of weirdness, I have had so so so much fun bringing @hollyethecurious​ art to life <3 over and out!

Rating: T

Warnings: mentions of suicide, canonical character death, and some Spooky Business™.

Last go of the teeny tiny taglist, thank you squad! <3

@snowbellewells​ @carpedzem​ @kmomof4​ @optomisticgirl​ @lfh1226-linda​

AO3 | one | two | three | four | five | six

-/-

epilogue

“A house is never still in darkness to those who listen intently; there is a whispering in distant chambers, an unearthly hand presses the snib of the window, the latch rises. Ghosts were created when the first man awoke in the night.”

– J.M. Barrie

Present Day

Emma had expected it to be more difficult to return to the place Brooke House had once stood.

The last few days had passed in a rapid flurry of everyone telling her how much Brooke House had taken from her – the last five years of her life, for one. Her high school graduation. Her own funeral, apparently, her bus ticket to Augusta. Her last chance to thank Archie Hopper for everything he had done for her before he moved away. Five Super Bowls, David had added, rattling off Patriots, Broncos, Patriots, Eagles, Patriots – seriously, Pats again? – before she had a chance to let him know a five year stint as a permanent haunted house resident hadn’t made her any less indifferent to football.

Tom Brady is the GOAT, was all Killian had offered when she looked to him for backup, much to her exasperation.

But it was more than that. Those first few hours out of Brooke House had made her feel like a child, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from clinging to Killian, to David, to Ruth; she had to be touching something, holding something, just to remind herself it was all real and not another cruel trick. The darkness had dangled the tantalizing notion of a rescue before her so many times that she was sure her imagination was strong enough to conjure up one so tangible all on its own.

But this was it. This was real. She was home.

“What else did you see?” Killian had asked her once, quietly, while they sat on the steps leading out into Regina’s backyard.

It had overgrown into something wild and crooked, another marker for the passage of time, with large tufts of grass and weeds growing in all directions, some even reaching as far as her hip. The apple tree at the centre was the only tended for and trimmed element amongst the unruly greenery, but the untamed nature of the rest of it comforted Emma. It made her feel like she was in the forest again.

When Emma had not immediately replied, Killian had elaborated. “In the – storm. Other than your parents, I mean. What else did you see?”

The storm, they had taken to calling it, as if it were just a passing, temporary weather event. Emma knew what it really was. Sometimes it was like she could still feel it breathing within her, sinking into the marrow of her bones, and in a way, she supposed it was.

Demons you could vanquish, but darkness stayed with you. It was born with you and it died with you and sometimes in the middle it reminded you from time to time that it was there.

She had smiled at Killian tightly and shaken her head. He looked troubled, but like he understood. She couldn’t think about it anymore; she wanted to move forwards, not backwards.

Which was why she had insisted they return to where the house had been.

“I don’t want to always be thinking about it,” she said, looking around at their reluctant faces. “I want to see it and know that it’s over.”

She had thought it would be more difficult to head back there – but with Killian’s hand in hers and the others following close behind, she had felt herself grow in confidence with every step along the White Pine trail, and further still once they stepped off of it. Her pulse raced, but it wasn’t for the same reckless, debilitating fear that it had thumped with that first night, when everything looked too vivid to be anything but a dream and she was waiting for the ground to crumble underneath her, to send her shattering back into the walls of Brooke House.

Killian had come for her. Even after five years, he refused to give up.

He had spent so much time apologising for not coming sooner, but she didn’t care about all that. It had taken her that amount of time to master herself enough to start to slip through the cracks, to try and show him something of her after she felt him cross the town line, and not just the demon.

As expected, the clearing was empty when they got there.

She felt the barest tingle, the skim of something other brush across her arms and down her neck, but it wasn’t strong enough to be anything but a whisper against her skin.

“Look,” David said, pointing into the centre.

There, where they had left it buried into the earth, stood the dagger.

Emma felt a shot of rage and a thrill of something greedy which frightened her; it wasn’t whispering to her like it used to, but it felt like it was trying to. Clearing its throat over and over and searching for sound.

“Are you alright?” Killian asked, and she realised he was peering closely at her.

She offered him a quick smile, willing it to be anything but as brittle as she felt. “I – yeah.”

Five years. Five years of her life.

Storybrooke had been amazed to see her return. She was due to go back down to the Sheriff station for yet another interview with Graham Humbert, where she was sure he would try and grill her again for details about what she remembered – and she was speaking truthfully when she told him she remembered very little. Like a strange, distant dream, the more she tried to clutch at her experiences in Brooke House, the more they seemed to vanish like smoke.

The only clear picture left was the image of her mother, lifting a baby Emma out of the car, and placing her on the side of the freeway.

She had no idea if it was even real. It still made her want to cry.

The only positive about the process of closing the missing persons case was that it lifted Killian off the hook – in the eyes of the law, at least. Not in the eyes of the town. She was surprised by the vitriol with which he was still met with, and while he could no longer be punished with a murder charge, no doubt most of Storybrooke still believed he had kidnapped her and only recently released her. No matter how angry it made her, he begged her to let it go. After everything that had happened he told her he couldn’t care less, that everybody who mattered knew the truth and he bore no ill will to any of the residents who still looked at him like he was still a stain on their otherwise perfect town. None of that mattered to him.

Sometimes, he had said, with the sort of smile that made him look like he was letting her in on a secret, the best books have the dustiest jackets.

Killian was her favourite chapter of every novel she had ever read. He was the feeling of curling your toes under a warm rug in front of a fire, he was the splash of cool water in the heat of summer. He was her favourite song, her best fitting jacket, that moment you could finally take off your boots at the end of a long day. To her, he would always be twelve and kind and sad, and seventeen and strong and yearning, but now he was something else too – he was twenty-two and scarred but still hoping, loving, and knowing there was something better out there for them. He was so confident that now they had fought so hard for their happiness, their freedom, that the universe would naturally bend, compensate, and let them have it for as long as they wanted it.

Only sky for miles, and miles, and miles.  

She had to match that confidence. She had to.

So, because he wanted her to, she didn’t try to take on the town and their ill feeling. She did, however, make sure Ruth Nolan, at the very least, understood the situation perfectly, and insisted she apologise for any wrongful blame she might have cast on Killian in the wake of her disappearance. And at Emma’s request she had done so, emphatically. In fact, she had cried when she thought of any additional pain she might have caused him, but Killian had dismissed her worry and forgiven her immediately. This, at least, was a victory that they could have.

In the clearing, Killian’s hand tightened on hers. Maybe he sensed her thoughts had wandered elsewhere.

The others were also stood, staring pensively at the dagger. Only two inches or so were buried into the soil, so the flat edge of the curved blade could still be seen, and so could the fact that there wasn’t a single name on it. No more names of those stolen in the middle of the night or sent crashing over clifftops; no more victims for the demon to want to keep score of.

But Emma did not want to be a victim.

She squeezed Killian’s hand, once, and then let go.

Feeling the others’ eyes on her, Emma stepped forward and crouched in front of the dagger, feeling that hiss of something other reaching out for her. It cajoled, it pleaded, it invited her to take another look, to give it one last chance, but it was easy to brush the tendrils of its hunger away now. There was no heat behind it. It was just metal in the earth; it held no power over her now.

Emma reached forward, clasping a hand around its hilt, and tugging it out of the soil. Dirt crumbled from the edge of the blade and dribbled onto the ground underneath.

Five years. Five years of her life.

“This will not define me,” she vowed.

In the end, they had taken it to the ravine. She could feel the dagger heating up against her palm the nearer they got, it knew, she could tell, but she hadn’t let that stop her from hurling it out into the air. It had arced neatly across the gorge before disappearing down below, the distant ripple of its landing in the river just barely visible from where they stood.

It was gone. It was over.

And she was home.

They all watched as the current continued to flow, the harsh purl of the river against the banks of the ravine a distant roar. This was near to where Liam had driven over, that much she knew. They all had ghosts they wanted buried down below.

“There’s still one thing I don’t understand,” Killian said, finally.

Mary Margaret let out an amused sound. “Only one?”

Her hand was curled around David’s arm, and she was leaning in close to him. They had spent the entire night talking when they had come back from Brooke House, and much of the following day. What they discussed David had kept close to his chest, even from Emma, but something about looking at them now made her heart want to burst. This was something they had all earnt.

Killian hummed in reply, but he was smiling. He quickly mastered it and tried to school his features into something a little more serious.

The hard line of his jaw, the beard she most definitely approved of, the barely visible scar on his right cheek. She loved him. She loved all of it.

“It’s just… it’s Liam. How did he know all that stuff about how to banish a demon? Or better yet, why didn’t he just hightail it out of town immediately after being threatened by a malevolent spirit?” Killian shook his head, a flicker of sadness crossing his features and Emma stepped a little closer to him. “He stayed, he made all those notes on the ritual, he went to talk to Belle, on his own… I was always only ever following in his footsteps. So how did he know to do all this by himself?”

They were all silent for a moment, eyes fixed on where the dagger had disappeared beneath the surface down below.

“Magic is… it’s real,” David said, almost disbelievingly, but Emma knew he didn’t doubt anymore.

Her fingertips tingled with possibility. Oh, how it changed the world.

“I guess it isn’t so farfetched to assume he was somebody that knew that.”

Killian looked distressed at the notion. “But why wouldn’t he tell me?”

“You were just a kid,” Regina offered, with almost uncharacteristic gentleness. “Maybe he would have, later.”

There was so much they still didn’t know, and perhaps they never would – Killian had told her that Liam had never really wanted to talk about their parents. Maybe there was something in that. Maybe there wasn’t. Maybe, in the end, Liam Jones had been just as scared as they all were, and had improvised as best he could.

Liam Jones. Five whole years – lost not just to her, but to all of them.

Brooke House would not, could not, take anything else from them now.

Regina turned to go, with Mary Margaret and David following close behind.

Killian and Emma hung back just a little, staring out into the gorge and down into the frothy waters below. It had been there for a couple of days now, that heaviness that hung around Killian’s shoulders like reluctance or trepidation, so finite you could miss it if you didn’t know the curve of his smile as intimately as Emma knew it.

And she knew what it had to mean, too.

She let out a long breath through her mouth. “You’re not staying, are you?”

Killian closed his eyes. After a few thinly stretched moments, he spoke.

“I always thought that once we got you back, everything would just… right itself. Storybrooke would feel like home again. Everything would be as it was before.”

Before, when they were teenagers and invincible and they could do anything just because anything was what they had always been told they could do. When the town could look at them all with fondness because that was how you looked at the promising next generation of likeminded neighbours; when there had been a bus waiting to take them to Augusta still fresh-faced, wide eyed, and about to get their lives started.

“But it can’t be like before,” Emma said, slipping her hand into his. “You know that.”

Oh, how it changed the world.

Killian sighed, like he knew this but did not want to be told it. He squeezed her hand.

“You know I’m coming too, right?” she informed him.

He instantly tried to pull away, shaking his head. “Emma, I couldn’t ask you to –”

“Then it’s a good thing you’re not asking,” she said firmly. “I’m telling you. You go, I go.”

Killian swallowed. “But… Ruth, David –”

“Going away doesn’t mean never coming back,” she pointed out. “You should know that better than anyone.”

This, he conceded.

“I love you,” he said.

Emma was surprised to see something like apprehension lingering in his expression as he said it, and when she thought on it she was startled to realise that might be the first time he had said it out loud. No conditions, no threats to life or limb or worse. It astonished her, but only because she felt like she had been hearing him say he loved her since she was twelve, in every deed or action that he had shaped tenderly and perfectly just for her.

Saying words, she decided, did not make them magic. It was everything else that made them so spellbinding.

She lifted a hand to his cheek and kissed him slowly, on the spot where it all began.

“I love you too.”

Hand in hand, they began their slow walk back to the treeline.

“So, where are we going?”

Killian rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “I hate to admit it, but Augusta really blew. Too damp. I was there for three months and it rained basically the entire time.”

“No way, it sucked? After all that build up?” she laughed. Killian nodded regretfully, but he was smiling.

“I was actually thinking – well. I went back to the group home a little while ago, and they said Archie moved to Portland. I have no idea if he’d still be there, but,” he lifted his shoulder in a half shrug, “I have some stuff I’d like to say to him. If – if there’s an opportunity to do so.”

Emma hummed a little in agreement. “That’s something else we have in common.”

Portland, then. She remembered that summer they spent the day traipsing around looking for a particular lobster restaurant that had turned up nothing besides one perfect, happy day with Killian. Maybe this time they’d have better luck. It filled her with immeasurable warmth to think on their lives together extending out in front of them, the red carpet to the show of her life, just now beginning again but ready to soar.

Killian was speaking, but Emma’s attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere; something had almost imperceptibly changed in the air, like a sound she had been hearing in her subconscious had dropped out without warning. She tensed. It was somehow a lot colder than it had been a moment ago, and gooseflesh erupted up her arms and down the back of her neck.

Subtly, so Killian wouldn’t notice, she turned her head to look over her shoulder.

There, at the edge of the ravine, stood the scaled man, his mouth wide to reveal a set of crooked, sharp teeth. His basket of spun gold twine stood proudly at his feet. He raised a hand to her in greeting, nails pointy and black –

She blinked and he was gone.

Her heart hammered one terrible thump against her ribcage.

Nothing could ever be like it was before.

Not now she carried the truth so tacitly; the truth that everyone knew but refused to speak aloud, keeping it hidden in the most desperate, sacred corner of their hearts.

Darkness never left you.

It was born with you, it died with you, and sometimes, in the middle, it liked to remind you that it was there.

-/-

Coda – Date Unknown

Mom had always told him not to play out by the creek, but he couldn’t help it. It was by far the most interesting part about visiting Grandma, since they had to spend the whole weekend there and the town always seemed to him like it would rather be fast asleep.  There was nothing to do; no arcade, no park, and only one diner that served the same six meals over and over without fail. Mom hated it when he complained, but he was eleven, not four, and Grandma was snoring half the time anyway. He needed to find entertainment somewhere.

But the creek was different. It was vivid where everything else was lazy, a sapphire current of fast but shallow water, with a tide that rose and fell so unpredictably that he had returned home with soaking wet sneakers more times than he could count. His favourite game was leaping from stone to stone as far out as he dared, until the water got deeper, so deep he couldn’t see to the bottom anymore, and tried to keep his balance and stop himself toppling in.

Today he was determined to make it a few stones farther than yesterday. There was a particularly sturdy looking one shaped like a tooth that stuck out in the centre, and he was sure if he could make it as far as the large, flat rock next to it, then he’d be able to balance on Tooth for a few moments and really feel like the King of the river.

He heard someone call his name and his heart leapt into his mouth – Dad. Shoot. Mom always sent Dad out looking for him when she thought he was by the creek. He still sounded a long way off, though. If he started now, there was a chance he could make it all the way out to Tooth and back before he was seen, and pretend he was just skimming the woods looking for rabbits.

He shirked his jacket and rolled it up into a ball, leaving it on the bank like a marker of where he needed to return to, and began hopping across his usual route. For a fleeting moment he almost lost his balance on the fourth rock, and paused to steady himself before starting out again. After a minute or so he made it to the stone he’d gotten to yesterday, something blocky but wide enough to hold him without concern.

Yesterday, Tooth had looked so far away, like something far beyond his reach. He was sure it was closer today.

Or, he decided eagerly, he was just bigger than he was yesterday.

Gathering his courage, he aimed for the large rock beside tooth and pushed off with a fierce leap – before landing in an unsteady huff exactly where he meant to. Elated, he couldn’t help it – he let out a crow of success, a loud and wild thing that echoed out into the walls of the cliff faces around him.

When Dad’s shouts started to grow louder and nearer, he realised that was probably not the best idea.

He hurriedly turned his attention to Tooth, jutting out from the fast current like the ancient fang of a mountain lion, or – or the end of the tusk of a woolly mammoth. Its tip was sharp and narrow, and he realised now, up close, that he would probably only be able to get one foot up onto it, which meant he wouldn’t be able to balance there for very long.

Before he could take the final step and make it there, something caught his eye under the surface of the water. Out here the river was deep and quick, and he wasn’t stupid enough to just stick his arm in and reach blindly, but something was definitely – there. It had to be something shiny, it kept reflecting the light of the sun back at him.

It was probably buried treasure! Gold or real sapphires, emeralds, something that would make Mom and Dad so pleased they wouldn’t even care that he’d been out by the creek.

Kneeling down, he examined it a little closer. It must be wedged into the side of Tooth, which was why it hadn’t been carried away by the current or sunk down to the waterbed. He reached into the water and wrapped his hand around it – it was surprisingly narrow, heavy and wedged tight.

He had to wiggle it about for a minute or two, slowly edging out from where it had gotten stuck, and after a final heave it suddenly came loose and his momentum almost sent him stumbling back into the water.

After regaining his balance, he paused to examine his prize.

With a surge of disappointment, he realised it wasn’t gold or jewels, but it was beautifully made – it made him think of the knights in his storybook or soldiers ready to fight a forever war. It was some kind of knife, but the blade was beautifully curved in a way he’d never seen in any picture book, like the long tail of a snake curling into a sharp, deadly point.

It looked like it could really do some damage. It filled him with a special kind of thrill when he considered it. It made him feel – powerful.

And it… it whispered, almost.

The sound of someone calling his name, from incredibly nearby, jerked him from his reverie.

There stood Dad, arms folded sternly beside his discarded jacket on the riverbank, looking cross.

Crap.

He wasn’t sure why, but something made him want to conceal his new discovery from his father, so he tucked it behind him while he yelled an apology. Dad looked annoyed, but in that relaxed, almost-fun sort of way that told him if he played his cards right, he might just call him rascal, ruffle his hair a little and not tell Mom about it all.

When Dad bent to pick up the rolled up jacket left on the riverbank, the boy used that half a second to spare another glance at the knife, resting temptingly in his palm.

“Come on, kid,” Dad called.

Yes, he heard someone say. Come. Listen.

The boy tightened his hand around the knife – no, dagger, the word suddenly came to him, fascinated by its curve.

“Henry!”

Henry stood quickly, stuffing the dagger hurriedly underneath his shirt to keep it from view.

“Yeah, yeah!” he called back, readying himself to hop back onto the next rock.

His heart quivered with the hum of a new adventure.

[darlinrogue]

matthew found himself getting anxious at every all elite pay-per-view. but something about this specific revolution—— this specific main event had him more worried than usual ‘exploding barbed-wire death match’… it had problems written all over it. biting nail after nail, cuticle after cuticle. “since pac’s going after the tag titles, adam’s next in line for kenny” he heard tony khan say from the headset in guerilla. matt’s heart stopped, right then and there. he had to find adam.

Matt

A few hours before the show Adam had scoped out his vantage point. A seat in the back on the ground floor at Daily’s Place. High-up, but not too far away. Even better it was an empty section. After his match with Hardy, Adam changed into street clothes, crept-out from backstage, and took his seat. While the street fight with Darby and Sting played on the big screen, the ring crew set-up for the so called, “Exploding Barbed Wire Death Match.” The crew wore thick leather gloves. They maneuvered pieces of hardware, metal, and explosives to the floor. Bryce looked like the marshmallow man from Ghostbusters. It was, without a doubt, the most elaborate, inane match idea Adam had ever seen. He never delved into that Death match shit. An occasional no DQ with chairs and table settled Adam’s need for violence, but this was next level. 

And it was the exact kinda bullshit that Kenny would come up with. 

The construction of a wrestling ring had always fascinated Adam. In his teenage years he shadowed production crews to shows. From them he learned how to square a ring by measuring the diagonal, how to lay down the boards, roll out the pads, and lash down the mats. Then, tightening the ropes and tying in the turnbuckles. For the cheaper productions, duct tape repaired holes torn in the apron. All the little things he didn’t have to do anymore now that he was a ‘star.’ Part of Adam missed the days on the indies when he’d show-up a day early for set-up and leave late for tear down. Get to watch a show for free that way. Somehow, watching the AEW ring crew bind explosive barbed wire around the ropes didn’t make Adam feel very nostalgic, though. Instead something cold settled in the bottom of his stomach. 

Adam had brought a beer out with him and he brought the bottle to his lips. He watched the pyro tech guys rig-up the explosives with lines of electric wire. The ring crew were filtering out. The fight on the screen was winding down. Adam glanced over though as someone approached on his right. Wedging himself between the seats and coming down the row was Matt Jackson. He’d changed back into a gray, AEW jacket, his hair twisted into a quick and dirty bun. All he had for Adam was a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets and his throat bobbed, not meeting Adam’s gaze. Instead he focused on the dust laden concrete beneath his feet. Adam shifted in his seat, coming forward, elbows pressed into the arm rest. Matt chewed on his lip and then gestured at Adam’s hand. 

“You okay?” He asked, thinly. “Matt worked you over good.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine,” Adam said. “Just sore.”

He looked down at his hand. An athletic trainer had wrapped it in bandages and popped him a couple ibuprofen. There was nothing broken, just some bruising and swelling. Adam’d have to get an X-ray sooner rather than later, though. After the match high ran down though it hurt like a mother. Matt and Adam stared at each other for a second, before Adam tilted his head to the side. An indication and invitation for Matt to sit. Matt sunk into the chair beside Adam, hands rubbing over his knees. His fingers pattered over his thighs and he shifted, exuding nervous energy. When he settled back into the chair it was like he was sitting back into the barbed wire in the ring.

“Congratulations, on beating the carny though,” Matt offered with a small laugh. “You guys had a good match. What are you going to do with the money?”

“Oh, yeah, uh, well I was thinking,” Adam began, he put his beer on the floor by his feet and leaned back. “I need a new lawnmower and there’s enough to pay off the mortgage— I don’t need much else so like, I told them to just, just to give the rest to some cause. Someone mentioned the public schools in Jacksonville? I liked that, so that’s kinda what we went with.”

“Seriously?” Matt breathed. “That’s amazing, Adam.”

“Fuck, I don’t want that money anyway, makes me feel dirty,” Adam admitted. He sucked on his cheek. “Chris and MJF didn’t beat you up too much did they? Ya’ll pulled it out, but it was kinda brutal to watch.”

“Oh, so you watched our match?” Matt noted. They looked at each other and something warm sparked in Adam’s chest. “Takes more than a baseball bat to keep me down. Besides that’s nothing compared to— to all this.”

Matt’s voice rasped as he flicked his finger towards the completed ring. Adam followed his gaze and got what he meant. It wasn’t the barbed wire or the explosives. It was the anticipation of seeing Kenny in the middle of that ring. Kenny, bloodied and burned and hurting, with his life on the line. There was a long, long list of shit that could go wrong. And Adam and Matt shared in common a worry wort gene. It was in their nature to look at a set-up like that, then let their minds run to all the terrifying possibilities. It was the inner instinct of ‘older brother’ in them. The shit going on Matt’s mind had already crossed Adam’s a half-dozen times. 

Injury, pain, and even death, were the risks of their sport, everyone who stepped in the ring had comes to terms with their mortality.  It wasn’t often though that Adam sat down for a match and was fully level with the idea that one of his oldest friends may actually die. It was a ‘holy shit’ moment, this was how far they’d come. Well over a year ago Adam remembered the way Kenny’s voice cracked over the phone when he talked about Mox. The desperate, twisted edge in his tone, jagged as broken glass. It was obsession rolled with a fragile mental health teetering over the abyss of fear, anxiety, and depression. All Adam had done was stand back and watch as Kenny was crowded to the cliff. Then, Adam witnessed the merciless hand shove Kenny over. And now, at the bottom, body and mind broken over the rocks, Kenny challenged Mox to an Exploding Barbed Wire Death Match. The entire Elite had hit rockbottom in the past six months at least once but none of them had involved explosives. 

“Kenny’s gone off the fucking deep end, man” Adam observed, like he was commenting on the weather. He picked-up his beer from the floor and took a sip. “This is batshit. You let him do this?”

“It’s not like he asked us?!” Matt protested, his hands fluttered around him. “TK approved it and you know, it’s his show. Besides, it’s not exactly like Kenny is talking to us right now.” 

Adam shifted in his seat. He and Kenny hadn’t been on speaking terms since October. A long run of almost six months as they awkwardly avoided each other in the hallways. Of course, Adam had his handful of ignored, attempted phone calls and double texts from back when the tag-team broke-up. He’d kept abreast of the Elite’s crazy drama and then felt quietly grateful he wasn’t apart of it. Forsaken doors, Barbed Wire Death Matches; literally everything to do with Don Callis, Impact, and the Good Brothers— no thanks. Adam got why he was out of the loop, though. Kenny getting sick of his shit and kicking him out of his life was inevitable as it was deserved— But, Kenny wasn’t talking to the Bucks either? That was a red flag. Shit, Adam shouldn’t be worried about Kenny, grown ass man that he was but—Adam took another sip from his beer and returned it to its spot by his feet. Yeah, he was kinda worried about Kenny.

“Why are you even out here?” Matt asked, an edge of accusation in his voice. 

“Shit, I dunno, figured if my old tag-partner was gonna get blown-up I should at least be here to witness it?” Adam speculated, with a shrug. The buzzing crowd indicated the end of the Street Fight that Adam had been ignoring. Whispers of anticipation floated through the arena. “Maybe— I just got some shit on my mind. Trying to figure out what comes next.” 

“You’re in the rankings,” Matt blurted-out. Adam glanced at Matt and met his eyes. His face was stricken in the stark lights and his throat bobbed. Music hit, Mox’s theme, moments before Adam could even think up an answer. 

Mox wasn’t a bullet point on Adam’s list of relations. He was just a guy he occasionally saw backstage or in production meetings. They’d been in a ring once before. Adam kinda saw him as this hardened badass with a devil may care attitude. A weird, enigmatic guy with a prickly attitude and a hardened reputation. The flash of a silver flask, drawn from Mox’s inner jacket pocket, spoke to Adam though in a way few else in the arena would get. He understood the motivation behind the deep drink Mox indulged. If a guy like Jon Moxley needed alcohol to steady his nerves, then shit, it was really that bad. Kenny’s entrance then, was a nail in the coffin. He dressed subdued, in jeans and a shirt instead of elaborate gear. No bullshit spiel from Justin Roberts, just his music, and the belt. Adam worked his jaw and took some solace from his own beverage. Besides him, Matt shifted and squirmed, his thumb at his mouth gnawing on his already bitten down nail.

Before Ring of Honor shipped him off to Japan, Adam was never into Japanese wrestling. His library of matches included the DVR recordings of WWF matches, the local shit you could get on the TV, and eventually, the various indie shows across the South-East he attended. It was all catch wrestling, some technical shit, and whatever the Hardys were doing. Death matches, likewise, were a joke in the schools and shows he attended. “How many commas?” Was the refrain for what it’d take to get an average wrestler to do something as stupid as involve barbed wire in a match. Therefore, a Japanese, Exploding, Barbed Wire, Death Match, was completely out of Adam’s wheel house. He had no idea what to expect. What he got when the bell rang was totally outside of the realm of his imagination. 

It was the little shit: Kenny was dead serious, Mox made the sign of the cross, and the methodical, slow pace they set.  It was all physical strength as they jostled, tied-up with each other, all too aware of the limitations of the ring. After a year as his tag-partner, Adam was familiar with Kenny’s style. His explosive speed, how he worked the ropes, and his overwhelming energy. This was a different Kenny, almost uncomfortable in the confines of his cage. Close calls, pushing, prodding, biting each other, trying to force the other into barbed wire they treated with the respect it deserved it. Mox beat Kenny with every instrument available and Adam knew the way Kenny writhed was genuine. When Kenny sent Mox into the far ropes and a flash of fire sent billows of smoke into the arena, Matt gripped Adam’s hand like it was an instinctive reflex. He squeezed, hard, pressing his fingers around Adam’s palm. Pain shot-up Adam’s arm like a bolt of lightning. Adam hissed and reached over to pry Matt off his injured hand. 

“Jesus, Matt,” Adam hissed. 

Matt murmured apologies and yet his grip just switched to Adam’s wrist instead, which wasn’t much better because Adam’s whole arm was sore. Since apparently Matt needed to cling to something, Adam hooked his whole right arm around Matt’s shoulders. Then reached his left hand over to grip Matt’s hand. It was awkward and the armrest dug into Adam’s ribs but Matt rested his head in the crook of Adam’s shoulder, so it worked. Their fingers interlaced and Adam could only imagine how fucking goofy they looked. If the cameras happened to pick them up in the crowd they would never live it down. At least, Kenny had his footing in the match, he was in control, working over Mox, looking for that pin— Adam wasn’t sure if he was rooting for Kenny or not. Or, if he just kinda wanted this to be over because it was evidently mentally ripping Matt to shreds. 

Wanted this to be over, the belt out of Kenny’s hands, and somewhere else, where it couldn’t be between them anymore. 

Blood and smoke, broken hardware, torn skin. Kenny in the ropes, blinded by the dust, begging for water for his burned eyes. Matt’s breath, high in his throat, turning his face into Adam’s shoulder. And Adam just watched. He watched and forgot about the beer warming to room temperature by his side. A pressure built in his jaw, and yet, he couldn’t look away. No clear thoughts surfaced, nothing solid, or real. Just ideas, images, tangled together with the scene before him like the barbed wire wrapped around Mox’s arm. He didn’t allow himself to settle. Didn’t allow himself to latch onto anything, just let it all drift, staying in the moment of the violence, pain, and brutality of two men literally trying to kill each other. The sight of Kenny’s blood, red, crimson, staining his white shirt, and marring his pale skin burned Adam’s vision.

He thought back to Full Gear. The way he could tell Kenny was in his head. Always a half-step ahead. And that whole match Adam was working his ass off just to keep-up. Trying to wiggle his way into opening, taking advantage of every opportunity like a life line. He’d watched that match back a hundred times and he could every single one of his mistakes. He found a new error to fixate on each time he hit the replay button. The truth was that physically, Kenny had no significant advantage over Adam. In fact, Adam knew he had all the benefits of superior strength, better cardio, and youth. In skill, there was nothing dividing them— After that tag-team run, Adam knew he could hang with Omega. What kept Adam back, what left him behind, in the shadow of Kenny was himself. His own tangled thoughts and anxieties, burning a hole in his heart. He had stared-up the lights, like a crashed angel, and kinda accepted that final pin.

Like, he just gave-up, after bearing the burden of a year from hell. Let it all roll off his shoulders. Atlas shrugged, and the world shattered. And in the midst of broken glass, he had rebuilt. With no end goal in mind. Just, kinda up, kinda forward, one step at a time, gazed fixated on his toes so he didn’t slip in his own blood, and not ahead, and now he was looking at the ring. Accepting the smoke and blood and tears and sweat, the desperate men swinging punch-drunk as the ten minute warning sounded. It was an observation, he could note it, and let the moment past. Adam was in the rankings, number three last Tuesday, maybe higher next Tuesday. It didn’t mean anything, it didn’t have to mean anything. 

Didn’t have to do anything but just sit here and hold Matt. 

When the Good Brothers rushed out to the ring Matt sighed and laughed, but it was high-pitched, shaking his head. Adam watched Mox go through the chair in a One Winged Angel but all Matt was muttering was that he ‘couldn’t take this anymore.’ He didn’t want to see the ending, but he did hear the three count, and Adam admitted that his masochist desire had puttered out. So, he pushed Matt to his feet and they slid through the rows to escape the arena. Outside, fresh air, cool and tinged with the taste of the metallic city, brushed against Adam’s heated face.  Matt walked to the curb outside Daily’s place and collapsed. He sat there, breathing hard and fast, head between his knees, some, strangled, broken noise erupting from his throat. Adam shoved his hands in his jean pockets and sat down next to him. A lot of noises erupted from the arena behind them but the sounds muddled with the traffic, sirens, people, nothing distinct.

“Hey,” Adam whispered, reaching for Matt’s shoulder. He placed his hand in the crook of Matt’s neck and gathered him closer to his side. Matt was still hyperventilating and so Adam ordered firmly, but not unkindly, “dude, slow down. Take a deep breath. It’s okay, it’s over.”

Matt’s entire body trembled and Adam had half a mind to break six months of radio silence by calling Nick to tell him to come get his brother. Instead, Matt collapsed against Adam, burying his face in his chest as for the first time in probably an hour, he breathed. Every tensed muscle unraveled beneath Adam’s hand as all the fight left Matt. Tears tracked trails of dust down Matt’s cheeks and Adam hummed, low in his throat. It was something content, a pleased purr. He always liked feeling useful, needed, relied upon, and to have Matt physically leaning on him like this— felt good. It felt right. He’d been dropping the Bucks and Kenny, fumbling like an idiot, for a while now. Maybe now, when he felt a little stronger, a little more firm, he could hold them right. 

Maybe— 

Maybe, and the thought trailed off without conclusion. 

“I hate this, why can’t it just be over,” Matt gasped into Adam’s shirt. “Why can’t we— why can’t we just, just be friends again?! We should never have left Japan. This shit wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t made this damn company. AEW was supposed to be fun, and all it did was just—just tear us apart.”

Against Adam’s thigh, Matt fisted his hand, nails biting into his palm. Adam placed his chin on top of Matt’s head. He didn’t respond to his question because he didn’t have an answer. No response that was adequate. Just a recap of all their broken dreams and failures. Matt knew the story. He didn’t need Adam to try to fix this. Adam couldn’t fix this but he could be here. He could do that. 

“I want things back to how they were,” Matt admitted, and his voice was softer, but hitched with a sob. 

“I don’t,” Adam said. 

Matt stiffened under Adam’s arm. And Adam had a feeling the thoughts that came to his mind weren’t the most gentle thing to say to Matt as he spiraled off a panic attack— but they were maybe the things Matt needed to hear. 

“I hated being in the EVP room,” Adam continued, and his voice shook. “I hated living in your shadows. I hated watching you guys go out with Kenny and be in his corner, while I always had my matches alone. I hated— I hated being the weak link. I hated never feeling like I belonged. Like, I never deserved to be your friend.”

“Hangman—” Matt pulled back to look at Adam, his eyes wet with tears. 

“No, no, Matt listen,” Adam insisted. He hooked his hand around the back of Matt’s neck. “This shit, would’ve happened in Japan, or NXT, or Ring of Honor, no matter where we went. Because wherever you go, there you are, and we carried our baggage here.”

“I just had no idea we made you so miserable,” Matt confessed. “That we made you—”

“Dude, I made myself miserable,” Adam laughed, interrupting him. “All up in my head and shit, and I’m done with that. I’m done with the bullshit and the drama. Maybe, I’m not the best, but I just wanna—I wanna focus on, I don’t know, having fun? Doing what I can. Forget about the stupid title.”

“So, you’re not going to challenge Kenny?” Matt asked. He reached for Adam’s face, pressed his palm to Adam’s cheek. Adam shivered under his touch, tongue darting out to wet his lips. 

“I don’t know,” Adam admitted. He ducked his head but Matt smoothed his thumb over Adam’s cheekbone and forced him to look up again. Forced him to meet Matt’s dark eyes, and Adam had no choice but to think, Holy shit, I love him. So, he whispered and confided, “I don’t know if I can.”

“I think you can,” Matt said. He inched closer so they were thigh-to-thigh, he tilted Adam’s face down to knock their foreheads together. Adam could hear the smile on his lips. “Someone has to knock some sense into Kenny. I don’t want to see my best friends fight but—”

“Matt,” Adam sighed. His hand reached across to Matt’s opposite hip. 

“What?” Matt asked. Adam nuzzled his nose into his cheek. “Adam?”

“Nothing,” Adam smiled. 

And he couldn’t help but to wonder why Matt believed in him when no one else did. What he saw that he recognized as potential. Matt’s patience as Adam strayed and wandered— that the frustration, read more as worry now than anger. And it was Adam that Matt sought out tonight. And Matt wasn’t shoving him away as he leaned in, the ghost of his breath on Matt’s bottom lip. Then, Matt’s phone rang and he was cussing, digging into his pockets. He checked the collar ID, noted it was Nick and murmured bashful excuses to Adam before answering. Adam leaned back on his hands, scratching his boot heels against the pavement. 

“Hey, man,” Matt intoned, a hand running through his hair. HIs voice was still raw and he swallowed hard, putting on a mask of cool, stoicism for his little brother. “What’s up?”

Adam heard the low rumble of Nick’s voice on the other side. Chewing out Matt for vanishing during production. TK needed them ASAP, and Matt was nodding, promising he’d show-up soon. He just needed some time to get some fresh air. 

“Is everyone okay?” Matt asked, and Adam leaned forward to hear the response.

“Yeah, everyone’s okay, Kenny, Mox, and fucking, Eddie? He ran out there right before the bomb went off, the idiot,” Nick grumbled. “But it was a fucking dud. It didn’t go off at all— the fans actually boo’ed, I can’t tell if TK is furious or relieved. I mean, Kenny made it so I don’t know what we expected—”

Adam choked on a laugh, leaning his elbows on his knees. His entire shoulders shook as cackles broke out of his chest and he covered his mouth to hide the noise. Adam barely registered Nick asking Matt who he was with before Matt hung-up the phone. Matt shook his head and then he was laughing too, breaking the tide of all the bundled, nervous fear that had held them. Adam knew in his head there was way more shit to work out between them. That they weren’t out of the woods yet and his heart was too tender, too fragile, to take another break but— it felt better. 

In some ways, it almost felt good, and ‘almost good’ is a state Adam hadn’t been in for a long time. 

“You should uh, go do your job,” Adam suggested. 

Matt pushed to his feet and Adam stood too. He felt that awkwardness, the unacknowledged weirdness of almost making out with your not-best-friend, or the fact that they’re supposed to hate each other right now. All the crap that was still between them, all the land mines of conversations not yet triggered. Maybe, they were untangling the barbed wire. Closing the distance inch-by-inch, and it was magnetic, almost inevitable— but Adam wasn’t sure if he was ready to stand beside Matt. Maybe because he was afraid of being hurt again. Maybe because he was dead terrified of the air in the EVP room when he was swallowing all his words. Maybe, because he had always walked behind, and never beside.

He asked Matt, last year, for a little more time, and apparently, he still needed a little more yet.

“Yeah, uh, talk to you later, I guess,” Matt managed. When he breathed there was a shutter, the residuals of his panic attack. Adam figured if he was with his brother, he’d be fine. Nick would take care of him. Adam worried about a lot things but he never worried about the Bucks because they always had each other. 

“Yeah,” Adam nodded. “See ya.”

Matt turned back to the arena first. Adam stood there, watching him walking away and refusing to let his thoughts roll over it. 

It is what it is. 

[thank-god-and-you]

[Read Secretum Lingua Caritate on FFN]

Requested by @silly-beggar

Anna comes across the younger members of staff crowded around the table, giggling together over something or other. There’s no Mrs. Hughes around, which she supposes is why they feel at ease enough to do so.

“What’s all this, then?” she asks. At the sound of her voice, they all jerk around. There’s a scramble to hide whatever it is they’re poring over. Anna spies Gwen in their midst, her face clashing admirably with her hair. Thomas is the only one who shows not the slightest hint of guilt, fishing a cigarette out of his pocket and lighting it up.

“Why, are you gonna go running to Mrs. Hughes?” he asks through a plume of smoke.

She scowls at him. “Of course not.” That’s rather rich, really, coming from the first footman, who is always in the middle of some scheme or another, and would go to the butler or the housekeeper at the first opportunity if it meant he was getting someone else into trouble. Hadn’t he and Miss O’Brien already tried that, when Mr. Bates had first arrived? There had been no missing the snide remarks they’d made about not wanting Mr. Bates to overexert and hurt himself.

“Leave her alone, Thomas,” says Gwen, finding her voice in the face of Thomas’ words. “Anna’s not like that.” She moves to tug something from behind one of the younger maids’ backs, then lays it flat on the table. It’s a magazine. “This is what we were looking at.”

Anna moves closer to the table, peering at the photograph which is splashed across the full spread.

“Where’d you get this?” she asks, pulling it closer for a better look.

“Maisie’s beau works in the newsagents in Thirsk. She asked him to get us a copy if he could. So he did. It’s only a bit of fun. We’re not hurting anything.”

“I know,” Anna reassures her, but she doesn’t think Mrs. Hughes would see it the same way. As housekeeper, it’s her staunch duty to keep the young women under her charge in line, and she’d likely have a fit if she knew they were sneaking about looking at glamorous pictures of movie stars. It would give them all the wrong idea, she’d say, and install a false sense of entitlement into them.

She probably doesn’t give them enough credit for understanding their limits, but at the same time Anna can hardly blame her. The world is a dangerous place for women, an unfortunate lesson she learned a long time ago.

Still, she can’t deny that she likes looking at the glamour, either. She doesn’t feel envious of what Lady Mary and the other Crawley girls have, not like some might, but sometimes she does wonder what it might have been like if she’d been born into different circumstances. There’s no harm in escaping into a daydream every once in a while.

Lily evidently agrees with her; she sidles up beside her, peering over her shoulder.

“He’s so handsome, isn’t he?” the younger housemaid sighed, gesturing at the picture of Owen Moore.

“He’s all right, I suppose,” said Daisy. “Nowhere near as handsome as Thomas, though.” She sneaks a look in the footman’s direction to gauge how her words have been received. Thomas smirks at her, glancing himself in William’s direction. The boy looks distraught, like a puppy who has been kicked by its owner. Anna feels sorry for him. If only Daisy could see what a kind heart William has.

Alas, she is far too enamoured with Thomas to spare a thought for anyone else. Smiling glibly in Thomas’ direction, she scarpers away when Mrs. Patmore’s irate tone rings through the vicinity.

Most of the others take that as their cue to get back to work. Lily picks up the magazine and, after taking one last wistful look at Owen Moore, she closes it and hands it back to Maisie. With a furtive look, Maisie sneaks it out of the room.

It’s not until much later in the evening that Anna gives the magazine another thought.

The candles are burning low in their holders, globs of wax running down the sides like milk tears. Yawning, Anna rubs at her eyes and glances down at her work. The hem of Lady Mary’s dress is almost finished.

“You should go to bed.”

Mr. Bates’ quiet voice almost makes her jump; they’ve been sitting in such companiable silence at opposite sides of the table for an hour now, and she’d almost forgotten he was there. She glances up at him to find him giving her a soft look, less guarded by the midnight hour and the soft haze of tiredness shimmering in his eyes. Her stomach does a funny flop, and she busies her hands again to distract from the sensation.

“I’ve got to get this done. Lady Mary wants it for the morning. I ought to have finished it sooner. It’s my own fault.”

“I doubt it. Three girls to dress and your other duties as head housemaid? That would be unmanageable for most.”

“It’s a good job I’m not ‘most’, then,” she says, tongue in cheek, and his gaze softens further.

“No,” he agrees, “you’re not.” Then, realising that he might have said too much, he clears his throat and adds, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You can keep talking to me, if you’d like,” she says. “That might keep me awake.”

“Or perhaps it will put you to sleep. I’m hardly the most riveting company.”

“Don’t talk about yourself that way,” she scolds. “I think you’re wonderful company.”

The words linger between them for a moment, but Mr. Bates rushes to fill the silence left behind, a crack in his usually stoic veneer. “The other maids seemed to be in high spirits tonight. I caught Lily and Gwen with something, but they hid it from me. I hope it wasn’t something they shouldn’t have. Mrs. Hughes would have their guts for garters if it was.”

Anna snorts. “Oh, I don’t doubt that.”

“I wanted to say something to them, but I didn’t want to come across as lecturing them when it isn’t my place. But if the colour of Gwen’s face was anything to go on…”

Anna laughs again. “Poor Gwen’s face always goes that colour whenever she’s feeling strong emotions. The curse of having that lovely ginger hair, I suppose.”

“Perhaps you could have a gentle word with them? The last thing I want to see is them losing their positions.”

“You’re very sweet to worry, Mr. Bates, but I can assure you that there’s nothing to worry about.” She lowers her voice an octave in case there are any other servants lurking around in the darkness—she wouldn’t put that past Thomas or Miss O’Brien. “Maisie brought in one of those movie magazines, that’s all. Most of the girls have been swooning over the pictures inside. Just a harmless bit of fun, that’s all. But if Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson got wind of it there would be hell to pay, so they’ve tried not to make it too obvious.”

“And failed miserably,” Mr. Bates says, his lips twitching. “The pair of them looked guilty as sin when I caught them. Mrs. Hughes has the nose for trouble that a bloodhound might for scenting out a rabbit. They’re doomed.”

“You have very little faith.”

“More like I have a lot in Mrs. Hughes.”

They share a laugh. Anna goes back to her sewing. Mr. Bates opens his book.

“So,” he says as he flicks through the pages, his tone too casual, “did you have a look yourself?”

Surprised, Anna pauses. “Have a look at what?”

“The handsome movie stars.”

Heat creeps into her own cheeks. “Don’t tell me you’ll give me away to Mrs. Hughes.”

“Never. I just expected the head housemaid to set a better example to her younger and more impressionable charges.” His eyes are twinkling. Still, there is something odd about his tone as he probes, “So, did you?”

“I might have.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“What did you think? Did any in particular catch your eye? I’ve heard on the grapevine that Owen Moore is quite popular with the ladies.”

Anna remembers his picture in the magazine. He is handsome, tall and dark, with smouldering eyes. “He’s handsome enough, but he’s not really someone I would be interested in.”

Mr. Bates shakes his head in disbelief. “I never thought I’d hear a woman say that about one of the most handsome and charming men in the world.”

“Handsome and charming are often in the eye of the beholder.”

“Oh? Care to elaborate?”

She glances across the table at kind hazel eyes and a gentle smile and soft, round features.

She tries not to think about the way her tummy flutters when he leans in to whisper something in her ear, or the way her heart skips a beat when his hand brushes over hers, or the dreams she’s had about fitting herself against his comforting bulk and reaching for his mouth…

How he can make her laugh like no one else with just a wry word, how her gaze is drawn irresistibly to him no matter where h is the in the room, how there’s a dull ache in her chest whenever he goes down to London with his lordship.

How all of those things happen so effortlessly, so naturally, without Mr. Bates even realising.

“Anna?”

His voice breaks through the spell now; she realises that she’s been staring in silence for too long. Averting her eyes back to her embroidery, she busies her hands once more.

“Perhaps one day I will,” she murmurs.

[grapefruitsketches]

Untamed Spring Fest - Day 17: Rest

1,652 Words

Lan Sizhui & Wei Wuxian & Lan Wangji, post canon, canon compliant, basically just fluff with some feelings, Wangxian being husbands & fathers 

“Ah, A-Yuan. Make sure you try some of the noodles at Master Zhao’s while you’re in Qinghe. The number 5 is the best.” Wei Wuxian sighed dreamily, thinking of dinners past as he twirled Chenqing lazily in his hand. He was sitting on the bed, leaning casually against the pillows.

“Master Zhao’s. Number 5.” Lan Sizhui nodded with determination, “I will try it.”

“Order the number 2.” Lan Wangji recommended, sweeping his sleeves back as he sat at his guqin table.

“Ah, you’ve been there too Hanguang-Jun?” Sizhui asked, “What’s the…?”

“You’ve been there too…who?” Wei Wuxian interrupted, raising an eyebrow at Sizhui. had crossed his arms and sat up straighter as he faced his son.

Sizhui blushed, “You’re been there too, father?” Wei Wuxian smiled in approval and resumed his lounging.

“Mn,” Hanguang-Jun nodded.

Sizhui still wasn’t quite used to being able to openly call either of them “father” so openly (though in Hanguang-Jun’s case, he was more than used to calling him that in his head.) After Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had shocked the cultivation world (or at least the part of it that didn’t know either of them well, so shocking all but about eight people) on returning from their elopement and once even Lan Qiren seemed to grudgingly accept that the Yiling Patriarch lived in Cloud Recesses now, Wei Wuxian had insisted that Sizhui called them both father, not just in family settings, but in public as well. He was very serious about enforcing this - and seemingly only this - rule.

Lan Sizhui had hesitated when Wei Wuxian had first asked, worried that this was some elaborate attempt at teasing Lan Wangji - something he very much did not want to be a part of. But Sizhui had finally given in, with Wei Wuxian hiding and watching from behind a wall. “Do you know a good score for easing pain, f-father?” he had asked. The look Hanguang-Jun had given him, the corners of his lips upturned nearly imperceptibly with a slight raise in his eyebrows, the movements minor shifting his whole expression, had made Sizhui sorry he hadn’t tried it sooner. Hanguang-Jun had been pleased.

Sizhui still slipped up sometimes, just like he still failed to respond to A-Yuan sometimes, a name that had been almost entirely avoided during his childhood in the Cloud Recesses, but he was always happy to fix the mistake, trying to make up for lost time.

“But why the number 2?” Sizhui pressed, his original question still having gone unasked. He was unused to Hanguang-Jun having such strong opinions on anything as trivial and basic as food.

“The number 2 is more suitable for… “ a brief sideways look at his husband, “someone used to Lan diets.”

“Lan Zhaaan” Wei Wuxian groaned, “You’re no fun.” Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes at Sizhui, gesturing at his son’s other father with a thumb, “He forgets. I was the one who fed you when you were a baby, A-Yuan. I know the proper Yunmeng tastebuds are in you somewhere, even after my dear husband tried to ruin you.”

Sizhui frowned, “I thought I heard Uncle Ning mention once that he did all the cooking?”

A sharp huff and a smirk from the guqin table indicated Lan Wangji’s version of uproarious laughter. Wei Wuxian pouted, “And who do you think grew and paid for all that food? So ungrateful. I’m hurt, A-Yuan,” he clutched his chest dramatically.

Sizhui laughed, “Sorry, sorry. I’ll try a bit of both 2 and 5, and let you know which one I liked when I get back?”

Wei Wuxian grinned, “You hear that Lan Zhan? Our son is going to come back a true, Yunmeng, spice-loving man.”

Lan Wangji ignored hi, instead he started plucking the guqin strings, warming up. Sizhui, understanding the signal, sat down by his own guqin, set up on the smaller table next to Hanguang-Jun’s, designed for just this purpose though for a much younger and smaller Sizhui.

Sizhui leaned closer to his Lan father and whispered, “As long as it’s better than the congee he made in Yi City, I’ll be fine.” A smile curled on Hanguang-Jun’s face, but he remained silent.

“What? What was that?” Wei Wuxian leapt off of the bed, he shook Chenqing at them in an accusatory manner, “You two can’t be sharing jokes behind my back. Sizhui, you know better, if you only test your sense of humour on Hanguang-Jun, you’ll end up a very boring person.” Wei Wuxian cast a sidelong glance at his husband, grinning at some private joke.

Sizhui chuckled, and closed his eyes as he tried to calm his breath, to concentrate on the guqin strings.

Wei Wuxian put Chenqing to his lips and looked expectantly to his husband. While the three often spent evenings together, tonight had a special purpose. Tomorrow, Lan Sizhui would leave for Qinghe. Lan Jingyi would join him, as would Clan Leader Jin, Ouyang Zizhen, and a handful of other young cultivators from the Jiang and, once they arrived, Nie Sects.

It had all been arranged by Jin Ling. Since leaving Guanyin Temple, Clan Leader Jin had apparently been corresponding heavily with Jiang Cheng and Nie Huaisang, seeking advice and permission on how the clans might work together to properly deal with, not just suppress, the dangerous saber spirits remaining in Qinghe. Nie Huaisang had initially been resistant to letting other clans interfere with Nie affairs. Jiang Cheng had thought that the whole idea was far too dangerous. Eventually, Jin Ling had gotten his way, including his demands that young cultivators from each of the major clans be invited to join, and that the leader of the investigation should be a cultivator from his own generation. This leader would have to be approved by all four clans. Lan Sizhui had been easily suggested and approved as the cultivator receiving this honour.

When Lan Sizhui had first heard about all this, he couldn’t help but remember how Jin Ling’s voice shook whenever he described the moment Wen Ning had burst into the Temple, barely able to control the spirit even while the Twin Jades both sought to suppress it. He was not surprised that Jin Ling had gone to such lengths to establish a plan to prevent this from happening again, and was proud to be his friend.

Wei Wuxian had remarked to Lan Wangji how much he had underestimated Jin Ling’s political prowess. Assembling a group composed of and lead exclusively by cultivators around his age for such a difficult and noble purpose would help solidify his generation as ready to take on their own responsibilities, no longer the Juniors of their respective clans. This would probably quiet some of the remaining whispers about Jin Ling’s age in Lanling.

Regardless of Jin Ling’s motivations, this was a deep honour for Sizhui. A well-deserved one, as his fathers, Jingyi, and Zizhen (in a very flowery letter) had not failed to tell him, repeatedly. Sizhui had been nervous though. He had been on night hunts without back up before, but never for something as significant to the cultivation world as this. Still, he was excited, and had spent almost every waking hour in the library over the last few months, researching anything he could about the Nie Sect’s history, the suppression and redirection of resentful energy (with the help of one father), and various musical scores that might come in handy (with the help of his other father). Tonight was the culmination of all this study. He would play the guqin with his fathers one last time before departing. Any remaining corrections would be made, any final suggestions given, but most importantly, Sizhui would spend his last night in the Cloud Recesses under his parents’ roof, a last moment of childhood before the journey that would designate him as an adult, a leader in the eyes of the cultivation world. Safe, loved, and supported.

They played. Soft melodies. Harsh melodies. Healing melodies. At 8:45 precisely, Sizhui yawned, trying and failing to hide this from his fathers. He played through the rest of the melody anyway, but as he raised his hands to begin one more piece, Wei Wuxian lowered his flute and put a hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you rest your eyes for a moment? Just a moment,” the Yiling Patriarch suggested gently, living up to his title in a way never contemplated by those who had given it, but in the way it had always suited him best.

Sizhui opened his mouth to protest, but only blinked slowly and yawned more widely. He looked to Lan Wangji, who nodded in agreement, and began to play the soothing melody Lan Sizhui had fallen asleep to so often and so easily over his life. His blinks grew longer with each passing moment until his head was drawn gently to the table, resting on his arms.

He was fast asleep by 8:55.

The two fathers watched their son for a few moments, waiting for his breathing to slow, making sure he was truly asleep, after his long evening of playing the guqin so well even the guqin Wangji might have been jealous. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji exchanged a look over their son’s head, one so tender and proud that even the most stubborn skeptics of their little family could not have doubted if they had seen it. One at a time, they kissed their son’s sleeping head, Wei Wuxian pulling a blanket over him and pulling the tail of Sizhui’s headband out of his face, Lan Wangji readjusting the blanket and lifting Sizhui’s head to place a pillow underneath.

They would worry, they would be anxious for his return from the moment he left. But he was ready. He was their son, and soon the whole world would understand why they both felt so lucky that he called them his fathers.

[cassandrium360]

A Million Miles Away

So I've always loved royalty stories, but one thing that's always bothered me is that the 'reluctant ruler' always ends up taking the throne. Well... what if they just weren't right for the role, and couldn't take the pressure? That's how this story was born.

Varian is a prince here, but his heart isn't in it, and Cass is his guard who's only been given the role because he fought for her. Hope you enjoy! Also, to be clear,  Varian is near nineteen here!!

--

Varian slowly let out a breath he had kept locked in his chest far too long. He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing all his attention on the slow drawl of his breaths. One after the other, in a rhythmic sort of way. He let the cool darkness relax him for a moment. Here, he could almost pretend he was alone. Like things were normal. Free.

A thud sounded from the room he stood in all too quickly, bringing him back to where he stood surrounded by servants. He glanced over to where one of them was busy picking up a tray of pins they had knocked over in their hasty preparations. In all honesty, Varian didn’t know why they were working so fervently, after all, the ball wouldn’t be for hours, right?

He was drawn from his thoughts once more by the soft clearing of a throat, the man standing to his right motioning for him to lift his arm to the side. Varian did as he was told, sighing as he felt the quick motions of the needle putting the finishing pieces onto his outfit. His gaze flicked over to the window, and not for the first time he wished someone would open it.

The room felt suffocatingly hot, and him having stood in place for the batter part of an hour did nothing to satiate that. The dull sunlight of late afternoon lazily flickering through the sparse tops of some rich pine trees. These were the times when he envied the guards and servants. True, they may not have had as much freedom as most, but it was still leagues more than him. They were free to walk the grounds unattended whenever they pleased, to chase any dream that called out to them without a thought back.

The girl who had knocked over the tray then stepped in front of him, obscuring his view of the outside world entirely. She began working on his hair, no doubt trying to tame the unruly mess he knew it to be. He watched as she pulled out a few sizes of combs, continuing her musings.

He vaguely heard the snap of the thread being broken, signalling the end of the incessant work on his suit. He rested his aching arm back down at his side, smiling slightly as his appearance was finally deemed acceptable.

He offered them all a smile on their way out, it falling from his face the minute the deep oak door thudded shut. He was finally alone, which seemed an increasingly rare occurrence these days. He moved slightly towards his bed, considering just throwing himself onto it. He slowly let out a bated breath, thinking better of damaging the appearance the castle’s servants had worked so hard to create.

Varian let his eyes run aimlessly around the large room, finally allowing them to rest on the mirror standing in the corner. He carefully made his way over to it, frown deepening as he took in the sight painted before him. The suit was grand, his hair was perfect.... but the person he saw standing before him was entirely unknown to him. His gaze widened as his eyes traced up the length of the stiff fabric to his hair.

His hairstripe. They had pinned it back, or more specifically, beneath the other ‘normal’ parts of his hair. The one thing about his appearance he thought no one could change, try as they might to hide it.

Varian’s shoulders lowered, his eyes moving to the ground, noticing nothing as they landed there. He was a fraud. They wanted a prince who would love these customs. Who would stand as tall as they asked him to. Who didn’t need to be hidden beneath layers of delicately crafted lies to be impressive.

He clenched his fists, pushing back the soft tears that nodded at the back of his eyes, unwilling to let them fall. “I’m sorry father,” he whispered to himself, bringing his arms to wrap around his torso. Why couldn’t he just be the strong leader his people deserved? He didn’t even know why he was crying! Over a hairstyle? Over a little annoyance like having to be dressed? The king would shake his head in shame if he could see him like this. And for good reason too, Varian deserved his father’s disapproval. His heart wasn’t in this, and the kingdom, his father, knew it. After all, his words from a few weeks awhile still rang true...

——

Varian coughed slightly, waving away the small cloud of smoke that has resulted from an overheated test tube before him. “Alright,” he spoke to himself, “Lower the temperature... maybe a little less sulphur?” he breathed, hastily scribbling those thoughts into his notebook.

The spark of the flame as a new test tube was rested above it reflected in his eyes as he carefully lifted a cut slice of the metal to add to his experiment. He moved his face back as he released the chemical, mentally crossing his fingers that it wouldn’t trigger an explosion this time; the last thing he needed was the guards he knew lurked just beyond the door to burst in here.

He pumped his fist in the air as the metal easily dissolved, the colour moving to a slightly darker one as it did. “Finally!” He said, excitedly marking the experiment as a success on the long worn paper. He couldn’t contain the smile on his face, eyes sparkling with new ideas to test with his compound with as he moved to his shelf, eyes scanning the labels for what he needed.

The door opened suddenly, the noise startling Varian slightly, pulling him from his plans for a second. “Oh, father,” he said, his smile leaching into his voice. “You wouldn’t believe it! The compound I’ve been trying to crack for weeks, it finally progressed! Turns out all I needed was a little more...” his ramblings were cut off by a raise of the king’s hand.

Varian dropped his hands to his sides at his father’s disinterest, looking up at the older man for what he had to say that was important enough for him to come down to Varian’s lab in the middle of the day. He could count the times his father had had entered there on his hands, despite him spending countless hours there since he had been a small child.

“Son, you’re eighteen now. In a few years you’ll be ready to take the throne.” He began, voice leaving no room for questioning. Something Varian guessed would prove useful as king. “The guard informed me of some... accidents that happened down here.”

Varian opened his mouth to assure his father they were nothing, but was cut off once again by his father’s outstretched hand. “You’re far too reckless, Varian. Don’t you think our people deserve a king who dedicates his time to learning ways to help them rather than silly projects like this?” he said, gesturing slightly to the room before him.

“But that’s the thing, dad! These experiments can help your people! If you would just give me a little more time to...” he said, all excitement ended by his father heavily resting his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. Varian drew his eyes nervously up to meet his father’s stern gaze, fearing the disappointment he knew he would find there.

“I’ve allowed you far too much time out into this already. It’s time for you to grow up; take your future seriously, and our peoples’ future as well. No more distractions.” Quirin finished, turning to make his way back out of the room.

——

Varian remembered the feeling that had clawed at his chest at those words. He hadn’t cried. He knew he didn’t deserve to. What his father said felt like a knife shoved into his side, but he couldn’t debate the truth they wielded.

He remembered falling to the floor, world spinning, as the words slammed through his mind over and over again. His chest had shaken, but no tears came, and for that he had been glad. What his father said had opened a wound he had fought so long to ignore, and one that he hadn’t been able to since.

He would be a terrible king. The people deserved someone who would rule them with fairness and passion. Someone who deserved the life of luxury handed to him. Someone entirely like his father, and just the opposite of him. Yet here he was, sculpted into the image of a perfect prince that he would never have been able to attain on his own. He was a fraud.

A knock sounded at his door, the firm rasp bringing him from his thoughts quickly. “Sir, the guests are waiting on your entrance.” Came an unfamiliar voice from beyond his sight.

Varian quickly scrubbed any remaining fragments of tears from his eyes, “Just a moment,” he said, voice wavering despite his best efforts to steady it. He stole one last glance into the mirror, taking in his red eyes and perfect clothes. “Come on Var, be the king they deserve.”

He strode confidently, or as close of a semblance as he could muster, over towards the edge of his room. He could do this. Despite how much it hurt, he could put aside his passions for his people. He could study hard, work with his father, become worthy of the crown he would soon be handed. One step at a time.

If he repeated those words long enough, maybe they’d somehow come true.

——

Sooner than he would’ve liked, Varian found himself standing before the entrance to the ballroom. He had been here dozens of times before; the elaborate oak doors would be pushed aside, and he would come in at the top of a grand set of stairs at the head of the room.

He knew exactly what to expect, yet he still found himself trying to slow the breaths that always seemed to speed up before events like this. He knew that hundreds of eyes would fall on him alone the second that barrier was removed, it should have gotten easier by now, but perhaps it would be something he’d never adjust to.

Varian allowed himself to shut his eyes for a moment, steeling himself for the night ahead as he heard the announcer introduce him. This was it; too late to run. He forced himself to draw in a deep breath, however hasty it may have been. He was meant to be a model of confidence, reassuring to all in attendance... yeah, right. He just had to get past the entrance.

The doors were pushed aside by men in suits much more simple than the one he wore, and he took a shaky step forward, the light of the party pouring out over his thin frame as he came to the top of the stairs. He opened his eyes, all noise ceasing as the nobility crowding the room turned to face him.

Varian felt his heart begin to quicken, breaths clawing to get out his chest, yet only shallow ones would come. He pulled at the edge of his jacket nervously, forcing his vision to remain steady despite the hundreds of colours blurring indistinguishably together. He could feel the hundreds of eyes rested upon him, boring into him as he stood there.

His mind screamed at him, a mix of fears and rules slamming together in a wave of thoughts that he couldn’t think enough to understand at the moment. He had to do something. He urged himself to take a step forward, towards the crowd, but he found his feet unmoving. His eyes darted around the room at such a speed he couldn’t process anything he was seeing, until finally, they landed on the familiar face of his father towards the edge of the crowd.

Guilt crashed into his chest, knocking any breath that had been held there previously far away from his grasp. Not knowing what else to do, Varian ran.

He turned, ignoring the protests of the doormen, running as fast as his burning legs and aching chest would carry him back down the dark corridor. He ran through the halls at a speed he hadn’t known he was able to, finding himself unable to breathe within the suffocating walls of the palace.

He noticed a large glass door, shoving it out of his way with as much force as he could, relishing in the sudden cool of the night air pressing against his skin.

He took in a deep breath of the air that was far from stuffy, leaning into the rail of the balcony he had stepped on to. His head pounded as he stood there, looking out at the palace grounds below. He looked over to the palace wall; the walls in which he had lived his life, and felt tears come to his eyes much more quickly than they had before.

The hot tears poured down his face, shaking his chest with the silent sobs as they did. His ribs pressed hard against the carved stone. He couldn’t do this. Live this lie that he had convinced himself he was cut out for. He couldn’t pretend he was what the people wanted - needed -, couldn’t force himself to become what his father wanted. He wanted freedom. From the guards, the servants, from the pressure he couldn’t bear any longer.

He rested for a moment, revelling in the still night air surrounding him, gently rustling his still styled hair. He felt his heart rate slow as he stood there, his sobs softening into streams of tears which he didn’t care to control. Varian watched as they dripped onto his hands, gripping the railing as if it were a lifeline.

He heard the door hit lightly against the wall as someone stepped out onto the balcony, no doubt sent to return him to the ball. His blurry gaze remained on his hands as he heard soft footsteps trailing closer to him.

“Evening, your royal highness,” she said lightly, moving to stand next to him, “That was some entrance you made back there.”

“Cassie.” His shoulders released an unknown tension as he realized it was her, rather than some other guard. His frown only deepened however, “Have you ever...” he began, shaking his head to cut himself off. He wasn’t sure he had words to describe what he was feeling anyway.

“Have I ever...?” She prompted, lightly bumping her shoulder against his as she waited for him to speak. Varian would never be able to express his gratitude to her for their friendship. She didn’t treat him as if he were leagues away from her as the other workers in the palace did, and she never pushed him to speak quickly as his father did. She simply let him... exist. Whatever way he wanted to.

“Have you ever felt... trapped?” He said, teary voice breaking on the last word. He watched her pause for a moment at that, and almost regretted saying it. It was dumb, she wasn’t held by pressures the same way he was, he should never have even asked. But he trusted her opinion, and couldn’t bring himself to retract it.

“I did. For a long time. Until you changed that,” she said, glancing towards the star dotted sky hanging high above them. “You fought for my place here. No one would... I was trapped by their expectations of me; of what I should be - not exactly the lady everyone hoped for - and because of that, they thought they knew who I was, what I could do.” She said, breathing out a heavy sigh at that. “You changed all of that. Heck, I’m surprised you didn’t get disowned, stepping out of place like that, demanding the guard give me a shot… I’m not sure how many people see who I really am, but at least one scrawny scientist does.”

She turned to face him at that, a soft smile pulling at her lips as she swiftly pulled the pins out of his hair, blue stripe falling in front of his eyes in one motion.

Varian couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh at that, tight smile on his lips too as he lifted his eyes to finally meet hers. A scientist. He never thought being called something other than what he was could feel so... freeing. His heart leapt at the thought of what could be possible if it were true, if he wasn’t destined to be prince.

That thought didn’t last long though as he saw another set of guards pass by the open door, the harsh light of the hallway spilling out into the night, “Thank you, I’m just- I can’t...” he trailed off, voice breaking as he spoke. He couldn’t do this any longer. Tonight he would leave. Leave the castle, leave this life, everything. For good.

Cass simply squeezed his shoulder, offering him a reassuring smile, “I better get back to the party before they notice I’m missing; take your time coming back,” she said, slowly turning back towards the palace.

“Goodbye, Cassie,” he whispered, and if she faltered slightly at that, Varian didn’t notice.

——

Varian’s vision was blurred, tears trailing down his face. His chest shook slightly, refusing to fully give in to the sobs that threatened to overtake him. The teardrops fell onto his shaking hands as he quickly shoved some clothes into a cloth bag.

This decision was the only one he had ever been sure of. He should feel relieved, he would be passing his duties as prince off to someone who would do them justice, would be able to help the people better than he could ever dream of. But he felt only fear moving through his veins with each slam of his heart against his chest.

He didn't have a plan. Didn't know where to go, what to say. The rational part of his brain told him to wait, to bother thinking this through. But Varian quickly shoved that notion aside. He couldn't stand the pressure the crown pushed against his head for another day. Leaving it behind would be the best for everyone.

He set down the shirt he held in his grasp. “I’m doing the right thing,” he whispered, tears slowing at the words. Not an ounce of him doubted it, which was strange for an over thinker like him. He let his breathing flow back to normal as he paused for a moment. He was finally free of the lie he had worn for so long.

His eyes shot open at the sound of his door handle clicking, Varian furiously rubbing the trails of tears in a desperate vie to make them disappear as he whirled around to face the noise. His heart spiked for a moment as he subconsciously stepped in front of the bag he had been packing, belongings strewn about beside it.

“Where are you going?” Cass said, voice less confused than Varian had expected as she spoke. She gestured to the mess behind him, eyes concerned as they ran over his reddened face.

He shouldn't have been surprised it was her; it was always her. That, and the fact that no one else would dare step into his room without being invited first. He had always been glad that she ignored formalities when everyone else had their gaze turned. It made him feel like he could break free of the string that held him back.

Varian shook his head, quickly jumping back into the conversation at hand. “Cass! Uh- nowhere. Just, y’know, a bit of cleaning!” He motioned to the science supplies set gently on his silk pillow, “Getting rid of this stuff, focusing more, just like dad said!”

He pursed his lips at the way his sentences had all rushed together, words stumbling into each other in a clumsy manner. He glanced up at her, the expression highlighted by her raised brows confirming his suspicions that she had seen right through him. Maybe he had just gotten used to letting her see past his front.

“You’re a horrible liar, hairstripe,” she said, crossing the space between them. The slight smile dropped off her face as she continued, “So that’s what this is about? Your dad?”

He shut his eyes, turning his head away from her. The room fell silent for a long moment, the only sound being Varian’s heartbeat, which overwhelmed his ears the longer he stood.

“I can’t.” His voice cracked at the small truth, tears slowly growing behind his eyelids. “I’m, I’m just not cut out to be king. I’m wrong for this- all of it! I can’t just stay here locked in this… this cage-” His eyes all too quickly flew open as he threw his arm out to the room in front of him, “-until I screw up so badly it can’t be fixed.”

A beat passed as Cass rested her hand on his shoulder gently. “I don't want this life. It isn’t me,” he said, voice lowering into a whisper as he finally dragged his light blue eyes up to meet hers.

She took a step back from him, moving over to cast a glance out the large window across the room. Varian wiped at his eyes once again, the space next to him feeling cold in her absence. His heart skipped as he watched her, hoping she wasn't about to stop his plan before it began. A small part of him nagged he could trust her more than that, but his tired mind couldn't focus on that in the moment.

“The ball’s ending, guards are still posted outside,” she said, carefully pushing the thick red curtain aside as she peered down to the courtyard below. “They’ll be off duty just before dawn, we’ll leave then,” she said definitively, finally moving to face him.

“We?” he asked, mind still racing to piece together her words.

She smiled towards him, “You think I’m going to let you go on this adventure without me?”

Varian’s heart swelled at her words. He allowed himself to breathe in the relief at the prospect of not taking this journey alone for a second, before quickly snapping back into the present. He forcefully shook the thought from his mind, guilt already piling onto him for considering it. “I can’t let you do this, Cassie,” he said, voice too quiet. He let out a shaky breath, “You have a whole life here, you can’t just throw that away.” He cut himself off before the ‘for me” could slip past his lips.

She rolled her eyes at that, the usual commitment behind the action missing. “I’m barely a low ranking guard. Even the new recruits get more responsibilities than me. They only…” she trailed off, eyes shining as she shook her head. She turned her attention to her glove, tugging at the edge of the dark fabric as she gathered her next sentence. “Wherever we end up, I’ll find a guard that lets me earn my place.”

Varian could feel his resolve crumbling as she spoke, guilt dripping away as quickly as it had appeared. She wanted this too. Maybe they were more similar than he had thought before tonight. “But your dad-” he started weakly, digging the toe of his boot into the carpet beneath it.

“-Will be fine,” she finished, “I’ll explain in a note, he’ll be glad I’m chasing my destiny. Besides,” She stepped closer to him, “There’s no rule saying we can’t eventually come back. Who knows where our path’ll lead.”

Varian smiled up at her, this one genuine as it poured into his eyes, moving in the place tears had been not long before. This would be a new beginning. One both of them had been waiting years for.

“Now finish packing. I’ll meet you back here at first light,” she said, taking a step towards the still open door, flickering torch light signalling the way.

“Cassie?” he said, causing her to pause for a breath. “Thank you.” He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, nervous smile still more genuine than he had worn in as long as either of them could remember. Their eyes remained connected for longer than either fully realized, both wordlessly sharing dreams of their new path, glad to have someone to travel it with.

“Any time, your highness.” Her lips wore a soft smile as she slipped back down the hallway.

[scribeofmorpheus]

Chasing Tornadoes {1/6}

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Series Warnings: poorly written medical procedural, mild delving into spirituality, language, overbearing egos, graphic descriptions of medical procedures. more warnings to be added.

A/N: Quick change to the fic, the reader is actually a Fellow not a Resident, Nurse or Physician

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3

Taglist is open -comment or send an ask!

<< Previously ○ Next >>

~

Four hours, that's how long you’d been on your feet running from one patient's room to the next.

During your short coffee break, you had heard one of the interns say that the doctors sent in from Metro General had arrived and were making their rounds. You kept an ear open in the hopes you'd hear Christine's name, but you had no such luck. After the day you were having, a friendly face would be a welcoming sight.

Mike, the newest fellow at Grace Fields Memorial burst through the lounge doors and grabbed your half-finished coffee out of your hands and into his. In one shot, he downed all the contents in the styrofoam cup and sighed deeply -hand stretched out to you for a top-up once the cup was empty.

You shook your head and let out a sigh, grabbing the metal coffee pot from the hot plate, "How many hours are you running on?"

Mike stretched and nodded a thank you after his cup was refilled. You placed the pot back on the hob and poured yourself a fresh cup. He glanced down at his watch and counted backwards, "You've been here what? Three, four hours? That makes it close to six hours for me." He moaned something unintelligible into his cup as he chugged the bitter coffee.

You rubbed his shoulder and his body swayed with your motion as if he was a ragdoll, "It's not that bad. Remember the collapsed scaffolding incident last fall?"

Mike groaned into his cup again as he remembered what you spoke of, "Yeah, that was a disaster, but still nowhere near as intense as this. We had more on-call then too. Damned tornado hit at the worst time. Most of the senior staff were at the medical conference at the university in the next town over."

Mike rubbed his eyes and then stretched out of the couch. He placed his cup on the coffee table, dark liquid sloshing out over the rim.

"Hey, you're doing good," you reassured him as you finished your own cup of coffee. You glanced up at the wall clock and rotated your shoulder cuff to work a tense muscle. "I gotta get back out there. Any news on Doctor Weisz?"

"Uh-uh, still dead as a doornail on that front. I've met our relief team though. One of them is a right prick," Mike sucked in air through his teeth.

You bit your lip and cooed out in a teasing tone, "Aww, is Mikey not getting along with the other doctors?"

Mike frowned, "Just the one, actually."

"There's plenty of sand for all of us in this sandbox, you gotta learn to play nice sooner or later."

With a frown, he whipped his head in your direction, "That's not even a saying!"

You ignored his comment, "Who's got you all wound up anywa--"

"Code blue, ICU. Code blue, ICU," the PA system blared with a siren ringing at a lower pitch than the feminine voice coming from the speakers.

"Shit, that's one of mine," Mike darted out of the door and raced passed the crowds of doctors, patients, paramedics and family members cramping the halls.

You were about to follow after him when one of the interns you were supervising today -Arlene- jogged to your side and handed you a chart, "Jan sent me over, said she's got a walk-in. A regular of yours."

You read the name on the top of the chart, "Marcy? Shit… What’s her condition?"

The intern fumbled, too squirrely to admit she didn't have the answer to that question.

Seeing Arlene stand on jittery legs and sweat anxiously next to you made you uneasy, her stressed energies were sapping onto you and you didn't need any more stress as it was, "Arlene, head down to Trauma Two, one of my patients is down there, check his vitals and bandages. Then head over to ICU and see if Mike needs a hand."

Arlene nodded skittishly before jogging away from you, her maroon coloured scrubs melting together with the others.

After looking over Marcy’s chart briefly, you clicked your tongue. You had hoped you wouldn't be seeing her so soon after her last discharge.

You stepped into Treatment Four and pulled your mouth muscles in a forced smile as you pumped the sanitiser bottle and smeared the colourless, alcohol smelling disinfectant all over your hands.

Marcy pulled the breathing apparatus off her face, the elastic stretching around her full cheeks, "Bet you thought you wouldn't be seeing me so soon." she coughed out in a raspy voice, the grinding of her lungs sounding out prominently through each laboured breath. That wasn't a good sign.

You pretended to be looking over her chart with scalpel sharp focus as you pleasantly replied, "For my favourite patient, I'm always happy for an impromptu visit."

You tucked the chart under your shoulder and checked Marcy's vitals and body temperature. Her skin was pasty and moist, sweat causing her hair to stick to her face.

You made with some small talk to keep the mood light despite finding her fever and shivering lip alarming, "How are you feeling champ -Isn't it mid-terms soon? All those mid-night cramming sessions got the best of you huh?"

"Yeah," Marcy laughed, but that caused her to start coughing even more violently, "Mid-terms are hell."

"You still on the albuterol we prescribed?" You asked her while using the stethoscope to hear her lungs better.

Marcy nodded.

"Good, deep breath," you ordered.

After the chest examination, you looked up to regard one of the fellows in the room with you, "Get a CBP and a chest X-Ray set up. Oh and get some blood work drawn up too."

"Yes, doctor," the intern said before rushing out of the room.

"I think I caught a cold," Marcy guessed, her lip sinking into a disappointed pout.

You swivelled round to grab the fellow’s attention before she left, "Oh and uh, can we prep her for intubation just to be on the safe side."

"No!" Marcy shot up, fear in her eyes. "I've been intubated two times before. I'm not gonna go through it a third time.” When she placed her head back on the pillow, she mumbled out: “It won't make a difference anyhow."

You tried to reason with the young woman, "Marcy if it is pneumonia..."

"I know what that means," she placed the breathing mask back on her face. She was done with this conversation.

"Cancel the intubation," you told the fellow and moved on to check the swelling of Marcy's tonsils under her rounded jaw, "Don't worry, it's probably not pneumonia."

Even you didn’t believe your words. A strain in your face meant your smile was beginning to feel painful.

"Hey Marcy, new hair cut?" Arlene swiftly walked into the room and moved over to your ear so she could quietly whisper, "Uh, Y/N, you may want to head to the break-room."

You looked up at her, waiting for something more elaborative, but Arlene just scrunched her face in a weird manner.

"Alright, Marcy I'm going to leave you with Arlene here," you patted Marcy's knee under the blanket, her shivers ran up your arm.

You handed Arlene the charts and draped your stethoscope around your neck before heading down to the break-room.

Walking down the hallway, you heard the same group of EMT’s you bumped into when you arrived at the hospital a few hours ago push in a new patient whose leg’s were covered by a thin sheet. A blotch of stark red soaking at the material in the spot where a whole leg used to be, "36. Male. Right leg amputation!"

"Go to Treatment Six!" Jan ordered them as a resident pushed past you to get to the gurney.

Elroy, the hospital administrator frowned, his hand covering over his cell phone speaker, "Jan, how are all these walk-ins making it through? Set up a perimeter." He said hurriedly before disappearing into another area to bark orders at someone on the other line: "I don't care what your policy is. You get Doctor Weisz and the rest of my staff stuck on the other side of that bridge on a damn chopper and you do it now!"

Through the large glass windows of the break-room, you caught sight of Mike, hand slamming into his palm over and over again as he talked to someone in a less than civil manner. Next to him stood a taller, older and less ruffled looking man. He wore a long-coat, his slender fingers hooked around his pockets as he simply stood there and took Mike's aggressive shouts. He held himself with an air of sophistication that, you thought, made him seem pompous. You tried your best not to judge him by the highbrow he wore.

When you pushed open the door, you could hear Mike's words more clearly, "What gives you the right to waltz in here--"

The tall man smirked, "I'd hardly call performing a stellar tracheostomy a waltz."

Mike scrapped his scalp with his blunt nails, "That's what I'm talking about! You come in here, bark orders around, take over everyone else’s patients and then, on top of that, you have the audacity to challenge my expertise! This isn't Metro Gen pal, you aren't some superstar neurologist here! You're just a guy on loan."

“I believe the defining term in being a relief team is that your job is to relieve other doctors of their stressful workload and take on the cases they are not qualified to handle,” The man remarked matter-of-factly before cocking his head to the side. "Maybe if you were a resident instead of a fellow, your hospital wouldn't feel the need to call in more qualified personnel to aid with relief efforts."

Mike was turning a tomato shade of red and you had to drag him out of the break-room by his lanyard to prevent the argument from escalating.

However, before Mike was all the way out of the room, the tall man added: "Oh and it's neurosurgeon. Neurologists wouldn't know the right end of a scalpel if it hit them in the face."

"Can you believe that guy?" Mike whispered as he took several breaths through flaring nostrils.

"Don't mind him, he seems like a stick in the mud," you said. "Besides, you've been working nonstop going on--" you glanced up at the digital clock at the far side of the room. "Eight hours now. Take a walk, clear your head, then jump back into it."

Mike pressed his frame against the glass window, his chin pointed to the ceiling as he ran his hands over his face, "Feels like a never-ending nightmare. They just keep coming in and we're stretched so thin out here. Then that arrogant ass-hat came into my space and talked back at me like I was still a doe-eyed med student!"

"Arrogant huh?" You bit down on your lip as you tried to not find irony in his complaint.

"Don't give me that look," Mike whined as you held back a bubbly laugh. "I'm not arrogant. He's arrogant. There’s a difference."

"Hmm, you're just what? A walking encyclopaedia?"

"It's not my fault that I tend to know more than any Tom, Dick or Harry in any room at any given time."

“The picture of humility,” You snorted before shoving Mike, "Go walk it off."

"Yeah, yeah," he said as he dragged his feet away from you.

With one crisis averted, you made your way back into the break-room, retying your hair so any of the stray strands that got loose would be swept back.

"Y/N," you held out your hand for the tall, strange man to shake. He regarded you coolly. Not with distaste, but not with any interest either. That got on your nerves. He really was a whole other calibre of arrogant. You bet he boasted the ego of an entire planet too.

"Stephen Strange, on loan from Metro-Gen," he shook your hand lazily.

"Ahhh," you winced as soon as you recognised the name. He was the ex Christine constantly complained about. So all your assumptions had been correct.

Drats!

Stephen noticed your reaction and craned a brow high, "I take it you're familiar with my reputation?"

You pressed your lips together, "Oh, I am. Just maybe, not the reputation you're most known for."

Stephen's eyes darted about as he tried to connect the dots, "I don't follow..."

"I was Christine Palmer's roommate in college," you revealed.

"Ah, the hippie…" he said with distaste.

"I prefer the term non-denominational spiritualist if you insist on assigning titles," you said firmly. “But yes, the very same.”

Stephen couldn't tell if you were being serious or snarky, and honestly, neither could you, but the look on his face was worth it.

Before he could say anything else, the PA system called out: "Doctor Strange to the OR. Doctor Strange to the OR."

At the drop of a hat, Stephen was out of the break-room and striding down the hallway in a speedy gait. Seeing as how Marcy's tests hadn't come back yet, you decided to follow after him to prevent your idle mind from wondering.

The EEG's readings were all over the place. The usual rhythmic beeping of the machines were too quick, irregular. You watched from the theatre while Stephen was being dressed up in his surgical suit by the other attendings.

"What have we got?" He asked through his mask.

The attending sped him through the details, "Patient showed signs of cerebral oedema. Swelling near the hippocampus area. We administered manadol for pain and increased her dopamine drip but there was no change. We prepped her for surgery as soon as we were told we had a neurosurgeon on sight."

Mike walked in, fully prepped and determined.

Stephen turned to Mike, eyes narrowing in distaste, "I don't remember giving you an invite to my OR." The latex blue gloves smacked against his palms before he asked the room, "Where's the resident I was working with?"

Mike wheeled the tray of instruments closer to the operating table, "She clocked out. Did her twelve hours. I'm filing in."

"Fantastic," Stephen retorted laconically before positioning himself in front of the patient's shaved head. "Bet you're glad you had a neurosurgeon on loan after all?"

Mike's jaw tensed as he turned to give you a knowing look and you exhaled in exasperation for him.

The beeping and sound of metal instruments being dropped into the emesis basin was nearly muted by the classical music playing through the speakers. With hot, bright lights surrounding him, Stephen did his best to reduce the pressure around the swollen areas of the patient’s brain.

“What’s your policy on switching up that Bach to some Chuck Berry?” he asked in a breezy manner even though he was in the middle of a very delicate and arduous procedure. Some of the attendings laughed low at his odd question.

Mike sighed, “Unconventional, but then again no one’s ever made a music request during intra cranial surgery.”

Stephen chuckled, “There’s a first time for everything.”

The respirator whined while everyone in the operating room held themselves so stiffly that you almost thought them to be store mannequins.

"Swelling is alarmingly pronounced. I'm surprised she hasn't herniated," Stephen tossed his instruments into a clean emesis basin and the camera's placed close to the brain projected the fleshy pink image onto a TV screen next to Mike.

"Can I have some suction," Stephen instructed Mike. "Right here and here. More."

The patient's BP began to rise and Stephen quickly said, "I'll cauterise this before we go deeper."

Mike's eyes went large with worry as the patient's BP continued to rise. He tried to protest but was cut short, “We’ve gotta stabilise before—“

“If I want your opinion, I’ll ask… fellow,” Stephen silenced him and focused on his work.

During the whole ordeal, Stephen's hands stayed remarkably steady. You’d be lying if you didn’t see some merit to his unpleasant behaviour. He’d earned his right to be arrogant and rude, most people were simply raised that way. And even though that side of his personality didn’t sit well with you, you couldn’t deny that his skill was unparalleled to any you’d ever seen before. You worried that you’d soon find another reason to think him admirable.

After the surgery, you and Mike took solace in an empty corridor, wiping sweat off your brows with a relieved groan. You had been so on edge, you hadn't realised how accelerated your heart-rate was until you were in a quiet setting.

"I knew I should have specialised in pathology," Mike joked as he held his knees.

"I need a sedative," you sighed.

Mike laughed forcefully.

Right then, Stephen walked around the corner with a pep in his step, "Self-medicating while on duty, I know a particular doctor who would give me quite the tongue lashing in ethics if she heard me make that joke."

Mike straightened up, his pride set aside for a bear moment, "Listen, we got off on the wrong foot. I'm not averse to setting aside my differences and my opinions of you -no matter how low they are- to admit that you were right… earlier. I'm sorry I pulled rank."

"I usually am," Stephen replied nonchalantly.

"What I'm trying to say is… thank you," Mike held out his hand in a show of good faith.

Stephen looked down at it and wiggled his bloody, gloved digits at him, "Wouldn't want to bloody your hands." His words sounded more mocking than sincere.

You narrowed your eyes at Stephen and he simply winked back at you. Mike’s ears started turning pink.

"My work here is done, she's your patient again," Stephen informed him. "Make sure to keep her stable. I don't want to have to get called back into OR over your incompetence." Having had the last word, he walked away, leaving you and Mike dumbfounded.

"Lord give me strength not to strangle him with his stethoscope!" Mike looked up at the ceiling with his palms pressed together in mock prayer.

“If you don’t, I just might,” You shook your head and kneed Mike’s thigh, "Come on, coffee is on me."

"We work in a hospital, there's no such thing as coffee. Never mind that, the coffee’s free!"

You tittered with no humour, dragging Mike by his lanyard, "Fine, then let me buy you a free cup of whatever stands-in for real coffee in this hospital."

Arlene had found you with your mouth full of a blueberry scone you had bought from a vending machine in the lounge. She handed you Marcy's test results with a downcast face.

"Dammit," you barely managed to enunciate the whole word accurately from all the dry pastry stuffed in your cheeks. You pointed to a sealed bottle of water and Arlene unscrewed the cap and handed the metallic bottle to you. After a few swigs, you concentrated on analysing the test results.

Disgruntled, you walked over to the computers in the lab to have a glance at Marcy’s medical file. There was no logical reason for doing this, you just didn’t have the heart to face Marcy just yet and you thought slaving away over computer files was a better alternative.

Out of your peripheral, a pair of slender, long fingers grabbed Marcy's clipboard off the desk. You didn’t need to turn to see who it was, you knew it was Stephen from the sight of his hands.

He mouthed out the important factoids like he was reading over a shopping list, "Cystic fibrosis. Contracted pneumonia. Hasn't been intubated?" his pitch went high as he craned his head to the side to gawk at you. "I don't think I need to tell you why intubation is paramount in these cases."

"No you don't," you said sharply, ignoring his searching gaze.

"Then why hasn't the patient been intubated?"

"Her name is Marcy and she refused."

Stephen was in a snit, “Is Marcy the name of a new gospel all of a sudden? What does it matter what her name is?”

You fingers rubbed at your eyes under your glasses, “A person’s name matters. Hers is Marcy and she refused.” You repeated yourself.

He rolled his eyes in frustration, "I wouldn’t care if it was Cher in there who refused to be intubated. You don’t take ‘No’ for an answer in these cases! It's your duty to inform the patient of what the best decision for their well being is. And then you're supposed to help them make that decision, despite what they do or don't want."

“I see your stint at Metro Gen taught you nothing, huh?”

“There was never any stint. I was just doing my job. As you should be.”

You took off your reading glasses, the bluish haze that once filtered your vision was taken away with them. "Marcy is entitled to her choice. She's been robbed of so much else in her life, she deserves that much."

"How old is this patient anyway? 20, 22?" He asked.

You nodded, "Just about."

"Right, so you're telling me you were capable of making such important, life-altering decisions at that age?"

You tucked your glasses into your pocket and stood from the chair, "It doesn't matter how I feel about this decision. It's hers. She's made it."

The pads of Stephen’s fingers dug at his forehead to ease the throbbing. With that simple action, you felt the need to explain Marcy's situation further.

"Look, I met Marcy when I was still an intern. She's been in and out of here for years. She's been on the waiting list for half that time. All her life, she’s been waiting for a miracle -we all have- but it just hasn't come… Waiting that long, fighting that long, it can wear down even the strongest resolves. Not that you'd know what that's like. I’m assuming you make it a habit not to know your patient’s names."

“I’m not paid by the hour to be nice and to memorise names. I don’t prioritize relying on hopes and prayers to save someone. I save them with my skills. Science saves them. There’s no reason for me to do more than is needed of me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with leaving a bit of room in your life for faith, Doctor. So far, science hasn’t been enough to get Marcy a viable donor. Unless you’re about to tell me you’ve got a compatible lung you aren’t using, since I’m pretty sure your cardio-vascular system isn’t in use either.”

He leaned in closer to whisper coldly, "You know you'll be forced to put her on a ventilator, though, I suspect, when that time comes, you'll have missed your window to make a difference. Unless you’re about to tell me you can heal the dying by praying the sickness away."

He smacked the back of the medical clipboard on the desk and you jumped, a soft gasp fluttering out of your mouth.

You fisted your hair and shut your eyes for a moment, the sound of Stephen's footsteps receding into nothingness.

You rapped your knuckles on Marcy's door out of politeness. She was half asleep when you sat down next to her.

Marcy removed her breathing mask, her breaths even more strained than before, "H-hey..."

"How are you feeling?" You checked her forehead, but you knew nothing had changed in her state. Maybe you simply wanted to be physically close to her, to let your strength flow through her.

"Like I could win a marathon," she joked. After a beat of silence, she said the words you’d been dreading to say in your stead, "It's bad, isn't it."

"You've got pneumonia," you said with a glum countenance.

"It's okay, we all knew it was a fifty-fifty shot, right," she struggled to whisper out her words.

You squeezed your jaw with your free hand, "Look, Marcy… I'm not promising things will change. And after a day like today, there probably doesn't seem like much reason to want to stick around and keep fighting the good fight, but… you gotta have faith kiddo."

Marcy chuckled, "Faith? Isn't science your religion?"

"A person can believe in more than one thing and I’m confident things will turn around. I feel it in my bones." you tucked Marcy's hair away from her face. "I've watched you fight CF far longer than I've been wearing this maroon monstrosity."

You both laughed.

You took her hand and looked her in the eye, "If I believe in anything, it's that you can beat this… but only if you consent to be intubated."

Marcy mulled over your words, conflict tightening her facial muscles. After a constricted breath that made you shudder, she replied: "Okay."

You felt a presence behind your shoulder, but you were too overwhelmed by the joy of hearing Marcy consent that you didn't bother turning around.

 You all but flopped onto Jan's desk after punching out.

"Long day?" she deadpanned while her fingers clacked away at the keyboard.

You simply groaned in response.

"Here you go," Jan placed your bag over the counter and you groaned again, head still resting on your folded arms. She huffed before continuing: "A guy named Teddy kept sending you messages. He says he enjoyed your time together and he would like to see you again. He also invited you out for drinks but I took the liberty of cancelling for you.”

You groaned even louder.

“On a less depressing note, I took the liberty of calling your favourite Greek place and telling Mr Elio- Eliptopo- Eliopto..."

"Eliopoulos," you corrected her, lifting your chin onto your arms. “I keep telling you, there’s no T.”

"Yeah, that guy. He'll have your regular all packed and ready to go. You just gotta swing over on the way back."

"I don't suppose you got me an Uber too?"

Jan smiled warmly before pulling her lips into a half-moon, "Unfortunately not, hon. But… I did get a call back from my neighbour, Ed -the guy who’s selling his Prius. He’s willing to lower the asking price after I buttered him up with some cornbread."

“How?” You blinked excitedly.

“Everybody loves my cornbread. Except you… you weird creature.”

"Jan, Jan, Jan, Jan..." you stroked her arm appreciatively. "Tell me why we aren't married again?"

She wiggled her ring finger, "I mean we could, but I don't know how my husband of thirteen years would take that."

"We could share?" you jabbed.

"Because that always works out," Jan chortled. "Get some rest, you look worse off than the people in the morgue."

"Ouch," you snapped your fingers. "Stay those claws."

Interrupting your moment, Stephen rushed out of the swinging doors with a tablet in his hand, he called after you with one arm raised in the air, "Hey Y/N, glad I caught you."

You looped your earrings back into your piercing holes, "If you're about to ask me to go back in--"

"I'm not here to boss you around, I promise," He held up his hands to calm you, Jan scooted closer with her desk chair to listen in better.

You popped your neck by accident as you tried to undo a knot in your back muscles, "Then?"

"A patient in Trauma Two didn't make it. He was a registered organ donor… and a match with your CF patient."

Light sparked in your eyes as water began to fill in your tear ducts, "Marcy got a match?"

Stephen nodded, "We put the donor on ice and we're waiting to prep Marcy for a transplant once all the legal red tape has been cut. I just thought you'd like to know."

A laugh rippled out from your chest as you flung your arms around Stephen's body. It was an awkward and ill-thought-out thing to do, but it had already happened. You could tell how uncomfortable Stephen was from how stiff his lean frame felt wrapped under your arms, he didn’t even try to hug you back. You pulled away and straightened your clothes as you cleared your throat.

"Sorry, that was unprofessional," you bit your bottom lip. "It's just… Marcy's been on the waiting list for so long, I- I… Thank you. I really needed some good news after the day we've had."

"It's a good thing you had faith in her, then," Stephen tucked his arms around his chest and hummed curtly. You could tell he wasn't comfortable with evoking faith into his conversational vocabulary. "I've got to get back in there before everything plummets into chaos. I'll see you tomorrow."

“Yeah, sure.” You stared at nothing in particular for a long pause.

Jan peeked over her computer screen monitor to watch Stephen stride away, "Hmm, if I wasn't happily married to some good dick..."

That brought you back down to earth.

You scrunched your face and tossed a pen at Jan, "Down girl."

Thunder and lightning had abated, leaving the dark sky peaceful and starless. The climb up the steps felt harrowing for your sore feet, but you kept going because sleeping on the step wasn't an option and Spike needed feeding.

"Honey, I'm home!" you called out for Spike while trying to jimmy the keys out of the keyhole. After a few tries, it came loose, but not before your knuckles slammed into your nose. "Ouch!"

You felt the urge to sneeze, to your chagrin, it wouldn't come. With a rustled of brown paper bags, you set your take-out onto the table and grabbed a plate and glass from the cupboard to dish out. Next, you rinsed Spike's bowl and scraped in some cut-up browning banana you had left out for too long and a few leaves of spinach and half a stalk of broccoli.

You carried both your plates to the living room and turned on the CD player. An old audio-book Mike had burned onto a CD for you had resumed from the last scene you'd listened to.

"Spike, you big fat lizard, get in here, you're missing it!" you called out for the large reptile. Through the chiming of bamboo sticks, you could just about make out his trademark growl sounding out from behind your vine infested arbour on your balcony.

You sighed, placed your plate on the coffee table and walked around your couch to pick Spike up, making sure to close the sliding door to your balcony shut. You set Spike down next to his bowl and continued idly munching on your yoghurt heavy meal while listening absentmindedly to the story unfolding over the CD player.

Before Spike finished half of his plate, you had passed out on the couch.

 To be continued...

Tags: @raindancer2004

Permatags: @gruffle1 @thechickvic @notawarriorjustyet @savethehoneeybees  

[looselucy]

Broken

January 12th I’d avoided it on Thursday. I’d avoided it on Friday. But on Saturday, when we’d closed the shop, I felt it was finally time. “So… Um… I… I hear you… kissed Libby.” I blurted.

Louis, who had been doing a wonderful job of stacking shelves, instantly whipped his head around so he was facing me, almost stumbling off the stepladder. I faked an innocent smile. “You saw that?” He seemed bewildered. “Uh… No. I heard it through the grapevine.” He shot me a look. “Okay, fine, she mentioned it to me. In passing! I didn’t really get the chance to grill her on it, so… I’m grilling you.” I didn’t want him to pry for answers about the conversation me and Libby had had about the kiss they’d shared, so I kept it simple, casual, like there wasn’t much to say. He got down off the ladders and approached the desk, so I closed the laptop, ready to talk it out, ready to act blasé but secretly attempt to remember everything he said, word for word, so that I could tell Libby his side of things as clearly as possible. “I’m surprised you’re the first one on my case, to be honest.” He seemed cool, calm. “I mean… everyone other than you and Harry was there! I guess I didn’t realise how fucked they were, I don’t think they even remember.” I already liked his attitude about it, and he hadn’t said anything on the actual topic at hand, really. I suppose I admired that he wasn’t squirming, he wasn’t shrugging it off or getting defensive. He seemed open, serene, and I knew I was going to get honest answers from him. Louis really was the best. “How did it even happen?” “We said we’d kiss, y’know, on a friend’s basis. Casual, whatever, I didn’t think much of it. But then… when we kissed it just… escalated. It was weird.” “I love that! It’s kinda exciting.” I grinned eagerly. “Maybe you’ve had like… loads of sexual chemistry all pent up and you didn’t even know it.” “It fucking seemed like it. Y’know those kisses where it’s like… everything else disappears, and you just wanna… grab them and… Yeah. You get it.” “I do.” I tittered, understanding why he didn’t want to elaborate. “I really do.” I had shared a similar kiss at the exact same time, though I wasn’t up for telling him that then. I wondered if I’d ever tell any of them what had happened between me and Harry, what we’d done in secret. I definitely didn’t have any plans to tell anyone, because it truly felt like some things really were better left unsaid, but I also couldn’t quite envision keeping something from them forever. I was hoping that in time, it wouldn’t even feel like I was keeping something from them, it wouldn’t feel like this big secret that had to be kept hidden, rather it would simply be a memory, a haze of recollections and bright images that would sift through my mind from time to time, unwavering, untroubling. One day we would just be a memory, a passion I had once experienced. One day. “I’m guessing you enjoyed it then?” “Uh, you could say that, yeah.” He was coy, cute. “No complaints from me.” “So… are you interested in… future kisses?” I asked timidly. I didn’t know what to expect from him, nor did I know what the best answer would be. I’d gotten rather giddy over the thought of them getting together for the past few days, but that was only looking at the ideal scenario, where everything worked out and they somehow ended up living their happily ever after together. It would have been a miracle if it all played out that smoothly, even I knew that. “Uh… I dunno. I guess it’s complicated, I dunno. I love Libby to bits, you know I think the world of her, but… I don’t wanna… twist our friendship into something it’s not.” “But what if you need that twist. What if changing it is the right thing to do. Maybe it shouldn’t… be a friendship. With that kinda chemistry, maybe you’d actually be twisting it into something better.” “But what if it doesn’t work out, and I lose her? Fuck that. I think it’s just… easier to keep things as it is. I love her, as a friend, and… I enjoyed kissing her, yeah, but that’s all I know right now. That’s all I know, and it’s gunna have to be enough.” I mumbled in agreement, not wanting to push anything, not wanting it to seem like I’d approached the topic with any kind of agenda, because I didn’t want to make things awkward when it needn’t have been. I actually thought Libby was likely to react well to what he’d said, since she was so unsure of what she wanted too. I just had this gut feeling, like they’d be missing out on something incredible. “You’re right. It’s probably for the best. I mean… I dunno where she stands, but I bet she agrees.” I tried to convince him further that Libby hadn’t said too much. “Look at you, as sensible as ever.” “Well, sometimes it’s a curse.” He huffed and rolled his eyes, going back to the shelves to finish his work for the day. I wondered what he meant by that, whether actually his head was ruling over his heart on the matter. I decided not to press further. It seemed our little group of friends was getting more and more complicated by the day, and the few of us who were aware of it were doing our best not to acknowledge it. I felt like I knew far too much for my own liking, hearing things from both Libby and Louis, knowing everything that had happened with me and Harry. It didn’t necessarily feel like a weight on my chest, but it was all very unfamiliar from a group of people who literally spoke about anything and everything. “What’s the plan tonight?” I asked cheerfully, moving the conversation along. “Pub. Tin Mouse. Get drunk.” “Shall we stay shut tomorrow? It’s always quiet in January. Sundays off are always good.” “Yeah, sounds good to me. I’ll get even drunker than I planned then.” I didn’t say it, but I definitely predicted that sparks would fly once again between him and Libby. With alcohol in the mix, I could definitely see the two of them being drawn to one another once again. I was intrigued to see how the evening would play out.

The night was dark, bitter, the road towards The Tin Mouse feeling lonely and chilling, making me rush towards the pub with my head down, pulling my coat so it was even tighter around my body, running a little late. Even such an hour on a cold January night couldn’t quite mask the monstrous clouds in the sky that were still looming ominously above my head, releasing light drops of rain that speckled across my clothes and dabbed at my skin, heavy but sporadic at least. I knew such misery was all the sky would be offering me for the next few months, already wishing away my time so that summer would arrive sooner. Rosebury was especially beautiful during the summer months, with the sun beating down on those rolling fields, days spent by the river, an idyllic English village in all its glory. I wondered how things would be in a few months’ time. I immediately relaxed as soon as the pub came into view, excited to feel the literal and figurative warmth of the place. It was lucky I loved pubs so much, because there really wasn’t anything else to do on a Saturday night in Rosebury. A night with my friends doing nothing but talking and laughing was perfect for me. I walked through the door with a smile on my face, but it didn’t last long. They were in our usual spot, my head instinctively turning to my right to greet them all, but the first person I saw was Harry, and that wiped the smile off my face completely, and sent my mood soaring southwards. He was slouched down on the seat attached to the wall, legs spread ahead of him, arms folded, looking utterly fucking miserable. I felt the same way. Clearly, he'd had his eyes trained on the door, waiting for my arrival, dreading facing me after what had happened the last time we’d been together, seeming solemn and sour. As soon as our eyes met, his head dropped. I didn’t expect seeing him to make me feel the way it did. I’d half expected to be happy upon his return, that I’d feel relieved to see him back where I felt he belonged. There was another part of me that thought I’d be sad, my heart aching at the sight of him, reminders of his rejection riffling through my mind. But actually seeing him there, viewing the way he was holding himself, the dejected look on his face as his nostrils flared and his chest heaved, I actually felt bitter, hurt, somewhat resentful. He was practically squirming as I approached the table, his head down, looking off to the side, trying to act natural but failing. I received friendly greetings from everyone other than him. “You’re back then.” I shot at him after saying hello, adding as much sweetness to my tone as I physically could, hoping not create an atmosphere as foul as I was feeling. “Yep.” He mumbled, bolting his eyes up to look at me. “He is, so we’re celebrating!” Louis beamed, the lot of them seeming completely oblivious. “Go get yourself a drink, Alf. Styles is back in town.” “So where’ve you been?” I ignored Louis, still staring right at Harry. He glared up to me, running his tongue across his teeth. I could tell he hadn’t been expecting me to be so hostile, but I wasn’t holding back on his behalf. Straight away, I’d been able to tell his mood was low, likely apprehensive about me showing up, unsure how to handle the situation I’d put the two of us in, but I could tell he wasn’t anticipating me acting the way I was, and it pushed me further. I asked that question because I knew I wouldn’t get an answer. I knew he’d choke and struggle to find the right words, struggle to think up a new way of avoiding just telling the damn truth. I knew he hadn’t been angry at me before, merely uncomfortable, but I was thriving winding him up, perhaps manipulating his temperament. “Nowhere.” He mumbled. “Nowhere?” I frowned. “Really?” “I’ve just… been away, for a while.” “Yeah, we noticed.” I smiled. “You glad to be back?” “Yeah.” He forced a smile back, but I felt like he was lying, and that was likely because of me. “We’re glad to have you back.” Niall grinned. “M’gunna go get a drink.” I cleared my throat. “Does anyone want anything?” I received a mix of replies, people lifting their already full drinks whilst others said no, so I headed off to the bar on my own. That was when my heart became tender, bruising with each beat. That was when I started feeling blue. It was just everything. Suddenly seeing him again, how awful that had made me feel, how it had made me act, the way he’d reacted to seeing me. Fuck, before I’d even got there, he’d been slouched down in his chair like a sulking toddler who’d been dragged there against his will. I was exhausted and infuriated and I had no idea how I was supposed to stomach an evening in his company. “Hey!” Sean greeted as he approached me. “What can I get ya?” “I’ll have a gin, please.” I tried to cheer up. “Tonic?” “That’s the one.” He got to work, probably picking up on my low mood and deciding not to try and force a conversation with me. Hesitantly, I looked back over my shoulder, seeing the lot of them sat laughing together, talking and smiling and having a nice time, and then there was Harry. He was still in the same position, gnawing anxiously at his bottom lip, withdrawn, morose. His mind was still a place I wanted furrow, search through the soil of his pretences to find the seeds of his secrets, the things he daren’t say, the words he would not let flourish from his lips. Even then, seeing his sombre state, all I wanted was to know exactly how he was feeling, what was running through his head. There had been moments where I’d believed I was getting closer to figuring him out, making sense of him and his actions and why he was the way he was, but looking at him then it was impossible to feel that way. He was a stranger again, as foreign as he had been the very first time we were in that pub together. I turned away, hoping that one day he would feed the truth rather than starve it, even if that wasn’t with me. Even if I wasn’t the person he could be that way with, I hoped for his own sake, that he would ultimately learn to nourish his secrets, give them life, and let them breathe. He deserved such freedom. Sean placed my drink on the bar the very moment I heard the front door crash open, turning so see who had so proudly let themselves into the pub. My whole body seized up. It was Sam. It was Sam, and he had the fucking audacity to smile at me like nothing had ever happened, like nothing had changed. It was like I could feel his arm crushing my chest, his fingers clutching at my chin so I couldn’t avoid his glare. I could feel it all happening again and I was convinced I was about to burst into tears. But something happened before I could. I heard a glass smash, bolting my head to the side to see Harry leap to his feet, knocking the table and spilling every drink it was keeping afloat as he hurled himself forward, rushing towards the door, towards Sam. I’d never seen him look so angry. I’d never seen anyone look so angry. “GET THE FUCK OUTSIDE!” Harry bellowed. My mouth dropped as Sam backed out of the door immediately, clearly threatened, losing his usual arrogant aura through pure fear, and with good reason. The two of them were out of sight before any of us could even fully fathom what was happening, but as soon as we snapped out of our daze, all of us were on our feet and heading to the door, rushing to get outside and attempt to take control of the situation. “What the hell is happening?” I heard Chloe wail as we scuttled forward. “Fuck fuck fuck.” I whispered to myself. I was the first outside, throwing the door open just in time to see Harry’s arm swing, the two of them stood out in the middle of the road when his fist met Sam’s face with such force that he immediately fell down to the ground. I was shoved to the side as the lads ran out to stop the brawl, Harry hurtling to crouch down over Sam’s body to deliver another blow. “HARRY, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?” Lincoln cried. I had tears streaming down my face as I edged closer, dazed, stumbling, but knowing I had to interject in any way I could. I fucking hated Sam, and seeing him so suddenly had been a ruthless venom that sunk into my skin, but I didn’t want that. I didn’t want a fight, I didn’t want violence. Violence was what had caused all this. It was the source of the strong reactions gained from me and Harry the second we saw Sam again, and I didn’t want more violence to be the answer. Harry was clutching restlessly at the collar of Sam’s t-shirt by the time Louis and Lin began to drag him off his body, still shooting foul words down to the bleeding mess of a boy on the floor, words that I couldn’t hear over the beat of my own heart. It took all the strength the two boys had to pull Harry away, holding him back and creating as much distance as they could as I went and placed myself between Sam and Harry, Louis coming with me, leaving Lin to try and restrain Harry on his own. I kept glancing between the two of them as Sam hauled himself back up to his feet, woozy, but trying to act unyielding, unmoved by what had just happened. “What the hell was that about?” Libby shrieked from the doorway. “You stay the fuck away from her!” Harry snarled, pointing his finger past me and right at Sam. “Stay the fuck away!” “Harry, stop!” Louis tried to be firm. Because he was the only one who knew what had happened with me and Sam. Louis was the only one who could make sense of the situation. Everyone else looked completely lost. Lin let go of Harry, feeling it was safe to let him ease without being held back, which it seemed to be. His eyes were still fixed on Sam, but he wasn’t going after him. “What’re you talking about?” Niall gasped. Harry ignored him, his foul temper not wavering for a second. I was totally breathless. “You dare even touch her again-” “Harry, that’s enough!” Louis tried again. I turned back to look at Sam, seeing him slant to his side to spit a mass of blood from his mouth before he leaned back, throwing his head back, sniggering. “Fuck off, man.” He huffed, still managing to look smug even with a black eye and blood drooling from his lips. “Why’re you so obsessed with her? Y’know she’d never be with someone like you.” Harry snapped again, almost screaming as he pounced once more, trying his best to reach Sam and do his worst, but Lin grabbed at him and wrapped his arm around his neck from behind, keeping him in place as much as he physically could. “FUCK YOU!” Harry roared. “YOU NEVER FUCKING DESERVED HER! FUCK YOU! IF YOU EVER FUCKING HURT HER AGAIN, I WILL KNOCK YOUR TEETH OUT!” I could hear Sam laughing behind me, making an effort in any way he could to keep the high-ground without having to fight back, because he must have known that was a fight he couldn’t win. All he could do was act unfazed, righteous, and the more he did the more I wanted Lin to let Harry loose. My whole body hurt. “HARRY, YOU’VE GOTTA STOP!” Lin struggled. “WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?” “LET GO OF ME!” Harry seethed, wrestling himself free from Lin’s snare without ever going to hurt him. “LIN, DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!” Lincoln backed away from him, hands held up in surrender, but Harry didn’t go after Sam again, he just paced a little, rolling his shoulders, trying to breathe at a regular pace. I kept my eyes locked on him, everyone going quiet, unsure what had happened, unsure what to say. My cheeks were soaked with tears, but when I finally managed to speak, my voice was controlled, I was composed, confident. “Go home.” I told Harry. “Fee-” “Harry, go home.” I said again. “You heard her.” Sam said from behind me. “Sam, shut the fuck up.” Louis glowered. “You deserve everything you get.” “Please, Harry.” I asked gently, my lips trembling. “Please.” He saw the desperation in my eyes, heard the pain in my voice, and with no more fight, he nodded, running his hand through his hair and turning off to walk down the country road back to his house. I looked around at everyone, Sam who was wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, Libby and Chloe were stood in the doorway looking bewildered, Niall just ahead of them with his hands gripping the back of his neck. Louis was looking at me, his eyes silently asking how the hell we were supposed to explain any of it to the rest of them. Lin’s head had been darting between us and Harry, before he made up his mind. “M’gunna get him home.” He told us. “I’ll come back, but I need to walk him home, make sure he’s alright.” “Good idea.” Niall nodded. Lin took off jogging down the road to catch him up, leaving us all in silence, my head spinning. I watched Harry walk away, and once again I had no idea how I was feeling towards him. I was frustrated by his fury, what he’d done, but then at the same time I felt almost grateful. Sam deserved nothing less, and I’d practically fantasized about Harry hitting him square in the face like that, but the reality of it wasn’t half as appealing as the fantasy had been. Harry’s frame was disappearing into the distance when Sam spoke up. “He’s a prick.” “You’re a prick!” I span around to face him, my words powerful despite my tears. “If you think you didn’t deserve that, you’re seriously deluded.” “Alfie-” “Does anyone wanna explain to me what the fuck is going on?” Chloe cried. I turned back around to Louis, conversing with him with our eyes alone, and with every second that passed, I felt worse and worse. I shook my head, and he nodded. “Let’s just go inside.” He sighed, pushing some hair from his face. “Let’s get some drinks and forget the whole thing.” Libby, Niall and Chloe didn’t look impressed by the suggestion, but they were too bemused to question it, heading indoors before Sam spoke up again, and their noses got the better of them, lingering to listen in. “Alfie, can I talk to you?” “You can fuck off.” I heaved whilst heading to the door. “Look, I’m sorry, okay?” He wailed. “I’m sorry! I was fucked, and I was in a bad place, and I didn’t mean to hurt you! I regret it every day. Please hear me out.” “I can’t do this.” I mumbled as soon as Louis wrapped his arm around me, attempting to usher me indoors. “I need to go.” “He hurt you?” Libby fumed. “Sam, would you just leave?” Louis yelled over to him. “It’s clearly not the time.” “Alf, just come inside.” Chloe tried gently. All those words and voices were too much to take, too overwhelming, all creating a headache so intense I felt like I could fall over at any second. I couldn’t even comprehend the sounds of their voices, I just wanted to leave. The thought of going back into the pub and playing dumb made me feel queasy. I wanted out. “No, I’m going.” I backed away from the three of them, Sam still stood in the middle of the road watching my every move. “Alf, we’ll come with you.” Louis suggested. “Please don’t, I just wanna be on my own. Please.” Defeated, he nodded, letting me walk away, giving me the space that I needed. I made the mistake of catching Sam’s eye before I walked in the opposite direction. “Baby-” “If you ever call me that again, I will smack you twice as hard as Harry did.” It seemed he’d finally gotten the message as I walked away from all of them, head down, wiping away my tears. He didn’t say anything else, he didn’t follow me, none of them did. They let me leave, and I was grateful for that. Once again, I walked that road on my own, feeling lonelier than I had any other time I’d set my feet upon that concrete; even the night I’d been attacked didn’t quite compare to that feeling. I was lost, confused, astounded, unsteady, sad. I couldn’t even make sense of what had happened, the whole thing felt like a bad dream. I made the journey as quickly as I could, planning on just going to bed, sleeping it off and facing whatever the hell I needed to face in the morning with a clearer head. But then the woodland surrounding Harry’s house came into view, and I felt differently. The trees were tall and proud to my left, shrouding him and his home, dark and drawing me in. I didn’t even know if I wanted to see him or not, but I knew I couldn’t walk past there like nothing had happened, like he wasn’t back and he hadn’t just attacked Sam because of what he’d done to me all those months earlier. I tried to fight the feeling, shaking my head and rolling my eyes at my stupidity, but when the lane down to his home was immediately at my side, I couldn’t help myself. I parried, cursing to myself, pulling at my hair and already regretting the decision, but I kept moving forward. I didn’t know what I was going to do, what I wanted to say, all I knew was that I wanted to see him. When his house came into view, so did Lin, walking towards me, seeming tired. “Lin?” I tried. “Alf? What’re you doing?” “I… I wanted to check on him.” We came to a stop in front of each other. “Don’t even bother.” He huffed. “I’ve just tried to calm him down, but there’s no talking to him right now. What happened? Why did he do that?” “I really don’t wanna get into it.” I sighed. “Okay. Alright, well… c’mon. Let’s get you home.” “No, I wanna see him.” “Seriously, Alfie, he’s acting out. Best to leave him to it. I tried the same thing, but he just ended up acting like he was mad at me. It’s not the time. Let him sleep, we’ll deal with this tomorrow, or… whenever the hell he decides to face us again.” Lin saying that only made me want to see him more. I didn’t want this to be another reason for Harry to take off, leave us again without a word. It wasn’t like I planned on telling him everything that he’d done was okay, but I didn’t want him thinking that he was a person I couldn’t even stand to face. “I wanna see him now. I just… I don’t want him to hide from this or feel… I dunno. I just wanna see him.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah, it’s fine, I promise.” “Okay, well… Do you want me to stay?” “No, it’s fine.” I shook my head. “I’ll be fine.” “Alright. See you soon, yeah? Let me know when you’re home.” “I will.” He gave me a big hug, one that was needed and appreciated, and even though he looked unsure, he let me go, let me approach a situation I really shouldn’t have and wouldn’t have if I’d been thinking straight. Lin just continued his journey, either going home or back to the pub, I wasn’t sure. I spotted Harry as I approached the house, still out on his porch, and I was almost convinced he’d been waiting for me, his eyes looking out to the road, waiting for my figure to appear from the shadows and fade into the low light that glowed from the wooden panel on his porch. He approached me rather desperately, stumbling down the steps so we were closer. “Why did you do that?” I cried as he neared me. “Alfie, I’m sorry. I couldn’t control it, I’m sorry, I-” “That’s not the answer to this situation!” I yelped. “You can’t just… disappear, and then come back and-” “I didn’t wanna do that but…” He fumed, gripping at the air in front of him. “Just seeing his smug fucking face, I couldn’t-” “Well it looks like he’s back now, so you’re gunna have to get used to it. You can’t be like that every time you see him.” “I know I can’t! I won’t! I just-” “How the hell am I supposed to explain that to everyone?” I could feel the tears returning to my eyes, gesturing vividly to the path behind me leading back to the main road. “You know I don’t wanna talk about what happened with him!” “I’m sorry, I didn’t think!” Of course he didn’t think. I really did not want to be upset with him, because of course he didn’t think, I couldn’t blame him for that. It was hypocritical and rash to act as though I didn’t completely understand why he’d done what he had, but I really wished he had dealt with his wrath in a different way. He truly seemed distressed, his eyes wide, continuing to move closer to me. I didn’t think he felt at all badly about what he’d done to Sam, but he did feel remorseful about what that had then done to me. It was the first time for weeks that I felt like he actually cared about me. I’d been trying to forget what that was like, what that did to my heart. My annoyance stultified, unable to find the right words, ready to eradicate the situation and get myself home, where I couldn’t feel his eyes on me, where I couldn’t sense his sorrow, where I couldn’t become weak for him. “I’m sorry.” He said again. “I should go.” I whispered, more to myself than him. “No, you-you should stay.” He stuttered. “I’ve missed you, I want-” “Don’t.” I shot, getting worked up once more. “Fee-” He grabbed my hand. “DON’T, HARRY!” I shrieked. “Nothing’s changed! I still feel the same way I felt before you left! You can’t just-” He grabbed my jaw in his hands, muzzling my words by putting his lips on mine, pulling me close and not letting go, his kiss fierce and beautiful. I didn’t want to kiss him back, but it was so hard not to. His desperation was a flavour I could taste on the tip of his tongue, his fingertips pressing hard just below my ears, pushing his body against mine as we lost ourselves, for a few foolish seconds. I pushed him away as soon as I was able to, darting further from him when he tried to go back for more. “NO, HARRY, STOP!” I was weeping again, like my damn heart was breaking. “You can’t just kiss me as a way of avoiding this! That’s not how you’re going to deal with this!” He dropped his head, nose scrunched, eyebrows furrowed, like my words had physically stung him. His inability to deal with things was such a huge factor of who he was, and even though I’d always been aware that he kept his cards close to his chest, I hadn’t realised quite how destructive that part of his character was. He wasn’t simply private, he was someone who couldn’t physically bring himself to talk candidly, who couldn’t cope with his own reality. I wondered if that was the reason that he was so passionate about other people being open and honest. He was almost obsessive when it came to the people he cared about handling the weights within their hearts, but he couldn’t do it himself. I think he wanted that liberation, but something was holding him back, so he wanted those around him to never feel that same strain. It wasn’t my job to try and repair the shattered parts of a boy who was willing to remain broken. “I’m going home, I can’t do this right now. This is too fucked up.” “Then I wanna fix it!” He fought. “Fix what, Harry?” Once again, I’d left him with nothing to say, no words to try and summarise our scenario, whatever it was he felt we needed to fix. We wanted different things from one another. Our hearts were in different places. That wasn’t something we could fix. I couldn’t even look at him any longer. I dropped my head and turned on my heel, tears overcoming me as soon as I wasn’t facing him, severe, relentless, like I’d been holding in my sobs of agony without fully realising. I did not want my heart to feel so heavy for a boy who did not want to carry its weight. We were far too broken to ever be fixed.

[knowyourincantations]

Boredom in Potions

For Sapphic September 2019 Day 5: “Please”  from @rockmarina​‘s prompt list.

Teen | 1,635 words | EWE, Eighth Year, Potions Class, Teasing, Pre-Relationship, A character is outed

(AO3 | My other Sapphic September 2019 works: AO3 | Tumblr)

Boredom in Potions

Parvati was carefully lowering the heat under her cauldron in small increments when a commotion across the room caught her attention. She only looked away for a moment, just long enough to see it was Pansy and Daphne causing a fuss.

That moment was all it took. When she turned back to her potion it had turned the colour of sour milk, and smelled even worse. With Slughorn snoring at his desk, and Hermione getting touchier and touchier about helping other people the closer they got to the N.E.W.T.s, she sighed in defeat and vanished the ruined potion.

With nothing left to do, she sat on her stool and rested her elbow on the desk. She propped her chin on her palm, turning her attention across the room to where Pansy and Daphne were still bickering. If she had to be stuck there until the end of class with nothing to do, at least there was entertainment.

It wasn’t often the Slytherins fought amongst themselves, but it was always amusing when they did. The only time they dropped their dignified airs was when they fought. Not right away, they usually managed to still look dignified at the beginning at least, stony voices and small gestures, but it seemed Pansy and Daphne had moved beyond that already.

Daphne was holding a large, scrunched up piece of parchment while Pansy tried to snatch it from her hand. Over the summer, Daphne had shot up to match even Ron in height, but Pansy hadn’t grown at all. In fact, Parvati was fairly sure she was shorter than Harry.

“I swear if you don’t give it back I will make your life hell!” Pansy hissed loudly, lurching forward to try and snatch the parchment again.

Daphne easily held it out of her reach, scoffing as she did so.

“Oh please, you don’t have anything new on me,” she said, sounding delighted. “You’ve been too busy lately to pay attention, and now I see why. My, my, my, Pansy, how unexpected.”

Draco turned around and hissed at them to shut up, but Daphne ignored him completely. Arms held up high, she pulled the parchment taut and looked over it.

Parvati tilted her head to try and see but the angle was all wrong. She’d seen Pansy doodling on parchment a lot since the year had started, but she’d never managed to see much. When they were paired in Defence, Pansy had been halfway through drawing a realistic portrait of Millicent when she’d noticed Parvati looking and hidden it away, and Parvati hadn’t managed to get a glimpse of anything else since.

“It’s not bad really,” Daphne mused. “Though you’ve flattered her by changing the shape of her nose a little. Lovely study of her hands. Well, I assume they’re her hands since she’s all over this. Are those her lips too? Gosh, darling, how transparent of you.”

In the most undignified manner Parvati had ever seen of her, Pansy jumped up to try and snatch the parchment away from Daphne.

Parvati looked over to Millicent, wondering if Pansy was drawing her again. It didn’t seem likely, Millicent had a lovely cute nose. One of the only attractive features of her face, in Parvati’s opinion. No need to flatter her with making it look nicer than it already was.

“What do you want for it then?” Pansy snapped, drawing another aggravated hiss out of Draco.

It seemed to bring Pansy’s awareness back to the room. She glanced around, her cheeks flushing pink. Parvati looked down at her textbook before Pansy noticed her looking.

She could just as easily have let Pansy know she’d seen her very undignified behaviour. The result would surely have been even more amusing.

But she was intrigued now. She wanted to know who Pansy had been drawing that would cause such a reaction.

It sounded like prime gossip. Beyond that, she couldn’t deny she was curious about the implications. Pansy hadn’t reacted that terribly when she’d caught Pansy looking at her sketch of Millicent, but now she’d drawn someone and was throwing an absolute fit about it being seen.

If it had been a sketch of a boy the meaning would be obvious, so it was just as obvious now.

And Parvati was kicking herself for not noticing sooner.

After a whispered exchange too quiet to hear, there was a loud clatter that drew Parvati’s attention back.

Draco had stepped away from his cauldron and snatched the parchment from Daphne. In the process, he seemed to have knocked over two jars on their table.

Pansy stood motionless, staring at him with open horror as he scanned the parchment. One of his eyebrows climbed to his hairline. He turned the parchment over and scanned the other side. When he finally looked at Pansy, she looked defeated and he looked delighted.

“Draco, give it back,” she tried.

Beside her, Daphne kept looking between them. She didn’t look delighted like Draco. In fact, she looked guilty and Parvati perked up. For all Daphne had been teasing her, she hadn’t shown the thing about either. Would Draco?

“I don’t think I will,” he said slowly, turning the parchment over again. “You made me spoil my potion.”

“Come on, give it back,” Daphne said, reaching for it herself.

Draco pulled away and smirked at her. “Oh? Don’t start something you can’t finish, Daphne.”

Pansy gripped the edge of the desk and looked alarmingly like she was about to cry. It was an utterly foreign expression on her face, and Parvati was riveted.

“Draco...Draco, please don’t,” she said with a hitch in her voice.

Parvati almost choked on her inhale. She didn’t think she’d ever heard Pansy say please before. Ever. It suddenly made those implications a certainty. She had a crush on whoever it was she’d been drawing.

“Too late,” Draco sneered.

The fear on Pansy’s face morphed into anger.

“I will ruin you!” she hissed. “I will tell everyone that you—”

“Don’t care, he already knows,” Draco said, turning and walking across the room.

He caught Parvati’s eye and walked right over to her table. When he dropped the parchment on the table in front of her, she frowned up at him for a moment, then looked down at it when he returned to his table with an ugly smirk on his face.

Across the room, Pansy made a low sound, but she stayed where she was.

Parvati looked over the parchment slowly. It looked like Pansy had been sketching on it for a couple of days. There were small studies of her face from different angles. One of them was from two days ago, when she’d been so bored in History of Magic she’d tried out an elaborate hairstyle. She was shocked she hadn’t noticed Pansy staring at her. She had to have been to capture it so clearly.

The attention to detail was rather breathtaking. She’d never seen enough of that sketch of Millicent to really form an opinion, but Pansy’s drawing was beautiful. In the spaces around sketches of her head and neck, there were hands in various gestures. She turned the parchment over and scanned the other side.

In the top right corner there was a sketch of her lips and chin. Taking up the rest of the parchment was an unfinished sketch of Parvati standing over her cauldron.

The page slid out of focus as Parvati considered the meaning of it.

The fact it was her should have no bearing on the conclusion she’d already come to.

She wondered if she should be annoyed, or repulsed. She probably should. Pansy wasn’t exactly the nicest girl in their year.

But, despite herself, she liked it. They were beautiful drawings and the attention to detail was very flattering.

And she wasn’t sure the attention really was unwanted, even if Pansy could be a right cow at times. She wasn’t so bad now, really.

Parvati turned and looked across the room.

Pansy was gone.

It took a moment for that to sink in. How upset she must have been to actually leave class and risk detention.

Parvati got up and moved across the room. When she reached Daphne and Pansy’s table, she held the parchment out wordlessly.

Daphne gave her a searching look, then took it from her and folded it carefully.

“You’re a shit friend,” Parvati muttered.

“I wasn’t going to show anyone,” Daphne said, glaring at the back of Draco’s head. “I just wanted to tease her a bit. I didn’t think it was that serious until she reacted so badly. We both messed up our potions early on. She wasn’t talking to me. I was bored.”

Parvati shook her head at her excuses and walked back over to her table. She collected her things and left the classroom. She didn’t much care if Slughorn woke up and realised she was gone. Gryffindor was already dead last in house points after Harry’s latest round of mucking about after curfew without his bloody cloak.

Anyway, she had a decent idea of where Pansy would run off to, and the least she could do was let her know she wasn’t angry or repulsed. She could very well understand how Pansy felt, since she certainly didn’t appear open about where her tastes lay. Parvati had been herself for years, but she could still remember a time she’d been scared to let people know. She would never have thought Pansy was scared of anything, but then, she’d also thought she’d never say please either.

For a class she’d mucked up, it certainly had been enlightening.

And maybe, if Pansy didn’t hex her on sight out of defensiveness or embarrassment, she might offer to sit and let Pansy take her time drawing her.

Perhaps at Hogsmeade.

End.

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[svetlanabelikova]

Journaling IV

content warning:

bodily functions 

weight talk

time for another update:

i had my super fun X-ray on monday (9.29.19) morning. it was weird. i stood on a weird platform, in a surgical gown, and had 3 dudes stand around and tell me weird ways to twist and bend my body so they could take the best pictures of my insides all while having to drink poison that had the consistency of chalk dissolved in white glue. it was wild. the assistant was nice. he stood around with me and we just talked a bit. he was awkward,,, i was awkward. it was both better and worse than the CT scan i got last year. worse by which, back then i just laid on a rolling table with a warm blanket on me and a pillow under my knees. i was alone in the room and the technician just told me what to do through a speaker system from the next room, or the machine talked to me through a little robot face on a screen whereas this was 3 strange men and i felt naked in that stupid surgical gown. i was glad i decided to wear leggings and they let me keep them on but still. i had to take off my bra (even tho it is a sports bra but whatever) and all my earrings, which i never take out, as well as the ring i’ve worn every second for the last like, 10 years. this ring means a lot to me in what it is, what it represents and what it carries so that didn’t help.  it was better in that i didn’t have to drink as much poison as last time. for the CT scan, they were looking more at my lower GI, so i had to drink 2 bottles worth of barium: 1 bottle 1 hour before my appointment, half a bottle half an hour before and the last half i had to chug right before i went in. they were trying to map out my entire GI system whereas this was watching my upper GI work in real time.  first i had to stand up and drink the thick barium mixture (and also basically medical grade Alke-seltzer to blow me up like a balloon animal-- and then i was told i had to just old my burps in or it would ruin the pictures so that was cool), which as i mentioned, was not great. i was never the kid in class that ate glue (i liked to pour it on my hand, let it dry then pretend to be shedding like a snake), but if i had to liken it to something, that would be it. it was so heavy in the cup, it was wild. but it wasn’t smooth like glue, it was gritty. there was no flavor to it other than you know, chemical-y. i had to gather a mouthful, fill my cheeks like a little gerbil, wait for the machine to get into place and the doctor to trigger the program by which he would say “ok swallow” and the machine would track the barium down my esophagus. i did that a couple times then they casually said “ok, turn around and look at the table behind you.” which i did, it was a lovely table. “now we are going to tip the table back and you will be laying on your stomach.” excuseth me?! they wouldn’t even let me get off the table while it tranformer-transformed into a bed, no i just had to ride that shit like it was a rodeo. it was upsetting, my vertigo went absolutely batshit and the fact that by this point, my stomach went ‘well hang on.... you haven’t given me anything in about 11 hours so i thought this was food but this is poison anD YOU ARE ON A ROLLERCOASTER?!’ and decided the time to rebel was at hand. i was so close to barfing, im not kidding. the assistant was handing me a pillow and he could see my face lose color as i nervously began to giggle and he grabbed the little barf bag. i was so close to forcing this assistant to have to re-sterilize this stupid table/bed but i kept it together and also i had literally nothing in my stomach other than poison so that was probably helpful. the last thing i ate was a couple spoonfuls of tuna out of the can and a hardboiled egg at like 2pm the day before.  next we come to a super fun moment which i will gloss over because it was the crowning weird moment of the day: while laying on my stomach and drinking from a cup of poison, i had to swallow a mouthful of said poison, hold my breath and then bare down, so they could look for hernias. i wish not to elaborate further i just would like to thank my personal goddess that i didn’t let anything slip out either end. after that, i was pretty much done. the bed *transformer noise* returned to an upright platform and the machine coffin lid was removed so i could get down. i all but ran back to the dressing room and got my jewelry and clothing back on. we had to drive home an hour and the entire time i was covered in a sheen of cold sweats, gripping my barf bag, but was fine. later than night i was less so. yesterday (10.2.19) i met again with rupinder. she went over all 4 tests i went through over the past 2 weeks: the blood tests- were all good. my vitamins levels are great, my iron is good, my blood sugars wonderful. the only things of note were as i mentioned, my b1 levels were high but it was b/c i take biotin vitamins and my white blood cells count was flagged as high, but i let her know that i happened to get sick with a headcold literally the day after i got my blood drawn. also my blood sugars showed that i am not pre-diabetic which is great. i am not even pre- pre-diabetic yet, just on the cusp which is great for someone with a family history and who has never really bothered with watching my sugar intake. urine & stool test- good. my body is absorbing vitamins and minerals just the way that it should and also i am not on any drugs *ok hand emoji* floroscopy test-  i have a very small hital hernia, but it is so small and has been of so little impact i a) have not noticed it at all and b) it has basically done no real damage yet. everything else looks great. i have some indication of acid reflux but it is either old scars or so mild it is happening and i don’t notice it. i do have to share my favorite line from the doctor’s notes from the floroscopy though:  "The visualized stomach, duodenum and proximal small bowel are grossly unremarkable." that is possibly the meanest thing a doctor has ever said to me: grossly unremarkable. he couldn’t have just said ‘normal’ or ‘nothing of note’, no he had to come from my whole life about my disgustingly boring bowels.  anyways, we talked about that for a bit and then did some math. during our first meeting she said she wanted me to lose 50lbs before surgery, but she recalculated along with all the new information from all these tests and gave me a new weight goal. rather than getting to 300lbs even , she has raise it to 315lbs. so from the original 50 lbs i needed to lose, now it is only like 29lbs. she cut it nearly in half and also told me that i will not have to wait the full 7 months originally required by the program. basically, i have to just hit 315 lbs, make an appointment with her, she will bring in the surgeon once she verifies my weight and then we will set the surgery 6 weeks from that date. 6 weeks. that’s it. it has been 2 weeks since i first met her and i’ve already lost like 5 or 6lbs. i could be at my goal weight before or by thanksgiving and be set up to have surgery at the beginning of 2020. i know that is still 2 and 1/2 months out but, that is so much sooner than the original 7 months.  i have a few more things i have to do before then of course. i need to get an EKG to check my heart, make sure there is not arrhythmia or anything, and i need another x-ray of my chest and lungs, mostly to check in on that spot on my lung (which i saw on the floroscopy x-rays. it is actually pretty dark and right near my heart,,,, which is worrying and my anxiety will definitely remember this) in case i need a biopsy or anything. also i have to see a dietitian and a therapist. but i can take those hurdles a little at a time rather than speedrunning it like i have been for the last 2 weeks.  just need to keep on course, keep the faith that this is the right choice even if it is the hardest thing i’ve ever done in my fucking life, and keep my eyes on the prize.              

[literature-works]

Chapter 16 Harry Potter and the Eastern Sage

Story Summary: Nicholas Flamel was famous for creating the philosopher's stone, but like Lockhart's smile it was all a lie. Flamel stole a part of the stone and it took Edward 642 years to get it back along with the souls inside of it, one which was his brother. But after traveling to Hogwarts to retrieve it, Dumbledore has other plans for the ancient hero. HP book 2/FMA Brotherhood. Please Review.

Chapter Summary: Edward arrives at Hogwarts and the founders have trouble sorting him

Harry Potter and the Eastern Sage

Chapter 16

Picking Sides

Edward awoke to a strange presence in his room. The sun was far up into the sky being the early afternoon but the curtains were drawn closed as no one had dared disturb him yet. But even as the room felt abandoned, Edward couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was there. A yawn escaped his lips as he pushed himself up in the bed. It was a difficult task as it almost felt the soft pillows were going to drag him back in. He wanted nothing more than to simply sink into them once more but he didn’t feel right. Someone was there.

Edward was startled to see someone staring at him from the foot of the bed. He raised his hand to clap them together but had forgotten that he had removed his automail the night before. It was sitting across the room and he was defenseless without it. The man did not seem as startled as he was, and only studied him more. He appeared to be young but Edward didn’t want to make any bets in the dim light. Appearances could be deceiving. The way he looked him over held a strange eagerness that Edward didn’t like. He didn’t like that the man was there, but more so that he was alone with him. After a little bit, the man seemed to shake some sense into himself and chuckled a little bit as if he had just made a joke, or found himself to be silly. Edward didn’t find anything funny at all.

“Merlin has told me all about you and yet I know nothing,” he said as he rounded the side of the bed and pulled out the chair from the desk table to sit on. Closer, Edward realized that the man was the young king he had seen the other day watching him. But he wasn’t only young, he was simply a kid, not much older than him, maybe even younger. He had a matte of light blonde hair on top of his head and a thin ring of gold that sparkled in the short dazzles of light that escaped the heavy curtains over the windows. This wasn’t what he thought his savior would look like. This also wasn’t what he thought his new captor would look like either.

“Would you mind telling me where you are from? I cannot place your accent anywhere in England and yet you speak fluent English though in few words.” Edward kept silent. He did not know how to really address a King and he didn’t feel the need to explain Amestris. People would believe he was insane. However, the King continued to prod. “Surely there must be other people like you,” the King smirked. “I know nearly all of the lands in the entire world. I am sure I know what small village you come from if not the ruler of it.“ Edward frowned as he realized that the King wasn’t wanting to have a civil conversation like he made it appear to be. He wanted to know if there was anyone else like him. If there were anymore immortals or other strange powers. The Duke was nearly ready to go to war over only him. For the King to be searching for more people like him, Edward didn’t think it was good.

“I’m not from anywhere,” Edward whispered, adding a short ‘your highness’ after it in hopes to address the man properly. The King frowned, not appeased by this answer but he didn’t engage into the topic farther.

“I am guessing you already are informed of your status here in the castle?”

“Yes,” Edward said guardedly. He would have elaborated for the King’s sake but he didn’t feel the need to. Saying how he was now considered the man’s property and had no legal freedoms did not sit well for him. He knew it would have left a bad taste in his mouth.

“I know it might be different for you, but being a royal mage is a great luxury not many could afford. Especially in your state after killing the Duke. My guards wanted to arrest you for murder. I guess you know where that would have lead you,” he said with a clever smile. Edward held his breath as he started to think back towards the deep dark dungeons. He remembered every scratch in the stone, ever fleck of ice that formed in the winter time. He closed his eyes in hopes to chase the memory away. The king sighed as he watched him and Edward felt a hand rest on his knee. “I spun it like you were protecting me. You are now a hero of the people. I am doing you a favor by giving you this position in my court.” Edward felt himself heat up as he grew angry. The kid was acting like denying him his freedom was a gift. He didn’t care about being a royal mage or anything. He only wanted to leave.

“Edward, do not piss him off,” Mustang warned him. “He is royalty. You would sooner find yourself in the dungeons or being chased down by his guard than to get your way. Thank him and let it be.”

“Thank you,” Edward bit out, biting his tongue to keep from insulting the kid. The King looked pleased as he saw him struggle to show his gratitude. He was smug, like he had just tamed a beast. To some, especially with what happened to the Duke, it might appear as he had.

“I think you will like it here. We definitely will find good use for you,” the kid smiled. The door opened up as Merlin entered the chamber and the King stood up. He patted Edward’s shoulder like they just had a friendly brotherly chat. “Merlin, have a safe journey back to your school,” he said. “Keep me updated.” Merlin looked bewildered as he wasn’t prepared to have the King in the chambers for such an informal meeting. Edward watched the King turn the corner and disappear, the distaste even stronger in his stomach than before.

Merlin moved with his tray of potions and set them down by his bedside.

“Professor Ravenclaw wanted me to bring these to you,” he said, brushing off the strange encounter with the King. “We are going to be headed to Hogwarts sooner than expected as you aren’t getting as well as we thought you would. The king is getting worried.”

“It’s only been a day.”

“For magic standards that is too long,” Merlin replied with a cocky smirk as he helped lift Edward into a higher sitting position. Edward wanted to struggle and to say that he could do it himself, but even he knew that he couldn’t. Merlin poured a glass of another potion and Edward recognized it as that raspberry one again. After a sip, he grimaced making Merlin laugh at him.

“I can’t believe you knew nothing about magic. With all that you could do, with you apparating out of nowhere, I thought you had to know something,” Merlin chuckled lightly though there was a sad weight behind it. Edward put his glass down as he watched him. The young wizard looked away ashamed of whatever was going through his mind. It was then that Edward recognized it as guilt, something he was too familiar with.

“It’s not your fault,” Edward scolded him as he opened his mouth to apologize. Merlin looked surprise and questioned him if he could read minds. Edward rolled his eyes. Everything didn’t have to deal with magic. “It’s written on your face,” he clarified. “It’s not your fault. I put your family in danger.”

“You knew nothing of magic and you still stood up. I don’t care who’s fault it is. You saved my life and the life of my parents. I could never repay you enough,” Merlin argued. “Since you got taken away, I have been asking everyone I knew to help find you again. I asked all the professors and King Arthur to help. I knew they would pull some strings to help you but it took so long. You don’t understand how happy I am to have finally found you.”

“We only knew each other for a day. Why help me?”

“One day is enough to make an impression isn’t it?” Merlin chuckled like saving each other’s lives was a simple joke in passing. “Besides, you are a very peculiar man. Neither a wizard, nor a muggle. You are fascinating and I like you.” Edward found himself letting out a small chuckle. It seemed that Merlin was easily excitable and more eager to become friends with someone who confounded him. Edward didn’t know much about him aside from the fact that he went to school and was under an apprenticeship for the King’s court. However, Edward couldn’t see himself minding about getting to know him better.

“Will you be at the school?” Edward asked hopefully. Merlin eagerly nodded his head.

“Yes! I will be at Hogwarts after the Feast of Nativity. I hope you are in Slytherin house for your schooling-“

“House?”

“Yes, it is a boarding school. Students are split up into houses they fit into the best, each run by one of the four founders. There is Hufflepuff for the kind, Gryffindor for the brave, Ravenclaw for the wise, and Slytherin for the cunning. You would love Slytherin. It’s the best-”

“Don’t go pushing your will on Paracelsus, Merlin!” a sudden voice scolded him. Edward looked over to see Ravenclaw entering the room. Merlin stood up, red in the face from embarrassment.

“Y-yes ma’m!” he stumbled. Ravenclaw walked across the room and set a large bundle of cloth down on the bed. Edward saw that it was a stack of blankets and an even smaller stack of clothes. Ravenclaw was bundled in a long cloak, a garmet obviously for travelling purposes. Were they leaving right then?

“We can heal people in miraculous time with the correct potions and spells but you seem to be the one exception,” Ravenclaw huffed as she seemed to sense his question before he even asked it. “I have contacted Hogwarts and will be taking you back sooner than we have anticipated. I feel like the school’s Nurse and Potion’s Master would be better suited to help you. I might be able to make a good solid potion, but Salazar is more acquainted with difficulties such as this. I have arranged a carriage for you. It will be a long ride but apparition will surely kill you and you would sooner fall off a broomstick than a carriage.”

Edward didn’t imagine that he would be leaving for the school so soon. An overwhelming sense of dread crept into him at the thought of moving again, into the hands of more strangers. He desperately wanted some familiarity that he knew he couldn’t have. He wanted to be with people he knew. He didn’t want to go to the school, he wanted to go home.

“Everyone in this world is going to be a stranger, Edward. You are going to have to just make friends and get along with them like you would anyone else in Amestris. It’s going to be different, but you are going to be fine,” Hawkeye told him. “You still have us. Remember that.”

A roar of agreeing people filled his ears. The sound of their happy voices lifted his spirits and settled his worry. It wasn’t the same having everyone in the stone instead of around him, but maybe he could make due. He looked down at the pile of clothes Ravenclaw had given him. He reached out but remembered that he only had one leg and one arm. He would not be able to travel in his state. He could barely stand and without his leg he definitely was not going to get anywhere. He was going to need to make one soon.

“I-I need a leg,” Edward said, a bit embarrassed. Merlin quickly ran over to the desk and retrieved his automail for him. He set it down on the bed like that instantly solved the problem. It didn’t. They were still broken. Edward shook his head.

“Paper and pen?” he asked instead as he started to examine the room for possible materials. There was a wooden side table he might be able to use. It was light weight. It would be rough, but even a peg leg was better than nothing. Ravenclaw opened up the desk and handed him a feather quill from what appeared to be some sort of owl. Edward thumbed the edge of the feather, feeling the softness of the plume. The tip of the feather was split to draw ink when it was dipped into a well.

“The most basic form of the pen was first created at the turn of the 19th century. If this world is like ours they haven’t been invented yet.” His father clarified. Edward frowned as he fingered the quill. He really was a long way from home. Along with the pen the witch handed him about a foot of paper and a well of purple ink. Edward took a few practice scribbles with the quill. He dropped a few splotches of ink before he got the relative hang of it though his handwriting was still atrocious. Soon enough he had a simple circle drawn out for him to use. He set the piece of paper down on the side table and ignited the circle. Alchemic energy flowed through it and the wood began to meld and shift. The result was a basic prosthetic leg, one similar to those he had to wear when Winry was fixing his automail. Edward sighed as he looked at it. He didn’t know how she would be able to fix his leg now.

As he reached for his new leg his hand was caught out of thin air. Edward gasped as he was held firm, Ravenclaw’s fingers digging into his delicate skin. He felt his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to pull his hand away but it only twisted in her grip and managed to hurt worse. His eyes grew wide in fear as he stared at her stern face.

“Paracelsus, I would advise you to refrain from using your strange powers again,” Ravenclaw hissed at him under her breath. Edward was suddenly terrified of her as he thought she was going to hurt him for using alchemy, but he noticed that she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were glancing back towards the door and around the room as if she imagined that they were being watched. She wasn’t hurting him but warning him. “If I am right, and this power is connected to your immortality, it would be wise of you to keep them hidden. You don’t know what lengths someone would go through to use them, or you.” Edward swallowed the lump in his throat. He had once imagined that he knew what someone would do for alchemy. He had seen Father build and destroy his entire country for alchemy’s power of immortality. He had suffered imprisonment by the Duke as the man picked him apart to seek the answers to death. However, as Ravenclaw spoke to him, he realized his experiences were just glancing over the surface of horrors that could come from someone wanting his power. His mind flashed back to the unsettling feeling he got from the King. He would hate for that man to dive down into the depths of that pool Ravenclaw was warning him about.

Ravenclaw held him tightly until she got an answer that he had understood what she had meant. He nodded his head quickly and felt his wrist get relinquished from her grip. He rubbed it hard against the soft mattress to get the horrible feeling of shackles off him. A horrible shiver raked his chest as he massaged the memory that had ingrained itself into his skin. Ravenclaw, noticing his struggle, let him be for a couple moments as she ordered Merlin to keep quiet about his state.

“The other students should not be worried about his oddities. I believe you would understand that,” she said. Merlin obediently confirmed. It seemed he understood very well.

“It will be safer for you back at Hogwarts,” she said to Edward. “Now get ready. You have a big day ahead of you.” Edward looked down at his leg that was still lying on the floor. He hesitated to reach for it again, afraid that he would be stopped once more, but after a small bit of encouragement from Hawkeye he picked it up and situated it at the end of his residual limb. He lined up his leg and attached it, locking it in place. He sighed as he sat there looking at his mismatched feet. The one was bulky and of a light wood. The other was boney and thin. The one was dead, the other barely alive. Edward almost felt like he would never walk again.

“If you went through automail surgery in a year, you will walk again from something as simple as this.” Pinako scolded him. Edward bit his lip. It really was simple right? It wasn’t some elaborate scheme the world had put together to defeat him. It was simply miscommunication and the greed of a Duke that lead to his two year confinement and torture. Yeah. Simple. Only it really didn’t feel like it.

“It will take time, but you will get there,” Winry told him. Edward nodded his head in acceptance. He was still doubtful but too tired to argue. Gathering up his utensils, he handed the professor back the quill and ink as if to signify he wouldn’t draw anymore circles for the time being. He had his leg. That was good enough for now. Ravenclaw took them gently and put them away and Merlin handed him his clothes. Before long he was bundled in some cheap second hand clothes. They were obviously obtained from a servant’s quarters. It seemed that the King did not care to spend any more money on him than was necessary. Edward spent his time tucking in his empty sleeve to keep it out of the way and Ravenclaw began to gather some of the wool blankets off his bed and wrapped them around his shoulders.

“It is going to be cold out there,” was the only explanation he got. A flick of her wand had the blankets fixated into a cape around him. The dark red wool standing bright out from his pale paper skin. “Come Paracelsus. We must be on our way. We will have a trunk sent up for your metal contraptions and load the carriages. You have a long journey ahead of you,” Ravenclaw ordered him. Merlin offered him his hand and Edward cautiously took it only to find himself staggering on his feet a few seconds later. His knees buckled under the weight and the young wizard tried his best to hold him up. Edward could barely stand. He couldn’t imagine travelling so very far to some strange school. But eventually, Merlin encouraged him to take his first step, and he did. Edward focused hard but he took another one with help. Maybe they were right. Maybe he would recover from something as simple as this. 

“I know everything is so new for you, learning about magic after everything that had happened, but we’ll make right of it, you see,” Merlin encouraged him. Eventually, he found himself walking out the door. ……

Edward shivered as he sat in the open carriage. The entire kingdom had gotten a thick blanket of snow the prior evening that he had not had the privilege to see until that moment. The sunset danced across the icy surface, transfixing his eyes to its beauty. He always hated winter. It hurt his automail and the only thing it ever brought was cold and wet. However, now he just let himself take it in. He didn’t think that he would ever come to miss something so simple.

He sighed calmly through his shivering body and drew the blankets closer around him. Though he had several wrapped around his shoulders, they seemed to do nothing as the cold still leaked through. He nuzzled his head down into the scratchy wool and watched his breath plume out of his nostrils. Icy clouds escaped him and made their way towards the heavens. They had been on the road for several days, each one taking an even grater toll on him. Ravenclaw fussed about him every second of the day, taking stops for meals and heating his blankets for him. Merlin had chanted his makeshift cape with a heating charm before he had left but it was weak and wore off quickly in the blistering snow. The long hours on the road, the weak meals, and the cold miserable weather made Edward feel like he would never see it to his destination as he began to fear even surviving the night. However, eventually Edward saw the tall towers of a castle rise above the trees.

Hogwarts was a rather magnificent structure, more beautiful than the king’s entire stretch of land, and it sat above a frozen and glistening lake. Edward watched in awe through the small hole he had made in his cocoon of blankets. The school was marvelous. Their horses trampled across a long stone bridge before they pulled to a halt outside the main doors. The place looked abandoned. At least, there wasn’t a person to be seen. Though the lights were lit in the windows, the castle looked new but very much unused.

“The students are on holiday. They will not be back until after the Feast of Nativity. Then you can see your friend Ambrosius again,” Ravenclaw told him as she pulled out her wand. She gave it a flick and a silver eagle spat out of the end of it. She simply pointed it into the castle as she hopped down from the carriage and it noiselessly flew away into the building.

“Come, the sooner we get you inside, the sooner you can get back on your feet.” Ravenclaw held out her hand for him and Edward sifted his hand out of his cocoon of blankets and took it gently. The woman practically lifted him out of the carriage. No sooner did his feet hit the ground did his legs give out on him. He would have fallen if Ravenclaw didn’t have such a strong hold on him. She busied herself to tighten the blanket around him before starting the walk inside. Edward took it one step at a time, leaning heavily on the witch next to him.

It seemed to take ages for them to even cross the threshold of the building but eventually Edward found himself gazing up and around the tall elaborate ceilings. The entrance hall was decorated with long candlelit chandeliers and huge staircase leading to an upper level. Four large hourglasses filled with different colored beads were decorated with different golden insignias; a snake, a lion, an eagle, and a badger. The craftmanship was beyond anything he ever saw. He didn’t know how else to describe it but magical. Edward was so transfixed with the architecture he didn’t realize that there were other people in the entrance hall until they were about to pass them. Three people stood solemnly at the bottom of the entrance stair case, looks of shock, intrigue, and sorrow mixed into them. Two men towered over either side of a kind looking woman. Each seemed to know who he was though it was impossible for Edward to say the reverse. Ravenclaw nodded to all three but made no word as they passed. Edward turned his head to look back at them as he passed. He saw the short witch lean over and talk to the broad chested wizard and whispered something to him, deep worry set into her features. He couldn’t tell what it was but a sense of dread fell through him.

He was not as welcome to Hogwarts as he was lead to believe.

It took a little while to make it up to the hospital ward but eventually Edward found himself tucked tightly into the soft bed with thick white blankets wrapped around him. The blankets he traveled with were torn away and a witch in nursing garb busied herself around him. Edward felt quickly overwhelmed and tried his best to get away from her. Ravenclaw, however, was not liking his discomfort.

“Paracelsus,” she scolded, her voice sharp in the quiet room. Edward paused from where he was trying to push the nurse’s wand out of his face. “Salazar Slytherin will be up in a few moments to help you. He is the potions master here and will sure enough find out what is wrong,” she clarified. However, as she was about to turn to leave, she hesitated and glanced back down at him. “You are safe here. Remember that. You are not in anymore danger.” Edward’s eyes widened as he listened to her. It was silly how that little reminder helped calm his nerves even a fraction of the way. He wanted to argue that he was not scared. He was in a hospital ward. What was there to be scared of? But he was. There was so many new things, and so many new people he was becoming quickly overwhelmed by it all. He was in solitude for so long in the Duke’s dungeon. Why was he wishing for solitude again?

“You spent so long by yourself. As horrible as it is, this is what you are familiar with now. Take it in strides. It is okay to feel like it is too much,” Hawkeye reminded him. The dungeons were the last place he ever wanted to go. He never wanted to return there let alone think about it. Yet the fast pace of the outside world was overstimulating. Edward wanted to shut it off, if only for a little while.

He soon got what he wanted. The nurse finished her busy work a little while after Ravenclaw left him and Edward was alone in the quiet hospital ward. The nurse was off in her office, the sound of her scratching quill and quiet murmurings muffled in the background. Edward found himself sinking into the mattress, the weight of his journey pushing him farther and farther into exhaustion. He slept for what he had imagined was only a few minutes but he was awaken to the darkness of the castle. Torches on the walls were dimly lit to cast a gentle glow across the hospital ward. A clinking of glasses and vials next to him had awoken him from his deep sleep. Edward glanced over to see a tall slender man next to him, fiddling about with some potions. He was slim with long dark hair. Edward recognized him from the entrance hall of the castle earlier. His cold eyes studied his work meticulously. However, he seemed to sense Edward watching him. Without a word, the man placed a potion into his hand and motion for him to drink it.

Again, Edward smelled raspberries. He took a sip and nearly dropped the goblet as the flavor was nearly three times as potent. He coughed and gasped as he tried to regain himself. However, along with the horrible taste came the wonderful feeling of invigoration. Edward felt completely refreshed like waking up after a long peaceful nap. He felt energized.

“Brother! Look!” Alphonse gasped. Edward couldn’t see where Alphonse was undoubtedly pointing to but he didn’t need to. Before his eyes he saw his placid and clammy complexion in his hand recover ever so lightly. The potion, whatever it was, was restoring him before his eyes. He gasped, jaw open in shock.

“I never made a potion that didn’t work and I was not about to start now,” the man next to him bit like Edward offended him by being so surprised. “You are lucky Rowena was very good at convincing us to keep you. Everyone was hesitant on having such a strange specimen within the walls of the castle. When you came to the castle I was sure there was a mistake. I am still having a hard time being convinced that Rowena didn’t bring home an urchin instead of a god. Time will tell I suppose.” The man muttered. The insult did not go over Edward’s head but Mustang did an excellent job at talking him down. They were still in a tense spot. Like the man said, no one had wanted him there to begin with. The man motioned for him to drink and Edward did, not saying a word.

Edward steeled himself and pinched his nose as he took a large gulp of the horrible concoction. It went down and he felt another surge of energy flow through him. He groaned as he felt his muscles grow. The pain associated was wonderful and Edward endured it. As he drank his potion, the man watched him with interest, one that Edward did not like. It felt like he was being looked upon as an object or creature rather than another person. He didn’t believe the man knew there was a difference. When the goblet was empty it was quickly replaced with another. This one was different than any of the ones Ravenclaw had given him before. He hesitated.

“Paracelsus, do you know who I am?” the man asked as he saw his hesitation. Edward looked up and studied him for a little. He had remembered Ravenclaw and Merlin telling him about the potion’s master at Hogwarts. That was the whole reason why they had endured this journey so soon.

“Professor Slytherin,” Edward croaked as his body began to buzz with how innervated it had become. He was shaking so bad he almost spilt his new glass.

“Yes, and do you know what it means to be a Slytherin?” Edward shook his head, much to the man’s annoyance. He went to take a sip of the new concoction as he waited for the man to continue. “I am from one of the purest wizarding blood lines there are. My family is very intuned with magic and much more clever when using it than most other wizards here. Most students look to me for inspiration and power. I strive to make the best students become legends and will fall nothing short of that. However, there are people who have squandered my skills and who have attempted to slander my name across the wizarding world. Well, I believe you have come to the conclusion by now that I have the power of making those mistakes disappear.”  Edward froze as a split second the potion went down his throat it started to choke him. For an instant he couldn’t breathe but the next it had vanished. The feeling of dying overwhelmed him and a wave of chaos erupted from the stone. The noise of hundreds of voices overwhelmed him and he let out a small yelp as he clutched his head, begging the people to stop.

“Edward, he poisoned that glass. Put it down,” Mustang warned him calmly.

“What?”

“Brother, you… you died just then. You were poisoned. It was so fast. Do not drink whatever that is.” Though he was acting very calm, his brother was in shock. If not, he was hiding his outrage and horror behind a very good mask. Edward looked down at the goblet he was holding and slowly set it down on the counter beside him. He didn’t even know he had died right then. That poison was meant to be quick. A normal person drinking it would not have even blinked before they were dead on the floor. Edward looked up at Slytherin, his eyes wide in shock. The man only wore a clever smile, knowing what he had done.

“Interesting. Your power is marvelous. I can sense the potential in you. When it comes time to pick a side, you would be wise to not cross me.” Slytherin stood up silently from his chair and picked up a few empty vials and the poisoned glass. “Drink the rest of your nutrition potions. The nurse will look you over and release you in the morning. From there we will decide what on earth to do with you.” The man left without another word and Edward was left alone in the empty ward once more. Ravenclaw said that he was safe at Hogwarts. He highly doubted that she was telling the truth.

………..

True to his word, the nurse released him the following morning but not after a fight. Edward was skeptical of the rest of his nutrition potions but the nurse ‘convinced’ him to drink them for his own good. They turned out not to be tainted but he nearly threw up all of their contents from having them shoved down his throat. He left the hospital ward quickly to avoid any more of the nurse’s wrath.

The nurse had given him directions to the great hall for something to eat. By the miracle work of the potion, Edward was able to walk on his own two feet, albeit shakily. Though the potions did not fully restore his body to where it once was – he still looked boney but luckily not on the verge of death—he was able to move freely, something that he hadn’t done for two years. He did not let that go to waste. Edward stumbled down the hallway, leaning his weight heavily on the walls, but making it on his own. He didn’t care that he had to stop every few feet to take a rest. He was walking again. That in itself, drew a smile on his face. The encouragement of his friends, doubly so. The effect was him beaming like an idiot for no reason as he stumbled down the stairs like a newborn calf.

There was soft chatter coming from the room Edward had presumed was the Great Hall by the nurse’s instructions.

“Did you see how thin he was, Godric?” a woman’s voice whispered quietly. “I am afraid for what happened to him. He knew nothing about magic and… this? You know people’s opinions on witchcraft are getting more chaotic. We should bring this to the Ministry.”

“What does Salazar have to say about his stay here?”

“I talked to him the other evening when I was giving him some more herbs for the boy’s potions. He thinks the boy is ignorant of magic and he told me he wanted no part in it. But…. He’s has been questioning his tutorship even more lately.”

“We must come to a decision soon, before the semester starts. I don’t think that any of us will ever come to terms about the matter. I will talk to Rowena to see if we can’t find an alternative.”

“I just want him to feel safe here, Godric. Lord knows what he’s been through. He looked so scared. I just…. Oh! Good morning!” the woman exclaimed as she caught sight of Edward standing in the doorway. She was short with a kind round face that seemed to warm the room. The man she was talking to turned around to look at him. He was short but broad with a long thick mane of brown hair. A smile grew on the man’s face as he saw him.

“Good morning, Paracelsus,” the man’s voice boomed as he walked over to where he was standing. “Those potions did wonders on you. You’re looking like a strong strapping man already! Makes me want to spar you to see what you’re worth! Ha!” The man slapped him on the back playfully, but his faith in his strength was misplaced. Edward instantly found himself on the ground.

“Godric! Be careful! He is still recovering!” the woman scolded him as she rushed over and helped Edward to his feet as he was having trouble standing. Edward’s heart dropped as he felt his legs start to tremble with the shock of the fall. He was doing so well walking down there. He guessed he had a farther time to recover than he thought.

“Oops, sorry about that,” the man apologized with a chuckle. “My name is Godric Gryffindor, by the way of introductions. This is Helga Hufflepuff.”

“We know all about you, dearie. Mr. Ambrosius told us about you. But enough about that. Let’s get you something to eat. Lord knows you could use it,” the woman told him as she carried him over to one of the nearby tables. As she sat him down, Edward looked around the room and took it all in. Never did he see a place as extravagant as that. The great hall was filled with four long tables designed to dine hundreds and hundreds of guests at a time. In the front was a high table where he imagined a King and his court would sit if this castle was not a school. The walls were decorated in gold plated brass candlesticks each with a lit candle dripping hot wax to the floor. In addition there were candles each floating around the room to provide additional light. The cascaded down from the high ceilings which when Edward looked up he couldn’t actually see the precipice. The stone simply melted away into a grey sky, snow falling down from the cloud cover and disappearing yards over their heads. His mouth opened up in shock as he watched the snowflakes fall. It was impossible. The two people beside him noticed him staring and looked up to where he was looking.

“Oh, dear, it is bewitched to look like the sky outside. It gets kind of boring being in a stone building all day. It is nice to get away from it for a while,” Hufflepuff sighed.

“Tell me, boy, you never saw any magic before? You truly do not know what it is?” Gryffindor asked him. Edward shook his head and the man sat back in amusement and stroked his beard in thought. “Fascinating. We get a lot of muggleborn students in here but even they have some premonition of magic. It is common knowledge after all.”

“Muggle-born?” Edward asked curiously.

“Ah! Yes! Sorry. I guess you wouldn’t know that either. Muggles are people born without magic ability. Magic is usually carried through blood lines but on occasion a magically skilled person will arise from a muggle family. You… well, I don’t know where you lie in that spectrum due to your peculiarities, but nonetheless you are a witch-“ Edward felt a jolt ride up his spine at the word. Witch. He remembered the horrible chants of the crowds as they threw more bundles of straw and sticks onto the pyre he was trapped in. He closed his eyes and bit his tongue to prevent himself from crying out. He had spent years denying he was a witch. He was tortured and beaten because he was presumed to be something he thought he was not. The more Edward thought of what had happened the more he felt the coils of fear suffocate him.

“Breathe, Edward,” Mustang ordered. “Don’t think about it. Just breathe. You are safe.” Edward nodded his head and closed his eyes, taking in a few deep breaths. He forced a smile on his face even though he could still feel the flames beneath his feet.

“Yes,” he breathed heavily. “If you say I am.”

“Of course! You wouldn’t be here otherwise,” the man barked as Hufflepuff set down a plate of food in front of Edward. A warm blast of steam hit his face and he instantly melted into the sweet smell of pork and potatoes. He had not had a hot meal in two years. The only thing he had to eat from being released from the dungeons was potions and cold traveling rations. He felt his eyes start to water in joy.

“Paracelsus, now, to begin magic we must first get you a wand and teach you the basics. Dueling is my favorite past time but we should keep that for later when you are recovered and skilled with your wand.”

“Godric, you sound like you are already going to be tutoring the boy. We have not yet decided where he is to be housed!” Hufflepuff scolded him.

“Well of course he is going to be in my house. Look at him! Wait…. By god, why are you crying?” the man exclaimed as he caught sight of Edward bawling over his mashed potatoes. They tasted so sweet and rich. Edward was so overwhelmed by happiness that he could barely lift his fork to his mouth.

“Brother?”

“It’s so good,” Edward sobbed as he dropped his fork to his plate. He brought his hands up to his face and cried into his hands.

“Oh dear. Are you okay?” Hufflepuff asked quietly as she sat down beside Edward. He nodded his head and tried his best to calm down.

“I haven’t… It tastes wonderful,” he hiccupped with a smile. Hufflepuff began to rub small circles into the Edward’s back to soothe him.

“You’ve been through a lot haven’t you, my dear?” She did not get a response as Edward attempted to regain himself. He roughly rubbed his eyes with his only hand and let out a shuddering breath of air. “Godric, he is in such distress. We should find him a place to rest.”

“We have not yet determined where he would be housed. None of us can reach a decision-“

“Can’t we put him in a spare chambers?”

“I am sure Madam Yiggley will let him sleep back in the hospital ward for a little longer. With such few students on the premises she has gotten cranky without anyone to care for.”

“I-I’m fine,” Edward croaked. He glanced down at his plate and forced himself to look away as even the mere sight of the delicious food was too much for him. He didn’t think he could eat anymore without embarrassing himself farther. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “It’s… there’s just so much, so fast.”

“I know, but you will get used to it eventually. It’s about time something good’s happened to you,” Gryffindor said, his deep voice mellow as he meant what he had said. Edward smiled weakly. These two professors were completely different than Slytherin and Ravenclaw. More open armed. He felt some security in it after his incident with Slytherin the other evening.

“Paracelsus, is there something that you would like to see or do? We wouldn’t want to overwhelm you anymore than we have to. If there is somewhere you would like to go, hopefully we can determine your housing arrangements before this evening.“

Home. Edward thought, but shook it from his mind very quickly. That was literally worlds away. He would not be going there on simple request. But he knew something universal that he might be able to go to.

“A library?” he asked and the two professors looked at each other in surprise.

“He has been spending too much time with Rowena,” Gryffindor muttered just to get a slap on the shoulder by Hufflepuff.

“Very well, you can finish your plate up there. We will have a house elf come get it when you are done,” Hufflepuff told him. “You can follow me if you would like.” The two professors lead him down the hallway on the first floor to the library. It was slow going as Edward was not yet up to his full strength but he still denied all of Gryffindor’s offers to carry him. That only made the man more sure that he was like him and bragged about Edward’s determination. Hufflepuff argued with the man and their bickering carried them all the way to the library’s circulation desk. Edward gaped as he stared at the stacks and stacks of books that filled the huge hall. He didn’t even think that Central Library was that big. The book shelves towered higher than any ceiling he could imagine making him wonder how on earth anyone ever got a book from the top shelf. He saw the books magically sorting themselves as they flapped like little birds back to their nests on the shelves with a wave of a wand by the wizard at the circulation desk.

“Poswald!” Hufflepuff called out to the man who was sorting books even though there didn’t seem to be anyone there to take them out. “Could you find some beginner books of magic for Paracelsus. It might be good for him to get a head start on his studies. He is, after all, a semester behind.”

“What subject would you like?” the old man asked, shoving his half moon glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose. Hufflepuff opened her mouth to answer but Edward beat her to it.

“All of them.” The man arched his eyebrow but said nothing as he waved his wand and a hefty stack of books fluttered down from various shelves. They landed on a nearby exam table where Edward supposed he would be sitting.

“Enjoy,” the old man said sarcastically before returning to his work. Edward hobbled over to the table and settled down. Though books still soared over his head and candles still floated on their own device, Edward felt himself become comfortable where he sat. No matter where he was, a library was a library. It was the same.

“Paracelsus, we will leave you be here. If you need anything don’t be afraid to ask Poswald over there,” Hufflepuff told him as she set his plate of unfinished food infront of him. Edward nodded his head as he buried down into the stack of books before him. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor stepped away and Edward heard them shuffle towards the door, voices low.

“He’s a good kid,” Gryffindor muttered. “Doesn’t talk much.”

“He’s scared. He is still so confused on everything. It might be best if we let him be. It must be a shock to him.”

“Maybe, but he will have to learn to live here,” the man replied before the door closed shut behind them.

Edward didn’t really read too much of the books as he had a ‘Beginnings of Magic’ opened in front of him and spent more time basking in the quietness of the room. He had desperately wanted to get away from everything as he felt overwhelmed by the people, the smells, and the strange phenomena of magic. There in the library he basked in the quiet, with only the occasional flutter of a book finding its way towards the shelves to distract him. He listened quietly to the mutterings of the people inside him to calm his worries.

“Just take a few days to wind down,” Hawkeye told him. “Relax.” And he did. He read the book idly, page after page. However as the hours ticked on he found himself grow tired and heavy. He closed his eyes for a second but behind them he only saw fire and swords. He opened them back up just to return to the library his heart racing. He looked around himself, but the room was still the same, silent.

“Brother, it’s alright. It was just a short little dream.”

“Yeah,” Edward muttered, shaking his head to keep his eyes open. His body scolded him to go to sleep but he forced himself to read a few more pages in his book. Before long though, his eyelids began to droop once more and his head nodded. He heard the screams of the peasants as they rallied around him, tying him down to the horses that would carry him away to the castle. A hand rested on his shoulder and suddenly Edward jolted awake, the horrible colors of the images dispersing before him. When the lights faded he saw the stern face of Ravenclaw above him.

“Wake up,” she told him simply and said no more. Edward looked around him and remembered that he was in the library. It had only been seconds and he had forgotten that. He turned and looked beyond her to see the rest of the professors there. Slytherin stood amongst them, looking displeased. Edward felt a lump in his throat tighten as he saw the man. He wanted anything to get away from him.

 “I still don’t think we should do this now. He’s probably scared. I don’t think this will help,” Hufflepuff whispered timidly to the professors as if Edward was not sitting right there.

“It is tradition that students do this their first evening. There is nothing outstanding about it,” Ravenclaw retorted plainly.

“It is tradition that we select the students, not use an object to do it for us!” Slytherin’s voice growled.

“Obviously, we can not come to a conclusion on that topic. This is the only way to go!” Gryffindor’s booming voice exclaimed.

 “Why not let the boy decide?” the woman asked. “He doesn’t know much about magic as it is. Doing this might scare him even more!”

“What’s going on?” Edward asked them, stopping all of them from arguing. They looked at him guilty that they had been talking about him.

“Paracelsus, in order to get you situated at Hogwarts, we need you decide on a mentor for study,” Ravenclaw explained. “Each one of us, Salazar Slytherin, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, and myself, select students that we would like to guide through their academic careers. We house them and teach them to be brought up in the ideals that we hold close.” As she said this, Edward now realized that this must have been what Slytherin was trying to persuade him for. The man wanted to tutor him, or in the very least, have control over his stay there. Edward didn’t know many of the other founders there, he only truly spent time with Ravenclaw on his journey from the King’s Castle to Hogwarts. It made him afraid that the others had similar intentions for him.

“Paracelsus, you do not have to decide on this matter, and neither shall we. We have designed a new way of sorting our students to take prejudice out of it,” Ravenclaw said as she noticed that he was lost in thought. Worry was probably evident on his face. As she said this, Gryffindor whipped out a leather wizarding cap.

“I present the sorting hat!” the man said with too much pride for something so ordinary looking. There was nothing outstanding about it. The leather was not of high quality nor was it shabby and patched over. It was worn around the brim from obvious daily use but otherwise was new and with no important features to it. Edward stared at it confused. The hat, however, seemed to notice this.

“I’m not just a hat! Dear boy! I have the power to peer into your innermost desires, skills, and wants. I will sort you where you belong! Just put me on your head.” Edward yelped as the seam of the hat broke open and started to speak. The hat was alive! And seemingly enjoying it. The hat sat on Gryffindor’s hands, the leather twisted into a sort of prideful smile. Edward found himself taking many steps away from the thing as his mind was trying to process its existence.

“It’s a magic hat!” Alphonse exclaimed, not hiding his excitement. Edward was less than enthused.

“No, no, no. This is all wrong,” Edward whined.

“Edward, you are seemingly in another dimension. Not everything is going to be the same,” Hohenheim reminded him. “Take it in strides. You need to learn magic to stay in good hands. You might as well get used to it.”

“But… this is absurd. This shouldn’t be real.”

 “Brother, it might be similar to alchemy. There has to be something that causes it. Something behind it. We thought alchemy was like magic when we were younger. Maybe it is really magic that is like alchemy.” Edward frowned as he stared at the hat which was becoming more impatient with him. There had to be some basis beneath it. Some etiquette to the laws of nature. Ravenclaw had scolded him previously on saying magic was impossible. Maybe it was just something that he had to learn to believe in.

Edward regained what little of himself he could with the help of his brother and returned back to where Gryffindor was holding the hat. The professors looked very worried and were discussing his shock quietly amongst themselves. Hufflepuff was adamant that they postpone the decision till a later date. Her argument however was cut short when Edward picked up the hat. He flipped it around in his hands and examined the stitching and the folds. There had to be some evidence that magic was there. But alas he was holding a perfectly normal wizarding hat. The only magic to be observed was when the hat wanted to talk. It had quite a few words to say about being spun around and examined. When the hat scolded him Edward nearly dropped it in shock but steeled himself against it. He was not going to let it get the better of him.

“Put me on or put me down! I am not a toy!” the hat argued.

“What are you?” Edward interrogated it.

“A hat!”

“Why do you talk?”

“Because of us, Paracelsus,” Gryffindor explained to him as he watched him examine the hat. “We had enchanted it to help us. We each tasked it with the job to sort you into the correct houses based on traits that we adore. After enchanting it, it will do just that.”

“I know you are confused, but you will learn more on the foundations of magic when you start school. Everything you see here has answers, you just need time to learn them,” Hufflepuff comforted.

“First things first, the sorting. Go ahead, put it on.” Edward hesitated as he looked down at the hat. The leather thing smiled back at him, eager to have its first victim. The professors waited for him to put it on his head.

“Go ahead. It will be fine,” Mustang said. Edward sighed and closed his eyes tight, bracing himself before he placed the hat on his head. The instant it touched his head the hat let out an enthused gasp, like it had just discovered a scientific oddity.

“Wonderful! This is definitely going to be a tough case!” the hat cooed in excitement. “Clever boy! Kind, smart, cunning, and surely brave. You are going to be a tough one to piece out. The chatter you’re your friends definitely isn’t helping.”

“Sorry,” Alphonse said even though he knew that no one but Edward and the people inside the stone could hear him.

“No problem at all. Very well mannered,” the hat responded to most of their surprise.

“You can hear them?” Edward asked.

“Of course. I am enchanted to see thoughts and desires. Everyone of them has those and therefore I can read them. However, it is making it a bit difficult to read yours. So please if you will, keep it down.” The people in the stone quickly tried their best to calm down. Edward heard the gentle roar which was always in his ears become silent. The hat settled on his head and began to concentrate once more.  “Ah! I see that you want to return home. So strong for carrying the weight of your country on your shoulders. Surely Gryffindor or Hufflepuff will help you bear it through. Slytherin though could ensure you have your goals met, no matter the cost. That would be truly helpful with such a task like this.” Edward felt a latch in his stomach drop as the hat continued to talk about Slytherin. He couldn’t stand imagining being with that man. He killed him! The hat seemed to sense the fear that settled within him However as means to get there that’s up to you. It seems that you have had trouble like this before though and your first answer was the library. Do you propose a similar answer might be found here?” Edward nodded his head, more in hopes of answering the hat’s question to get it off him faster than to be truthful. “Hmm very well. Professor Rowena Ravenclaw!” the hat announced to the room. “I present this young lad to you.”

Though the hat was very fond of its decision, being the first one it ever made, no one in the room looked pleased.

[veilbetweendreamsandreality]

Out of Focus

[Part 1]

A/N: Jane discusses her dream with Borden in attempt to uncover what it means. Nightmares, daydreams and flashbacks are difficult to tell apart. With ghosts from her past, both recent and distant; Jane hopes to find answers before the world she knows collapses around her. Set between 1x03 and 1x04. Thank you to @indelibleevidence for keeping me going with this fan fiction. (Sources of mythology/folklore mentioned can be found here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20 + Wikipedia. I have tried my best to be accurate when the above sources are mentioned and discussed in part 2. I hope to touch on them/explore them in later chapters.)

Jane placed her sketch book and pencil in her bag and grabbed an apple on the way out of the safehouse; the FBI detail opened the rear door of the car sat outside the house within two minutes of her packing her bag. She grimaced and buckled her belt, the caws from the ravens still rang in her ears, lost in thought she nibbled at the apple.

Borden's session was scheduled for 7:30 sharp in the morning, so her dreams and thoughts from the day before was as fresh as possible. In the SIOC lift, she closed her eyes head rested against the metal wall. Her feet and ankles were warm, stood the undergrowth of the forest; blood puddled around her feet. Ravens cawed, flying in a circle around the rotting corpse hooked up on a tree. Jane edged closer to make out the man's face hidden in shadow. The birds quietened, her fingers wrapped around the man's ankle - an attempt to take a pulse. Cold slime seemed to drip from the leg where she touched it. 'Why did you kill me?' A familiar voiced asked in a hoarse whisper. Jane looked up, 'I didn't. I'm sorry, I don't know who did.' She tapped the tree and climbed, with effort her body crawled amongst the branches, judicious the former SEAL unhooked the bearded man from the branch. The man landed on the ground, bones ground against each other as the leaves squelched.

Jane descended the tree and crouched by the man's side. 'How do I know you?' The man chuckled. 'Isn't it obvious? I trained you, on and off, from the moment you joined the SEALs.' He reached out and cupped Jane's cheek. Instinctive she held his hand, a sigh released the tightness in her chest.

'What your name? What does this place mean?' Jane probed.

'You will remember my name when it's time. As for the forest, have you walked through it yet?'

Jane shook her head. 'No I haven't. What does it mean?'

He raised an eyebrow. 'Look through the trees, reach the other side; then ask me again.' Shaky he rose to his feet, hands dropped to his sides, 'I can come with you; but only guide you part of the way, from there you will journey alone.'

The woman nodded. 'Come with me. Please.' The man smiled and led the way into the gloom.

The doors slid open, Jane focused on the reality of the New York Office in front of her. She nodded to people who greeted her with hello, making a beeline for Borden's office. The sooner the dreams were off her chest, the sooner they would start making sense. The weight heavy, her shoulders hunched as though a physical kettlebell was slung over her back.

Jane knocked on the office door. 'Come in', a voice called as she pushed open the door. 'Ah Jane, please come in. Please sit down.'

The fabric of the chair sank, bag on the floor Jane pulled out her sketch book. 'I want to discuss the dream last night. I think possible events or traumas from my past are trying to tell me ...something. There is this feeling of dread I cannot shift.' She placed the open sketch book on the table between them. Borden studied the images closely, the features of the tree, face and wings traced over with his fingertips.

'Extraordinary detail Jane. What happened in your dream?' Robert locked eyes with the amnesiac woman.

'What if the man in my dreams with the tree tattoo isn't Weller, I can never see his face clearly. What if it is a literal tattoo like mine are? Kurt- Weller he,' Jane chewed her lip, 'he would never have anything that elaborate.' She traced her index finger over the roots of the tree. 'Who this tree represents is - or at least, was - important to me before I lost my memories.' The brunette shifted her eyes away from Borden. 'Why did I leave him behind?'

'If that is what you believe. However, do not force the memories to come, they will come of their own accord.' The therapist narrowed his eyes at the bearded man's face.

She watched the therapist, curious. 'He was in my dream. He said he was one who trained whilst I was in the SEALs... he was in my first memory at the shooting range. He must have been important. He was the one there in my first memory and recurs quite often. But; I can't remember his name!' Jane's hands balled to fists. 'It's like a puzzle but have lost the final piece.' Her voice lowered to a whisper.

Robert nodded, 'The man in your previous safe house?' He turned the page, filled with ravens and targets hanging from branches.

Jane chewed her lip. 'I think I remember going hunting, I don't think I was hunting deer or birds; but someone - I don't know why, I don't know who. Yet I have this deep seated urge for answers; like a mission unfinished.'

After talking with the man; I was sat in the chair and the ravens circled. Then he hooked me up to an IV, I assume the bag contained the ZIP.

Jane chose not to voice those thoughts, something nagged at the back of her mind warned her not to. Instead she focused on her sketches once again, 'what do the ravens mean?'

The doctor smiled, 'Ravens can mean death or prophecy amongst other things, for example in Celtic mythology they refer to a number of goddesses including Nemain, whose name means depending on the source you research either "venomous" or "dose of poison". The goddess of fury and combat. She is one of three sisters who make up Morrigan. She is said to watch over warriors on the battlefield.' Borden lent back.

The woman nodded, a knot tightened in her stomach. 'The man with the tree tattoo, if - if he exists; will I be able to find him. Or would he be a ghost like me, and the man at the safe house?'

Borden smiled, 'You won't know unless you look.'

'He was covered in blood in my dream, as though I had shot him or hurt him in someway.' Jane traced the lines in her sketch, 'I hope he's alive.'

She groaned loudly, eyes heavy from lack of sleep. Already awake for the best part of five hours. A ragged breath drawn out to stop herself from shaking. Jane pressed her hands against her temples. 'Doctor Borden, what if I don't like what I find. Was I a bad person before all of this? Sometimes my tattoos feel like a second skin. A naga, waiting for it to be shed.'

Borden studied the woman in front of him, curious to see whether the memories will continue to trickle through in fragments or come thick and fast, forcing her brain to shutdown due to overload - unconsciousness.

'Whether you were good or bad, is down to your perspective of what's good and what's bad; regardless of words written in law.' He lent forward and looked at the sketches of ravens. Looking up at the uncertainty on her face. 'Perhaps one day it will be shed; when your case is closed.'

But am I a serpent?

‘Could the forest be more than just a metaphor from a fragmented memory?’ Jane asked, the question about serpents pushed to the back of her mind.

‘Dreaming of a forest could have many meanings - what did the forest look like?’ He took some notes of their session.

‘Decay, everything was either dead or dying; a thin layer of snow mixed in with the pools of blood.’ She held out her hands, trembled in front of her.

Robert nodded. The alarm on his wrist watch vibrated. ‘That’s time for now. Shall I pencil you in for same time tomorrow?’

Jane nodded, the feeling of numbness clung to her legs and spread throughout her body. A knock on the door, distracted both of them.

‘Come in.’ Borden called.

Patterson poked her head round the door, ‘Sorry to interrupt; Jane you’re needed in SIOC.’

The therapist pursed his lips, ‘We are done here.’

Jane gathered up her things and stuffed them into her bag, ‘Another hit on the database?’

The blonde grimaced, ‘You’ll have to see this one for yourself.’