#also i’m sort of half thinking of arthur looking at him one day and being like

[vi-visected]

didn’t previously think of this because colin morgan is a pasty little man but like logistically speaking. merlin would totally get paler after moving to camelot right? cause he goes from largely outdoor farm work and what have you to being inside like castle like at least a solid 60% of the time. sure he goes to the market occasionally and the stables and the training ground and sure he goes on hunts but like i’m sure he spends FAR more days totally indoors than he ever did in ealdor so like. he’s totally get paler. right????

[howaboutcastiel]

I’ve been Angry and Sad

Summary: (6) Steven is grieving his mum, and finds himself back in Dr. Harrow’s office. FWMS Masterlist 

Word Count: 7.2k

Content: Medical talk, talk of being drugged (like in the show). Grief, medical terms. Derealization. Verbal abuse. Depersonalization a little. Use of ableist language. A little bit of allusion to SH and to canon-typical violence. It’s also sweet in spite of that. Is it stupid? Yes. Is it angsty? Yes. Would I eat this shit up if someone else wrote it? Also yes. Enjoy. 

“Steven? Are you listening to me?”

The voice was muffled as it made its way through Steven’s head. It had happened again—he had found himself somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, with no recollection of how he arrived there. He thought that this wouldn’t happen anymore. He and Marc had sorted it all out, right? They passed the body to each other gracefully. There wasn’t supposed to be any more confusion. No more lost time, no more mystery destinations. By that metric, he should have known exactly where he was. 

So where the hell was he?

Steven tried retracing his steps. Surely he could remember if only he could think straight. What was the last thing he did? Who was the last person he spoke to? He thought back to the start of his day—he’d been sorting his library out…

“Where the bloody hell did I put that pamphlet?” He muttered aloud as he pulled another stack of books onto the floor to organize. Steven had finally promised to go through his collection and pack some things away. Or…at least put things back on the shelves where they belonged. 

Now, though, he was searching for the psychiatrists’ pamphlet that HR had given him the day he was fired from the museum. Marc refused to talk to a doctor—aggressively, violently refused—but Steven assured him that he would change his mind if only he’d look at the nice posh faces on the slip of paper. 

“I’m sure that I used it as a bookmark in one of these textbooks…” 

He dug through the half-read books on his desk, pulling every type of paper from sticky notes to unused Kleenex from the pages that he’d marked for later. No pamphlet. He kept going, dead set on proving to Marc that therapy wasn’t the tortuous ordeal he’d been convinced of. The last book in the stack was a history textbook on the ancient Mayans. He pressed his finger against the tiny bump in the pages, opening the text to the page where his placeholder was. 

It was a polaroid. Faded, worn. A picture of Steven—or probably Marc—at his bar mitzvah. His dad on his right, and…

His mother, on his left. Smile wider than ever. 

He didn’t expect the photo to have the effect on him that it did. It was just a photograph, wasn’t it? One that he’d seen a million times before. But it was different now. This was the first time he’d actually seen her since… well… 

Steven was gasping for air before he knew it. He hadn’t seen his mother in months. He would never see her again, either. His mother was gone. Dead. He would never hear her voice, never see her face again. He couldn’t call her when he got lost or when he was having a bad day at work. She would only live now in his memories, ones that he couldn’t even trust to be real. How many of his interactions with her were even real? 

“Steven?”

He didn’t remember anything after that. He should be in his flat, then, shouldn’t he? He should be staring at that polaroid. The voice was clearer this time and Steven tried to focus on it. The lights were too bright, the noise too far away. 

“I know this is hard, Steven,” He recognized that voice. That grating voice, “but it’s been so long since we’ve spoken to each other. You came to me asking for help, do you remember? I want to help you, but I can’t help anyone who won’t help themselves.”

Yes, he definitely recognized it.

“Dr. Harrow?”

Steven’s eyes focused for a moment. It stung, but the image was clear as day. White brick. Glass table. Arthur Harrow with a mustache and glasses. “That’s right, Steven. We have an appointment. Are you ready to talk to me?”

“I don’t… remember…” He blinked a few more times, trying to ground himself. Dr. Harrow wasn’t real. He knew he wasn’t. He was sure of it. So then, why was he also certain that he was sitting in front of him now? If he tried, Steven could reach out and touch him. Couldn’t he?

Did he even know what was real anymore?

Harrow continued as if he’d gotten an affirmation. “In our last session, you told me that Khonshu had finally stopped talking to you. Has he still been absent from your life since the last time we spoke? And what about the new character—what was her name…Taweret? You had some interesting things to say about her, particularly concerning her new relationship with Marc’s ex-wife.”

Not ex-wife, you donut. WIFE. 

“No…that’s not what I want—” Steven felt like his tongue was cotton. Had he been drugged? He felt the faint sting of a wound on his neck. Was he imagining that, too? Or had the nurses injected him with something? His limbs were heavier than lead. He must have been drugged. “I want to talk about—something—not that—”

“With all due respect, Steven, I think that it’s best that you let me guide our sessions—”

“—My mum.”

Dr. Harrow stopped speaking long enough to take in those two words. His eyebrows raised, but his expression was patronizing more than it was curious. Steven tried to swallow around his dry tongue. 

“I want to talk about my mum.”

“And what about her?” There was venom in his voice. Well-concealed, but there all the same underneath the veil of patience. Steven felt his blood run cold. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

What kind of doctor—?

Steven opened his mouth to speak. To yell, actually. Of course she was dead. That’s why he wanted to talk about her. But the moment he tried to make noise, Steven realized he was no longer in the office. He gasped for air, opening his eyes to find himself on the floor of his flat. 

“What the fuck?!” He blurted, bringing his hands to his chest to press against his heart. The cotton was gone from his mouth, as was the weight in his limbs. His face was wet with tears.

“You with me?” Marc chimed. Steven glanced around the room, making sure he was really there. He was there, right? It certainly felt real. But just a second ago, he was somewhere else. And that had felt real, too. 

Steven shook his head. “What just happened?”

“Dunno, buddy,” Marc hummed, “you tell me. You pulled that picture out of the book and had a…a panic attack or something. You gave me the body.”

“I did?” He rose shakily to his feet. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I guess it was just too much. That’s what we’re here for, right? To take over when things get too much.”

Steven furrowed his brow. He made his way back to his desk. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“What’re you doing?” Marc asked, watching from behind as Steven pulled his laptop from the drawer and turned it on. 

“I just,” Steven paused to type in his password. “I want to look something up.”

Marc didn’t even try to hide his concern. “Are you okay? Did something happen that I don’t know about?”

“I don’t really know,” he admitted. “And… I don’t really know. Do you remember Dr. Harrow’s office?”

“Wh—yeah. Did you go there? What happened?”

“Again, I don’t know.”

The computer took a few moments to boot up, both because the building’s wifi was shit and because the laptop was on its last leg anyway. It had been considered an out-of-date model even before the Blip. Both Marc and Steven could feel how their nerves were on-edge. Steven tapped his fingers anxiously on the desk.

“What are you looking up, bud?” Marc prodded. 

“I’m gonna find out what the hell’s wrong with us.”

“You—what?”

Steven was as flustered as Marc had ever seen him. “Marc, don’t pretend you’re not curious. Something is wrong with us. Starting—starting with the fact that there’s an ‘us’ in the first place! We’re sharing a body! Not to mention, five minutes ago I thought I was in an office with a sociopath dressed like Ned fucking Flanders—”

“Okay, buddy. Calm down.”

Steven wasn’t calm. “That’s not normal, Marc. We’re not normal.”

“I know. I know! I need you not to freak out, Steven.”

Steven took a deep breath as the computer finally loaded. He thought about the fact that none of this was new to Marc. It was only new to him. No wonder Marc was so calm about it. He tapped his fingers some more, using his other hand to pull up a search tab. 

He sighed. “What’s wrong with us, Marc?”

“You want a list?” He chuckled humorlessly. Steven’s breath evened. 

“Do you have one?” It hadn’t occurred to him that Marc would have a name for any of this. He didn’t seem like the type of man to seek a diagnosis. 

“Well, I don’t know. If I can remember… some of it, at least. Let’s see,” Steven was stunned as Marc took a moment to think about it. “I know that it’s not called multiple personalities anymore… that’s what dad called it, though…”

“Dad knew?”

Marc avoided the question. “I think it’s… dis-associative….something.”

Steven typed the word ‘dissociative’ in the search bar. The first phrase suggested was ‘Dissociative Identity Disorder,’ which Steven selected because it was the only option with the word disorder. And whatever the hell was wrong with them, Steven thought, certainly caused a lot of disorder. 

He spent the next hour reading every webpage he could find. Steven took note of the vocabulary—switch, alter, front, trigger, host, system—and sought everything from scientific journals to online forums with anecdotal stories. A lot of people were like him, it turned out. More than he ever could have anticipated. He kept searching and reading until his eyes were sore from staring at the screen for so long. Steven only paused his endeavor after coming across a webpage that addressed the reason he’d started looking in the first place—

Dissociative Identity Disorder: Internal Worlds.

“Many DID systems have an inner world where alters may manifest and interact with one another. These worlds can range in size and complexity, and may feature static characters that act as imaginary constructs rather than alters or fragments.”

“...huh.” Marc hadn’t been listening up until that point, but Steven’s excitement had brought him back toward the front. “So that bastard’s like an NPC in our head?” 

Steven wasn’t entirely satisfied. “That makes the most sense, don’t it? But why him? Why’s our inner world even a hospital?”

“I guess—maybe it was the easiest answer?”

Steven thought about it. The first time they had been to that office was while they were in the Duat. Marc had gone first, right after he’d been shot. It was either he dealt with the Duat—and the fact that he was dead—or come up with another answer. A more relieving answer. It was a relief to be crazy. Crazy was better than dead. 

Then he’d gone again when he saw Taweret. A talking hippo? Pretty overwhelming. Then again, when he’d been triggered—Steven knew what that word meant, now—by Steven yelling at him. It’ll be all your fault. Right back in Harrow’s office. Then Steven himself. It wasn’t too hard for him to imagine how he’d landed there, in hindsight. He’d even asked for it explicitly, after he’d heard the news that his mother was dead.

Let me out. Let me out! Let me out!

Yeah. Being crazy was better than being dead. But now, they were no longer dead. So maybe the inner world didn’t need to be crazy. 

“Do you think we can change it?” Steven asked.

“What?”

He backtracked. “The hospital. D’you suppose we can change it to something more nice? Something cozy.”

Marc shrugged. “Dunno. It’s not like I made it a hospital on purpose. I would have at least added some color.”

“Yeah, why was it so white?” Steven hummed. “Surely that’s not what they really look like.” 

Marc uttered an answer before he could think. “That’s what I remember them like.”

Oh. 

He didn’t mean to say that.

He wasn’t ready to talk about that. 

“We’ve been in a psych ward before?”

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Yeah, listen buddy, I don’t really want to talk about that right now. Let’s go back to what you were talking about. You said we could change it, right? What would we change it to?”

“Now hold on a minute,” Steven jabbed. Marc rolled his eyes, cursing himself. “We’re meant to be opening up to each other, aren’t we? At least tell me when. When were we institutionalized, Marc?”

“Which time?”

Excuse me?

“Which time?” Steven scoffed. “There were multiple?”

“Okay! Don’t get defensive.” Marc drew a breath. “The first time, when we were twelve. That was for a few days, but nothing really happened. Then there was… we were fourteen. I think I was there for over a month.”

“A month?” Steven was astounded.

Marc winced. “Don’t ask, Steven. Just, please. Not right now.”

“Is that all?”

He shook his head. “There was another one, right before I ran away. Pretty sure we were seventeen. Then the Marines made me do a psych eval when they discharged me. They said that I should go to one then, but they couldn’t commit me or anything. I would have had to do that myself.”

Steven waited expectantly. There was shock and anger in the body. Marc cleared his throat.

“That’s all.”

“So three separate times, then? We spent all that time in a psychiatric ward?” His voice was resigned, disbelieving. 

“Yeah. Three times.”

Steven’s anger dissipated a bit. “Can’t believe I don’t remember that.”

He didn’t expect Marc to say anything, but he spoke up again with a hesitant voice. 

“You don’t want to remember.”

~~~~~~

Finding his way to Harrow’s office was much easier when he wasn’t looking. 

Now, though, Steven couldn’t shut off the outside world long enough to go back to that place. His goal was to change it, or at least, to see if he could. The internet had told him that some people were able to control their internal worlds. He wanted to try. Steven didn’t want his place of refuge to be an endless labyrinth of white brick hallways. 

He sprawled out on the couch, trying his best to empty his mind of any stray thoughts. He pictured the office as best he could—white brick, glass table. White brick, glass table. But he couldn’t conjure the imagery. 

“Why’s it so important to you anyway?” Marc questioned, earning a shush from Steven. “I’m just saying, it’s not like either of us plan on going back there.”

“And what good is that?” Steven countered, “We have to spend the rest of our lives inside our head, don’t we? I reckon we’ll spend a lot of time in there, considering how much shit we still have to sort through. I’d rather it be someplace nicer than a pediatric psych ward.”

Marc hummed. “So what are we changing it to?”

“Dunno yet. I’ll figure it out once I actually get there. Which I can’t do until you shut up.” 

“Rude.”

For another half-hour, Steven tried to retreat backwards. He tried everything he could think of, from playing white noise to crossing his legs and listening to a meditation guide. His mind wouldn’t stop racing and, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t focus on the big, bright office. A gust of wind made an extra large creak run through the place. Steven opened his eyes, running his hands through his hair frustratedly. 

“Why’s it not working?” He groaned, mostly to himself. “The one time I actually want to go there, I can’t.”

“It’s not about what you want,” Marc quipped. Steven let out a dry laugh. 

“‘Course not. That’d be too easy.” He lowered his face into his hands, groaning again. 

Marc’s tone was serious, though. “Think about it. When you give me the body, where do you go?” 

“…nowhere, I guess.”

“Right. Because you don’t need to go anywhere. You don’t have a reason to go to Harrow’s office. You’re too comfortable to go there. You’ve only been there when—”

“When out here was too hard.”

“Exactly.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Steven wanted to argue with Marc, but they both knew that he was right. Going back to Dr. Harrow’s office probably wasn’t going to happen by meditation, or even by napping. He would have to go there to get away from something on the outside. At least, at first. He knew that he would never stumble upon the place now. Not without being sent back there first. 

“Shit,” he scoffed. 

“What?” Inquired Marc.

“I know how to get there, then.” Steven rose to his feet. His hands started to shake. “Fuck.”

“It’s a lost cause, buddy,” Marc interjected. “It’s not gonna work. The only way to go back there is—”

Oh. “—Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steven quipped. He started to rummage through the desk drawers. “Seems counterproductive, don’t it?”

Marc pushed for control of the body. “No. It’s not worth it. We’ll deal with the office later, alright? Let’s just take the win for today.”

“The win?” Steven scoffed. “What win? I don’t want the next time I have a panic attack to be made worse by the fact that the man who tried to kill us is holding us hostage inside our own mind.”

Marc was at the edge of taking control, held back by Steven’s stubbornness and nothing else. “That’s not exactly what’s happening—”

“Well I would bloody know that if I could just get back there again.” He continued rummaging, growing sloppy in urgency. 

“Steven, stop!”

He paused his movement, barely holding onto himself. The body was still in Steven’s control, but Marc had caught his attention. 

“What’s your plan here, buddy?” His voice was patronizing, but worried. “You’re gonna look at more pictures of mom until you can’t breathe anymore? Is that really how you want to spend the day? Don’t do this to yourself.”

He persisted. “I need to go back there.”

“It’s not that important.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Steven insisted. His voice was low. Angry. 

Marc didn’t like the tone. “Oh yeah? And what don’t I get about this?”

“You’ve been crazy your whole life,” Steven jabbed. It wasn’t how he meant it, and Marc knew that, but it was still cold. “You’ve had time to adjust. I haven’t. My whole life is a lie. I feel like I’m out of my mind.”

“You are!” Marc hissed. “Can you listen to yourself? You’re literally about to torture yourself so you can fight the voices in your head.”

Steven curled in slightly on himself. “Just the one voice.”

Marc laughed, shocked. “Just the one?—Steven! Come on, man. Don’t do this.”

“Yeah?” He pulled himself upright. Marc felt a twinge of something from Steven. Spite. Whatever had made him so adamant about this, he wasn’t changing his mind now. “What are you going to do to stop me?”

Marc pushed himself forward at full force, nearly reaching the front before stumbling back, out of breath and stamina. He used to be better at this. Steven wasn’t budging, though. That was clear. 

“Don’t be stupid, Steven.”

“Just shut up.” Marc had never heard that tone of voice in Steven. Not ever. Not with him, not with Layla, not with Donna or JP. Not on the Earth and not in the Duat. It was seething, decisive. He knew from the snap in Steven’s tone that there was no more arguing. Not without a screaming match to follow. He’d made up his mind, now. Marc could only watch from there, and be ready to pick up the pieces of whatever he did. 

Marc forced the bite from his own voice. “What’s your plan then?”

Steven shook his head. 

“There’s a scrapbook in here. Somewhere.”

“It won’t be enough,” Marc chimed. It was sincere. “I know the one you’re talking about. It won’t be enough for what you’re trying to do. Doesn’t even have that many pictures of her.”

Steven gritted his teeth. “What do you suggest, then?”

“Honestly? I don’t think it’s best that you take any of my ideas.” 

He shut the desk drawer with a shaky, resigned hand. It wasn’t enough that Steven couldn’t trust his reality, but now he felt like, in spite of the strides he had made, he had less control than ever over his life. He couldn’t sort through his thoughts long enough to figure out what was real and what wasn’t, and he couldn’t do much of anything without Marc peeking over his shoulder. He felt stuck. Powerless. 

“How bad do you want to do this today?” Marc asked after a few minutes of quiet. Steven perked up enough to think of an answer. 

“Bad enough.”

“There might be one thing,” he offered. Steven immediately nodded, prompting him to spill. “But you can’t say I didn’t warn you. There’s a reason that I hide this shit from you.”

“What is it?” He demanded. 

“Just—wait a second, bud. If we do this, you gotta listen to me. And you gotta understand.” Marc went rigid and Steven pushed harder. 

“Whatever! Just out with it.”

Marc sighed. “There’s a voicemail I think you should listen to. It’ll work, I’m sure. You wanna fucking torture yourself then go right ahead, but Steven…”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Steven!”

“What, Marc? I don’t need any more warnings. You know it’s not always your job to protect me. I’m a grown man.”

“I know. I was just gonna say,” Marc stuttered over the words, bashful suddenly. His hesitance gave Steven pause. “I can’t listen to it with you.”

Steven was silent. Marc urged him toward the tray beside the door where he kept his phone and keys. “Just tell me what you find when you get there, okay? And I know he’s not real, but… give Harrow hell when you see him.”

“…Marc?”

“Go on, Steven. It’s the oldest message in the inbox.”

Marc nudged him forward. Steven grabbed the flip-phone, booting it up as his alter sank down into nothingness. That’s what it was, Steven supposed. Nothingness. That’s where Marc must have gone.  Either that, or he’d be finding a bloodied up Harrow when he got to that office. 

He scrolled to the end of the voicemail box. 

Wendy - 11 years ago. Duration 2:54.

Steven swallowed hard, his thumb hovering over the button. He hadn’t heard her voice in…

He didn’t even know how long. 

His heart rate spiked before he even pressed play. He knew from what Marc had said that it wasn’t going to be the familiar voice he knew. Not the one he remembered. Not the dripping with honey, unconditionally-loving, soft nurturing voice. Steven wasn’t sure that her voice ever really sounded like that, anyway. 

He gritted his teeth. 

Click. 

“I knew this would happen.”

He could tell from the first second of sound that Wendy’s voice was coated in liquor. Her speech was slurred, tone self-righteous and wandering. “They sent your shit in the mail, Marc. The Marines. It says you got discharged. Hah. Took them long enough, didn’t it? I thought they’d have thrown you out—hic—years ago.”

Steven hadn’t managed to breathe since the audio started. The lack of air burned in his throat, but he knew that he’d choke on his breath if he tried to take air in now. His vision was glassy and a stabbing pain stuck between his ribs. Wendy paused for what Steven assumed was long enough to take another swig. 

“What’d you do this time, kid? They find you talking to yourself in the barracks?” There was humor in her voice. It made Steven feel sick. “Or are you still just that bad at following directions? They finally cut you loose when they realized you’re dumb as a rock?”

Steven couldn’t believe his ears. He had known, in theory, that she was like this, but… hearing it for himself was something else entirely. 

“Anyway, son, this is the address that they have for you. Come and get your shit. Or text your dad where you are and he’ll send it to you. Whatever. I’m tired of staring at this box of junk on my counter. If you don’t do something with it, I’m throwing it out.”

She paused again, and Steven could hear the alcohol jostling around in the bottle as she brought it to her lips. 

“Let me know when you finally find something you’re good at. And don’t call your father this time if you need someone to bail you out. God knows you’re getting yourself into some kind of bullshit. Always are. Our money’s tight enough as it is and, frankly, I’m tired of saving your ass. You keep bringin’ trouble everywhere you go. It’s embarrassing for both of us. What kind of Rabbi’s son—”

He couldn’t listen anymore. Steven couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How was this what Wendy Spector was like? How had he never heard this version of her before? It wasn’t enough that his image of his mother was wrong. It was downright delusional. How could this woman be the same person he’d called every morning? The same person he confided in when no one was there for him? 

Hot tears streamed down his face and his throat constricted around short gasps of air. How could he have gone his whole life without seeing this? Why couldn’t he see the holes in the image of her? Was everything that he knew about her just a lie? 

Is this what it was always like for Marc?

Steven’s breathing picked up until it was short and stunted. Quick, shallow breaths increased in speed until he wasn’t sure he was breathing at all. Steven wrapped his arms around himself and leaned backward against the door. He sunk down, slamming the phone shut and chucking it somewhere to his side. 

Now she’s gone. She’s dead, and he can’t even mourn her the right way because he doesn’t know what he can mourn. Should he even be mourning at all? She wasn’t ever real, was she? Not the version of her that he knew. The real her didn’t deserve his anguish. 

What was he meant to do?

“Are you ready to talk some more, Steven?” He snapped his eyes open to find the light blinding him. The voice, however, was unmistakable.

He’d done it. 

“Is that what you want me to do?” Steven mumbled. He felt the same sluggishness he had before, but he focused this time on every little thing his senses could muster. Steven could wiggle his fingers, if he tried hard enough. He could keep his eyes open, but only while listening. Talking took too much of him. He couldn’t do both. 

“That’s what I’m here for,” Harrow responded. Steven squinted at him. He took a deep breath, then another. His vision grew clearer and his eyes less heavy. “It’s interesting, though. So often you fight with me. Now, you’re accepting my help without quarrel.”

Steven shifted in his chair. “Where’s Marc?”

“He’s resting, for now. It’s you I want to talk to, Steven.”

Dr. Harrow didn’t have the impatience in his tone from before. Steven focused as hard as he could on the feeling in his limbs. He tried to remember. He had come here for a reason. It was on the tip of his tongue. He was looking for Marc. He was looking for—

“Steven?” Harrow prompted again. “We were doing so well, don’t get distracted on me now.”

What was it that he was doing? 

“I need to leave,” Steven blurted. “I’m supposed to be… doing something…”

“Our appointment’s not over yet.” Harrows knuckles pulsed around his cane, as if he was ready to rise to his feet at a moment’s notice. “We have more work to do.”

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Steven insisted. He pushed himself up from his chair—were his limbs always this heavy?—and balanced himself against the desk. “I have to get somewhere…”

Safe. I have to get somewhere safe. 

“I can’t let you leave a session early.” Harrow stood against the cane, slowly making his way around the desk. Steven had an unparalleled hunch that he had to get out. He had to go elsewhere. He had to find Marc. He had to get them somewhere safe. 

“I’m not staying here.”

Steven’s knees buckled underneath him, but he successfully made the first step toward the door behind his chair. His vision was blurring again. He didn’t stop moving forward. 

“I’m trying to help you,” the doctor insisted. He approached Steven slowly. Gently. Steven wasn’t fast enough to get ahead of him. Dr. Harrow placed his hand squarely on Steven’s shoulder, beckoning him to sit. He turned him around, so they were face-to-face. 

Steven saw red. 

He gritted his teeth and pounced forward, head-butting the psychiatrist and knocking him backward into the table. Harrow brought his hand up to his face and Steven grabbed his cane. He drew it backward, bracing himself, and Harrow looked up at him through his fingers. Steven’s hand was around his throat. 

His face was patronizing. Self-assured. “Don’t be stupid, Steven.”

Oh, it’s far too late for that. 

Steven stumbled backward, regaining his balance on his own two feet. He lifted the cane, flipping it in his hand, and struck the doctor in his chest. The hit landed unlike wood on flesh. It was more like…

…

Like sand. 

He swung again, hitting Arthur square in the jaw. He tumbled to the ground unceremoniously. He didn’t cry or beg for help. Harrow simply toppled, but Steven didn’t let up. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. 

Not until it was safe. 

He brought the cane above his head, wielding it steady in both hands. It made a dull, flat sound as he brought it down at full force. Again. And again. and again. Steven kept going until his arms wouldn’t swing anymore. He opened his eyes, expecting to see the gruesome aftermath of what he’d done, but there was no body in front of him. There was no poor Dr. Harrow, whether dead or alive, by his feet. 

There was, however, a pile of ashen sand. Not golden, but gray. Steven dropped the cane and a puff of dust rose from the impact it made on the mound. 

He walked steadily out of the office. 

Steven didn’t know what he expected to be on the other side, but he was greeted with what he could only imagine was the field of reeds. That is, a literal field of literal reeds, spanning miles in each direction. It was a warm, colorful, peaceful contrast from where he’d just been. 

And he could do with it whatever he pleased. 

He rather liked the field as it was. He wanted to keep it. A field wasn’t exactly a home, though, Steven contested. It needed a bit more structure than that. And what better shelter to accompany a field of reeds?

A farmhouse. 

Steven didn’t have to think too hard about building the place. It was as if his mind was just waiting for the chance to conjure it. The porch wrapped around the front and the side, connecting to the exterior walls at either end. He pushed through the front door—a deep mahogany, by the way. Not white. Inside was a full living space with a kitchen and dining table, not unlike the one from his childhood, but far brighter. The room opened into the den, where a couch and two chairs met a wood-burning stove that Steven could feel the warmth radiating from as he approached. There was a singular bookshelf against the wall, with what Steven assumed was every book he could ever want. Beside it, a bulletin board. 

He knew immediately what it was for. Communication. Steven looked around further and came across a door to what he intuitively knew was his bedroom. He placed his hand on the knob tentatively, still quite in disbelief that he’d gotten himself here in the first place. He turned his palm, just a fraction of an inch, and a shuffle behind him drew his attention away. 

“Looks like you were right.”

He turned around. The image in front of him was…puzzling. 

“Marc?”

When they were separated in the Duat, Marc and Steven had looked for the most part just like the body. Sure, Marc was wearing a different shirt and his hair was slicked back the way that he always preferred, but they were otherwise the same. Same face, same stature, same body, same everything. 

This was not the case here. 

Marc looked, for lack of a better term, dreadful. His face was the same, in terms of shape and proportion, but almost everything about him was different in some way. For starters, his eyes were hollow and sunken. Not like the dark circles that Steven had gained from lack of sleep. This was something much deeper. More permanent. Marc looked like he’d never slept a wink in his life. 

He also looked smaller. Younger. Less like a warrior ready to defend himself and more like a kid who’d been drafted and given speed for performance. Marc’s muscles were sprung, his body ready to pounce at any sign of distress. His posture was straight and his chin was lifted, no doubt a lasting effect of his Marine training. Steven had the half-inclination to yell ‘at ease, soldier,’ but he figured it wouldn’t be as funny out loud. Or funny at all. 

Steven stepped closer to Marc, realizing now that Marc was looking up at him, and Steven down at Marc. He was taller than him, by a few inches at least. It occurred to him then that Marc wasn’t the only one who looked different on the inside. 

Marc’s hair was much shorter than the body’s. Not a buzz-cut, as Steven would have assumed, but short enough that his hair didn’t reach his eyebrows. The style was familiar, though, slicked back and brushed down just as Marc did normally on the outside. His hair wasn’t of interest to Steven, however. As he stepped forward, there was only one aspect of Marc’s appearance that he could manage to focus on. His heart dropped into his stomach. Or at least, that’s what Steven felt was happening as he took a closer look at Marc’s face. At his neck, at his arms. 

He was covered in scars. 

Small nicks, large gashes. Lines and holes and what he could only assume were welts from burns long healed. Marc was littered with them. A long, thick line ran across his face along the bridge of his nose. His top lip was permanently split. An indent on his collarbone resembled a ring, and a line of crescents on his neck left very little to the imagination as it replicated the texture of a half-inch metal chain. 

“What are you looking at?” Marc mumbled, uncomfortable. Steven hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring or how close he’d gotten to Marc. He went in for a hug, gripping Marc tightly for a moment. Once he reciprocated, they stayed like that for a while. Then, Steven shook his head and retreated a few steps back. 

“You look different in here,” he explained. Marc nodded in understanding. 

He gestured down at Steven’s body. “You too.”

Steven looked down at himself, noticing the way that his frame was so different from the one on the outside. He was tall, unusually tall and slender as well. He must have been at least 6 foot, a solid five or more inches taller than the body he was used to inhabiting. 

“You mind if I go look in the mirror?” Steven asked. Marc raised his eyebrows and shook his head. 

“I’ll join you. Wanna see what all that staring was about.”

He followed Steven into his bedroom. It was decorated just like a teenage boy’s room from the mid 1990s. Band posters plastered to the ceiling, Nintendo console connected to a bulky television in the corner of the room. Steven’s bed was a single, sheets covered in hieroglyphs. Marc chuckled at the contrast between the nerdy sci-fi knickknacks and the items that were unmistakably linked to Egyptology. 

Steven pulled him into the en-suite bath, which was simple and clean. 

They both froze at the images in the mirror. 

Steven’s hair was longer and thicker, somehow curlier than it was on the outside and much more unruly. He ran his hands through it, trying to calm down the odd directions that it sprang outward, but getting nowhere with the effort. His cheeks were rosy, contrasting Marc’s ashen skin, and his facial hair was grown into a shortly-kempt beard. He wore a thin, round pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. When he tried to take them off, he found that the world was not so much blurry as it was swimming in his vision. He elected to keep them on. 

Marc didn’t do much to adjust himself. He just stared at his image, his eyes darting to each scar that wasn’t covered by his clothes. Next to Steven, he looked like a walking corpse. There were so many scars on his body that an average onlooker would wonder how he survived it all. He hated to look at himself any longer. He thought he might be sick. 

“Marc?” Steven’s voice was soft. 

“Yeah,” he choked out. His gaze still didn’t waver. It was like his eyes were glued to his skin. 

Steven raised his hand to Marc’s neck, pointing his finger at the line of circles on his throat. “What are those?”

Marc’s voice was surprisingly steady as he answered. 

“Dubai.”

He brought his hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling up the fabric to reveal a deep indent in his v-line, unmistakably a bullet hole. 

“Gabon.”

He turned away from the mirror, facing Steven head on. His hand rose to his face and he touched his index and middle fingers to the bridge of his nose. 

“New York.”

Nausea rose in Steven’s gut. He took Marc by the arm, pulling the both of them out of the bathroom and back to the den. Marc didn’t argue. 

“Are you saying you got all of these on missions for Khonshu?” Steven’s voice wavered as he sat on the edge of the couch. It was as if, on the inside, Khonshu’s armor had never existed at all. Each blow Marc had taken in battle had stuck with him. Each mortal wound he should have suffered, painted on his skin forever. 

“Some of them,” Marc answered. Steven shook his head, like he didn’t understand, and Marc lifted his shirt again. A bullet wound on his abdomen matched the lower indent on the opposite side. “This one’s from Bushman.”

“You took all of these hits?” Steven felt like his head was spinning. There were so many scars. 

Marc huffed. “Yeah, at some point or another.”

“My God.”

“It’s not so bad,” Marc countered. He could see how much Steven was affected. “I wouldn’t have gotten most of them if I didn’t have the armor. I would have never been in those fights in the first place. And it’s not like I was actually hurt that much.”

“I beg to differ,” Steven choked. His gaze fell to one particular gathering of scars, which Marc quickly hid from him by turning away. 

“Don’t even start,” he warned, covering them. 

“We’re gonna talk about those later,” Steven insisted. They sat in silence for another moment or two, taking in the new space. The architecture and furniture was vintage—out of the 1950s at the very latest. It truly felt like the two of them were on a homestead together. Safe, cozy, away from danger. The living space reminded Steven of the one in the Waltons, only smaller and without the half-dozen children constantly stomping through the place. 

“I’m gonna go find my room,” Marc finally said. Steven rose to go with him, but Marc held out his hand to gesture to him to stay behind. He retreated back into the couch, and watched as Marc disappeared behind the door on the other side of the dining table. 

Marc’s room was nothing like Steven’s. It was spacious and orderly, clearly designed for an adult. The suite reminded him of a hotel. Double doors in front of the bed led out onto the porch and the sheets a dull pattern of white and beige. The queen-size bed sat in the center of the room, not pushed to the corner like Steven’s had been. Model cars sat parallel on Marc’s chest of drawers and a thin, sleek lamp on his bedside table. The door to the en-suite bathroom was open. 

He didn’t understand why the bathroom was the way that it was. His bedroom, sure. He’d stayed in a million hotels ranging from the cheapest to almost-comfortable. Marc couldn’t understand, though, why so much care had been given to the bath. The vanity was long and glamorous. The walk-in shower was expansive and sleek. It dumbfounded him that he’d conjured a place so expensive in his mind. So luxurious, and for what? He didn’t even need to eat or sleep or shower in here, did he? The cherry on top, though, as he step forward into the spacious bathroom, was the large picture window and stand-alone tub. 

It was almost offensive how beautiful it was. The tub was big enough to swim in, it seemed. The claw-foot exterior resembled a vintage tub, same as the rest of the architecture in the place, complete with a golden faucet and knobs at the top. It was deep and wide, squeaky-clean and smooth to the touch. Marc imagined that, seated with his feet facing the faucet, the view out the window would be unparalleled. It was remarkably gorgeous. But why was it in his room?

Marc hadn’t taken a bath in more than thirty years. Only showers. He hadn’t seen the appeal since—

—since that day in the cave. 

Marc slammed the door behind him on the way out. He made his way back to the den, where Steven was warming his hands by the fire. He sat down in the chair across from him, and they sat together in peace. In quiet. 

It was better than lounging on the outside, for all it was worth. There was no busy street traffic or creaking air conditioning. Marc’s back didn’t ache like it did outside and Steven’s chest wasn’t permanently tight, either. There was…plainly stated…so little on the inside. Nothing loud or bright or overwhelming to deal with. It was just quiet. Warm. Safe. 

It lingered on for a while, almost so much that they could have felt timeless where they were. That was, until Steven jolted forward out of nowhere, prompting Marc to stand on edge just the same. The expression on Steven’s face was halfway between worry and curiosity. 

“Marc?” He timbred. 

“Yeah?” 

“We’re both in here.” He stated plainly. 

Marc was confused. “…Yeah?”

“Both of us are in here.” Steven enunciated slower. Marc shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. 

“I can see that.”

Steven huffed. “Don’t you get it?” 

“Get what?”

“If we’re both in here, then who’s controlling the body?”

Oh. 

That was a good question. 

~

~

A/N: Jonah has never proofread anything in their life. Also, I started this off by paying way more attention to whether it was accurate to real DID systems, but I don’t know if I accomplished that in the end. Bully me about it on anon. 

@n1ght5h4d3-24 @magicwithaknife @rmoonstoner @nervouslaught3r @unavoidabledirewolf @kbakery @mccn-bcys @gingermous @avatarofseshat @damreonsgirl @dragons-are-my-favorite @k8esilver @competentpotato @theconsultingdoctor10 @rayrlupin @moony-artemis @nerdory10 @valkyrieace

@ahookedheroespureheart @mt2sssss @loki-hargreeves @starfirette @celeste412 @avengersinitiative2012 @sifinskies @unspokenmoon @maplemind @mainstreambitchlife @hot-mess-express1 @toracainz @zarahbronstein @daughterofthequeen @am-3-thyst @romanarose @wand-erer5 @jake-g-lockley @in-between-the-cafes @alexismm @moonmoonboys

[queenxxxsupreme]

Defender, Protector, Keeper (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: This is one of those things I write that should have a first part but.... It doesn’t.... I do plan on making more within this little.... world??? With this mom!reader and her son Ben. So sorry for this mess. 

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: violence, nothing out of canon, Micah is mean to children, mute child (is that a warning?) fluff, Arthur being a father figureish thing, soft Arthur, I don’t know what else to tag, blood? it’s all canon to the game

Summary: Arthur steps in to help you with your son after a run in with Micah.

***

“Miss Y/L/N! Miss Y/L/N!”

You moved out of the tent upon hearing Mrs. Grimshaw calling your name. 

“Right here, Mrs. Grimshaw.” 

“There you are. Where is that boy of yours?” She looked around as if trying to peek into the tent. I’ve got a little chore for him and Jack.”

“He was just in here helping me with laundry, but he wouldn’t mind giving you a hand.” You turned to go into the tent. “Ben? Mrs. Grimshaw needs your help.”

Ben, your five-year-old son, put the clothing in his hand down and looked at you. 

“Come on with me, Ben. I’ve already got Jack over by the woods.” Susan gestured for him to follow her.

“What are the boys going to do?” You asked her. 

“Help Lenny and Sean pick some firewood. The little fellas ain’t gonna pick nothin’ but some small kindling. The fellas– Well, Lenny won’t let the boys hurt themselves.”

You fought the urge to volunteer to follow your son. It was just little kindling sticks and twigs. It wasn’t like they were going to chop down entire trees.

Susan, sensing your hesitation, stopped just at the edge of your tent.

“They aren’t going far into the woods at all, Y/N. Charles and Bill are on guard duty and Sean and Lenny are going to be with them. Nothin’s gonna happen to those boys.” She assured you.

You nodded your head, reaching down to run your fingers over Ben’s hair. 

“Go on and help Mrs. Grimshaw, Ben.”

He silently followed alongside her. 

You continued to fold laundry until it was finished. Once that was complete, you decided to go out and see if there was anything else around camp you could help with. 

It seemed to be a rather mellow evening. No one was out doing any jobs nor was anyone talking about any jobs, which was a rarity. In the three months that you had been staying with the Van Der Linde Gang, you had quickly realized their lifestyle was fast paced and there was almost always something to do. 

You made your way over towards the tent the girls in camp stayed in. 

“Hi, Y/N.” Tilly greeted you first. She was reading a book.

“Hey, Y/N!” Mary-Beth was also reading. Karen sat on a chair next to the two singing. “You wanna sit with us for a bit? You’ve been working hard all day.”

“That’s okay, Mary-Beth. I think I should go see if Ben is doing okay with Sean and Lenny.” You looked around towards the woods.

“What’s he doing with those two fools?” Tilly put her book down in her lap. 

“Mrs. Grimshaw had him and Jack helping them with firewood.”

“Last I saw, Lenny and Sean were sitting over by the fire.”

A knot began to form in your stomach. Why hadn’t your son returned to you?

You moved to search for Lenny and Sean, but they proved to be easy to find. They were sitting at a fire with a few other gang members. 

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” You cut off Sean. “Where is Ben at?”

“Hi, Miss Y/L/N.” Lenny gave you a charming smile. “Ben and Jack went over towards John and Abigail’s tent. Jack said they were going to play.”

“Thank you, Mr. Summers.” 

***

You did indeed find your son at John and Abigail’s tent. He sat outside of it with Jack. Jack was talking about some sort of story that Hosea had told him about a bear while your little Benny just kept playing with his half of the deck of cards. 

“Y/N.”

You looked up to Abigail. 

“Hi, Abigail.”

“I hope you don’t mind that Jack brought Ben over. I know Susan had them working earlier.”

“I don’t mind.” You shook your head, smiling. You crossed your arms as you watched Ben. Jack didn’t seem to care that Ben was silent and wasn’t responding to him. Jack had learned since you both arrived at camp that talking wasn’t something Ben did, so he usually did all of the talking for Jack. You were thankful for this. In the beginning, you weren’t sure how young Jack would react to your quiet son. 

“Do you want to sit down and have a cup of coffee with me?” Abigail asked. “I don’t usually get much down time, but neither do you. You’re always running around.”

“Have to keep busy, you know.” You chuckled a little. “Coffee sounds nice.”

The both of you got your drinks and then sat down at a table not too far from the boys. 

“They grow like weeds.” She thought out loud, shaking her head softly. “I’m gonna have to get Jack some new clothes soon. He’s about to be too big for nearly all the pants he’s got. Maybe Ben could fit into what Jack can’t wear. Ben is a little thing. That way you don’t have to go out and waste money. I mean, the clothes aren’t perfect. Jack has needed them patched more than once. But they work.”

“That’s very kind of you, Abigail. Thank you.”

She gave you a smile.

“Momma! Momma!” Jack called as he ran over to Abigail. 

Ben rushed up to you, a smile on his lips. His hair fell into his face and he tried to wipe it out of his eyes but he didn’t do too good of a job.

“Hi, love.” You smiled down at him, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Are you having fun?”

He nodded, looking over to Jack. 

“Momma, can we go give Sean his cards back?”

“Where is Sean at?” Abigail asked, looking around the camp. 

“He’s just on the other side of camp at one of the other fires.” You told her, recalling where you had seen him earlier.  

“If Miss Y/L/N says that Ben can go, then yes. You can. But you have to ask her.”

Ben tugged on your skirt as if to ask you.

“Miss Y/L/N! Can we take Sean his cards?” Jack waved the stack of cards around.

“I don’t see why not.”

“I’ll race you over there!” 

You watched as Jack took off first with Ben just behind him. 

“I’m glad Jack finally has someone to play with and keep him company.” Abigail smiled. 

“They get along so well.” You nodded. “I was a little…. worried at first, if I’m honest.”

“Oh really?”

“Just because…. Well, sometimes it’s hard for Ben.”

Abigail nodded her head understandingly. 

“He’s a sweet boy, Y/N. You raised him well.”

“Thank you-,”

“You dumb little rat! Watch where you’re going next time!”

You stood up upon hearing the sound of shouting. Feeling the urge to find out what had happened, you ventured across camp until you found your son and Micah Bell. Micah had a hold of Ben’s arm and was holding him at an awkward angle. 

“When someone speaks to you, little boy, you’re supposed to answer them!”

“Micah!” You raised your voice. 

Micah turned his head to look at you but didn’t let your son’s arm go. 

Anger bubbled in your veins. 

“Ah, the whore. Maybe someone better teach this boy manners before he ends up worse than his ma.”

You pushed against Micah’s chest. Ben was crying at this point, trying to grab onto your skirt anywhere he could but Micah was finding amusement in pulling the boy away from you. 

“Micah! Get your hands off of that boy!” Abigail shouted. 

The next few moments happened all too quickly for you to know what exactly happened. But Micah released Ben and he fell backwards to the ground. Your hand flew up to smack him and you landed a nice hit on his cheek, but he was quicker than you and far more skilled in fighting so the backhand to your cheek came out of seemingly nowhere. 

You took a few steps back to keep from falling flat on your ass. You ended up hitting something solid. A hand found your side and another your arm. 

It was Arthur Morgan. He only took a couple seconds to make sure you were steady on your feet before moving around you to deliver two punches to Micah. The nasty man fell back as blood began to pour out of his nose. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Abigail rushed to one side of you and Mary-Beth came to the other. 

You didn’t answer them. You only pushed them away to get to your son. 

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he sat in the dirt where he had fallen. 

There was a hand on your wrist that stopped you just before you could get to him. 

Arthur turned you back around to face him. You pulled against him, wanting desperately to get to your son.

“You’ve got blood on ya, pumpkin.” He murmured quietly, using his thumb to wipe away the little bit of blood from your busted lip. “He don’t need to see that.”

“Th-Thank you.” You whispered. 

“Can I pick him up? Move him somewhere else for you?”

You nodded. 

Arthur let you go and moved towards Ben. 

“Come here, Benny. You alright?”

Ben nodded his head, shyly tucking his face into Arthur’s neck.

Arthur took him to a table and sat him down on it, then pulled out a chair for you. But you couldn’t sit down just yet. You had to make sure he was okay. 

Your hands cupped his face and tilted his head up so you could check him over for any marks. 

“Are you okay, love? Does anything hurt?”

He held up his hands to you, showing that his palms were scraped up and bleeding a little. He sniffled, his bottom lip quivering. 

“I’ll get somethin’ to clean those up, Y/N.” Mary-Beth spoke, moving towards Strauss’s wagon.

Upon seeing the scratches and bleeding scrapes from Ben falling back and catching himself on his hands, anger welled up inside of Arthur. 

He turned and started to make his way towards Micah. 

“Arthur! Arthur Morgan!” Abigail called after him, but she couldn’t stop him herself. “John! Mr. Smith! Please!”

You couldn’t pay attention to what was happening with Arthur right now. Ben was important and took priority. 

You brushed his hair back and sat down in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry you got hurt, love.” You leaned forward to kiss his cheek. 

He wrapped his arms around your neck, careful not to touch you with his injured hands, and then slid down into your lap. 

A few moments later, Mary-Beth returned with a bowl of water and a few rags. Tilly was with her too, helping to carry bandages. 

“Are you alright, Benji?” Tilly asked. He nodded his head without lifting it from your chest. “He didn’t get too hurt by that nasty Micah, did he?”

“Think it just spooked him more than anything.” You answered her. “Thank you, girls.”

The items were placed on the table and then they left. 

“Ben, I need you to sit on the table so I can reach you, love.”

He shook his head. 

“We’ve got to get these scratches cleaned up, okay? We don’t want them to get yucky.”

A hand found your shoulder. You looked to see Arthur moving around your chair. 

“Lemme give ya some help. That way Benny can stay on your lap where he’s comfortable.”

You nodded your head, giving him a little smile as a thank you. 

“Hey, Benny? Can I see your hands?”

Benny shifted around on your lap so that he could easily face Arthur. He gave Arthur one hand. 

“This might sting just a bit, but I promise it’ll be over soon.” 

Arthur got a rag wet and began to clean the dirt and little bit of blood from Ben’s small palm. 

“You’re a strong fella, Benny. You know that?”

Ben sniffled. 

“I heard you helped Sean and Lenny with getting firewood. Did you carry all the big logs by yourself?”

A little grin tugged at your son’s lips. He shook his head. 

Once he was cleaned up and Arthur had carefully wrapped up his hands, Ben looked around for Jack. He was with Hosea. The two weren’t very far away at all. Ben shimmied down from your lap but stayed by you. His eyes were focused on Jack. He wanted to go play with his friend. 

“You can go on, love.” You told him. He flashed you a little toothy smile before taking off in the direction of Hosea and Jack. 

Arthur stayed on his knees beside you for a few moments, watching Ben go. He let out a breath through his nose and shook his head. 

“That bastard is lucky I don’t put a bullet in him.” He rose to his feet, shaking his head. 

“Ben is okay, Arthur.” You turned your head to look at him. “He just…. He was just shaken up a bit. But he’s okay.”

“He hit you too. No man should ever treat a lady like that.” 

You admired his words, the way he viewed things. 

A little smile came to your lips and you watched him sit down next to you. 

“Well, Mr. Morgan. Not everyone has the same ideals as you.”

Arthur shook his head, fingers curling into a fist. He was still worked up over the situation. 

“It’ll be okay, Arthur.” You reached over to place your hand on his. “I can take a hit just fine. But I do appreciate you stepping in. It was really kind of you to help clean up Ben.”

He became a bit sheepish at your words, tipping his head down so you couldn’t see his eyes completely thanks to the brim of his hat. He cleared his throat. 

“Just-Just hate seein’ the little guy cry is all.”

You smiled a bit and gave his hand a squeeze before moving away from the table he sat at. 

Arthur watched you leave, then turned his head to watch the two youngest members of the gang with Hosea. Hosea was telling a story while Jack and Ben listened. 

Arthur turned his head back to see where you had gone off to. You were standing with Abigail near Pearson’s tent. Abigail said something that caused you to look at Arthur, a smile pulling at your lips then you looked back at her, shaking your head and bringing your hand up to cover your mouth. It was a poor attempt to hide a giggle. 

Arthur fixed the hat on his head and decided to go towards his horse. 

“When are you gonna tell her?” Charles spoke from his horse. He was messing with a strap of Taima’s saddle. 

“Tell her what?”

Charles rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

“I’m not oblivious to it, Arthur. I don’t think any of us in camp are.”

“To what?”

“That you fancy her.”

Arthur mounted his horse, shifting around in the saddle a bit.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Smith.” He adjusted his hat. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you don’t.”

“You wanna come with me? Or keep standing there goin’ on about it?”

Taglist: @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284 @kashasenpai @misskrql @brooke-supernatural16 @lassiee @hocdolliday @micahs-bird 

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[jrob64]

Faultline - Chapter 3/3 “Aftershocks”

I’m happy I didn’t have to leave you hanging too long after that last chapter! Special thanks to the best beta in the business @hookedmom for checking it over quickly enough for me to get it posted this soon. Please see the first chapter for the list of people who were at least partially responsible for encouraging me to write this story. 

Story Summary: On the day Killian and Liam Jones meet Emma Swan, a major earthquake rocks San Francisco and the trio has to help each other survive. Based loosely on the movie “San Andreas”. 

Rating: M

Words: Ch. 3 - 7937

Total words: 21,030

Find the rest of the story on Tumblr:  Ch1  Ch2

Also found on ffn and Ao3

*********

Liam looked helplessly at his brother, seeing the anguish in his eyes over losing the woman he had come to care for, and knew he couldn’t give up on trying to bring her back to life. With renewed determination, he turned back to Emma and began pumping her chest again, all the while chanting, “Come on, lass! Come on!” 

He gave her three rescue breaths and pumped her chest twice more, then she suddenly coughed and sputtered, pitching forward and spewing water out of her mouth. Liam gently pounded her on the back as Arthur and Gwen cheered. 

“Emma!” Killian gasped, surging forward to gather her into his arms. She continued to cough and gag as she held onto him. 

“Welcome back, lass,” Liam said, smiling with relief. 

With the crisis averted, Arthur settled back into the captain’s chair and started the engine, then turned the boat and continued moving cautiously through the bay. Liam and Gwen resumed their seats too, but Killian and Emma remained on the deck of the boat, clinging to each other tightly. 

“I thought I lost you,” he murmured into her ear. 

“I’m s-sorry,” she whispered, beginning to shiver, both from being wet and the shock of what had just happened to her. Gwen stood up and moved across the back of the boat to lift the top of the bench seat, pulling out an armful of towels, which she handed to Killian. 

He unfolded and draped two of them around Emma, then one over his own shoulders. Using another, he began to dry her hair, all the while telling her how relieved he was that she survived. 

Liam watched the scene in front of him and realized his brother had already fallen hard and fast for the lovely lass they had just met less than half a day ago, although it seemed more like an eternity after all they’d been through together. 

*********

Fifteen minutes later, Arthur steered the boat up to the pier closest to Millbrae. As the trio began to disembark, Arthur stopped Liam and returned the money Killian had given him earlier. “This trip is on me,” he said firmly. 

“Thank you, mate,” Liam said, shaking the man’s hand. 

Gwen hugged all three of them, saying, “Take care and stay safe.” 

Liam carefully climbed onto the dock, then turned, put both hands around Emma’s waist and lifted her easily to set her beside him. Killian shook Arthur’s hand also, expressing his thanks, then joined his brother and Emma on the platform. All three of them waved as the boat pulled away, heading further down the bay. 

“How far away is your apartment?” Killian asked, wrapping his arm around Emma’s waist to give her extra support, since she was still weak from her ordeal. 

“About a twenty minute walk from here. There’s a dollar store a few blocks away that’s always open late, where I think we should stop and get you guys some clothes, sleepwear and other essentials. I know it won’t be top quality, but at least you could change out of those clothes.” 

“I don’t care what kind of quality they are,” Liam uttered. “I can hardly wait to get out of these bloody clothes.” 

“And he means that quite literally,” Killian chuckled. 

“We really should go directly to the Medical Center to get you guys checked out, though,” Emma said. 

“And you, as well,” Killian stated. “Near drowning can cause all sorts of complications.” 

“Where is the Medical Center?” Liam asked. 

Emma pointed off to the left. “It’s about a mile away.”

“Do you think you can walk that far, Love?” Killian asked. 

“Yeah, I should be okay,” she said, squeezing his side and resting her head on his shoulder. “How about you, Liam? Is your leg feeling up to it?” 

“Aye, it will be a stroll in the park compared to what I’ve put it through already.” 

They walked along the streets, relieved to see less damage and chaos than there had been in San Francisco, although the impact of the earthquake was still evident. Killian could tell that Emma was becoming fatigued when they finally came within sight of the Medical Center, so he pulled her closer into his side and walked at a slower pace, which Liam matched immediately. 

The trio entered the emergency room and saw several other people waiting for medical attention. Killian led Emma to a seat while Liam got them registered and collected the paperwork to be filled out. 

The wait wasn’t as long as expected and the medical staff was thorough and efficient, despite the fact they had more than likely been extremely busy all day. Killian’s hand was X-rayed and found to have multiple breaks, which were set, but because of the extensive swelling, it was put into a brace that would be replaced with a cast in a few days. 

Liam’s leg required forty-six stitches, inside and out because the cut was so deep, and he was put on an antibiotic and given a tetanus shot. He reported that the worst part was having the wound thoroughly cleaned to prevent any infection, although the physician complimented the care given to it prior to Liam coming in for medical treatment. 

Emma went through extensive testing to ensure her lungs weren’t showing adverse effects of her near drowning. The doctor recommended keeping her for observation overnight, but she insisted on going home and was given a list of warning signs with the stipulation that she return immediately if she noticed any of them. She was also given antibiotics as a precautionary measure to prevent infection. 

By the time they were finished, darkness, exhaustion and hunger had set in and they opted to call for a Lyft driver to take them to Emma’s neighborhood, where they first stopped at the dollar store and then an In-and-Out Burger before making their way to her apartment. 

She unlocked the door and the three of them entered and collapsed onto her sofa. It was several minutes before Killian worked up enough energy to begin opening the take-out bags to distribute the food. 

They ate in silence, the exhaustion and utter disbelief of what they had experienced that day rendering them unable to think of anything to say. When the food was gone, they slumped into the couch with Emma’s head resting on Killian’s shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her and caressed her arm. 

After several minutes, Liam finally sighed and pulled his phone out. “I should see about getting us a hotel room.” He cursed when he realized his battery was dead. “Can I use yours, Killian?” 

“Why don’t you guys just stay here?” Emma yawned. “I have a queen size bed the two of you can share and I’ll take the couch.” 

“Emma, we shouldn’t impose on you like that,” Liam protested mildly. 

“It’s not imposing - I want you here. After what we’ve been through, I really don’t want to be alone tonight. Please stay.”

Killian pressed a kiss to her temple. “Alright, Love. We won’t leave you alone, but we’re not going to make you give up your bed.” 

“I’m the only one who can fit on this couch to sleep, and I’m used to it. I fall asleep on it in front of the TV at least a couple times a week.” 

“In that case, Liam can take the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor out here. That way I’ll be right here if you start showing any of the signs the doctor warned you about.” 

“Killian…” 

“No arguments, Swan. I insist.” 

She gave him a tired smile, then turned to Liam. “Do you want to use the shower first? I don’t think I have the energy yet, and I’m pretty cozy right now.” She snuggled further into Killian’s side to prove her point. 

“A shower sounds like absolute heaven,” Liam said, stretching his arms above his head. “Just point me in the right direction.” 

“Down the hallway, first door on the left. It’s only a one bedroom apartment, so there’s not much chance of getting lost.” 

Liam chuckled and collected the dollar store bags off the floor. 

“Don’t forget to cover your wound with the plastic bandage they gave you at the Medical Center,” Emma reminded him. 

“Yes, ma’am!” he called over his shoulder on his way down the hall. 

Emma and Killian soon heard the sound of the shower and she turned her face up to look at him. “I think this has been the worst and best day of my life.” 

“I completely understand the worst part, but why do you say it’s the best?” 

“Because I met you.” 

A grin stretched across his face, then he dipped his head to capture her lips, sharing a sweet and languid kiss with her. Keeping his forehead pressed against hers, he whispered, “It’s been my best and worst day too, Love. I’m very glad we met and were together through everything.” 

“Do you think you and Liam will move here?” she asked, caressing the nape of his neck with the tips of her fingers. 

“If I have my way, we will, even if he doesn’t end up getting that job. I’m sure he’ll be able to get one elsewhere. He’s an excellent civil engineer - the top in his class at Uni,” he said proudly. 

“What do you think you’ll do?” 

“I plan to take some classes, possibly online just as you’re doing. I’ve always wanted to study literature.” 

“Do you want to be a teacher?” 

“Perhaps, but that degree would also allow me to be a writer or librarian.” 

“So you like to write, too?” 

“Aye. Writing and music have always been ways for me to express myself.” 

“You must be very talented.” 

He shrugged. “I don’t know how talented I am, but they bring me enjoyment.” 

They fell silent for a few moments until Emma murmured, “I know we’ve only known each other for a few hours, but I felt a connection to you as soon as we met. I’d really like to explore these feelings and see where they take us.” 

“I feel the same, Love.” 

They heard the shower turn off and knew Liam would soon be joining them, so Killian took the opportunity to share another lingering kiss with the woman in his arms. “Mmm, you’re really good at that,” Emma said, licking her lips. 

“That’s nice to hear, since I haven’t had very much practice,” he admitted. 

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re kidding.” 

“Nope. I haven’t dated many women or had them falling at my feet.”

“That’s hard to believe. A sweet, gorgeous, sexy guy like you, and you play guitar in a band. You should be able to get any woman you want!” 

He gave a low chuckle. “Well, there’s only one woman I want, and she’s right here.”  

Liam emerged from the bathroom just as they were sharing another kiss, clearing his throat to alert them of his presence. 

Emma giggled as they broke apart from each other, wiping her thumb across Killian’s bottom lip, then running it across his cheekbone. “Do you want to shower next?” 

“I can wait, you go ahead.” 

“That’s okay. I kinda want to watch the news to get some updates. Do you need help getting your brace off?” 

“If you don’t mind. The doctor said I could take it off to shower, as long as I’m careful.” 

Emma carefully undid the velcro on the brace, lifting his hand out of it gingerly when she finished. “Did he say to continue icing it?” 

“Aye. I’ll do that after I’m done showering.” He kissed her on the cheek before rising from the couch. 

“Your clothes are already in the bathroom,” Liam told him, taking a seat on the sofa. “Bloody hell, it feels good to be clean and in comfortable clothes,” he sighed. 

“Did you have any trouble getting your wound redressed?”

“Not really. I’m sure you could have done a better job of it, but I managed.” 

Emma reached down between the cushions to retrieve the remote control and flicked on the TV. Immediately, images of the destruction in San Francisco filled the screen and the voice of the reporter droned on about damage and casualty estimates. 

Both of them sat watching, stunned to see aerial views of the area as well as those on the ground. “I can’t believe we lived through that,” Liam commented. 

Emma hit the button to switch it off. “Yeah, I know, and I think I’ve seen enough of it for the day.” 

“I completely agree.” 

“Would you like something to drink?” 

“You wouldn’t happen to have any tea, would you?” 

“I actually think I do have some tea bags around here somewhere,” she said, getting to her feet. 

Liam followed her across the room into the small, cramped kitchen and watched as she opened and closed a couple of cupboards before finding a box of tea bags. 

“These things don’t expire, do they? I think I bought them when I had a sore throat about a year ago.” 

Liam laughed. “I’m sure they’re fine. I don’t suppose it’s Earl Grey, is it?” 

“Huh?” 

He laughed again. “Never mind, lass. Where are your mugs?” 

She opened another cupboard, revealing a mismatched collection of mugs, chose three of them and set them on the counter. Then she got out a large glass measuring cup, filled it with water from the faucet and placed it in the microwave. After hitting a few buttons and starting it, she watched Liam placing a tea bag in each cup. 

“You and my brother seem to be very attracted to one another,” he commented softly. 

“Yeah, we were just talking about that. I know it seems crazy, but…” 

“The two of you developing feelings for each other is the least crazy thing to happen all day, Emma.” 

“You aren’t upset, are you?” 

He turned to face her. “I’m very protective of my brother, as I’m sure you’ve already figured out. Growing up as we did, I’ve always watched over him and tried to steer him in the right direction. He hasn’t always been amenable to my advice, but I just can’t help myself. He’s my little brother and I never want him to get hurt.” 

“First of all, if he hears you call him ‘little brother’, he’s gonna tear you a new one. Secondly, I would never hurt him. He’s a good man; both of you are. Besides saving my life at least three times today, you’ve proven yourselves to be the kindest, strongest, most noble people I’ve ever met, and I love that you’re protective of him. I’ve never had a family of my own and I’ve always wanted a big brother. I can’t think of anyone better for that role than you, Liam.” 

He wrapped her up in a warm hug and kissed the crown of her head. “You’re very special yourself, lass. And to answer your question - no, I am not upset.” 

The microwave beeped and he pulled away from her to remove the measuring cup, filling each mug with the boiling water. Killian entered the kitchen, dressed in plaid sleep pants and a clean, white T-shirt, rubbing a towel through his hair. Emma drew in a breath at seeing his muscles flexing, along with his tousled, wet hair. The combination was intoxicating to her. 

“Shower’s all yours, Swan,” he announced, oblivious to her flushed cheeks. 

“I’m going to have the tea Liam and I just prepared, first. We made a cup for you, too.” 

She put some ice in a ziplock bag and handed it to him, then the two of them sat on the rickety bar stools, while Liam leaned against the counter sipping his tea and observing the besotted looks on the two people in front of him. He knew everything had happened impossibly fast, but there was no denying the bloom of first love on both of their faces. 

*********

After they finished their tea, Emma helped Killian put his brace back on, then took her turn in the shower. While she was in the bathroom, Killian sought out her small linen closet and found some sheets and a blanket. He used them to make up a bed for Emma on the sofa. 

Liam ventured into her bedroom and returned carrying an extra pillow and a comforter, which he spread out in front of the couch. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to sleep on the floor, brother?” 

“I’ve slept in worse places, and after the day we’ve had, I could probably sleep on a bed of nails. I’m beyond exhausted.” 

“Aye, I’m completely wrung out myself, physically and emotionally. It’s been a long, fucking day.” 

Without warning, Killian moved to his brother and pulled him into a strong embrace. “There were moments when I wondered if we were going to make it through today, and I…well, I guess it made me appreciate you more than ever. I can’t imagine my life without you. I love you, Liam.” 

“Love you too, Killian.” 

Killian stepped back and glanced up just in time to see his brother wipe away a tear. He wasn’t quite sure what else to say, and was a little relieved when Emma came back into the room at that moment. She was dressed in a long T-shirt and a pair of yoga pants, her hair wrapped up in a towel, turban-style and a hairbrush in her hand. 

“I, um, I hope you don’t mind that Killian and I went searching for some bed linens while you were in the shower,” Liam said. 

“Not at all. I’m glad you guys are making yourselves at home. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the coming days or what plans you have, but I want you to know that you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like. I know it’s tiny and I don’t have much to offer…” 

“I think you’ve done very well for yourself, lass,” Liam assured her, and Killian nodded his agreement. “If you don’t mind having us as houseguests for a few days, we happily accept. I’m going to brush my teeth and collapse into bed now.” He gave Emma a hug. “Thanks again for giving up your bed for me.” 

“No problem. Sleep well, Liam.” 

“You, too.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder on his way past and limped down the hall to the bathroom.  

Emma unwrapped the towel, draped it over the back of one of the bar stools, and began fluffing out her hair. Killian watched, his breath catching in his throat at her beauty. When she started to run the brush through her blonde locks, he cleared his throat. “Could I, uh, would you mind if I…did that for you?” 

“Not at all. Umm, here,” she said, shyly handing him the brush, then going over to sit on the sofa, turning so her back was to him. He sat beside her and slowly drew the brush through the thick strands of her hair, marveling at the cascade of gold flowing over his hand. 

When not a single snarl remained and her hair was nearly dry from his careful attention, she breathed out a sigh and said, “Thank you, Killian. That felt nice and, I don’t know, sort of…intimate, if you know what I mean.” 

“I agree. It was very enjoyable for me, as well.” He set the brush on the arm of the sofa, pulled her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck, relishing her purr of contentment. It was followed by a huge yawn, causing Killian to chuckle. “I think it’s time to get some sleep, Love. I’m going to brush my teeth. Be right back.” He collected the hairbrush, stood up, kissed the top of her head, and left the room. 

She stretched out on the couch, tossing the pillow he had placed there onto the floor for him to use and grabbing a small throw pillow that was on top of the sofa propped up against the wall instead. Covering up with the blanket, she dropped the extra sheet on the floor, too. 

By the time Killian re-entered the living room, Emma was already asleep. He smiled at her form, curled up on the couch, brushed some strands of hair away from her face, and bent to press a kiss to her temple. “Goodnight, Love,” he whispered, then laid down on the comforter beside the couch, fluffed the pillow under his head, pulled the sheet over himself, and immediately fell into a deep sleep. 

*********

They were all moving sluggishly the next morning, taking inventory of their aches and pains and swallowing Tylenol to alleviate them to some degree. 

Killian made a trip down the block to bring back coffee and donuts for breakfast. “How does it look out there, brother?” Liam asked, when he returned, relieving him of the bag of donuts. 

“The sun is shining and people are out and about. If it weren’t for the clean-up equipment removing piles of rubble here and there, you wouldn’t know a natural disaster happened yesterday.” 

“I’m sure it’s a different story in San Francisco,” Emma commented, shuddering as she remembered seeing Walsh’s body under a white shroud. 

Killian noticed and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Come on, Swan, let’s have some breakfast. Coffee always makes everything better.” 

She gave him a grateful smile and they sat together on the couch, balancing the paper plates containing their donuts on their knees, while sipping from the steaming cups. Liam sat at the counter, turning on his bar stool to face them. “What should we do today?” he asked. 

“As little as possible, in my opinion,” Killian answered. “I know we planned to go sightseeing, but I’m just not up to it today.”

“Agreed,” Liam nodded. 

“I hate to break it to you, but we’re gonna have to make a trip to the grocery store because I have zero food in the fridge,” Emma informed them. 

“I think we can manage that,” Liam said, before taking a huge bite of his glazed donut. 

“I wonder when we’ll be able to go back to San Francisco?” Killian asked.

“The doctor advised me not to overdo it for the next few days,” Liam reminded him.

“We probably won’t be able to call the hotel to see about getting your belongings, since I’m sure the phone lines are down. Maybe tomorrow, Killian and I should go into the city to try to get them,” Emma suggested. “We might still be able to do a little sightseeing in the areas on the outskirts of town.” 

“Are you sure you want to go back there, Love?” Killian asked softly. 

“I’ll be fine as long as you’re with me. You’re my own personal bodyguard.” 

Killian flashed a grin at her. 

“You did just as much to save us as we did for you, Emma,” Liam assured her. 

“I don’t know about that…” 

Liam interrupted her. “I do. You directed us around the city, took care of our injuries, found transportation for us…”

“Kept us from killing each other,” Killian threw in with a smirk. 

Liam raised an eyebrow at his brother. “It was definitely a team effort,” he went on. 

“And we make quite the team,” Killian said, reaching over to squeeze Emma’s hand. 

She smiled at him over her coffee cup, then took a long drink and swallowed. “Anyway, I say we spend today recovering and then see how we feel tomorrow.” 

“I like that plan,” Liam concurred. 

They finished their breakfast while watching the latest updates on TV, encouraged to see so many agencies and citizens helping with the clean-up process. The damage was extensive, but the estimated death toll was lower than expected for such a major earthquake. They learned the ‘big one’ measured 7.1 on the Richter Scale, making it one of the largest on record. Aerial views showed collapsed bridges and crumbled structures, though a vast majority of the most modern buildings had minimal damage. 

Most roads were still being assessed for their stability and people were being advised to stay away from the area as much as possible for the next few days. “Perhaps we should wait an extra day or two to go back,” Killian suggested. 

“Aye, that’s probably a wise decision,” Liam agreed. “This looks like a lovely community, lass. I’m sure we can find some things to do around here.” 

“It’s a nice city, but it’s not incredibly exciting. I like how low-key it is compared to San Francisco. We can go to Bayfront Park and the Train Museum, if that’s your thing. There’s also the Millbrae Shopping Center. You guys are gonna need some more clothes since we can’t get back to retrieve your luggage for a few days.” 

“You don’t have to feel the need to entertain us, Swan. Just spending time with you is enough for me,” Killian said. He shoved the last bite of his donut into his mouth and grinned around it. 

“Ugh, I don’t know if I want to watch the two of you swooning over each other for the next few days,” Liam complained teasingly. 

“You might have to get used to it, brother. At least I hope so.” 

Emma answered by squeezing his knee through his gray sweatpants, then licked the remains of her bearclaw off her fingers and leaned in for a kiss. “Definitely.” 

“How far is the nearest grocery?” Liam asked, attempting to change the subject. 

“The one I usually go to is less than two miles away. It’s not very big, but it has everything I need. Maybe we could look for some movies while we’re there. I don’t have any streaming services, but I do have a DVD player. I just don’t have an extensive collection of DVDs.” 

“Sitting around, relaxing and watching movies sounds like a good plan to me,” Killian said. 

*********

Half-an-hour later, they were strolling down the aisles of the small grocery store, tossing snacks and ingredients for easy meals into the cart. When they reached the section with the DVDs, the three of them sorted through the offerings, searching for something of interest. 

“Hey, how about this one?” Emma asked. 

Killian and Liam looked up to see her waving the movie San Andreas in front of them. “No, thanks!” Killian exclaimed, while Liam said, “Absolutely not!” 

She laughed and replaced it on the shelf. 

*********

They spent the next two days sitting on the couch watching movies, playing cards, stretching their legs by casually walking around town, eating junk food and getting to know one another better by having long conversations about a little bit of everything. Emma called in to take sick days from her job at the electronics store, but was able to complete her work for her online classes, even though Killian kept trying to distract her in the sweetest ways. 

Three days after the earthquake, they piled into Emma’s yellow Volkswagen and ventured back to San Francisco. They were surprised to find most of the major highways open already, though there was structural damage to almost all of them, with a lane or two closed where necessary. Since the hotel where the brothers had been staying wasn’t in the downtown area, it wasn’t included in the cordoned off restricted areas, which allowed them to collect their belongings. 

They made the trip to Muir Woods to view the giant redwoods, standing tall and undamaged like beacons of hope. The ferry to Alcatraz Island was operating again, so they bought tickets and joined the sparse crowd of people boarding, then spent the afternoon participating in a tour of the historic site. 

When they finally returned to Emma’s apartment early that evening, all three of them were tired but happy, until Killian realized they were scheduled to return to England in two days.  

“Can’t we just postpone going back?” he begged Liam. 

“You know we can’t stay here indefinitely. We have obligations at home and I doubt I’ll be hearing about that job anytime soon.”

Killian looked at Emma in despair and she took his hand, brushing her thumb soothingly across the back of it. “I’m not going anywhere, Killian. I’ll be right here when you guys come back.” Looking at Liam, she added, “I can be on the lookout for an apartment for you guys, if you decide to move here.” 

Liam glanced at his brother, who was sitting slumped on the couch with a forlorn look on his face. “I would appreciate that, lass, because if we don’t, I’m going to have to deal with a heartbroken and morose brother.”

Killian roused at that news and gave his brother a slight smile. 

*********

The next day, they returned to the Medical Center so Killian could get a cast put on his hand and all three of them could be re-examined in their follow-up visit. Liam was told there was no sign of infection and he would need to get his stitches removed once he returned to England.

Emma had her lungs X-rayed and everyone was relieved to find out they were clear. She planned to return to work the next day after seeing the guys off at the airport. 

Knowing it was their last evening together for the foreseeable future, Liam insisted they go out for dinner to a nice restaurant, his treat. Emma recommended an Italian place located a few blocks from her place that she’d always wanted to try.

It was a melancholy evening as they attempted to enjoy themselves, all the while thinking about what the next day would bring. When they returned to Emma’s apartment, they put the styrofoam boxes of leftovers in the refrigerator and checked through all the rooms to make sure they hadn’t forgotten anything that needed to go into their suitcases. 

Emma suggested watching a movie, but Liam claimed he was too tired and wanted to go to bed. Killian knew it was an excuse to give him some time alone with Emma, and appreciated his brother’s gesture. He was sure she realized it too, because she gave Liam an extra long hug before he headed down the hallway. 

Once Liam was in bed and the couple had each changed into their pajamas and brushed their teeth, they cuddled on the couch, talking softly and sharing sweet, lingering kisses. 

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Emma whispered. “It’s going to be very lonely around here.” 

“I wish with all my heart I could stay,” Killian said, his voice low and somber. “I was going to try to convince Liam to go back to England without me, but I just couldn’t do that to him.” 

“No, that wouldn’t be right. Hopefully you’ll be able to get everything worked out so you can move here soon.” 

“Aye, I hope so, too.” He pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her, looking deeply into her eyes. “I know this probably sounds crazy, and maybe you think it’s too soon, but I can’t leave tomorrow without telling you that I love you, Emma.” 

“I love you too, Killian, and it’s not too soon. I was attracted to you from the moment we met, and I think the intensity of everything we went through forged a strong bond between us. Maybe being away from each other for a while is a good thing, because it will give us time to see if this is an infatuation or the real thing.” 

“I can tell you right now that it’s not just an infatuation, Love. You own my heart and not a day will go by that I won’t think of you and wish I could be here with you.” 

“Good.” 

They shared more kisses, which became increasingly passionate and desperate. 

“Killian…” Emma panted against his lips. 

“Yes, Love?” he asked breathlessly. 

“Will you…make love to me?” 

He pulled back to look at her. “Are you sure?” 

“I want to be yours completely.” 

“I want that, too, but I…I’m not very experienced. I’ve only been with one other girl and we only did it twice.” 

“I don’t think that matters, as long as we love each other. And for what it’s worth, I haven’t had much experience, either. Just a couple of guys in high school, but no one since then.” 

“Then I guess we don’t have to worry about, um…” 

“STDs? Yeah, I’m clean.” 

“In that case…” He began kissing down the length of her throat, urged on by her moans. She worked her hands under his T-shirt and began scratching her nails along the smooth skin of his back, which made him growl into the hollow of her throat. He grabbed the back of his shirt to tug it over his head, cursing when the sleeve got stuck on his cast. 

Emma giggled and helped him finish removing it. Running her fingers through the hair on his chest, she murmured, “Mmm, so sexy.” 

“Your turn, Swan,” he encouraged, plucking at the material of her shirt. She hesitated a few moments before crossing her arms to grip the hem, then pulled it over her head. As soon as her breasts were bared to him, he eagerly ran his fingers over them and kissed down the valley of her cleavage. 

When he began licking and sucking at her nipples, she stopped him. “Let’s take off the rest of our clothes first, because once we start, I won’t want to stop.” 

“Okay,” he agreed and pushed himself to his feet, extending a hand to pull her up, too. They quickly disposed of their pajama pants and underwear, then ran their eyes over each other’s body, admiring  what they saw. 

Settling onto the comforter on the floor, they began exploring one another. Emma’s hands roamed across Killian’s chest, then around to his back and down to squeeze his firm ass, making him gasp. He resumed licking, nipping and kissing her breasts, feeling himself grow harder at her throaty response. She felt it too, and moved one of her hands to wrap it around him. 

As her hand slowly pumped his cock, he moved his own hand down the smooth expanse of her stomach and pushed between her thighs, feeling her heat and the evidence of her arousal immediately. “Bloody hell, Emma. You’re already so wet.” 

“Mmm, yeah. You got me all worked up. I can hardly wait to feel you inside me, Killian,” she breathed into his ear. 

“That’s exactly where I want to be.” He urged her to widen her legs, allowing him to press two fingers into her. “Fuck, Love, you’re so tight and hot. You’re gonna feel so good wrapped around me.” 

“What are you waiting for?” she moaned, her eyes closing as her hips thrust up at him. 

“Are you ready? I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“We’ll go slow. You won’t hurt me.” 

“How do you want to …” 

She opened her eyes and shifted until she was hovering over him. “I think I should be on top so you don’t have to put so much pressure on your hand.” 

“As you wish,” he grinned, quoting one of their favorite movies watched that week. 

“I love you, too,” she smiled, then reached between them to grasp his cock, rubbing the head through her soaked folds several times before lining herself up and starting to sink down. He closed his eyes and gripped her hips, letting her set the pace and resisting the urge to thrust up into her.

When he was finally fully seated within her heat, she put her hands on his chest and rested her ass on his thighs, her knees on either side of his hips. “Oh fuck, Killian! It’s even better than I imagined.” 

“Mmm, yeah,” he agreed, biting his lip as he looked up at her. “I need you to move, Sweetheart. Please.” 

She nodded and began undulating her pelvis, watching his face to see his reaction. His eyes snapped shut and the cords of his neck stood out as he tried not to lose control. She dropped down, resting her forearms on his chest and pumping her hips, sliding up and down his shaft. 

His breathing was ragged as he continued trying to restrain himself, not wanting the moment to be over too soon. Suddenly, he felt her lips against his. “Don’t hold back, Killian. I want to feel you come inside me.”

The growl tearing from his throat was nearly primal, and before she could react, he had reversed their positions and was pumping into her with abandon. “Yes, yes, yesssss,” she chanted, wrapping her legs around his hips and clawing at his back. 

She climaxed before he did, smothering her cry of ecstasy into his shoulder, and he soon followed her into the state of bliss, shuddering with the force of his orgasm. He collapsed on top of her, then rolled them over so she was sprawled across him, not letting himself slip out of her. 

“I love you so much, Emma,” he panted, drawing his fingers through her tangled hair. 

“I love you, too,” she mumbled against his chest. 

As he softened inside her, their bodies reacted to their lovemaking. 

“Now these aftershocks I don’t mind at all,” he smirked. 

Emma giggled. “Neither do I.” 

*********

One Year Later

Emma, Killian and Liam sat in the living room of the apartment they all shared, watching coverage of the first anniversary of the San Francisco Earthquake. Liam perched on the edge of the recliner, leaning forward as he focused on the videos of the damage they had all witnessed firsthand, while Killian sat on the floor with his back against the couch, relishing the feeling of his girlfriend running her fingers through his hair. 

“I can’t believe it’s been a whole year,” he commented. 

“It’s been a very eventful year,” Emma said and both brothers murmured in agreement. 

Two weeks after they returned to England, Liam was offered the job in San Francisco, which he eagerly accepted. It took the brothers another month to square everything away in Leicester, and arrange to have their belongings shipped over. 

When they stepped outside the airport on the day they returned, Emma leaped into Killian’s arms, wrapping her arms and legs around him and smothering his face with kisses. Liam looked on with equal parts amusement and embarrassment, but was happy to see a genuine smile on his brother’s face again. 

Emma hadn’t had any luck securing an apartment for them and offered to let them live with her until something became available. Liam was reluctant at first, knowing that all three of them living in her small, cramped apartment could lead to disagreements, but seeing no real alternative, decided to accept her offer for the time being. They were all pleasantly surprised at how well the arrangement worked out, and found that they enjoyed being roommates. Liam continued to sleep in Emma’s bed, while she and Killian shared an air mattress on the living room floor. 

Seven months after the brothers moved to California, Emma’s neighbors told her they were leaving California and moving out of their two bedroom apartment at the end of the month. She immediately contacted her landlord to get an application for the guys. As Liam began filling it out, Killian bemoaned the fact that, even though they would live right next to each other, he and Emma wouldn’t be living in the same place anymore. 

Liam looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “I was under the impression this new apartment was for all three of us. Is that not what you intended, lass?” 

Emma’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she finally managed to say, “You want me to live with you guys? Permanently?” 

“Of course I do,” Liam assured her. “After all, you are my favorite roommate!” 

The next month, they settled into their new apartment together. 

By that time, she had taken an intensive four month EMT training course and had passed her exam. She was hired to work for the city of Millbrae, which, along with her twenty-first birthday, gave the trio a reason for celebration. She continued working part-time at the electronics store to help pay for the online courses and training she planned to take to become a full-fledged paramedic. 

Killian started taking online classes to pursue a degree in literature, while doing freelance editing. After being in a cast for six weeks, followed by three months of physical therapy, his hand was finally healed enough that he was able to play his guitar again. He soon auditioned and was hired as the lead guitarist for a band that entertained at local bars on the weekends. 

Liam bought a car to commute to San Francisco for his job every day. He was extremely busy working for the company hired to design bridges to replace the ones which had collapsed during the earthquake, and thoroughly enjoyed the challenge. 

The three of them often reminisced about the day they survived the earthquake and all the challenges they faced together. On three occasions in the following months, they experienced mild tremors, causing them momentary panic, but they soon realized they weren’t in any danger. 

“What time is Elsa coming over?” Emma asked, interrupting Liam’s concentration on the television. 

Liam had quite literally run into the woman who was now his girlfriend on the second day of his new job. He was rushing to catch the elevator and failed to see the lovely blonde, bumping into her and spilling her latte down the front of her dress. When he told the story that evening at dinner, Killian noticed the starry-eyed look on his brother’s face immediately and winked at Emma. He encouraged Liam to ask her on a date, which he eventually did, and the two quickly fell in love. After several months of dating, Elsa and Liam split their time between his apartment, and the one she shared with her sister in San Bruno, a city three miles north of Millbrae. Since her sister was getting married and moving out within a month, Emma was sure Liam would be moving into Elsa’s place before long. The thought made her a little sad, but she was content knowing he would still be nearby.  

Liam looked at the time on his phone. “She should be here any minute now. I’m going to go change clothes.” 

Once he left the room, Killian chuckled. “He’s still trying to impress her, even though he’s got her in his hip pocket.” 

Emma playfully slapped him on the shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Maybe you should make the same effort as your brother.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked in an affronted tone. 

“Well, here you sit in an old T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. Am I not worth dressing up for a little bit?” 

He turned to look at her, seeing the teasing smile on her face. “For you, my love, I will do anything. What color tuxedo would you prefer?” 

She threw her head back and laughed, then scratched her fingers through his short beard, which he had taken to wearing ever since she berated Liam for shaving off his ‘sexy scruff’. Her actions drew a contented purr from her boyfriend, then she leaned in and whispered hotly into his ear, “I prefer you in nothing at all.” 

Killian growled and crawled onto the couch on top of her, tickling her sides and rubbing his chin along her jaw, throwing her into a state of hysterics. 

“Alright, kids - behave yourselves. Elsa will be here shortly,” Liam admonished, as he re-entered the room, dressed in nice jeans and a button-down shirt. 

“I can’t help it my girlfriend is so bloody gorgeous, I can’t keep my hands off of her,” Killian threw over his shoulder. “Besides, Elsa should be used to how we act by now.” 

“Aye, and I’m beyond grateful our bedrooms are on opposite ends of the apartment,” Liam said, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, that worked out good for both of us. I’d rather not hear my brother’s amorous activities, either.” 

A knock sounded at the door and Liam rushed to open it, greeting Elsa with a sweet kiss, and ushering her into the apartment. She noticed the couple on the couch and laughed. “I see the fun is beginning early for you two.” 

“The fun never ends for those two,” Liam groused. 

“Emma was telling me that I should make more of an effort to impress her, like Liam does for you.” 

She pinched him on the side, making him yelp. “I was teasing.” 

He sat up. “Still, never let it be said that Killian Jones doesn’t do all he can to make his fair maiden happy.” He kissed her on the forehead and left the room. 

“Are you ready, Sweetheart?” Elsa asked Liam. The two were planning to go shopping to find Liam a new suit for work. 

“Aye. Tell Killian we’ll be at the bar to see him perform tonight,” he told Emma, placing his hand on the small of Elsa’s back to guide her out of the apartment. 

“I will. Good luck with the shopping!” Emma called out as Liam closed the door behind them.

She watched a few more minutes of the earthquake anniversary coverage before switching off the TV and standing up to stretch. When she turned toward their bedroom, she stopped in her tracks, her mouth dropping open and eyes widening in shock. 

Killian stood in the doorway dressed in a navy blue suit, with a crisp white shirt and red tie. His hair was slicked back and his right hand was behind his back. 

“Wh-what are you doing?” she stammered. 

He pulled his hand out, revealing a bouquet of red roses. “Impressing my girlfriend.” 

“Wha-...how…where did those come from?” she asked, stepping closer and bending to smell the fragrant blooms. 

“I have my ways,” he smirked, giving her the roses. Then he dropped to one knee in front of her, causing tears to form in her eyes at the realization of what was happening. 

“Killian…” she gasped. 

“Emma, the earth literally moved the day I met you, and my life has never been the same since then. I want to spend the rest of my days loving you and showing you how special you are to me. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?” 

She burst into tears and fell to the floor, collapsing against him and nodding into his neck, too choked up to form words. 

“Is that a yes?” he asked cheekily. 

“Yes, you idiot,” she sobbed. “Yes, I’ll marry you!” 

He pulled back to put some distance between them, grinning broadly, and reached into his jacket pocket to remove a ring box. Opening it to reveal a simple oval cut diamond solitaire, set in a white gold band, he looked into her teary eyes. “I love you beyond words, Emma,” he said softly, then slid the ring onto her outstretched finger, sealing the proposal with a kiss. 

“I love you too,” she choked out. 

They continued to kneel on the floor, holding each other tightly for several more minutes before Killian finally broke the spell. “What do you say, Love? Did I manage to impress you?” 

“You impress me every day, Killian. I owe my life to you, and I can’t wait to spend the rest of it as your wife.” 

Both of them swore the earth shook again as the kiss they shared expressed the depth and passion of their love.

*********

Thank you so much for reading, liking and reblogging. You make my writer’s heart SO happy!

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[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Leon brings Merlin and Lancelot in on his underground enterprise;

Turns out, Leon is the biggest Magic Ally out there. Confusion, bonding, and sneaky hijinks ensue.

I imagine it starts fairly normally.

The Gang (King Arthur, Merlin, and the five knights) have literally just arrived back at the castle after a fairly uneventful hunt (I mean... nowadays, getting attacked by bandits only once in three days counts as uneventful).

Merlin is left behind to help the stablehands untack the horses, like usual, except he leaves the stables half a candle mark later to find Leon awkwardly loitering around outside, the evening dimming around him.

He thinks maybe the First Knight had gotten injured, and was too embarrassed to ask for help in front of everyone (something that is common in all of the knights. Merlin thinks it’s very stupid, and has told all of them this at least once), so doesn’t question it when Leon asks Merlin for a quick word, and leads him back to his quarters.

Leon locks the door behind him. Not unusual, the man was very private. It’s when he puts a chair in front of the door and draws the curtains, that Merlin starts to get a little nervous. He’d cast a small enchantment on one of the bandits, to make him confused enough to trip over his own feet (as opposed to skewering Elyan, which is what he’d been about to do) but Merlin was certain that no one had seen him. He was certain.

And... Leon was a knight. He’d been a knight for longer than Arthur had been King, longer than he’d even known Merlin. Surely if he saw... he would've said something, accused him or just killed him.

(He has to remind himself to have a little faith in his friends. But also: “This might be completely unrelated, so just act natural.”)

Leon turns around to look at Merlin, and instantly recognises how nervous the younger man is, despite his poor attempt to hide it. The knight keeps his distance, and gives him a slow nod:

“I just wanted to let you know, Merlin, if you ever need... ah, a way out of the city, unseen, at short notice, then I can sort something for you.”

At that, all of Merlin’s racing, terrifying thoughts, stutter to a stop, and he looks at Leon with nothing but confusion on his face. He tilts his head slightly, asking, ever so eloquently:

“...What?”

Leon sends a soft smile and a knowing wink his way:

“Or, you know, the back up of a noble in court, or an alibi, I can do that to. I have a feeling that, considering you haven’t done a runner yet, you’re planning on sticking around.”

Merlin just furrows his eyebrows, shaking his head slightly in bewilderment:

“I... Leon I have no idea what you’re talking about. What do you mean, done a runner? Why would I need your help in court or... or an alibi??”

Leon just raises an eyebrow, and tilts his head.

Merlin copies him.

A look of realisation crosses the blonde’s face, and he lifts his hands in surrender:

“Ah. Ok, before I say anything else, I promise Merlin, you are entirely safe. I would protect you with my life if I had to-”

Merlin slowly nods, still confused:

“-I know about your magic.”

Merlin gasps and steps back, but Leon just smiles at him again, nodding his head slightly; it does nothing to relax the servant, and his breathing continues to get deeper as he backs himself against the wall, tears filling his eyes.

Leon frowns, his heart cracking slightly, but resists the protective urge to walk towards Merlin to comfort him. Instead he takes a step back, not lowering his hands. Before he can open his mouth to utter more reassurances, a tirade of broken, cracking apologies fall from Merlin’s lips:

“I... Leon I swear I’m not evil, I... I don’t hurt people, I promise. Please, you... please believe me, I would NEVER-”

Leon interrupts him, shaking his head rapidly, and forcing a reassuring smile on his face:

“I know. Merlin, I know that. I know you’re not evil, I know that you use it to protect us, I know. It’s ok, I won’t tell anyone, you’re not in danger, I would NEVER hurt you, or tell anyone, ok? I swear it. You’re safe with me.”

Merlin gulps, but relaxes (only slightly, but it’s a start. Leon doesn’t know why he’s so surprised at Merlin’s reaction, I suppose he thought he had been clear in his brotherly affection and protectiveness towards the younger man. Apparently not; he would have to fix that). He gives Leon an assessing once over, and it strikes the knight how efficient he is. He wonders how many times Merlin’s eyes have flicked over someone: checking their face for any sign of deception, checking how close their hands are to a weapon, checking their stance to see if they’re preparing for a fight.

Leon stays in place, forcing himself to untense, and giving Merlin a weak smile, hoping that the servant doesn’t mistake his slight heartbreak for fear or anger.

After a few moments, Merlin relaxes even further (though is still understandably ready to bolt at a moment’s notice), and steps away from the wall, Leon’s smile widens, and he nods once again, patiently waiting for Merlin to say something:

“You... you offered to smuggle me out of the city?”

Leon nods, glancing to the door behind him before gesturing Merlin to keep his voice down as he replies cryptically:

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

The servant gulps, giving the knight an assessing gaze, magic buzzing under his skin, alert and frightened at the idea of a Red Knight other than Lancelot knowing the truth:

“You’ve smuggled others out?”

Leon nods and moves ever so slowly to sit on the edge of his bed, still holding his hands up placatingly. He doesn’t gesture for Merlin to join him, understanding the other man’s remaining jumpiness, but leaves space next to him, just in case.

Merlin hesitates for only a second before settling on the bed next to him, forcing himself to relax. The knight wasn’t currently armed, and anyway, if Leon had been planning on accusing him or attacking him, then he wouldn’t be doing this. None of what he said could, in any way, make sense as some sort of trick.

Once Merlin settles, still a little uneasy, Leon begins his explanation in a quiet voice, obviously still worried about startling Merlin (and obviously not wanting to risk someone overhearing him):

“It started when I was fifteen. One of the serving girls in my father’s household was born with magic, though it didn’t manifest until years after the purge started. She was my age, sweet, kind, I couldn’t possibly believe her to be evil or corrupt, but under The King’s law, she would’ve been burned. Poor girl was terrified of being found out, but Uther was so paranoid, they were basically interrogating anyone who entered or exited the city; she had nowhere to go. I had already started my training at this point, so I used my knowledge of guard rotations and shift changes to sneak her out. I left her with some family in a village nearer the border, snuck back in a few days later. From then on it just... kept happening. I suppose I got good at recognising the specific brand of fear that magic-users in Camelot suffer from, and I’ve got a good eye; I know magic when I see it-”

He gives Merlin a knowing look, but the servant just turns indignant and says:

“Well, I was also born with magic, and it took you ten years to figure it out, so-”

He sticks his tongue out at the knight, and Leon raises his eyebrow at him, before laughing and nodding, thankful for Merlin’s lessening fear:

“-yeah, I suppose. But still. It started off with just the occasional person; one or two a month. And then it was whole families or groups of people who either had magic, or were scared of being accused and wanted out. It became a bit of a side-career, though I always refused any payment they offered.”

Merlin stares at him, thoughtful and in awe, before yet another look of realisation crosses his face:

“Is this why the Druids are so fond of you?”

Finally, it’s Leon’s turn to look confused, and Merlin continues:

“Whenever we come across them, they always seem less wary of you than the other knights, like they know what you’ve done.”

Leon takes in slow breath, quirking his eyebrows slightly and shrugging:

“I’ve never really noticed, maybe. I’ve never been into a camp, but when someone I was sneaking out had nowhere to go, I’d take them as close to a Druid settlement as I dared, and pointed them in the right direction; I suppose word might’ve spread.”

Merlin nods, looking to his lap, thinking. Leon stays silent, understanding that this is probably a lot to take in, and not wanting to interrupt Merlin’s processing time. 

After a few moments, Merlin, still staring into his lap, reaches across to Leon and takes the knight’s hand in a shaking one of his own. It’s then that Leon notices the slow tears on the other man’s face, but before he can say anything, Merlin looks up at him, his voice shaking as he whispers a rough:

“Thank you.”

Leon smiles, squeezing his hand and bumping their shoulders together:

“Anytime. Like I said Merlin, I would protect you with my life. If you ever need anything...”

Merlin takes a deep breath, standing and wiping the tears from his face quickly before dragging Leon to the door:

“There is one thing. Come on.”

Leon allows himself to be dragged, and Merlin moves the chair to the side before stepping out of the way, allowing Leon to unlock the door with the key hanging around his neck. He doesn’t question where they’re going, though he is slightly confused when he notices that they’re heading deeper into the castle, as opposed to outside or to Merlin’s chambers like he was expecting.

They finally come to a stop outside Lancelot’s door, and Leon nods to himself in realisation. He had suspected that the other knight had known the truth, but hadn’t wanted to ask or push it in case he was wrong.

Merlin knocks rapidly after checking the corridor for other people, and the door had barely been opened before he’s pushing his way through, still dragging Leon behind him. The two men move to stand by the opposite wall, Lancelot still by the door looking increasingly confused:

“Merlin, Leon, is... is everything alright?”

Merlin waves his hand casually, not even needing an incantation as his eyes flash briefly gold and the door shuts of it’s own accord (... or Merlin’s accord).

Lancelot immediately gasps and makes a jump for the sword sat on the table, but Leon holds his hands up in surrender as Merlin rushes to speak:

“Lance it’s fine!! Leon knows about my magic, and he’s been smuggling people out of Camelot for decades, he’s safe.”

Lancelot looks to Leon with a mix of suspicion and relief, still picking the sword up and holding it loosely in one hand, but the older knight is too distracted staring at Merlin in mild outrage:

“Dec- How old do you think I am, Merlin?!”

Merlin looks up at him guiltily, and Lancelot lets go of his suspicion, instead clamping his free hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing at Merlin’s squeaked reply:

“Uh... there’s no safe way to answer that, is there? You said you were fifteen when you started, and I know you’re older than Arthur, so...”

Leon scoffs, rolling his eyes as Lancelot snorts:

“I’m only five years older than him, Merlin. I’m thirty-one, you can say “decades” plural when I hit thirty-five, and not a day sooner.”

Merlin holds in a smirk, and nods. Lancelot clears his throat, dropping the sword back on the table and asking the obvious question:

“So... how much does he know?”

Merlin spends the rest of the night explaining everything, from Kilgharrah calling to him when he first arrived, (”You mean that thing was under the castle the whole time?!”) to just last week, when he had to sneak out of the city to deal with a particularly insatiable Succubus that was causing problems with the border patrols (”Huh. I wondered why the men had just... stopped disappearing. I’m not complaining though, thank you.”).

He included all the information about the prophecies and being Emrys and how Arthur was the Once and Future King and the coming (potential) Golden Age. Leon was especially curious about that, and interrupted often to ask questions.

Lancelot also interrupted rather often, but only to correct Merlin when he underappreciated his own genius or power or selflessness, much to Merlin’s embarrassment and annoyance.

Merlin also tried to miss out as much of his own suffering as he could, but Lancelot wasn’t having it, and Leon was horrified to learn of the Serket sting, the countless, almost fatal fights he’d had with various people (Nimueh, The Cailleach (”I did also wonder how the veil just... repaired itself. Nice one.”), Morgause, Agravaine, etc (Morgana is good in this, though her magic is still hidden)), and all the other terrible things that had happened.

When he finally finishes, Leon is speechless.

The knight had just thought that Merlin had learned a few tricks to keep himself and Arthur safe when they went out and about, but he was actually, apparently, the most powerful Warlock ever, and had a whole series of prophecies and battle scars to back it up. Lancelot’s face was an odd mix of prideful and mournful, and that only drove home to Leon how much Merlin had suffered over the years.

After a few minutes of silence, Merlin awkwardly waiting, as if for judgement, Lancelot pipes up, his voice oddly cheery:

“So, Sir Leon, fancy two extra sets of hands in the little smuggling ring you’ve got going?”

~

And that is essentially... exactly what happens. 

It’s usually Leon who discovers the sorcerers, being the most observant of the three, but it’s Merlin they send on the first approach more often than not. Leon had always been painfully aware of how scary a Camelot Knight going “I know you have magic” must be, so the trio takes advantage of Merlin’s non-threatening look. That, paired with the fact that he’s well known and well loved around the town, makes starting things off a lot easier.

A lot of the time, the people they approach don’t want to leave. They’ve kept themselves hidden for over twenty years, and they plan to continue to do so, but it’s a weight off their back to know that the option is there if they need it.

Merlin introduces Leon to the tunnels under the city, hidden and warded with his magic. The older knight is very much relieved at that; taking advantage of gaps in guard rotations wasn’t the most reliable plan, and he’d been paranoid for years that something would go wrong one day and he’d get caught.

They worked well together, though all three of their lives got a lot more complicated. Lancelot and Merlin were pulled into Leon’s secret smuggling life (despite him insisting that they could sit it out, considering they were already so busy trying to keep Arthur alive, which is apparently a lot harder than Leon had first assumed), and Leon was pulled into Merlin and Lancelot’s secret “bring about the Golden Age” life (despite the two of them insisting that Leon didn’t need to help, considering he was already so busy running a smuggling ring right under the nose of the King).

To be honest, the two lives sort of swirled together. Anyone that they sent to the Druid camps was told to spread the word of the Once and Future King, and when Leon was sent to distract Arthur when Lancelot and Merlin needed to do something Magicky, Lancelot was sent to distract Arthur when Leon and Merlin needed to do something smuggly.

Eventually Gaius finds out. Because of course he does. Because he’s not stupid. And whilst the three of them are unwilling to put him in anymore danger than he’s already in (harbouring a Warlock is... pretty dangerous. Though Arthur would probably forgive the older man anything.), they never turn away the small, portable medkits he passes along to them, and don’t complain when he offers to talk to Arthur about a promising new treatment for the flu for a few hours.

But overall, they have a proper little (unpaid) enterprise going, and no one suspects a thing. 

~

Mistakes are made of course, some a little bigger that others. But most of them get a laugh from the trio when they think back on them later.

Ironically enough, this mistake came when the trio mistook a “need to save Arthur” problem, for a “need to save this poor scared sorcerer” problem.

They’d been getting complacent. No one had tried to kill Arthur directly in a while, so when a visiting Lord brought with him a very nervous, very secretive stablehand, they didn’t even consider that it would be the young servant who wanted to kill Arthur as opposed to the visiting noble (who was an arsehole, and therefor automatically under suspicion).

Merlin, being the most powerful of the three of them, was keeping an eye on the noble; trying to keep him away from Arthur as well as trying to figure out if he knew that his stablehand was a magic-user. Leon was distracting Arthur, with the help of a report Gaius had written, by talking endlessly about certain weaknesses in the knight’s armour and the injuries that Gaius treats most often and the link between the two.

That left Lancelot to trail the stablehand, whose name they had discovered was Alban. He wasn’t wearing any armour and didn’t have a sword, only a small dagger up his sleeve, so as not to frighten the boy.

Which of course was a huge mistake.

Considering how innocent Merlin looks, but how dangerous he actually is, they really shouldn’t have underestimated the boy, but alas, with how well both of the secret lives had been going, their egos had grown, and they weren’t as careful as they should’ve been.

It was only after the Lord had retired to his chambers (and Merlin had come to the annoying conclusion that he was an arsehole, but certainly not smart enough to be dangerous), and Leon had exhausted every possible line of enquiry about armour and injuries, that the two of them thought something might be wrong.

It had been hours since they had heard from Lancelot, and by the sounds of it, no one had seen him in that time either.

The stablehand also couldn’t be found.

They tried not to assume the worst; all of them (Merlin, most often) had disappeared for longer before, so before they panicked, the two of them went about methodically searching for the other knight.

The wards down in the tunnels hadn’t been disturbed, Lancelot’s room was untouched (the sight of his armour and sword laid out on his bed did nothing to quell their growing anxiety), and no one had seen him leave the city. The Camelot stablehands had no idea where the visiting servant was, and had apparently barely seen him in the stables since he’d arrived anyway.

Now it was time to panic.

The two men rushed back to Lancelot’s room, shutting the door behind them, Merlin hurriedly asking:

“What’s the last thing he touched, do you reckon?”

Leon raked his hands through his hair for the dozenth time, looking around with wide eyes:

“Uh... we had training this morning, and he took his armour off after that, and immediately went to follow Alban, so his armour? His sword?”

Merlin picks the sword up in careful but hurried hands. He closes his eyes, concentrating, as he mutters a quick spell. The sword shimmers for a moment before Merlin throws it back down on the bed with a huff:

“Nope, the trail is there but it’s weak, I need something more recent.”

Leon curses quietly to himself:

“Try his water goblet? Or the wash bowl? God knows that man doesn’t like to be grimy.”

Merlin hums, walking to the wash bowl before halting in his tracks:

“Wait... no, you’re right. He doesn’t like being dirty,-”

With that, Merlin changes direction, heading to the small desk in the corner and opening the draws at random, rifling through them. Leon walks up behind him:

“Merlin? What are you-”

He’s interrupted by Merlin exclaiming in victory, and straightening up. He turns around with a grin on his face, holding out a small comb:

“-he will have run a comb through his hair after washing,-”

He pulls a short, brunette hair from between the wooden teeth:

“-and an actual piece of him is WAY better to track him with than something he’s just touched.”

He repeats the spell from earlier, the smile returning to his face when he begins to feel the pull in his heart, leading him to the lost knight.

The two of them leave the room hurriedly, Leon trailing after Merlin, both of them trying to look an inconspicuous as possible.

They walk briskly down the corridor, hope and excitement blooming in their chests at the idea of finding the friend they’d been so worried about. Leon puts a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, but neither of them stop moving as he speaks lowly:

“Can you tell how far away he is?”

Merlin hums, before replying equally quietly:

“Yeah, I think he’s about... actually... no, no I can’t- what?”

With that, he stops dead in his tracks, stumbling when Leon runs into his back with a gentle “oof”. The knight looks down at him, his face back to looking panicked. They’d stopped at a crossroads in the corridor, and Merlin’s head twitches from side to side, like he can’t decide which way to go.

Leon shakes his shoulder slightly:

“Merlin, he’s been gone for hours, we need to hurry. Close your eyes, breathe, which way is Lancelot?”

Merlin does what Leon says, shuffling on his feet slightly before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath, and relaxing his shoulders:

“Where are you, Lance?”

He mutters it quietly to himself, and Leon barely dares to breathe, not wanting to distract him. After a few moments, Merlin’s head twitches to the right, the corridor that leads to the servant quarters. The servant opens his eyes, nodding briefly at Leon, before turning and walking down the corridor. 

He passes the first few doors without hesitation, thankful for the late hour; all the servants are either eating their own dinner, or serving dinner to their masters. Which is probably where Merlin should be right now, but he had more pressing matters, he could deal with Arthur later.

He slows as he reaches the end of the corridor, frowning in confusion. There are no more doors, they’ve reached a dead end, and Merlin tilts his head whilst Leon stares at him expectantly, periodically checking the corridor behind them. Merlin begins muttering to himself again, flexing his hands as if he were in pain:

“This is... wrong. I don’t come down here very often but... there’s... this is wrong. I can feel it and I can... see it, like there’s something out the corner of my eye that shouldn’t be there-”

He gasps, turning and looking at a specific part of the wall, hovering his hand over the stonework:

“-or something that should be there!”

Leon’s gaze flicks between the wall and Merlin as he quietly asks:

“A hidden door? Can you... unhide it?”

Merlin takes a second to snort and roll his eyes, before pressing his hand against the wall, muttering spells to himself. Leon turns around, hand on the hilt of his sword at his hip as he stands guard. After a few minutes of Merlin getting more and more frustrated when the wall stays... well... a wall, he finally lets out a whispered exclamation; Leon glances behind him to see the stone rippling, and finally fading to reveal the door. 

With one last check down the corridor, they enter the room slowly, shutting the door behind him. Leon whispers Lance’s name into the darkness tentatively, but Merlin just shakes his head, summoning a light.

It’s just a normal storage room filled with dusty shelves and empty crates, but Merlin moves through the debris to the back, cursing under his breath when he finds what he’s looking for. Leon moves up behind him, staring over the younger man’s shoulder to the precise symbol drawn onto the floor:

“Merls?”

Merlin huffs speaking lowly, not looking away from the symbol:

“It’s a teleportation spell, it’s why I was being pulled in two directions. Lance went through this portal, but it probably took him somewhere outside the city limits.”

Leon gulps, before taking a deep breath and gripping Merlin’s shoulder again:

“Can you activate it? Do we follow through the portal, or track him out of the city??”

Merlin shakes his head roughly:

“No, that would take far too long, we don’t actually know how long he’s been gone, it could have been all afternoon, remember? Look around, there should be a crystal or an orb or something, like a switch I have to push magic into to activate the spell.”

It only takes a few minutes of rummaging for Leon to uncover a rough looking crystal, and Merlin smiles weakly at the comically fearful look on the knight’s face as he holds it as far away from himself as he can; he may trust Merlin’s magic, but he is still logically... unnerved by things he doesn’t understand.

Merlin takes it from him, eyes turning briefly gold as he mutters an incantation and his hand is engulfed in a blue flame. The flame dies down after a few seconds at Merlin’s command, and he hides the now glowing crystal back where Leon had found it, before looking back to the symbol on the floor.

It takes only a few moments for the lines to start softly glowing, and when nothing else changes, Merlin takes a deep breath, reaching behind him blindly for Leon’s hand, and muttering:

“Well, here goes nothing.”

He feels the knight take his hand and step up next to him. With one last nervous glance to each other, they nod, and step into the circle.

~

MEANWHILE

Thankfully, whilst Lancelot hadn’t been seen in a while (on account of being camped out in the hidden storage room, waiting for his stalkee to reappear out of the weird glowy circle thing), he had only actually been kidnapped by Evil Alban the Not-Stablehand for about half a candle mark.

And he was currently very bored. The younger man finally reappeared, only to fly into a rage at the sight of another man, crouched like a gremlin, almost asleep in the corner of the entrance to his secret lair.

His eyes had flashed sickly yellow, and Lancelot found himself falling over the edge into sleep, and waking up an undetermined amount of time (like five minutes, but it was so fucking dark where he was, he had no way to guess what time of day it was) later, tied to a chair (not gagged, thankfully).

He had realised the trio’s mistake fairly early on in Evil Alban the Not-Stablehand’s monologue; something about vengeance and sins of the father and yadda yadda yadda. Honestly? He tuned it out pretty quickly, he’d heard it all before... multiple times, and he wasn’t too worried; he had faith that Merlin and Leon would arrive to rescue him soon (though he wasn’t looking forward to all the comments along the lines of “who’s the real princess?”).

It was when he almost nodded off that Alban stuttered slightly:

“...after all, surely someone who is strong enough to take the crown should... should deserve... it... are you falling asleep?!”

Lancelot’s head whips up with a quiet snort as he blinks the sleep from his eyes, and looks at the outraged criminal with guilt in his eyes:

“Uh... no? You’re doing wonderfully, Alban, very riveting, keep going.”

The knight’s words do nothing to calm the other man down, and he exclaims slightly as he stamps his foot petulantly. Lancelot bites his lip to stop himself laughing, but before he can get himself under control and say something else, Alban puffs his chest out and grins triumphantly:

“Your mind games shan’t work on me, Sir Knight. I will not be distracted by your mocking or... or distractions.”

Lancelot raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. Alban huffs, shaking his head roughly before looking back at Lancelot with wide, expectant eyes:

“Well? What do you think of my plan, noble Sir? Ineffable, no?”

Lancelot purses his lips, once again looking guilty as he chooses not to point out the younger’s misuse of the word ineffable (definitely NOT ineffable, considering he’d banged on and on for half a candle-mark):

“I don’t suppose you could... sum up the last twenty minutes or so worth of... plan? Then I could.... let you know my thoughts?”

Alban let out an inhuman screech, stamping his foot again, much to Lancelot’s hidden amusement. The Great Villain stalked off into the darkness, huffing and grumbling to himself, and Lancelot just rolled his eyes, murmuring under his breath:

“For fucks sake. Better not leave me here. Where the fuck are you guys?”

As if the Gods themselves answered the knight’s question, he hears another inhuman screech come from the darkness; though this one was a lot more high pitched, and was immediately followed by Leon’s unmistakable voice growling out:

“Where is he you pre-pubescent piece of shit?!”

Lancelot allows himself to snort at the likely look of terror on the Not-Stablehand’s face before yelling:

“Don’t make the kid shit himself Leon, if he does, you’ll be the one carrying his unconscious body back.”

He hears Merlin’s laugh and the distinct sound of a skull making contact with the hilt of a sword, before the two of them appear like ghosts, lit only by the glow of Merlin’s golden eyes, and the magical light floating between their heads.

Lancelot gives them a grin, shuffling in his binds slightly as he says:

“Took you long enough, he’s been banging on about how clever he is for fucking ages. Cut me loose, would you?”

Merlin clicks his fingers, the ropes falling the the floor as Leon checks him over for injury, and affectionately ruffling his hair, much to the other knight’s chagrin.

The three of them move to crowd around Alban’s crumpled form, hands on their hips as they stare at him, unimpressed. Lancelot sighs:

“You really didn’t have to hit him that hard, I don’t think he was that much of a threat.”

Merlin huffs and stalks off to reactivate the teleportation spell, leaving the chastising for Leon to deal with:

“Not much of a threat?! Lance no one had seen you in hours, we thought you were dead!”

Lancelot frowns and shuffles, suddenly looking apologetic:

“Ah, sorry. He took me less than a candle-mark ago, though I guess I lost track of how long I’d been sat waiting for him before that. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Leon huffs, but drops the subject as Merlin calls back to them. The curly-hired knight picks Alban up, laying him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before following Lancelot in Merlin’s direction. They stand around the glowing symbol, and Lancelot rolls his eyes at Merlin’s glower:

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Mister I regularly show up after three days covered in bruises and blood with “The Tavern” as my only excuse.”

Leon snorts and Merlin rolls his eyes but smirks, and with that, the trio step into the circle, reappearing back in the storage cupboard with no one else in Camelot even vaguely aware of the mini adventure they’d had.

~

This happens for a while. Saving people (mostly Arthur) from the batshit insane things that happen in Camelot that no one but them seems to be aware of.

Of course, rumours fly about the oddly close connection the three men have. Lancelot is head over heals in love with Guinevere (which he ardently denies, despite Merlin and Leon’s repeated dramatic attempts to get them together) and everyone knows it, but even Arthur starts to (jealously) suspect something is going on between Leon and Merlin, especially when Merlin’s lack of talent when it comes to making up excuses is displayed yet again.

Leon and Merlin had been sneaking out of the castle, on their way to meet the teenage son of a noble who desperately needed to escape. Lancelot, who had a late patrol, was to meet them by one of the tunnel entrances outside the city limits, and assure that no other guards were nearby.

Unfortunately, the pair came across a sleepy King, on his way to the kitchens for a midnight snack.

The King stared at them with wide, shocked eyes, and the pair stared back. Leon grimaced slightly, and after a few moments of awkward silence, Arthur slowly asks:

“What are you two... doing?”

Leon takes a deep breath desperately trying to come up with something to say, but before he can find an excuse, Merlin pipes up:

“I was teaching him poetry.”

Leon lets out his breath before slowly covering his face with his hands as he shakes his head slightly. Merlin immediately realises his mistake and bites his lip, furrowing his eyebrows as he says:

“What I mean, is that-”

He’s cut off by Arthur holding a hand up, his face looking mildly put-off as he shakes his head:

“I don’t want to know. Yeah, I changed my mind, I really... don’t want to know.” Before turning around and heading back in the same direction he’d come from, hunger forgotten.

Merlin holds his breath until Arthur turns the corner, before letting it all out in one go and staring at the floor wide-eyed. Leon keeps his head in his hands as he mutters:

“You fucking idiot.-” before looking up at the man besides him incredulously:

“-Why??”

Merlin looks at him indignantly, and loudly whispers:

“I don’t know!! It was just the three of us in a dark corridor like last time and it just popped into my head and I said it! At least he didn’t push, I suppose.”

Leon shakes his head again, before a look of realisation crosses his face and he looks at Merlin with dread in his eyes:

“Yeah... except when you used that excuse on me- shut up, of course I knew you were lying, I’m not an idiot- I thought you and Arthur were uh... well, I thought you were sleeping together...”

Merlin’s eyes go wide and he sputters for a response before he lets out a quiet, deranged laugh, and shakes his blushing head:

“First off, no. Second off... at least he didn’t push.” he repeats. Leon squints at his friend, before he gasps and grins:

“Oh my God, you like him!-”

Merlin scowls at him, and Leon laughs gleefully (though still quietly) before whispering:

“-all this time we’ve been ribbing Lancelot about Guinevere, and we should’ve been ribbing you! Oh my God, wait ‘til Lance hears this.”

Merlin turns on him, face bright red as he angrily (or as angrily as he can, when he’s the colour of Leon’s cape, and the knight is trying not to wake the castle up with his laughter):

“I swear to God, Leon, I will turn you into a fucking toad if you breath a word to anyone! I’ll do it, I swear I’ll do it!”

Leon forces himself to breath and coughs slightly as he catches his breath, putting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder:

“Fine, fine. I won’t say anything, but only if you help me hang mistletoe up in Lance’s doorway next week.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, but nods his head with a grin, and with that, they resume their sneaking around.

~

This happens for what feels like years and years, but really, Merlin only gets one day into looking at Leon with a shit-eating grin and saying that the old man has been doing this for “decades”, when suddenly... they don’t have to do it anymore.

Arthur repeals the ban on magic. 

And to be honest, it was a complete surprise to everyone. Of course, the whole Kingdom knew that he was more tolerant than his father had ever been; he hadn’t executed anyone in years, and unless accusations were serious or life-threatening, he rarely ordered investigations.

As it turns out, he’d been working on it in secret for months, with only  Morgana’s help (not that he knew about her magic, she was just the only person in his life who’d always been vocally against the ban). All the work they’d put in meant that when it came time to present it to the council, all Arthur had to do was hold his head high and say something along the lines of “I am your King, you do this, or you lose your seat.”.

The drafts were so well-worked, so perfect, the council had nothing to argue against, no excuses worth more than a roll of the eyes and a dismissive wave of the hand.

The repeal went through seamlessly, and Arthur was announcing Merlin and Morgana as his Court Sorcerers within a week (after of course a few hours of raging at the lies and deception, in which they defended themselves and each each other with sharp tongues and entirely valid descriptions of their terror, and with Leon and Lancelot stood behind them the whole time ready to pull their swords at a moments notice).

Leon, Lancelot, and Merlin told the King about all their adventures saving his arse, which he floundered at before abashedly thanking them, but they never mentioned the now obsolete smuggling ring they had going.

Of course, there were moments when they missed the excitement of sneaking out at night, the victory of seeing a family off to the Druid’s, or to a safe village, but ultimately they were ecstatic that they weren’t needed in that capacity anymore. It was undeniably a good thing.

Their plan to keep their heroics to themselves failed miserably however, when a crowd of around two-hundred gathered in the courtyard, led by a woman in her mid-thirties who looked mighty familiar to Sir Leon.

The gang met them down there, armed and worried at first, but quickly relaxing when they realised this was the furthest to an attack a group this large could get.

The King led the party, Morgana, Elyan, Gwaine, and Percival to his left, and Merlin, Leon, and Lancelot to his right, Guinevere and Gaius waiting by the castle entrance. It was only when Lancelot gasped, and grabbed Merlin and Leon’s sleeves to point at a specific family near the front of the crowd that they understood. All these people, all these happy, joyful, alive people... were people they’d saved over the years.

The three of them gulped, suddenly teary as more and more of the crowd pointed their way, wide smiles on their faces. They knew that this wasn’t even half the people they had saved (if you include Leon’s sixteen years doing it alone), but still, it was astounding to visually see it.

The familiar woman stepped forward at Arthur’s gesture, and the trio suddenly realise what’s about to happen. “Oh shit.” and variants of the above are muttered by all three as they wait with baited breath. There’s not really anything they can do to stop this:

“Your Highness, firstly I would like to thank you, for accepting my people back into your Kingdom-”

Her voice quietens slightly as she glances to the floor, her eyes filling with tears before she looks up again:

“-many of us haven’t been home in... in a long time, and it’s good to be back.-”

Arthur nods, giving her a smile despite his still growing confusion at the crowd behind her. The woman looks quickly to Leon, giving him a brief smile as he gasps, recognising her. She looks back to the King, raising her voice and her head as she continues:

“-Secondly, I would like to extend an even greater thank-you to Sir Leon, and his two companions, without whom many of us would have died. They risked their lives sneaking us out of the city when your father hunted us, and after, when we were still at risk of execution, but they never stopped, and never gave up. We are but a fraction of the hundreds of people they saved, and we have nothing to offer them but our unending gratitude, and a humble demand that they are rewarded for their service to Camelot’s people. They are heroes to us all, and always will be”

Arthur looks slowly over to a very teary Leon, who doesn’t even glance his way as he stares at the former servant-girl, a weak smile on his face. Merlin and Lancelot meet The King’s gaze in his stead, smiling sheepishly and shrugging as they nod, confirming the woman’s story.

Arthur shakes his head minutely, half proud of his friends, and half annoyed at being caught off guard, before turning back to the woman, the smile back on his face:

“I’m glad to welcome you home, all of you, and I apologise that it took so long for me to right the wrongs committed by this Kingdom. Sir Leon and his companions will indeed be rewarded for their service,-”

At this, Arthur turns to look at the trio, a soft, meaningful smile on his face as he nods at them:

“-and I extend my thanks to them also, for being brave enough to protect my people, when I was not.”

Leon finally meets The King’s gaze, and returns his nod. Merlin and Lancelot each clap him on the back, before the three of them descend into the crowd. A loud cheer goes up around the courtyard, the rest of the knights, Morgana, and Guinevere looking on in shock as the trio greets person after person, accepting thanks and hugs and laughing joyously at the reminder of the good they’d done, despite their fear.

~

THE END!!

I really loved writing this one😄! Honestly this idea started out as crack, but I’m glad that it ended so wholesomely :)

Same as usual lads, someone wants to write it up properly or extend it, go for it, credit and tag me ✌️

[shootingstarwritings]

Couples Therapy

Marcus glanced at his client before going back to his notes. As usual, it was a young woman who looked as though she was on the verge of tears after giving him a mile-long list of grievances towards her husband. For the first few years, everything was like an eternal honeymoon until the two began to drive the other crazy. From the little info Marcus had, the blame seemed to rest on two personalities that didn't feel like compromising—as it usually was.

However, compromises didn’t put food on Marcus’ table, so it was in his best interest to pin the blame all on the husband. “Like my services advertise,” he told the wife, Julia, while sliding a sheet of his talents over to her, “I can fix your marriage to be as blissful as it was on your wedding night. All I need is your consent and I can shape your lover as you need him to be.”

The tears soon dried up. "Um, huh…?" Julia grew sheepish as her eyes skimmed over the sheet. Not good. "Shape him? My friend said your type of work was unique, but changing my husband…? I didn't hear anything about that."

Tilting his head, Marcus said, "Did you not notice how your friend's partner changed? He was happier, more agreeable, and far more pleasant overall. Always carried a strong conversation and had the manners of a perfect gentleman. Don't you want the same for your husband?"

“I-I thought you just gave them counseling!” Julia stood up from her chair, hands clasping her purse as though Marcus was a violent, money-hungry criminal. “This is crazy. A-And, honestly absurd. I'll have no part in this lunacy!"

“So you’re okay with your husband’s divorce?”

Julia stopped just before her hand reached the door. Though she didn't turn around, she said, "What do you mean?" Her voice was tinged with fear despite her attempts to hide it.

“When you made your appointment, I did a little digging on your husband,” said Marcus, lying as naturally as he breathed. “Digging into his soul, of course. My abilities allow me to do so.”

He stood up and strode over to Julia. “He’s growing increasingly dissatisfied with your union. Every little action, every little word, every little annoyance from you pushes him more and more towards the arms of another.” While Marcus remained stone-faced, he was smirking inside as beads of sweat cascaded down Julia’s brow. 

Perfect.

“A young woman your age already divorced? What will the neighbors think? Your friends? Your family? But,” he shrugged and made his way back to his desk, “if you insist that you don’t need my services, I can do nothing about that. I sincerely wish the two of you a happy marriage. However long it lasts.”

Julia excused herself to go to the bank but promised she would return with the payment.

Marcus’ target was a man by the name of Trevor. Attractive, admirable, and breakable. All it would require was a few weeks in his body and Marcus’ job would be finished. Julia had signed the contract, so his body was completely available.

That was the limit to Marcus’ powers. Without some sort of consent from one who at the very least shared the name or a bond with his target, he was unable to do anything. Now, all Marcus had to do was take over Trevor’s body.

But first, Marcus was curious about what was going to happen in their ordinary lives. While Julia had given him a whole list of things that she wished Trevor would do, Marcus skimmed it before throwing it away. For the most part, his clients didn't know what they wanted—and what they did was something ridiculous like 'makes me breakfast in bed every single day.' It was all nonsense straight out of a soap opera. Marcus preferred to just take a look at what pissed his client off and doing a few favors here and there. The only part of Julia's list that Marcus even remotely paid attention to was, "Being more open to pegging."

Other than that, Marcus would just sit by and watch how a typical morning went for the couple. He made his way to the address Julia had provided him during their meeting in an astral form and peeked into their lives.

“God, another spill, Jules?” Trevor groaned as he looked down at his stained pants. “C'mon." While Julia let out a stream of apologies, Trevor just rolled his eyes and said, "I'm trying to get a goddamn promotion here!"

“I-I’m trying…!” Julia said, backing up as Trevor grabbed the empty mug and smashed it on the ground. “Th-That was mine...”

“And so’s the mess,” Trevor shot back. “When you’re the breadwinner in this relationship, you can decide what does and doesn’t get broken.” With that, Trevor left to get changed while Julia cleaned up the kitchen.

That was all Marcus needed to see. The bastard needed a major attitude adjustment. His wife was a complete klutz, but there was no need to bite her head off for making a mistake. Marcus didn't feel any particular sympathy for Julia, but assholes like Trevor pissed him off to no extent. "Only natural," Marcus said to himself. "Assholes hate assholes. Don't like pricks like him on my turf."

Floating over to Trevor and Julia’s room, he admired the assets he would borrow for the next few days. Trevor’s pants were off, allowing Marcus to get a nice glimpse of the package he would be showing off for the next few days. Along with that were nice, juice thighs and a good chest peeking out of the nice polo shirt he wore. No longer able to resist, Marcus just dove towards Trevor.

"HNNG! What the fuuuuck?!" Trevor moaned as Marcus phased through his back. Entire body tensing up, Trevor stood in place, his back arching while his head was thrown back. Feet planted to the floor, he moaned in pleasure and panic. "Wh-Who the hell?! What the—HAA! Ahhh…! What the fuck are youuuu?!" Unable to keep his balance amidst the barrage of pain and pleasure mixing, Trevor collapsed onto his bed, convulsing uncontrollably as the foreign intruder wore him like a suit.

“Mmm,” Marcus moaned, rubbing his hard-on against the mattress. “Oh, that’s niiice. Thanks, Julia.” Still face-down on the bed, he spread his legs and let his hands wander towards a certain untouched hole. “Don’t worry, I’ll turn your hubby into the subbiest bottom in town.”

Purposefully ignoring Julia, Marcus left the house and headed towards Trevor’s place of work, relying on muscle memory and the information Julia had given him for navigation. Eventually, he arrived at some fancy insurance firm full of suits who looked like they could use a healthy dose of Viagra.

Once more, Marcus relied on Trevor's muscle memory to guide his way through work. And once settled into Trevor's impersonal cubicle, Marcus began his work. At once, he worked on smiling more in Trevor's body. Man was a creature of habit and the human mind was a sponge for information and mannerisms. Because of that, Marcus would adopt certain behaviors for the week or so he would be in his hosts' bodies. The end result was a spouse that would compliment their partner far more.

On all levels, it was wrong. However, Marcus continued without losing a wink of sleep.

After making sure Trevor was smiling more, Marcus also stretched and relaxed his muscle. "God, you're so tense," he mentioned as he rolled his shoulders back. "Or, I'm so tense." Grinning, Marcus continued chatting to himself. It was always fun getting into a role. Perhaps it was his theater kid days, but adopting a new identity was always fun. "I should get more into yoga," he said, stretching as much as he could in that uncomfortable suit. "Do some squats. It'll help me make my ass all nice and firm. Flexibility'll be nice in the bedroom for Jules," he proclaimed, repeating it to himself to make sure it remained imprinted to Trevor.

To make sure those thoughts remained in Trevor's head, Marcus headed off to the gym after each workday. He worked until Trevor's already well-developed muscles were pleasurably sore by the time he arrived back home. "Keep acting as though I'm Trevor," Marcus had texted Julia before. "It'll make it easier for these thoughts to stick to your husband." His words didn't ease Julia's awkwardness, but Marcus didn't mind. Working with pathetic actors wasn't anything new for him.

By the final day of Marcus' planned stay, Trevor's boss called him into his office. "You're not in trouble," his boss, a man by the name of Arthur said. "Just wanted to catch up with you, is all." His words were even, but Marcus noticed that his gaze was not. Arthur's eyes kept traveling and his fingertips kept grazing Trevor as much as they could while retaining that facade of professionalism. "I've noticed your recent change in attitude. Rumors travel quickly throughout the office."

“When there’s not much to talk about,” Marcus began, “it’s easy to become the talk of the town.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow. “Your attitude and your tongue’s changed, Trey. I'm surprised but pleased. Productivity for the whole office has gone up this week. And your more positive attitude has really helped with that. I've noticed the environment in general is a lot less toxic."

“Sorry about that, sir,” Marcus said with a curt nod. Yet, he made sure to keep a cocky, inviting smirk on his face. The blood was rushing to Arthur’s cheeks despite his stony expression. “Hadn’t realized how much my attitude had an impact on the office. But I’m sure you’ll be just as satisfied as my wife about the new me.” By now, Marcus was happily rubbing his thighs, making sure they stood out alongside his bulge in those tight slacks he had purchased for Trevor. During the week, he had made a habit of dropping his things and bending over to reach for them in front of his various coworkers. If his eyes didn’t deceive him, he was certain about the office spent more than half a second staring at Trevor’s assets.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Nonetheless, just wanted to show my appreciation for this sudden turn. Always happy to see my workers in a relaxed, pleasant environment.”

Standing up, Marcus leaned in close to Arthur’s lips. “I can think of a few other ways you can show your appreciation, boss,” he whispered, unbuckling his belt. This same scenario had played out so many times Marcus was certain his gaydar was impeccable. “Why don’t you bend me over your desk and show me who the boss is?”

Arthur hesitated for about a second before locking the office door and tying Trevor’s mouth shut with his own tie. “Take! This! You! Slut!” Arthur roared as he pounded Trevor’s ass raw. Marcus, back arched, face pressed up against the cold desk, just moaned like a slut. He eagerly met each of Arthur’s thrust with his strong workout for his hips.

This is my favor for you, Julia, he thought as Arthur pulled on his hair. Your husband’s hole might not be as tight as you want it to be, but he’ll definitely be up for stuff up his ass by the time I leave.

"Make me your bottom bitch," Marcus begged, trapped in a nirvana of pleasure and pain.

The next time Marcus saw Julia and Trevor the two of them were walking down the back, arms linked. Both were smiling and laughing so animatedly that Marcus was certain the songbirds were jealous. On occasion, he spotted Julia lightly slapping Trevor's ass and her husband reddening like a tomato at the sensation.

Marcus returned home satisfied at another successful trip.

[discopig]

That other girl (Thomas Shelby x Reader) [Part 2/3]

Okay so I’ve made a few improvements, first one being I won’t be writing at 2 AM after 4 hours of sleep because I read back part one and honestly wanted to shoot myself, I also added paragraph/scene dividers because the first part was very messy and I kept fucking up the tenses! My imagination has been going wild for this fic so I need to calm myself. I don’t intend for this to be a long story, I hope to finish it by the next part. Hope you guys enjoy :))

Part 1 | Part 3

Warnings: implied family abuse, swearing (doesn’t even need to be a warning)

Word Count: 1,452

You stared at the woman at the door, what seemed like millions of thoughts rushing through your mind at once. She was beautiful. Not to say you weren’t beautiful yourself, but insecurity seemed to be the main component of the blood flowing through your veins at the sight of her. She looked like the models you would see at the fashion shows your mother would take you to as a kid, and she made the plain barmaid’s uniform look like the most expensive piece Chanel could offer.

The woman’s eyes darted between you and harry as she spotted the two of you together.

“Thanks for the help” Harry said, taking the glasses from the basket the woman carried them in. As though he forgot something, he quickly turned around after placing them on the counter behind the bar. 

“Grace” he acknowledged the woman, “this is Y/N, your co-barmaid” he said, turning to you.

You were secretly hoping she was just here on delivery for the shop Harry had bought the glasses from, and wished so deeply she wasn’t the barmaid he had mentioned earlier, but alas, she had to be. 

“Oh, it’s very nice to meet you” she smiled extending her hand towards you

“Likewise” you gave her a small smile, taking her hand and shaking it

“Harry’s told me a lot about you, about how you help him around the bar and whatnot, how good you are at dealing with the rowdy customers” You picked up on her Irish accent

"Well, that’s nice to hear. Are you not from Birmingham?” you questioned

“Oh no, I’m not. I only got here about a week ago. I used to work at a bar in Galway, so I got quite lucky to be able to get a job at a bar here” she replied.

Quite lucky I sprained my fuckin’ ankle you mean. You mentally scoffed at her

“That is quite lucky” you laughed

By now Harry had left to sort out the glasses in storage, so you figured you might as well pry for something out of her

“So Harry tells me you’ve been serving the Shelby boys while I’ve been gone, you know they’re trouble?” You asked, staring into her eyes, trying to gauge any sort of reaction you could receive. She seemed unfazed.

“Well, they’ve been quite nice to me, given me lots of tips” 

“Is that so? Who’s been giving you tips?” They never gave you tips, even on the busiest of nights when you were running back and forth serving their requests for beer which seemed to come through ever 10 fucking seconds

“Uh, the tall one” John. Damn him.

“Ah, I see, hopefully it was good money” you ‘beamed’ at her, trying to be friendly 

“Good enough” she laughed back

“So what brings you to Birmingham?” 

“My father passed away and I just needed a change of scenery” she replied, her eyes showed sadness, so you figured her father passing couldn’t be a lie, but a change of scenery in Birmingham? Yeah right. Maybe on some farm surrounded by chickens and mosquitoes, or in some tropical American city, but not in Birmingham. Most people want out, not in, unless they have good reason to favour the latter.

“I’m sorry to hear that” 

“It’s okay, he was quite old anyways, I had expected it at some point” she replied with a half smile, eyes still sad.

You both sat in silence for a moment until you spoke “I’ll be back next week to help out” you looked towards the door, more customers starting to pile in, Harry back from the storage room, rushing to get their orders, and back at Grace “things are starting to get busy, I won’t hold you any longer. It was nice meeting you” you smiled at her, getting up from your seat and heading  out of the Garrison, trudging to the betting shop.

The Shelby family were in the midst of a family meeting, discussing business you honestly didn’t care much about, thoughts racing with how you were going to have Thomas’ head on a stake. 

“That copper, is going to try and bring this family down with every fuckin’ cell in his body” Thomas exclaimed

“What copper?” you asked. Thomas looked at you like you had just asked him if the sun was a rock

“Campbell. We’ve been talking about him this whole meeting Y/N” you could tell he was annoyed, but you didn’t care

“When did he get here? When did this start?” you asked

“Why does that-” Thomas started

“Answer the fucking question Thomas Shelby” you interrupted

“About a week ago, he worked as a copper in Ireland, and has come with his troops to Birmingham to try and ruin all of my fucking plans. Keep up please!” He replied, clearly frustrated.

Ireland?

You knocked on the door to Thomas’ office and waited before you heard a low “Come in”

You walked into his office, Thomas looking down at some papers, and sat down on one of the chairs at his desk

“How are you liking the new barmaid?” You asked, staring him down.

At the mention of the barmaid he looked up at you, a mix of panic and annoyance flashing in his eyes

“She does her job Y/N. What else can I think of her? He replied with a sigh at the end

“Oh I’m sure she does her job well enough for you to be having secret meetings with her” you replied, venom laced in your voice. You were starting to get angry, and him behaving as though he was annoyed by your presence wasn’t making it any easier

“Y/N what are you-” 

“Don’t fucking what me Thomas Shelby! Harry told me all about the lovely interest you’ve taken to her, enough so to meet with her every fucking day! Did you fuck her?! If you did you better tell me because so help me God if I find out from-”

“I did not fucking sleep with her Y/N will you PLEASE calm down?” Thomas yelled, his voice booming through the office

“If you didn’t sleep with her then what did you do?”

“We just talked” he answered, as though everything was normal

“Just talked?! Have you forgotten that you have a girlfriend Thomas, a girlfriend who had a sprained fucking ankle and couldn’t walk, who you could’ve come to any time to just talk?! You think I’m supposed to believe that’s all you did? Why would you just talk to her and not me?!” You were screaming again, your anger reaching a tipping point

“Because she isn’t like you Y/N!”��

You looked at him, visibly confused

“She didn’t grow up with daddy’s loaded bank account in some posh city, she’s genuine, like a breath of fresh fucking air in this place! She gets me, and I get her, and she happened to be there when I needed someone to talk to! Is that so bad?!” You stared at him dumbfounded, not only had he implied that he could not come to you -his girlfriend- when he needed someone to talk to, he also brought up your family and history, knowing damn well the riches your family had, meant nothing to you, constantly overshadowed by the yelling, bruises and loneliness.

The true weight of his words seemed to register with him as regret flashed in his eyes under your dumbfounded, yet angry gaze

“Fuck you Thomas Shelby. Fuck you. She’s working with that fucking copper”

He moved to say something but you quickly interrupted him

“I know you did your stupid background checks, I asked Arthur about it. She’s not from fucking Galway, she never worked in any bars, meaning she lied about everything, and she, your lovely Irish angel shows up at the same time that copper does, and you still willingly walk into her presence every damn day while your girlfriend is alone, to talk?! To fucking talk?!”

Thomas was visibly getting angrier as you accused her of working with Campbell, moving to defend her

“Don’t you think you’re going too far?! I get you’re jealous but you can’t just make shit up!”

You scoffed 

“Polly was right about men only being able to think with their cocks. Even you, the oh so smart Thomas Shelby, are a blind fucking idiot. Fuck you, I never want to see you again, you hear me? You can go talk to that fucking barmaid as much as you want” You spat, leaving his office with a loud slam of his door, catching John’s worried eyes as you stormed out of the shop. Your ankle was radiating with pain, but you ignored it as you stormed home.

Fucking Shelbys.

[babypinkhearts]

Hi, I’ve been binge reading you’re work and let me tell you they’re *chefs kiss*.So, I have this idea but I can't write to save my life so I was wondering if you could do a steampunk or sailpunk au where Ash lynx is a fallen angel or something of that sort who was captured by Dino. Y/N is a mechanic and she fixes dinos ships or mechanical things falls for ash and is unsure of what to do. so he ends up escaping with her with the help of shorter. they get separated somehow but in the end gets married or get together or smthn???

Idk I’m blabbering at this point feel free to ignore this ask!!

Also stay safe and hydrated 🤗💕

hello hi!!! thank you so much, hearing that people enjoy my writing gets me so freaking happy :)

disclaimer: i had to look up what steampunk and sailpunk au’s were, as i admittedly have never heard of them, but-

i love this idea!!! i don’t think i’ve written any au’s at all on my account, so bare with me please 😅 this took so long to write and i think i went a littleee off track, but i really do hope you like it :)

pairing: ash lynx + fem!reader

warnings: verbal and physical harassment, vulgar language

“what?”

“the main sail has a tear in it. dino wants it fixed by morning.”

your eyebrows rose high at the response, scoffing in disbelief.

“i’m over-qualified for that shit. have one of the other guys sew it or something-“

in a flash, arthur pulled the collar of your shirt, lifting your feet off the ground in the process.

he leveled your eyes to his, narrowing them.

“if papa dino asks you to do something, you fucking do it. don’t act all high and mighty, i’ll shove that pride right down your throat.”

with that, he forcefully let go, watching as you fell on to your back.

you placed your hands behind you, lifting half of your body up as you sent him a glare.

arthur had always aggravated you. you weren’t exactly a “new” member to the crew, though the aggressive rivalry between the two of you did not diminish despite how long you knew each other.

without a word, arthur stepped over you, walking away, his posture seeming triumphant while you laid on in the floor in loss.

sighing, you shook your head as you got up, dusting off your pants.

dino golzine didn’t terrify you. he was your employer - you had the chance to get away if you really wanted to.

though, income was good and he provided you with a place to stay. there was really no reason to leave.

“y/n! heads up!”

immediately, you looked up, your hands instinctively reaching out as a crew member threw you a box.

“needles and thread!” he called out, pointing at the box from above. “dino says it ain’t gotta be perfect. just make sure the wind isn’t goin’ through.”

glancing down at the materials you now carried, you nodded up at him.

as soon as he turned away, you rolled your eyes, huffing as you adjusted the box in your arms and beginning your walk to the main sail.

truth be told, a long tear ran along the bottom.

dino wanted it fixed by morning?

this looked like it’d take you at least a few days.

pursing your lips and eternally sighing once more, you opened the box to begin your work.

but, the commotion behind you halted your movements.

your body quickly whipped around, eyes widening as you noticed nearly the entirety of the crew huddled in one circle.

quickly rushing over, you pushed through the crowd, popping your head through every gap in attempt to see what was in the middle of all this noise.

dino’s men always caused havoc among the ship - though there was something particularly wrong with how they were reacting this time.

there were whistles, laughs, hollers - all behavior you had endured when first being recruited.

it sent a train of unwanted memories down your head, and you winced as you attempted to cycle your mind back to reality.

a harsh shove against your rib lunged your body into self-awareness, and you once again peeked through the men standing in front of you.

and when you saw him... it was hard not to utter a sound a shock.

those wings...

they were real.

all those myths the men kept on the ships - the tales they told during the long winter nights-

the angels were real.

he glowed in the sunlight, just how they described in the books.

he was beautiful as well - his skin was flawless.

but, what was the crew doing with him?

why was there rope around his hands and torso?

his wings were restricted.

he looked to be in pain.

you glanced around, hoping to find a sane person on board.

but, everyone was smiling. laughing, even.

they pulled him with the rope, mocking him and treating him as some sort of animal.

the crew as individuals didn’t scare you. but now, as they huddled as one, you couldn’t find the power to say something in objection to the way they were treating this poor angel.

you stood quiet as they pulled him away, the ghost of your hand reaching out before they hauled him on to the deckhouse.

the door shut loudly behind them.

—

you couldn’t tell what time it was.

at least, specifically. you knew it was the early hours of the morning. the sun had yet to show.

your hands were cramping and you felt exhausted.

but the important part - the tear on the sail was nearly patched up.

you knew your body was begging you for a break, though your determination in keeping the job was at the top of your priorities.

and so you continued to sew.

“y/n.”

you quickly turned around, your eyes locking on to arthur’s.

beside him, the angel, his hands still adorned with the same rope.

the rope looked tasseled now - as if a struggle was made.

you felt sick.

“take care of him while you’re up here. make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

and with that, he pushed the winged boy in your direction, walking away.

you stood still, your eyes to the floor as you tried to avoid looking at the being in front of you.

you didn’t even want to imagine what or what they were planning on doing with him.

though, now with instructions given directly to you-

if the boy were to flee, you’d end up dead the next day.

“it looks like they have you captive, not me.”

your head snapped up.

the boy had taken a seat, his back against the wall as you looked up at you.

there was a hint of amusement on his face.

you masked the surprise on your face at the sound of his voice, shaking your head at him.

“i-i’m sorry. i promise i’ll help you the best i can, just...”

you trailed off as you noticed him begin to shake his head.

“they’ll kill you, i think both of us know that much.”

he was blunt with his words.

you didn’t reply, the silence giving him your answer.

you could feel his gaze still on you.

it could be comparable to a hawk’s.

“how did you... end up here?” you hesitantly asked, your eyes glancing to the glimpse of white feathers behind his back.

up until this point - you didn’t think the tales they told around the world of fallen angels were... true.

though, the boy in front of you proved your beliefs wrong.

you watched as he visibly relaxed against the wall, his blond hair momentarily falling in his eyes before he shook his head, the pieces moving away.

“i was out exploring, actually. this-“ he rose his arms to show the rope around his wrists. “wasn’t intentional.”

you blinked, nodding as you processed his words.

exploring... could that mean there were more of his kind out there?

you hesitated for a moment, gathering the courage to continue to talk to him.

his presence alone was admittedly intimidating.

his stare didn’t feel threatening by any means, but it made you nervous to know he was watching your every move.

you didn’t have a malicious plan for him. you wanted to help him.

you hoped he could tell that much.

quietly grabbing your needle and thread, you rose your sore arms to continue your sewing job.

glimpsing at the boy, you took of small breath.

“if you don’t mind me asking... what’s your name?”

there was a small moment of silence, up until you realized he was waiting for you to look toward him.

you matched with his eyes, the green’s of his seeming calm.

it was comforting to look into his eyes.

“ash.” he finally replied.

ash.

he suited the name, you had to admit.

“you suit the name.” you spoke out your thoughts, sending him a small smile. “i’m y/n.”

ash nodded, his eyes following your skilled hands as you quickly pulled the needle in and out of the sail.

you could feel his gaze fall back on your face.

“y/n, why are you in a place like this?”

you stopped.

glancing to ash, you sent him a look of confusion.

his question was sudden - but he seemed genuinely curious.

you didn’t say a word as he stood up on his feet.

your body didn’t have an ounce of fear or adrenaline in it. like it knew he couldn’t hurt you.

he stood in front of you, his eyes peering down at yours.

your body didn’t move when he rose his tied hands.

your body didn’t move as they moved forward toward you.

your body didn’t move when he placed his hand right over your heart.

“this,” ash softly spoke, his voice low. “is where people like me can tell who we can trust from your people.”

he slightly pulled away from you.

“you’re a good person in a bad situation. leave this place, it’ll do you no good.”

you placed down the sewing materials, furrowing your brows at him.

his words took a moment to settle in your mind, though confusion plagued the thoughts immediately.

“why are you telling me this?” you asked, shaking your head with a sigh.

ash shrugged.

“natural duty, i guess.” he replied, motioning back to his wings, a reminder that the two of you were not the same.

your eyes followed, looking to the soft feathers.

“so, out of your natural duty, what should i do?”

you could see his lips slightly perk up as you repeated his words.

“i think,” he softly spoke, his eyes looking toward the sky. “when i escape, you should leave as well.”

you were quiet, mind swirling as you thought of the bad outcomes that would bring.

“i have a friend coming to get me right now. from there, i can help you out. i normally don’t help humans, but please believe me when i say this won’t end well for you.”

his words brought out implications that scared you.

the question - what could end up bad? sounded idiotic, even in your head.

there were a dozen things you could come up with on the spot.

the men on this ship were ruthless.

yes, you had the right to leave whenever you wanted-

but what would make them stay away from you?

with a small nod, you breathed out.

“okay. i believe you.”

—

an hour passed as the two of you conversed.

it felt like five minutes.

the angel in front of you felt like an unironic blessing.

he was beautiful in every form.

“he’s almost here.” ash announced, his head resting on his arms. he was sat criss-cross, you mirroring his posture.

you had managed to remove the rope from his limbs, the two of you hiding out behind barrels on deck.

for a moment, you had wondered why ash needed a friend to help him escape.

he had wings, you thought.

but after cutting the rope around them, you knew he was in no condition to fly.

the rope was tighter than you had originally thought.

so tight, to where it tore into his wings.

ash had assured you they would heal, but the uncontrollable wincing he had done was enough to tell you his pain was nearly unbearable.

“there.”

ash nudged your shoulder gently, his finger pointing toward the sky.

the gasp that left your mouth was unintentional, your eyes widening as the figure above began to get closer.

a male that mirrored the same wings as ash waved with a smile, his gaze also landing to you.

“ash!” he called, chuckling in disbelief. “you made friends with a human?!”

ash smiled at the sound of his voice, shaking his head. “just shut up and help me.”

the boy laughed, landing on the deck quietly.

“shorter.” he greeted, waving to you.

you smiled, waving back. “y/n.”

shorter copied your expression, walking behind ash.

he grimaced as he took a look at his wings, his hand gently running down the most injured one.

“yikes, they got you good.”

ash rolled his eyes, waving him off. “yeah, yeah. just hurry up.”

shorter nodded, and you watched with wide eyes as the injuries seemed to minimize in a flash.

five seconds, you counted.

5 seconds and all the wounds were gone.

“pretty cool, right?” shorter turned to you, grinning.

astonished, you nodded, too shocked to say anything.

shorter, amused at your reaction, giggled.

he pat ash on the back, hand ruffling through the feathers. “alright bro, you’re good to go.”

ash nodded gratefully, sighing in bliss as he stretched out his wings.

you watched, memorized at the beauty in front of you.

angels, you would never get over it.

“let’s head out.” ash announced, suddenly standing up, his being glowing as his body was now completely healed.

shorter glanced to you, silently asking - “you’re coming?”

you didn’t miss how his gaze dropped down to where your heart was.

ash was telling the truth.

you nodded at shorter, a sense of happiness washing over you as his expression became one of excitement.

“awesome! ash will carry you, i’m sure.” shorter looked to his friend. “otherwise, i don’t think you’re too fond of walking the plank out.”

ash gave you a thumbs up, nodding.

“yeah, but just hold on tight.” he teasingly spoke, wrapping your arms around his neck.

you nodded at his words, chuckling. “just please don’t drop me.”

you could vision the smirk on his face.

“i’ll try.”

[thedistantdusk]

Thanks to @jenoramaca @gryffindorhealer and @secretkeeper13 for the quick beta work!

A gift for my beloved @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey.

CW: Language and domestic fluff

______

Trying

From the second he walks through the door, Harry can sense that something’s changed. It takes him thirty minutes to suss out why.

In retrospect, the smells coming from the kitchen probably tipped him off. Or maybe it was Ginny’s distracted hum, followed by the tinkling of plates and cutlery. Perhaps it was the fact that she prepared a full dinner, long before he even got home.

Nonetheless, he doesn’t worry about it too much as he greets her with a kiss, his hands cupping her chin. When he sits across from her at the table, there’s something furtive and curious lurking behind her eyes, but their meal is so peppered with normalcy that he doesn’t bring it up. They banter and laugh about Luna and Robards and wonder what they’ll bring to the Burrow on Sunday.

But when they’ve reached the stage of chasing stray noodles around their plates, Ginny finally clears her throat… and just like that, the nearly imperceptible shift he’d sensed earlier turns into something very perceptible, indeed. “Can I erm. Talk to you about something?”

He pauses, mid-bite, and takes her in. Her lip’s worried between her teeth, her hands fidgeting. Even her hair, normally strewn about her shoulders or parted to the side with a sort of effortless grace, is tied back and resting low at the base of her neck.

Ginny’s not normally this… serious. And he’d be lying to say it didn’t frighten him.

So he blurts the first thing that comes to mind. “Who died?”

There’s a half-second pause in which his chest clenches, his stomach churns. Could it be Molly? Or Arthur? George hasn’t been great either, not that—

But Ginny just reels back, confused… and it’s not until then that Harry realizes he’s really, really misread something.

“I… w-what?” she stammers, brow furrowing. She peers at him for a pained moment before her face relaxes into a look of understanding. “Oh. Oh! For fuck’s sake,” she mutters, rubbing her forehead. “I guess I’m thicker than usual, should’ve known you’d read it that way.”

Harry snorts. “Erm… darling, as many things as I legitimately don’t understand, I’m fairly sure this one isn’t on me.”

Ginny ignores this. “Did you seriously think that something dreadful happened and I’d just spring that on you in the middle of your bolognese?” Her lips twitch into a smirk. “Here’s some pasta. By the way, a fire burned a puppy orphanage to the ground. Could you pass the salt?”

He gives her a plain stare. Nice try. Years ago, he might’ve taken the bait and chased her down that rabbit hole. They might’ve had an hour-long, spirited debate on the existence of puppy-specific orphanages. But after three years of marriage, he knows better.

And she knows he knows.

Ginny finally draws a resigned breath. “No,” she says slowly. “No one died, ok? Or is even… I don’t know, sick or infirmed or threatened.” She waves her hand and continues babbling. “Last I checked, even Muriel’s still going strong, somehow. I’m jealous of that, you know— being old enough to just say whatever the fuck you’d like and have no one question it because—”

“—Ginny,” he cuts across on an exasperated sigh. “As chuffed as I am to chat about Muriel all night, I’d really like to know what’s bothering you. Please?”

There’s another pause as she bites her lip. Then, in one swift motion, she attempts to rise to her feet and push her chair in on her way over to him.

But somewhere along the way, something gets crossed— and Harry watches in bewildered horror as her foot catches on the leg of the chair. Then, right in front of his eyes, she lets out a startled gasp, her arms flailing, before she lands with a thump.

He’s out of his seat and on the floor beside her before he even realizes she’s cried out in pain and surprise. “Are you ok?” he demands, pushing her jeans up around her ankle… her tricky ankle, the one she hurt rather badly at the playoffs last month. Hm. It's a bit red.

Honestly, she hasn’t been this clumsy since she was 10 years old and near a butter dish. This does nothing to alleviate his fears that there’s something Very Wrong.”

“It’s not even my ankle that hurts,” Ginny grits, pushing up on her palms. “Wait— Harry, what are you—”

“Need to ask Gwenog,” he says urgently, running to the other side of the table for his wand. “She said that if anything happens to your ankle to tell her straight away, remember? Better safe than—”

She scoffs. “Seriously, Harry, I’m fine! I didn’t even land on my—”

He arches an eyebrow. “Have you suddenly forgotten the Puddlemere match? When your ankle broke clean through the skin?” Even now, the memory makes him shudder. “You heard Gwenog— without magic, you might not have walked again.”

“But there was magic,” she says, almost pleading. “And seriously, I’m fine!”

Harry finds he has limited patience for her heroics, though, while she’s sprawled out on the floor and nursing a bruise on her arse. “Gwenog’s instructions were quite clear,” he says firmly. “Having a pro athlete as a wife is a group task. It’s taxing on your body. I’ve got to make sure there’s enough of you left to enjoy our lives.”

Ginny clears her throat. “Erm… but what if you… haven’t actually got a pro athlete as a wife. Technically speaking.”

Harry swallows. He’s sure he’s heard her wrong. “What?”

With a wince, she adjusts herself against the wall. “I’m sorry… this isn’t how I’d planned to tell you. I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?”

Normally, Harry might press a bit harder. Normally he’d demand answers— and now. But as he peers at her on the floor, there’s something soft and uncertain behind her eyes… something timid. So he decides to do something he knows he’s good at— something she doesn’t let many other people do: take care of her.

With a sigh, he scoops her from the floor and brings her to the sofa. Then he props her against the pillows, putting her legs across his lap.

And he waits.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, peering at her downcast face, before she finally says it in a rush.

“Iwanttohaveababy.”

It comes on a whisper. A breathed admission. He knows, just from her expression, that she’s never said it aloud.

But he must have misunderstood. There’s no way he’s not projecting, inserting the reality he wants instead. “Could you… could you repeat that?” he manages, his voice gruff and shaken.

Ginny just sits up straighter; her cheeks as red as her hair. “I want to have a baby,” she repeats, the confidence building with every word.

Oh. Looks like he was right after all.

Harry blinks at the carpet, his head spinning, mortified with the tears that have sprung, unbidden, to the corners of his eyes.

A baby. Their baby. A smile plays at his lips as he stares at her ankle in distracted bliss. He’s been ready for ages… longer than anyone he knows. It’s hard to remember a time when he didn’t want a family with her. When he didn’t want to watch her grow and change. To become more beautiful with every passing day until…

He swallows back another round of tears; he’d never forgive himself if he forced this… if he swayed her, in any way, despite what he wants so badly it squeezes his insides.

“But what about quidditch?” His voice cracks; he clears his throat to cover it. “Honestly Ginny, I’ll wait, as long as you’d like. We’re young. Think of what you’d deal with, loads of assumptions and press and comments.”

She turns to him with an arched brow. “And since when have I ever cared about comments? Since when have you cared about comments?”

He spreads his palms in resignation; it was a particularly weak argument. “I know. I just… don’t want to make your life more difficult.”

“Well...” She draws a deep breath and peers down at her nails. “I’ve erm. Actually quit the Harpies, all by myself.” Her cheeks begin to redden again. “I’ve already sent the owl and everything. Resigned. No intent to return next season.”

Oh.

That’s what she meant, then, about not being married to a professional athlete. Harry blinks a few more times as she plows through an explanation that could honestly be something from a dream.

“I’ve… I’ve just been thinking about it. A lot,” she adds, focus returning to her cuticles. “The Harpies are out for the rest of the season— that fucking Puddlemere match and that bullshit ref.” She glares at the pillow to her right. “Nothing like blind favoritism. Fucking prick should’ve been fired!”

All Harry can manage is a feeble chuckle, his hand moving to caress her knee. This time, he can’t bring himself to stop her spiral.

“Maybe it’s not just that match, though,” she admits, rubbing her ankle. “It’s also just… so much bloody work. I’ve been at it three whole seasons, you know? I’m a bit tired of missing birthdays. And family events. And only dreaming of bludgers and snitches. And attending the mandatory press interviews to avoid getting fined, and then giving polite answers to personal questions when I really just want to hex them, and—”

Harry laughs. “I think Sandra Richardson might disagree about the polite answers bit, darling.”

Ginny gives a dignified sniff and continues as if she hasn’t heard him. “Annnyway,” she says, toying with a piece of lint. “I… feel like I’m ready to move on. So.” Her face splits into a grin as she gestures to the corridor. “On with it.”

He clears his throat. “As much as I’d love to take you up on that, I’m confused about how this relates to quitting your job. You could’ve kept playing. Or—”

“—Why is it so hard to believe this is something I want?”

There’s a beat. He doesn’t have a good answer.

“What if I wanted to quit before I got pregnant?” she continues, her tone growing more demanding. “What if I was done with playing, regardless — and genuinely wanted to have children? Your children.”

She lets out an incredulous laugh, tossing her hands in the air. “I have to say, Harry, this feels an awful lot like you’re doubting what I actually want to fit a narrative of what you think I want.” Her eyes narrow again. “Is that really respecting my wishes?”

“No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. He’d never thought about it like that before… how it might be insulting, really, to question what she’s ready for. He laces their fingers together, feeling properly chastened. “I’m sorry. I never meant to… suggest you don’t know what you want. Or something.”

He hears the timid smile in her voice as she squeezes his hand back. “Do you still want a baby, then?” she asks. “Or are you just in it for the practice?”

A smile creeps across his face, his eyes still focused on her hands. “I… think you know the answer to that one.”

“Well, I’m not sure I do,” Ginny says flatly. “Because I just told someone who wants two million babies that I’m ready to carry his first child. Forgive me if I expected a bit more excited fanfare than acting like I drowned your kitten.”

“What’s with you and baby animals today?” he murmurs, inching her pant leg a bit higher.

“Wonder why I’ve got babies on the brain,” she quips, raising her eyebrows. “Maybe because I want one.”

Harry releases a resigned sigh. She’s clearly done playing. “Honestly…” He bites his lip. “If you’re sure that’s what you want, I’m obviously on board. Obviously.” His eyes flit to hers. “I just… I don’t want to be responsible for something you end up regretting.”

It’s the truth of the matter, really; the thing that tugs at him the hardest. The fear he’d ever burden her… the worry he’d ever make her less than happy.

Ginny gives him a small smile, her hand coming to cup his jaw. “I’m going to take that as a weird, sad Harry thing instead of an attempt to remove my womanly agency.” She narrows her eyes. “But that’s your final warning.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s on his feet in a split-second, gathering her into his arms with the stupidest grin he’s ever worn. Trying. Is that what they call this? Are they actually properly trying now?

“Get used to this,” she says as he strides into the bedroom. “Because once you knock me up— on purpose, mind— I’m going to request a lot more transportation.”

“I think I can live with that,” Harry murmurs against her lips, draping her across the bed.

And to avoid a well-deserved slap, he doesn’t say the final bit: As long as you can live with me.

[urimaginespimp]

Naked While They’re Working

Requested

AN: Happy Holidays everyone! I hope you enjoy this one.

Tommy

Being married to Thomas guaranteed you a lot of things – wealth, protection, a crazy family, and incomparable intimacy. The past few weeks however, you’ve been sleeping and waking up to a cold bed, as your husband tries to sort out his business.

“I know the face of a touch-starved woman when I see one.” She said bluntly, making her son Michael clear his throat and excuse himself from your exchange.

You sighed. “It’s been a few weeks.” You muttered, but it was loud enough to make her chuckle.

“Men often think with their cocks, dear. I’m sure if he’s reminded of what he’s been missing out on, you’d be alright.” She puffs a smoke out and smiled slyly at you.

Now here you were in your bathroom with nothing but your robe, taking one last look in the mirror. Dropping the silk material to your feet, you stepped out of it and walked your way to your husband’s office door. Leaning in, you hear that he’s talking on the phone.

Walking in, he was yet to look up from scribbling down whatever the person from the other end of the line was telling him, until you cleared your throat.

“Y/N I-“ his breath caught his throat when he finally looked up. You almost giggled at his shocked face.

You saw the battle in his eyes. But he knew better than to keep you from waiting further.

“I-uh have to call you back.” He said over the phone in a rush and slammed it back down.

“Well…” He got up from his seat already loosening his tie, to make his way to you. “I believe I have to burry myself to some other business tonight.”

 Alfie

To say that you and Alfie’s physical chemistry was great would be an understatement. That particular morning, you’ve been feeling a lot needier than usual. But to your annoyance, he’s yet to get back from his trip ‘til noon.

With a wicked grin, you took your long coat from the closet and decided to surprise him when he gets back to his office.

Glancing at the clock once more, you saw that it was almost noon. A voice was heard out the door, undoubtedly your husbands, making you finally rid of your coat.

But when another voice answered him, you realized that he wasn’t alone. Getting up, you quickly made your way in the nearby closet and shut it close.

The door opened and footsteps made their way in. You could tell by the small gap on the closet that Alfie was stood by your view while his unknown companion was probably still by the door.

“Mr. Solomons think about what I said, ye?” You now recognized the voice of the Shelby man.

“Ye just get out of me office now, will ya? I’m startin’ to think yer getting clingy.” You couldn’t see him but just imagining the annoyed face of your husband made you snicker, forgetting you were in hiding.

Undoubtedly hearing you, the two men in the office froze for a second. Alfie slowly reached for his gun, and told Mr. Shelby to stand back.

You bit your lip from laughing further when Alfie forcefully swung the closet door and aimed a gun at your direction, to only freeze again in front of your naked figure.

“Well what is it, Mr. Solomons?” Thomas Shelby asked from the doorway.

Alfie brought his gun down and gulped at the sight of you. “Lock the door on your way out, Shelby.” He ordered, still staring at you.

 John

The Shelby family were no strangers to you and John’s antics. The amount of times that they’ve walked in on you would be enough to make them consider buying you both extra locks for your room. But Thomas found a better solution – keeping you both busy from different offices.

You had to admit, it worked. For the past few days, you both barely had time to spend time together from the amount of work were given.

“I miss John.” You sighed while arranging paperwork.

“You can’t possibly be serious.” Finn answered, having heard of your demise. “You just saw each other this morning.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been too busy lately, we’re only together to finally sleep or to get ready for work.”

Finn being the sweet man that he was, nodded in understanding. “I’ll cover for ya for half an hour.” He offered. “I swear not to tell Tommy.”

Grateful, you gave the youngest Shelby a small hug and almost skipped your way to John’s office.

Slowly opening the door, you saw that your husband’s seat facing away from the door.

“Tom I’m not done reading our men’s reports. I’ll send it your way later.” He said from his seat, not even turning around to see if it really were his older brother.

With a playful thought, you unzipped the back of your dress and let if fall to your feet.

Noting how he hadn’t received a reply or heard the door shut once more, he turned his seat around and came to face you. A grin broke on his features.

“I missed you too, darling.” He chuckled as you approached him.

It wasn’t long then when his chair was turned to face away the chair once more and you were both in the middle of showing how you really missed each other when the door swung open.

“John whe- For heaven’s sake I told ya to lock the fucking door!” An angry Thomas stormed out of the office, cursing.

 Arthur

Arthur was in the middle of checking the sales of his pub upstairs the Garrison.

“Harry we can lock up for you.” You offered the clearly worn out barman.

“You sure, miss? I don’t want Mr. Shelby getting mad at me.” He asked hesitantly.

“I’d be madder if you don’t take rest now.” You smiled at him, and he grinned in gratitude.

Walking upstairs, you got rid of any piece of clothing you had piece by piece. By the time you were outside his office door you were clear of any of it.

Knocking on it, you heard him replied a low invitation to come in. Opening the door slowly, he was still buried on scanning the record book when you spoke.

“So…” you were trying not to smile. “Are we going home any time soon, or would your office have to do?” you asked.

“Have to do for what?” He asked, and finally turned your way. “Oh. I see.” He himself was also trying not to grin so much from looking at you. “Can’t have ya walking out of here lookin’ like that now, can’t we?”

Michael

Michael had a beautiful office. It was spacious, had great furniture, and had a huge glass window for you to ogle at him if you want. He’s been stuck in a meeting with the Shelby brothers for hours now, and you had come over that afternoon from your shared flat to fetch him for your anniversary dinner.

The Shelby men’s backs were all you could see of them while your boyfriend was on his desk discussing to them who knows what. Meeting your eyes through the window, your boyfriend gave you an apologetic look. You just gave him a smile, knowing that it wasn’t his choice to be stuck in there.

You helped yourself with the bottle of wine on one of the shelves outside and a wine glass. Before your mind could ponder it, a glass turned into two and soon enough, who knows how many.

Your boyfriend however, hadn’t missed how you’ve enjoyed yourself with the drink. Taking a look out the window, you saw that it was already dark out.  

Happy Anniversary. You mouthed to him with a grin. Well if the Shelbys were going to disrupt your date, might as well make sure Michael still enjoys the night.

Michael was having a drink, still looking at you, and almost choked when you started unbuttoning the first few buttons of your dress.

“Is everything okay, Michael?” Arthur asked him, almost turning to check what he saw.

“Yes!” He exclaimed to quickly to stop his cousin from looking your way. “Just choked on my drink.”

There was no denying that you have succumbed to the alcohol. Grinning at your boyfriend like an idiot, he shifted in his seat, clearly already bothered by you and couldn’t wait to get out of there.

You were on your last piece of clothing and had only tossed it away when Thomas turned back with the intention to cough away from everyone else. He snapped his head back quickly when he caught a glimpse of you.

He and Michael stared at each other when he spoke. “Brothers, look ahead with no questions.” He ordered Arthur and John. Nodding at his cousin, Michael got the memo and stood up quickly to go to you.

 Finn

Finn and you had decided that you were going to give your purity to each other. It was awkward at first and not at all as the pictures have suggested on screen, but nevertheless, you enjoyed it and it was very memorable for you. Finn however had thought he did a bad job despite you insisting otherwise.

It had been a month, and although you were with him not just to share his bed, you had to admit that you wanted it to be incorporated in your relationship. You asked his older sister, Ada for advice. Of course, she laughed at you first but was not hesitant to give you some tips.

“Ada I am not gonna threaten to break up with him.” Your mouth was agape at her suggestion.

She laughed. “I’m merely joking, Y/N.” shaking her head. “Threats and sex will never go well.” She clarified.

“I know.” You answered, fiddling with your fingers.

“But I’m positive that there is no better way to get some but by seduction of course.” She crossed her arms, smirking at you.

“How do I… seduce your brother?” you almost didn’t say it, knowing how awkward it would sound. And as expected Ada cringed.

“There is no way I am teaching you how to seduce my little brother.” She shuddered and it was your turn to laugh. “I don’t know, just take of your clothes in front of him.”

Finn one day a week is left alone in the betting shop while the other Shelby men go to London to check up on business. The ladies that afternoon have finally retired into their homes when you opted to stay. Your boyfriend was well aware of your presence in the next office but had no further intentions but to walk you home later.

Walking in front of a mirror hung on the wall, you fixed your hair and proceeded to unzip your dress from the back.

You could hear him walking around the next office and finally decided to make your way there.

Knocking on the door, you opened it slowly and saw him picking up his coat from the table, probably thinking that you were there to tell him you were heading home.

Turning to face you, he stopped in his tracks when he realized you were free of any clothing. He gulped and almost kicked himself from getting affected immediately.

“Holy shi- Y/N what are you doing?” He was cursing profusely while looking down on his feet.

“Finn. I’m not here to force you into doing anything, okay?” You assured him and his reddening face. “Last month was wonderful. Yes, we weren’t that all graceful, but isn’t that why it’s called a first?” You smiled at him.

Listening to your little talk, he finally chuckled and nodded. “We get to improve every time, eh?” he finally looked at you and smirked. You gulped, knowing that you’ve finally made him understand.

“Shut the door, darling.”

[blonde-freckles]

And darling I will be loving you 'til we're 70

He can feel the building begin to shake under his feet before it comes down. He only has a split second to dive under the closest table, with barely a moment to check his surroundings before it happens. The room shakes, windows rattling as the walls come crumbling down around him. It’s all a blur, thick dust clouding his vision. He can hear the screams echoing out across the building before it falls to silence, he’s trapped encased in rubble and dust. He hears the faint squeak of his radio struggling to pick up a channel through the collapse.

He can feel the panic starting to crawl up his lungs as he shifts his weight, so he's no longer holding it all on his knees.

He’s half way through calling in his location when Hailey’s voice cuts off the radio. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What the hell Jay? I thought you were waiting.” He can hear the desperation in her voice as he squeezes his eyes shut trying to control his breathing.

“I’m okay...really, it’s barely a scratch. I’m just a little stuck right now.” He lets out a shaky breath before pulling the radio close to himself, he’s not sure who’s he’s trying to convince, himself or Hailey. “I thought...I thought I could talk him out of it.”

He really thought he could. He thought he had this. There was something about military cases that stirred something up in him, something no amount of hour sin therapy could ever fix. His need to help his brothers. The belief that what they’d seen bonded them in a way that would never be able to be broken, and no matter how many times he got burnt by this belief he never gave up trying.

The radio falls silent but he knows she’s there, he can hear her quiet breaths through the radio. “Fire is on the way Jay.” Her voice is quiet and controlled and in full work mode but all Jay can hear is her quiet breathing. This morning he’d spent the first few minutes of his day just watching her breathe, his arms wrapped so tightly around her, their legs tangled under the soft white sheets as the sunlight filtered through. Their warm little bubble, so safe and secure.

“Help...” A quiet voice breaks out drawing Jay's attention, it’s faint but he can hear it. “Help me please...”

His eyebrows furrow as he tries to work out the direction the pleas for help are coming from. He makes out a small gap in the distruction where the light is filtering in, carefully he reattaches his radio to his duty rig, shuffling down on his stomach, he pulls himself forward through the gap.

A steel beam lays across an elderly gentleman's legs, he looks late 70s maybe, with light grey hair now covered in dust, his hands holding tightly around the beam desperately pushing against it.

“Sir...” Jay jumps into action, crawling faster as he makes his way through the gap. “Sir are you all right?”

His brain kicks into work mode, shutting off any lingering thoughts on not making it out of here alive as he assesses this situation. The mans bleeding pretty heavily, his legs crushed on the beam that might be the only thing stopping him from bleeding out. It’s far too heavy for Jay to lift or even try to shift, instead he manages to use his belt as a makeshift tourniquet.

He calls through the radio, listening intently as Brett comes over the air waves to get an idea of the gentleman’s injuries. When Jay does manage to finally slow the bleeding the radio crackles back to silence and Jay looks down at his blood stained hands, wiping them on his jeans in the hopes the gentleman won’t see just how much there is as he sits beside him.

“You’re a detective you say?”

“Yes...erm sorry I never got your name.”

“Arthur Brady...I would say nice to meet you but...” The man half chuckles as Jay gives him a short nod wondering how he could be so chipper in a moment like this, surely he can feel the extent of his injuries, even if he can't he can definitely see the severity of the situation.

“Whatever you do Jay keep him talking until we get there.”

Bretts words echo in his mind.

“Arthur...Arthur talk to me...tell me what brought you here today.”

Time seems to tick by slowly, the faint crackle of Jays radio fading in and out every so often. Fire had arrived, but it was gonna be a long wait until they could get to them. The building was not on steady ground and the aim was to get as many people out alive as possible, however long that took. Hailey's voice had only come through the radio once more in that time, just to say the bomber's body had been pulled from the wreckage near the exit...he hadn’t made it. In the meantime Jay continues to probe Arthur with more questions in the hope it will keep him awake, but he’s also glad for the distraction that it provides him. Sitting still, having nothing to do...that’s never been Jay's speed. He learns that Arthur was at the bank to get some cash out for his granddaughters 21s birthday, he has two daughters and a son and 6 grandchildren. He was a wedding photographer for 47 years before he retired 10 years ago.

“My wife Katherine...oh she’s beautiful. You know we’ve been married 53 years this year..." Arthur explains as he pulls a worn leather wallet from his top pocket, handing it over. Jay could see the old photo inside, it’s slightly faded but he can make out the image of a bride on her wedding day, the vail thrown back over her hair to reveal her smiling brightly at someone behind the camera.

"So what's the secret to making it work?" Jay questions, his gaze falling back to his own phone and the photo of Hailey that lights up his background. He’d dragged her along on a hike a while back, with the promise of getting doughnuts after. She’d been laughing at something he’d said as the sun went down behind her, making her blonde curls glow and he’d snapped the pic before she’d had a chance to protest.

"Marry your best friend. Marry someone you can laugh with. The kind of laugh that makes your belly ache, and your nose snort. Marriage is hard. Life is harder. There are days when you'll wanna walk but as long as your relationship is buried deep in friendship you'll always find your way. You think you might know someone like that?" Arthur asks with a slight twinkle in his eye as he nods towards the phone in Jay's hand.

Jay nods, a soft smile growing on his face as he runs his thumb across the photo on his screen, handing Arthur back his own photo. “Yeah I think I do...and she’s almost guaranteed to be just outside this building right now, she’s gonna be so pissed at me for being here.”

“I don’t think Katherine will be too happy either...will you...will you tell me about her?...what’s her name?” He nods down towards Jay's phone again.

“Hailey.” Jay whispers softly, he can already see her arms folded across her chest, tapping her foot impatiently on the street, eyes trained on every person emerging from the wreckage. Honestly what he wouldn’t give to hear her knowing tone telling him that she’s sick of hospital waiting rooms right now.

“She sort of came out of nowhere, I wasn’t really looking for anything when we met, actually...there was someone else when we met. I couldn’t even tell you the moment everything changed...trust me I’ve tried to work it out but it’s just like one day she was my partner and friend and the next she was the one person I could never live without. I remember looking over at her years ago and thinking I could lose all this...this job. This job that I’ve let define me for so long but it wouldn’t matter as long as I was with her.”

“Sounds like you’re in deep...How come you’re not married?”

“Oh we haven’t been dating that long...I...we still have some things to figure out.” Jay swallows, if he’s honest he’d marry Hailey tomorrow. He’d have married her six months ago given the chance. As soon as they started dating he knew he couldn’t ever imagine spending his life with someone else. He knew it a week in, he’d come in from an early morning run to find her sitting on the kitchen island coffee cup in hand, his t-shirt hanging loosely on her body as she read the morning news. She’d handed him his coffee without so much as a second glance and he’d known in that exact moment. It had taken everything in him not to get down on one knee right then and there.

Things had changed since their first I love you, he was even more careful with her. He didn’t want her to be overwhelmed, he wanted to help her in any way he could. She was trying, really trying and she had gotten good at letting him know when she felt flustered by their relationship, when she needed space or when she needed reassurance. He was all too happy to comply, he was happy to do whatever it took to make this work.

“Don’t waste time...not with the people you love.” The sad look on Arthur’s face like he’s almost defeated makes Jay think the elder man might be close to giving up as his eyes flicker shut briefly.

“Tell me more about Katherine.” Jay urges, he wraps a hand around Arthur's wrist, checking his pulse as he does. It’s weak.

“She’s the dream. I was a New Yorker you see, born and bread...was only here for a wedding 54 years ago when I saw her through the window of a cafe”

“And you knew right then and there?”

“God no.” Arthur begins to laugh but it turns into him choking as he struggles to catch his breath. “I don’t believe in love at first sight. Love...real true love takes work and a lot of it. You’ve got to choose that person every single day.” He croaks out, his eye sparkling as he recalls the memory in his mind. “What I did know was she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I was a young man at the time, full of a confidence I had no real right having.” Jay chuckles, he’s been there, the cocky confident guy in his 20s thinking he knew it all. “I could never have known the love that would’ve formed, so deep it almost shook me to my core. I’d never been in love before, but I’d seen others, especially in my line of work and then I got it, I got why people behave the way they did. I remember thinking if this is what love feels like I get why it starts wars.” He’s words trail off and Jay watches the way his head drops slightly.

“Hey, Arthur...Arthur we’re almost out you hear me. Stay with me now Arthur. Katherine is waiting, she's still waiting for you.”

“Will you tell her...”

Jay shakes his head furiously. Leaning up as he twists his radio, calling out for an update. “No no...I’m not going to pass on any messages.” He mumbles, grabbing hold of both Arthur’s shoulders. “You’re gonna tell her Arthur...Katherines waiting for you.”

“You tell her I loved her and that she made my world a better place.” He mutters before his eyes roll back and Jay begins to bark down his radio desperate for anyone to respond.

It is only seconds later the loud ringing of a drill sounds and Kelly Severide’s voice echoes around them. Jay can feel the relief flooding through him as the familiar uniform comes into view.

-

“Jay...” The bright sunlight is a stark contrast from the darkness he’d been buried in the last few hours, the buzz of the scene hitting him is almost deafening as he hears orders being shouted out. “Jay...” Hailey’s voice stands out amongst the noise. As he steps out away from the building, he’s ushered past the destruction zone and he can hear Brett asking him to sit but he’s too focused on finding Hailey as he scans that area.

He hears more commotion behind him watching with bated breath as Arthur is pulled from the rubble, he’s attached to a bodyboard, as the next set of paramedics rush to his aid.

He doesn't even see her approach before he feels her arms wrapping tightly around him, he releases a breath he’s been holding since the building first blew as his arms wind themselves around her waist, he sticks his face into the side of her neck letting the wisps of blonde that’s fallen loose from her ponytail tickle his face as he does. They’ve never been ones for any type of public affection, while they’re on the clock anyway but right now he can’t bring himself to care. He breaks away after a while, already missing her touch but he knows they have an audience. He watches as they lower Arthur down onto the gurney wheeling him their way.

“Is this her...is this your Hailey?” He coughs, struggling as they place the oxygen mask over his mouth.

Jay can see Hailey glance his way, shooting him a silent question. “Yeah, this is her.” Jay nods, crouching down closer to Arthur.

“I’m gonna go get Katherine okay? I’m gonna bring her to you Arthur so don’t go anywhere.” Jay grips hold of Arthur’s hand, making sure the man sees the sincerity in his eyes as Sylvie lets him know that they need to move now. “Take care of my girl and I’ll take care of yours okay?” Jay asks, glancing back at Hailey who’s just watching silently.

“Deal...”

He steps back letting them get him into the ambulance as he turns back to Hailey. He can see from the look on her face she has a lot to say and he’ll happily listen to everything but just not right now. “Hey I’m okay I promise I’m okay and I'll sit and get a full checkout at the hospital just to please you but first I have something to do, please just trust me and keep Arthur company until I get to the hospital.”

“Erm sure okay...”

Jay smiles as she agrees without question, pressing a firm kiss on Hailey's forehead surprising her before he’s rushing off through the crowd without another word.

-

Hailey loses sight of Jay almost as quickly as she finds him, her heart is still thumping in her chest as she tries to keep reminding herself that he's alive, he’s alive and safe and doing whatever the hell he does. She'd done as he asked, joining the man he'd been pulled from the rubble with into the ambulance.

The ambulance roars into life and she watches as the elderly man begins to pull down his oxygen mask much to the dismay of the newest recruit to 51, his hand shaking as it reaches out for Haileys.

She takes his hand in hers. It’s cold but it squeezes onto hers tightly. She’d heard the tail end of their conversation. “You take care of my girl...I’ll take care of yours.” She’s not sure what Jay has planned but she trusts him, no questions asked.

“That man loves you more than life itself dear.” Arthur croaks and the tears that she refused to let fall in front of all their colleagues finally fall, splashing against her cheeks, his words catching her off guard.

-

The E.R is a mess, overrun with victims from the blast, no one can tell her anything as Arthur is rushed off for surgery, she’s not family, she has no right to know. So instead she takes a seat in the corner out of the way of the chaos.

She thinks she might be dreaming when he finally emerges through the doors, still dressed in his blood-stained clothes, an elderly woman holding tightly to his arm as he leads her through the crowd and towards the front desk. His eyes find hers quickly like he doesn’t even need to search for her, he just knows where she is and the small smile that plays on his lips as their eyes meet is enough for her.

-

It’s hours later when Katherine and Arthur are finally reunited. Jay helps Katherine towards his room, stopping in the doorway as Hailey hangs back. She’s still not sure what the infinity with this couple is but she’ll go along with it if that’s what Jay wants.

“That’s gonna be us one day.” He mutters quietly as the door slips shut and he steps back out into the hallway. Hailey raises her eyebrows in surprise as Jay makes his way around her, his arms encircling her waist as he leans his chin on top of her head. Both of them watching the elderly couple through the window. The way Katherine caresses Arthur’s face as he presses a kiss to her hand. The look of pure joy to see each other is so evident in their faces.

“Minus the major bleed and building collapse I hope.” She hums, leaning back into his embrace, finally feeling at ease as the weight of the day seems to slip away.

He nestles his face into her neck, pressing a light kiss to her skin. “I make no promises...”

“Hey...” she laughs, shaking her head as she places her hands on top of his, she can feel his lip quirk up into a grin against her neck and it makes her own lips turn up. “How are we going to grow old together if you keep being so reckless?”

“That’s what you love about me.”

Hailey turns in his arms, slipping her arms around his waist, one hand stroking his back softly. “I assure you it’s not...but I do love you.” She whispers the last part, she still struggles to say the words but each time she does it feels a little easier, like the words that were once so dark get a shade lighter each time she says them or hears them fall from his lips.

She watches as Jay takes a sharp breath, before resting his forehead against hers, closing his eyes softly just breathing her in. “I’m gonna say something. It’s not a question it’s just a thought...okay? I’m giving you fair warning for when the time comes.”

Hailey narrows her eyes but nods anyway, letting him pull her to the side as the hallway becomes busier. “I love you...you’re my best friend and...”

“And?”

“And I’m gonna marry you one day.”

Her blue eyes widen for a second and Jay bites down on his lips to stop the smile that comes every time he looks at her. He can see the thoughts whirling through her mind like waves crashing around the ocean. He feels her arms squeeze his waist a little tighter before she simply shrugs. “Okay...” she mumbles , laying her head back against his chest as she turns her gaze back towards Arthur and Katherine. They stand there for a moment in silence and he wonders if she can see what he can...a glimpse at their future. His thoughts are confirmed when he feels her lips pressed to his cheek curling up into a smile against him. “Okay...I’ll marry you one day.”

[chudleycanonficfest]

the hippogriffs and the flobberworms

Day 23, Post #2 by @accio-broom

Title: the hippogriffs and the flobberworms Author/Artist: accio-broom Pairing: Arthur & Ron Weasley (platonic) Prompt: slice of life Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Mentions of sex lives and STDs, very cringe-worthy.

Arthur whistles as he roams the ground floor of the Burrow, searching for his youngest son. Ron’s best friend Hermione is due to arrive any day, ready to spend the latter part of the summer holiday with the Weasleys, but there are some things Arthur needs to speak to Ronald about before Miss Granger joins them.

He’s probably left this conversation a little late—Ron turned fourteen a few months ago—but this is the first time the youngest has shown any interest in the opposite sex. With the rather exciting activities coming up for their fourth school year, including a ball, it’s only inevitable that different feelings will start to stir.

Chuckling, Arthur reminisces about the conversations with his other sons. Bill, always cool as a frost salamander, kept his focus on his old Dad without any outward discomfort, even though Arthur made a complete mess as he told Bill about the facts of life. All of Arthur’s words came out in a massive jumble—he couldn’t even use the correct terms for various body parts and used all the wrong euphemisms. Arthur had been trying so hard to be a cool dad that he got himself far too worked up to make any sense. 

His second son, Charlie, was dismissive and didn’t seem interested in the mechanics of making love, which was disappointing given the amount of time Arthur had spent rehearsing, determined to get it right that time. Percy approached the conversation with logic and appropriate questions, discussing it as he would an important Ministry policy before thanking his dad then leaving the room without a backwards glance. In stark contrast, the twins cracked inappropriate jokes and turned the tables on Arthur, making him feel awkward as innuendo after innuendo spewed from their mouths.

Ron will be Arthur’s last chance to do “the talk”. Molly is responsible for dealing with Ginny, and they’ve probably already started. He doesn’t baulk at the female aspect of puberty, having lived with a woman for almost twenty-five years, he’s well versed in the potions and muggle contraptions they need to use, but he thought it only fair that Molly gets a go of this, too. It’s one of the essential parts of being a parent, after all. 

Although Arthur is well-seasoned in explaining the facts of life without going overboard with the detail or using cringe-worthy phrases now (although the twins did teach him a few new idioms), he has decided to step away from the ‘cool’ dad persona and go full-on over the top this time. 

He could make this easy for Ron, but why would Arthur want to spoil his own fun?

A flash of red hair leaving the broom shed catches his attention out of the kitchen window, and Arthur’s grin widens. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, but there is a light breeze, keeping the air fresh and cool. It’s the sort of day that would lead to him fishing in the lake at the bottom of the garden, but he has a task at hand that he needs to deal with first. 

Maybe there’ll be time for him to get his rod out later.

Pouring two glasses of lemonade from the jug Molly has left on the side, Arthur uses a cooling charm on them then steps out from the backdoor and onto the patio. 

“Ron,” he calls, smiling as his son turns his head around faster than a niffler chasing gold, looking like Arthur has caught Ron doing something that he shouldn’t. Probably skiving from the long list of chores Molly gave him this morning. “Come up and have a chat with your old Dad.”

Arthur eases himself into the bench under the wisteria with a groan. Although he isn’t all that old, having seven children and living through a war takes its toll on a guy’s body. Now, every joint clicks and complains every time he moves. Forget getting somewhere in a hurry; slow and steady is now the way to go.

Ron settles in the seat next to him. 

“What’s up, Dad?” he asks, smiling at Arthur. He takes the offered drink, gulping almost half of it in one go before letting out a loud, satisfied sigh.

“Hermione is coming to stay with us before we go to the World Cup, I hear? But not Harry?”

Ears turning pink, Ron turns his head to look out at the garden. “Y-yeah. We’re going to collect Harry in a few days, remember?”

“Oh, yes. I’m very excited to be visiting the Muggles. Will they tell me about eckeltricity? Should I take my battery collection?”

Ron laughs. “I don’t think the Dursleys will be too impressed with batteries, Dad. They use them every day.”

“Shame.” Arthur sighs, then turns his eyes to gaze the same way as Ron’s. “So, Hermione is a girl.”

“Er, yes, I guess so.”

“A girl you’re attracted to?” Arthur glances at Ron, whose face has turned as white as a ghost.

Ron reacts with a knee-jerk response, but the look on his face indicates that he’s not telling the whole truth. “No!”

“Are you sure? You and her have gotten close lately. Mum and I like her.” Arthur waits a moment for Ron to take back his first response, then tuts when he stays quiet. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find someone you do like soon. Anyway, as you already know, she’ll be staying in Ginny’s room with your sister, and I’m sure you’re clear on the rules of the house. Your Mum does not want any sneaking around or late-night visits.”

Arthur doesn’t hold the same views as his wife. Sure, he doesn’t want the kids to be sleeping in each other’s beds, but he remembers the conversations he and his friends had during the early hours of the morning when he was their age. If the children wanted to get up to something, Arthur would rather it happen under their roof where they’re safe than have them take unnecessary risks. He and Molly were young once, too, although it feels like a lifetime ago now.

“I know, Dad.”

“Good. And so you know, if you ever find yourself feeling conflicted or wanting some advice on how to ask a lady out, you can always come to me. Because being a teenage lad is a very confusing time, and the magic will heighten this, as well as the fact that you live in proximity to some charming young women. You might not feel it right now, but you’re on the precipice of being a man. Your voice has started breaking. Sure, it’s a little later than the others, but I’m sure that’s nothing to worry about. Everyone develops at their own pace, after all. Pretty soon, you’ll have hairs sprouting all over the place, even in places you wouldn’t expect it. I can’t remember when all of this started happening for me, but it was around your age. And don’t get me started on the wet dreams…”

“Merlin,” Ron sighs, now squirming in his seat, trying to make himself as small as possible. When Arthur checks again, his youngest is looking into the depths of his glass as if considering whether he could drown himself in there.

“Sex is healthy, son, especially if it’s with someone that you admire and love, whether that be a girl or a boy, Your mum and I don’t mind as long as you’re happy. And if you find the right person, then it can be amazing.”

A low groan emits from Ron’s mouth as he pushes himself further down the bench, attempting to put some distance between him and Arthur. 

“Please stop talking,” he pleads with bright red cheeks.

“Having a good sex life is nothing to be ashamed of, let me tell you. The seven of you weren’t delivered by the hippogriffs, after all. Not that we only have sex to procreate. Having you kids out of the house has done wonders for our love life. 

“While we’re on the subject, if you can’t get a partner, then there’s nothing wrong with taking matters into your own hand. Masturbation is very beneficial, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. It’s important to explore your own body and learn the kind of things you like so that you can recreate those moments with a partner. I can tell you some useful charms if you need them—ones for when you’re with someone, and others for when you’re alone. Of course, there are some spells that are vital for you to learn. Safety is sexy, and you don’t want any little accidents happening.”

Ron runs his hand over his face as if trying to erase his dismay. “Dad. Please stop. I know all of this already. Not that I wa-I mean, do that sort of stuff.” 

He crosses his legs with a gulp, and Arthur feels a rush of joy. He’s succeeded in making his youngest son feel as awkward as possible. You have to take delight in the smallest of moments, especially the older you get. 

“Who told you?”

“I have five brothers and live in a dorm with four other boys. Also, Flitwick taught us the contraceptive charm last year.” Ron is still focused on his glass, looking like he wants to be a million miles away.

“Oh, right. ”

An irrational surge of disappointment crashes over Arthur. He should have realised that kids are far more advanced and talk much more than they did in his day. He should have bit the bludger earlier and nabbed him last summer.

“Well,” Arthur continues anyway, determined to see this through, “contraceptive charms aren’t the only things you need to learn. You need to ensure you protect yourself from Sexually Transmitted Diseases, or STDs, as well. Some of these can make you a little itchy, but others can be dangerous. You should go and see Madam Pomfrey if you think you might have one. Of course, you could always get some muggle con-domes. Fantastic little invention they are. Rather than trying to remember a load of different spells while you’re in the heat of passion, you can whack on a rubber and get to it.”

He doesn’t allow Ron’s small squeak to put him off his speech, now he’s in full flow again. “Talking about getting to it. Consent is important. When you decide to take that step, or even before when you snog someone, you need to make sure they want to do it too. Every step of the way. If they say no, you stop right away, even if they said yes only a minute previously. You must understand that. Never force yourself on someone, especially if they are drunk or otherwise intoxicated. If they can’t say yes, it’s a no-go. Got it?”

“I-I d-do,” Ron stutters, his voice strained under the embarrassment of the situation. “C-Can I go now?”

“Yes, yes, of course. But don’t forget that I’m here if you need anything, son. Even if you think it might get you into trouble. And look after Hermione, even if your feelings for her are only platonic. I admire the way you, her and Harry have formed a little group. The three of you are good for each other.”

Arthur reclines on the bench and closes his eyes, letting out a sigh as the sun warms his face. There’s no point getting one’s wand in a knot over spilt potion. He still managed to get Ron squirming like a flobberworm, so it was mostly a successful mission.

The bench shifts as Ron rises to his feet. He finishes his drink with a gulp and sets the glass down on the floor before shuffling away.

“Dad?” a small voice asks.

When Arthur opens his eyes, he spots Ron towering over him. When did he get so lanky? Ron is going to be the tallest of the family, for sure. There’s a smile on his face, though he still can’t meet his Dad’s gaze.

“Yeah, Son?” Arthur asks, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“Thanks for trying.”

Ron shrugs, then wanders back down the garden, his gangly frame hunched over. Arthur marvels at Ron’s response. You think you fully understand your children, and then they do something that knocks you off your broom. But Ron is a decent lad, and Arthur knows he will go far, like the rest of them.

With a happy sigh, he leans back and closes his eyes again. He’s done an okay job at this parenting thing. As long as none of them gets arrested or tries to break into Gringotts, he can die a happy man.

[twinklelilstarkey]

Stopping You [Part 10] - Michael Gray

Words: 8.9k+

Summary: Y/N’s recovery from both her feelings and her wound takes a step back after a specific night.

Warnings: Female!Reader. Mentions of wounds, a lot of blood, death and night terrors. Emotional cheating. Self-hate (discrediting their own sadness and feelings; hateful inner voice).

Prologue    Part 1    Part 2    Part 3    Part 4    Part 5     Part 6    Part 7   Part 8    Part 9    Part 10    Part 11

It has been a total of 24 hours.

Yesterday was a bad day. Both mentally and physically.

Polly tried her best into bringing your mood up, which worked in some way. She eased your mind by telling you that what you were feeling is completely normal, but as soon as you were alone, it was like the whole world was crashing on you.

Over crying so much as hateful questions filled your mind, you were sore at the end of the night. You contracted your muscles so much while sobbing that you could feel your wound pulsate against your skin in pain.

You questioned almost everything about your life before and after Michael left and when he reappeared. Things have changed, not just around his family, but also around you. And that seems to be one of the most confusing matters.

You never cared too much about this, but you can’t help but think about how so many things have changed since Michael came back. From your behaviors to how you function. Everything has changed in some way.

You’ve always suffered with night terrors in your life, ever since your parents left, but they were almost never about Michael. The exception being when the whole Italian/New York mafia situation went down, and Michael got injured. But other than that, it was always you, or anybody else close, that would die.

Never Michael.

You want to know what could’ve possibly awaken those thoughts and that part of your brain that makes you think like that. Could it be because you now connect him to something bad in your life? Or that when he came back, he had-

No, you’re not going there. It’s useless. It will cost you nothing pain, and it won’t grant you any answers. Might as well push that away and live your life.

Or at least try.

You bring your hot mug back to your lips and take another sip of your tea, letting your eyes fall to the ground.

Polly believes you could talk to him. Tell him about how you’ve been feeling lately. But, honestly, for what? To say that you’re falling right back in love with him just to later be thrown in the face that he does not love or feel anything for you anymore.

He. Is. Getting. Married.

It would just be simply ridiculous to do such a thing.

He doesn’t feel anything for you and that’s okay. All he feels is pity and maybe he got a little scared over you being shot, but that’s it. There are no feelings attached, no romance. No nothing. Just simply… a connection through pain, which awoke lost and forbidden memories.

Maybe this could just be your pride talking over your heart but, you just can’t believe that you’re letting yourself fall so easily. After so long of crying over him and overworking yourself to become a Peaky Blinder and just- not worry about anything in your demolished love life. All of it going to the trash because… You caught feelings for him again?

It’s disappointing to say the least.

Today, you awoke as soon as the sun made its way into the living room and since then, you haven’t done much. You walked back to your room after getting yourself a warm drink and sat by the window staring at the green grass of the neighbors’ house like it’s the most entertaining thing in the world.

A book is resting beside you. You have read a few good pages, but you can’t bring yourself to read more than 20 at a time.

Your mind is too heavy.

Voices coming from downstairs make you look away from the window and up to your door. You try your best to identify them as soon as you find them familiar.

You can hear voices and the laugher of Lizzie and Arthur. Which is awfully strange.

You scowl at the sound, and the soft patter of quick feet running around the house squeezes your heart. The kids are here too.

You rise from your seat and walk across your bedroom to the door. You open it softly and the sound of everyone’s voices is now louder. Confusion is the most prominent emotion you can feel right now, but you can’t help but welcome it better than any other one you’ve been feeling lately.

While walking down the main stairs silently, a soft gasp is heard over the loud voices. Ruby’s.

You smile at her as she spots you walking down the stairs and she quickly let’s go of her mother’s hand to run towards you.

As you’re distracted swallowing down the jab of pain at your middle while leaning down to grab her, Polly’s eyes meet you. The smile in your face is almost like a warm hug in the winter. She could get used to this sight forever.

“Look who came back from war,” Ada jokes as she spots you.

She walks towards you and her arms wrap around you as soon as you’re close enough. You lean towards her, even with Ruby on your hip, and she squeezes you in closer.

“I was so worried,” She tells you, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

You pull away from the hug with a small smile and she gives you a wide one in return. It’s been a few weeks since you last saw her. She had left back for London not long before the whole event happened. You honestly didn’t expect to see her this soon.

As Ada moves back, everyone’s attention goes over to you. Everyone, or at least, almost everyone pulls you into a hug, sharing their words of how grateful they are from knowing that you’re still breathing.

You know they had visited you back at the hospital when you were still asleep, but nothing compares to actually seeing you move like nothing had happened. Arthur’s words, not yours.

Talking about Arthur. He was awfully apologetic while you two hugged it out. You believe he must have blamed himself for what happened, but you were quick to take that idea off his head.

You’re not about to see anybody else beating themselves for something out of their reach.  Unless that’s you, of course.

Tommy and Arthur, not even 20 minutes into stepping in Polly’s home, excuse themselves and leave off to work.

The crowd in the living room doesn’t consist in much more people. Both Ada and Lizzie, and of course the kids, stayed behind and took a seat on the couch. The kids surrounded you as soon as you all sat down, while the women in front of you were distracted on talking about whatever, or rather, whoever worth of gossiping.

You listen to some of their words while being continuously pulled into conversation by Charlie as you let Ruby sit next to you, leaning to your side.

Karl is sitting closer to his mother, but looking at you and joining the conversations, nonetheless.

“What about you, Y/N?” Ada asks as she sips her tea.

“What about me?” You ask confused, obviously having no clue on what she’s on about.

“We were talking about weddings,” Lizzie explains, “Sharing our opinions on what is the best wedding. And Ada asked if you have anyone in your mind as your future husband?”

Her tone is playful more than anything. Both Lizzie and Ada expect a disgusted scowl or a roll of your eyes as an answer, but Polly can’t help but tense up against her seat at the question.

As innocent as this conversation was, it was more than powerful to push you back into your inner darkness.

“Not that I know of.” You answer, trying to mimic Lizzie’s tone.

“Oh, come on. You don’t find any man attractive?” Ada asks, putting her cup down beside her, “Not even one?”

You shake your head slowly and she stares at you with half closed eyes, almost as if she has a suspicion of some sort about your feelings towards any male presences.

“There has to be someone,” Lizzie agrees with Ada, “It’s been… what? 3 years?”

You shrug, fighting your urge to correct her since it won’t do you any justice, and the two women share a look as Polly watches all the action unfold.

“What about Finn?”

Oh god, you almost gagged right here.

Ada laughs under her breath at your disgusted yet shocked look and shakes her thoughts of that couple even be slightly real, away.

“God.” Polly scoffs out loud, making every woman rip a slight smile.

“What’s so wrong about my baby brother?” Polly asks, hands over her hips, playful grin on her face.

“Nothing is wrong,” Polly explains, “They would just be the most chaotic couple to existence. Can you imagine?”

You chuckle at her words and shake your head.

“They would burn down the church right at their wedding,” Polly jokes making both Lizzie and Ada laugh, “Probably even when saying their vows.”

There’re a few seconds of silence as the women let their giggles die down.

“Where is Finn?” Lizzie asks curious.

“Oh, Tommy has been making the boy work double the shifts now, for some reason.” Polly answers, “I don’t understand why, but they changed a lot of his shifts since their last meeting.”

“There was a meeting?” You ask confused.

Polly looks over at you.

“Yes, there was. It was only between Tommy and some of the men.” She answers with a short nod, “Nothing too important was talked about, I’m sure.”

You nod at her a little bit unsure and Charlie is quick to grab your attention back to him. He pulls you by your sleeve to look at him and he starts showing you his new toy horse, again.

You feel like you’ve seen that horse a thousand times, now.

Another conversation restarts between the women and you lean back on the couch, letting Ruby continue to play with your gold necklaces as Charlie talks his heart out about the horse that his dad gave him.

Your mind is constantly somewhere else. But this time, it focused on work. Mainly, on what the meeting could’ve possibly been about. As if any meeting with just the men was ‘not important’. They always have the most interesting meetings.

And with that train of thought, hours go by.

You were so distracted by listening to the women beside you laugh and talk, or just with looking down at the kids, that you didn’t even notice the time pass.

Your mind is still on that damned meeting, but you don’t let it get the best of you. You’re sure that the information will eventually reach you. In one way or another.

Three knocks are heard from the front door, and only Polly stands to open it. Nobody thinks too much of it. Everyone knew that eventually someone would come and pick up Ada, Lizzie and the kids.

It’s soon to be dark out, they must be almost leaving now.

“I’m sorry that we’re late.” A familiar voice sounds from the door.

Ada freezes and at the same time she looks up at you, you look up at the door. Not even 5 seconds later, Michael enters the house, followed by, of course, Gina. His blue eyes travel to the couch in the living room, and as he finds you, you’re already looking down at Charlie.

Your hand rests against Charlies’ head, smoothing his soft hair between your fingers, detangling it softly.

He forces his gaze to go back to the blonde behind him and his mother closes the front door behind them.

“Go sit. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll go make more tea.” Polly says, voice strong, not as soft as it was previously.

Ada’s and Lizzie’s eyes stay on both Michael and Gina as the couple stands in silence. They don’t find the women’s gaze as nothing more than their way to look at guests before exchanging some welcoming words, so, the tense air and shock just came unnoticed.

“Oh, hi Michael” Ada says, standing on her feet. “Didn’t expect to see you today.”

She gives her cousin a quick hug, in which he hugs back, but her eyes quickly fall on the blonde.

“And who are you?” Ada asks softly.

“Michael’s fiancée, Gina” She says with her American accent, extending her hand towards the other family member she hasn’t heard of before.

Ada shakes her hand, feeling slightly confused and shocked with her words, but, just like anyone else in this room, she’s quick to hide her emotions.

“Please, sit. I don’t want you standing all night.” Polly says to the new guests, from the kitchen door.

Michael is the first one to move towards the couches. You don’t dare to look up at him and he notices, fighting his own urge to start a conversation.

Your heart quickens the closer he gets to you and Charlie looks up at him, probably recognizing his face somewhere.

“Charlie, honey, scoot over a little.” Lizzie tells the boy.

The boy in front of you nods in response and takes his eyes off Michael. He stands on the couch and carefully steps over your lap and sits on your other side, by the arm of the couch.

Michael takes his seat next to you and you hold in your breath as your arms rest completely against one another. Lizzie moves a bit to the side and Gina sits beside her fiancée, who has his attention somewhere else.

“How are you?” Michael whispers down at you and you still don’t look up.

“Good.”

Your tone is cold and distant, which he finds extremely strange and awfully uncomfortable.

The couch is surely not large enough for 4 people, but you and Michael are having it worse than anyone else seated down on it. Lizzie and Gina have at least a few inches between themselves, while you and Michael are almost completely leaning against one another, trapped between Gina and Charlie.

Michael’s hands rest over his lap as he hears the awfully awkward conversation between the women start, not finding it at all surprising that you are paying them no absolute attention.

Ruby lets go of your necklaces for the first time and looks down at your hands.

They’re slightly sweaty over the presence of the man beside you but she pays them no mind, grabbing onto them as she eyes the expensive jewelry, surely something she loves a lot about you.

Polly comes back not too long after, and she’s quick to serve everyone another cup of tea.

You refuse any more, since you feel like you’ve already drank too much and explode your own bladder if you keep on going. And as your hand lifts to dismiss the tea from Polly, Ruby catches it.

You smile a bit at her and Michael grins slightly at the sight of the small girl being so interested in your hand. You let her twist the rings on your fingers and her gaze moves up at Michael.

His grin seems awfully contagious to her since she ends up smiling shyly at him as she continues to hold your hand up. As they do their staring contest, you look over at Charlie, who entertains himself and his mind with his new, and very loved, horse.

You sigh softly as your heart continues to beat quickly against your rib cage and you can’t tell if it’s just because you’re anxious about Michael or is it just his presence that is making you react like this.

“Have you taken your pain meds?” Polly asks.

You look up quickly as you notice that the question must be for you and a shiver runs past you as everyone’s eyes fall on you, even Gina’s.

“I will when I go to sleep.”

She gives you a disapproving look and you give her a grin in return.

“It helps me sleep.” You justify, and she sits back in her chair.

Michael grins at the exchange of words and your stubbornness and Ada notices it before continuing with her conversation.

Ruby rests your palm against hers and starts comparing both sizes.

You chuckle at her and as your body jumps at the laugh beside Michael, he looks down at Ruby to see what made you react. The small girl looks up when sensing his eyes on her and as Gina joins the conversation between the other women, Ruby extends her other hand at Michael, holding it upright.

He looks at her confused and you notice.

“She wants to compare your hand to hers.” You explain in a low whisper.

He takes his hand from his lap and extends it to her. His hands are surely bigger than yours, and that seemed to shock the small girl.

You smile as she lays her hand over his with widen eyes and Polly looks up from her tea at you, mind still on the conversation she started.

Her heart swells up at the sight. You and Michael smiling down at the girl sitting on your lap as she holds your hands up and compares them to hers. She can’t hear what you say over the loud voices and from being across the room, but she sees you saying something to Ruby, making her nod.

Michael’s smile widens at the small girl and you look up at him quickly, stealing a look before you get caught, which you don’t, not by him at least. Polly surely did, but she doesn’t say or do anything.

It’s so obvious that you still feel something for him, at least for her. But Michael seems to be unreadable, sometimes. It’s hard to figure anything out.

Gina stares at Polly while grinning at what Ada says and finds her staring at her son, she follows her gaze and clenches her jaw. The urge to roll her eyes feels stronger than her, but her bottled up rage triples at sight of you smiling.

Ruby takes her hands off yours quickly, shyly putting them close to her chest. You continue to smile down at her and as you and Michael try to retreat your own hands, she holds on to them.

Her actions are innocent, purely curious on the size of your hands, but she still leans both of your palms together, still holding them upright.

You and Michael don’t give that much of a reaction as Ruby tries to align them perfectly at the base of your palms and see the size difference from the top of your fingers.

An idea pops in your mind as your hand rests against Michael’s, and as Ruby pulls back to check the difference after so much adjusting, you slide your palm against Michael’s, so your fingers align right at the same height.

Michael chuckles at the confused look on Ruby’s face and she smiles at the contagious sound.

But as soon as the small girl notices what you’ve done, she sends you a glare, making the two of you laugh at her.

Your conjoined laughs catch everyone’s attention for a quick second and Gina doesn’t even care to take a second look. Ada smiles as she sees Ruby readjusting your palms, and, this time, it’s Michael who moves his hand, almost making his fingers only lay over half of your palm.

Ruby glares at him too and you two laugh, again.

“Alright, we’ll stop.” You tell her.

Ruby retries, but this time she has a tactic. As she makes sure that you are aligned perfectly, she holds both your and Michael’s thumb and force them to rest against the other’s back of the hand.

She leans back and stares at the difference between your hands, now happy with her achievement.

You two let her stare at the size difference with her big wide eyes, but something interrupts the sweet moment.

“Michael, honey.” Gina calls out as the conversation between everyone restarts, “Can you pass me that cup?”

Michael takes his hand off yours and you can’t help but feel disappointed at the loss of his touch. He leans forward on the couch and grabs the cup of tea for Gina from the center table, something she could easily get it herself.

You let your hand fall back to your lap and you take a sharp deep inhale, not wanting to be sitting on this couch for any longer.

You let some minutes pass, so you don’t seem like a total bitch, and when feeling ready, you lean forward on the couch, wincing in pain as your body shows to have grown sore over the lack of painkillers and from not moving at all for the past few hours.

Polly’s eyes go over to you at the sound only her seemed to notice, and you look back at her.

“I’m going to bed, I think.” You explain, making everybody get silent and look at you, “I feel exhausted.”

“Need help to find your meds?” She asks, already starting to get up, and you shake your head.

“No, no.” You hold your hand up stopping her, “Stay here. I’ll find them.”

You make sure to sit Ruby on the couch comfortably before forcing yourself up from the low couch. You fight off any sound of pain as you stand on your feet, but your face made it quite obvious.

You really should’ve taken those meds earlier.

You walk to the kitchen, trying not to show any other expression of pain, and everyone’s eyes are on you. Gina stares as you lean against the doorframe to regain your strength, yet she doesn’t feel anything in return. Not even an ounce of pity.

You stumble into the kitchen and look at the main counter, expecting the meds to be sitting right in the middle, just like you left them. But this wouldn’t be Polly’s house if they were.

Your feet get dragged as you take your time walking around to the kitchen.

You start opening every cabinet and drawer that could possibly have your meds, but there are too many to find them right away. Maybe going to bed without your meds wouldn’t be that bad.

You just need to lay down, now.

“Need help?”

You turn on your heels to find Michael by the doorway, already in the kitchen. You look away quickly back to all the drawers and try to hide any type of emotion towards his sudden appearance.

“No, I think I got it.” You answer back.

You continue to look through the many drawers and only after 2 minutes of seeing you struggle; Michael decides to move. He walks towards you and you stand still as he does so.

As he passes between you and the counter behind you, he holds onto your shoulders to make you stand back a little and let him pass. Something that surely made your skin react, but, thankfully, it all came unnoticed to him.

He opens a drawer slightly away from you and pulls out exactly what you’re looking for.

“How did you know?” You ask, curious.

“This is where she would put my meds after I got shot. It’s her drawer from stronger meds.” He explains.

How the hell did you not know that?

You walk towards him as he opens the small paper bag, taking your medicine out and handing it over to you. You take it from his hands carefully and put it down on the counter beside you.

“Thank you” You whisper at him.

You take your medicine in silence as the conversation restarts in the living room, and you try not to cringe at anything that you’re taking. Why is everything so bitter?

Whenever you’re done with one of the meds, Michael grabs them slowly and puts them back on the bag without saying anything.

He slides the drawers closed when done and you start taking the jewelry off your hands, just to start and get your way to the bed way quicker.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks and you look up at him.

“No. But I’ll be.” You say sincerely before looking away and taking a step away from him, “That’s what matters.”

Michael notices your hesitation into continuing some sort of conversation, just like your slight cold tone, but he tries his best to ignore it.

“I’m going to bed,” You announce while turning your back to him and making your way out of kitchen.

“Good night.” He says as you reach the doorway.

You send him a tight-lipped smile and walk out, back into the living room. Polly is, of course, the first one to notice you.

“Did you find it?” She asks.

“Michael did.” You answer.

You walk over to her and once close, lean over and kiss her cheek. The rest of the family distracted with something else or some other type of conversation.

Michael walks out of the kitchen and you reach the stairs, after saying a quick good night, loud enough for everyone else to hear.

You jump up the steps with your rings in your hands as you bring your cold and clammy hands to your neck to try and unclasp your necklaces. Your eyes land on Michael’s as you reach the top floor and he’s staring back.

Gina calls his name in a whisper and he looks at her, breaking your eye contact. And as soon as his eyes reach Gina’s, he doesn’t hesitate into giving her a sweet smile.

As he looks back up while walking around the couch, his eyes meet nothing but some painting on the wall.

You’re not there anymore.

(…)

The sound of birds surrounds you, their soft and energized tweeting coming from the trees far away from you and some branches above you, as the warm summer wind hits your body like a warm hug.

You shift your position on the ground, laying on your stomach and looking up at the sky between the branches high up, far, far away from you.

Solitary clouds float over the bright blue sky, almost not shielding any land from the sunlight.

Your exposed back is warm, erupting into chills whenever Michael moves his hand. You close your eyes again and let yourself relax again.

A hand touches the side of your head softly and slowly you feel its fingers start to trace your hairline. You open your eyes, blinking the sunlight away, and look up at Michael.

His hand falls to your cheek as you move and a small smile spreads over his lips.

“Let me sleep,” You whine, and he finally gives you a full smile.

“Alright,” He answers in a whisper, “Sorry.”

You sigh and hold yourself up with your hands, you push your body up on his torso and his hands go to your waist. Not caring over only wearing a dress, you lay yours legs over his hips, straddling his lap while pulling yourself up.

“I forgive you.” You whisper back playfully.

You snuggle into the crook of his neck and his smell hits you like an embrace. The small bit of communication pulled you away from your sleepy thoughts and movements, but you still felt just as clingy and slow.

As you lay back against him, his arms wrap around you, pulling you close to him with everything in him. You snuggle in to welcome his tight hold and one of his hands stretches over your skin of your back.

You’re wearing a simple black dress, baggy from your waist down, but completely backless.

“Can we lay here for, like…” You pause, “Forever?”

Michael chuckles from under you and leans his head to the side to rest it against yours.

“We’ll get hungry eventually.” He answers, and you smile.

“I’m sure there’s some animals around here.” You continue to play around, smile prominent in your voice.

“I hope you know how to make a fire, then.”

You giggle into Michael’s neck and pull away slightly. His hold loosens slightly so you can move a bit and you look down at him.

“Don’t you know how to make a fire?” You ask and he frowns.

“Why would I?”

“I don’t know” You shrug, “Weren’t you like a country boy or something?”

With that, Michael lets out the biggest belly laugh ever, leaving you to smile as he cackles away at your words. Your tone had been obviously playful, but it still made it just as funny for him.

“I lived at a farm. I wasn’t a cave man!” He exclaims, tilting his head to look at you better.

“Sounds the same to me.”

He smiles at you and you bring one of your hands to his cheek, caressing it with your thumb. You lean in and give him the softest peck you could. When pulling away, you look at him in the eyes as he tries to pull you into another kiss. You let him, letting your lips rest over the softness of his as you too fall into the pit of slow and lovingly making out.

He sits up in the middle of the kiss and you sit over his legs as he does it. His hands travel effortlessly down your waist to your legs, lifting your skirt enough to slither in his hands underneath.

You pull away and look down at him as you stand on your knees, adjusting your seating on his thighs. You peck his lips multiple times before sitting back and eyeing him.

“I love you” He confesses in a whisper, eyes staring back onto yours, “so much”

“Really?” You ask, serious, leaning a little back and he frowns.

“Yeah…?”

He’s confused, but soon your playful smile reappears.

“How much, again?”

“A lot.”

“How much is ‘a lot’?” You keep going. “Like, ‘a lot’ like the size of a mountain or ‘a lot’ as in…” You think for a second, but he interrupts.

“How old are you again?” He teases about your childish words and you force your smile to disappear, just so you can scowl at him.

“Oh, fuck off” You say to him, “I was trying to be cute here, no need to ruin the moment for us.”

“Alright, keep going then” He says, “The size of a mountain or…?”

“Uhm… The size of…” You try to think, mind completely blank over any ideas. “The size of… the ocean?”

He chuckles at your final words and you grin.

“The ocean.” He says, sure of his words, no hesitation.

You stay silent for a bit.

“Which one?”

“Oh, come on!” He says, completely bored out of this conversation, making you laugh at him, “The biggest one you can think of”

“Really?”

“Yes. Now, can you please” He emphasizes the word comically, dragging it, “for the love of God, just tell me that you love me back?”

You kiss his lips over his frown.

“You’re so romantic.” You comment sarcastically.

“I know.”

You smile at him and decide not to give in just yet. The boy can suffer for a bit.

Telling him that you loved him now or in 5 minutes won’t exactly make that much of a difference.

You stand up on your feet, away from his lap, and he stares up at you while letting out a sigh.

“You gotta earn it.” You say with a playful look, making his frown break slightly.

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” You nod.

You take a step back as he stands up and your smile doesn’t disappear at all as you move away from him. Every step forward from Michael is a step back for you, making his urge to get to you bigger.

And soon, the running around starts.

You laugh as you run from him, sometimes feeling his fingers graze over your arms, making your heart beat faster with the adrenaline.

The tall weeds slap the skin of your exposed legs softly, tickling you as you ran away from your boyfriend. The scenery in front of you motivates into keeping on running, the summery flowers all open and colorfully staring up at the sky.

All you hear is your soft steps over the plants and the birds, it gives you peace. You can still hear Michael running behind you.

You let out a giggle as he’s about to touch you and out of nowhere, it stops.

The warm breeze lifts into a cold one and you look around confused.

You know that the weather can be unpredictable, but this is too radical for it to make sense.

Your hands start getting cold rapidly and soon your body is enveloped into complete body chills, your dress being nothing but useless when it comes to make you stay warm.

The breeze goes from cold to freezing in the matter of seconds, leaving you nothing but panicked.

You feel lightheaded and short of breath and as you try to warm yourself up with your own arms, soon you realize… You can’t feel your own palms touching your skin.

The sunlight fades as clouds fly their way in to color the skies a dark grey and you stare up.

You’re in a dream.

You’re dreaming.

You look over your shoulder at Michael to find him just as confused just a few steps away. He must have stopped running right as you did. But his skin, is not reacting like yours. His exposed arms, from the folded sleeves are not reacting to the cold in chills. It’s like it’s not affecting him.

He’s not the real Michael.

“What’s happening?” He asks you.

“I don’t know” You lie. You know exactly what’s happening.

Your dream is becoming a nightmare.

You look around as the wind gets harsher and your heart starts to beat more violently, just like your shortness of breath forces you into panting your way to find your peace again.

You step closer to Michael and cup his face.

He stares back at you still with his confused eyes and you kiss him. Your lips touch his and his hands come to rest over your waist as the wind continues to come at full force towards you.

Your hands feel numb, not being able to feel the texture of his suit, just like you had felt a few minutes prior. But you feel his hands, the way they rest on your waist, warming your skin under the violent and freezing wind.

“I love you,” You tell him as you pull away.

You open your eyes and you’re met with Michael’s pale face. His eyes are empty, with absolutely no light or sign of life.

You caress his cold cheeks with your thumbs, and you notice blood over his bottom lip. His hands had fallen a second ago from your waist, and you already miss his familiar warmth.

You bring your finger to wipe the blood away carefully and notice that it’s all over his mouth, coloring his white bottom teeth.

A small trail of blood starts falling off his nose and soon from his ears as well, slowly coloring your hands into the color red.

Red, hands completely filled with deep red, now that you try and wipe it.

Michael falls onto his knees and you do the same, holding him close to you even though it’s just his corpse. He’s cold and his hold is not even there anymore. His arms are by his sides as his head rests over your shoulder.

You wrap your arms around him, and the wind becomes more and more violent.

You force your eyes closed and let it take you too.

You open your eyes, and a loud gasp escapes your mouth. You’re not panting anymore, but your heart is beating quickly.

You try to sit up, but a sudden jab of pain hits you. You gasp and wince in pain but still bring yourself to do it. A sob escapes your mouth too right as you’re able to sit upright.

Your face feels wet and cold in the air of the room. You must have been crying before you woke up.

You whine in pain as you bring yourself to turn on the light beside you and as the warm yellow light illuminates the room, all you see is blood.

Your own blood, spread around your white shirt and white sheets, painting your hands just like in your dream.

“Pol-” You try to call out, but your voice breaks in a sob as pain runs through you.

You sob into the empty and silent air and try it again.

“Polly!” You sob out loud, hoping that that was enough to awake her if it’s late enough for that.

You wait a few long seconds for any sound coming from the hallway or stairs, but nothing.

“Polly!” You try to scream louder.

Polly holds her hand up to shut up Gina and the room falls silent. Michael leans forward from the railing of the stairs and looks at his mom confused; arms still crossed over his chest.

“Poll-” You cough.

Michael, before Polly could even get up, makes his way up the stairs and runs down the hall, trying his best to be fast enough to get to your room.

Your door swings open and you continue to sob as the lights are turned on.

“I don’t know what I did wrong.” You sob to whoever is at the door, staring down at your hands, “I-I, I woke up and…”

Michael shakes his shock away at the sight of your bed all bloodied, just like your hands, and walks towards you. His eyes fall to your shirt and notices from where your blood is coming from, your wound.

“Mom!” Michael shouts while looking up at the door.

Your ears start to buzz as panic starts to set in in your system and two hands move yours away from your eyes.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.” The voice repeats and you sob helplessly.

Michael sits in front of you in the bed and brings you close to him, ignoring that he’s now being covered in blood as well.

He makes you rest your hands on his shoulders so that they’re away from your eyes and starts to unbutton some of the buttons of your shirt.

Polly finally gets to the door and the sight is absolutely terrifying.

“She ripped stitches. I think.”

Polly forces herself to walk to the bed and to help Michael check your wound. He continues to unbutton your shirt with one hand only and he’s quick to rip the bandage off.

You sob in pain as he does it and both him and Polly try to look past the blood and ignore your sobs to see what happened to your wound. It opened, maybe 3 of the 9 stitches ripped.

“I’ll call the doctor.” Polly says.

Michael nods and holds you closer to him, not wanting you to move too far away. Your side rests against his chest and he wraps an arm around your shoulders, while one of his hands grabs the sheets and holds them over the wound.

You sob silently while leaning closer to him and he looks up at your face.

“Hey. You’re okay, look at me.” He whispers at you and you do it, “You’re okay. It’s not too bad. You’re safe. I promise.”

You stare at him in the eyes and he leans his forehead against yours.

“You’re okay” He whispers lower.

You nod as tears continue to roll down your face and he nods with you. Your breathing starts to slow down, and he presses a kiss over your wet cheek.

“I got you.” He whispers against your skin.

(…)

Michael sighs loudly as he walks into the kitchen and he feels exhausted.

“Is the doctor finished?” Polly asks him and he just nods, “And her?”

“Passed out before he could even start” He answers, “The doctor said to just let her sleep.”

He walks towards the sink and he turns on the water, holding his bloody hands under it. The two women standing in the kitchen are silent, watching him wash his hands carelessly while staring at the wall.

“I’ll go get you a clean shirt.” Polly says.

His mom walks out of the kitchen and he turns off the water, turning around to face Gina.

“Are we going to the hotel after this?” She asks softly.

“I can drive you there, but I’m staying here, tonight.”

She takes a deep breath and brings her hands to her head, annoyed.

“Why? She’s asleep. You can visit her tomorrow.” She tries.

“I’ll sleep better here.”

She scoffs.

“You’re fucking unbelievable.”

“I’m unbelievable?” Michael answers, bringing his hand up to point at his own chest.

“Yes!” She almost screams, “You are unbelievable! And you want to know why?” She asks, “Because no matter what I fucking do or fucking say, you will always put her before me.”

“Always, Gina? Are you serious?” Michael asks in disbelief, “You’ve been my fucking priority ever since we met, and now because I show some sort of affection towards a girl that is fucking bleeding and crying her lungs out, I’m supposedly putting her before you?”

“Yes! I don’t even know what you had with her before me!” She shouts, “Ever since I step foot into this shit hole I’ve been listening to her name and seeing her over and over again. Do you really think I believe that she’s simply a ‘family friend’?” She air-quotes.

“You want the truth?” He asks, no shouting needed, but he sounds mad.

“Yes.”

“We dated for 4 years, almost 5. I ended our relationship when in America.” He answers and Gina stands silent, “See? I can tell you the truth when you ask nicely.”

“And if you broke up why do you still like her?” She asks, ignoring his hateful tease at the end of his sentence.

“You have to be joking-”

“Are you going to say that that’s a lie?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest, “Let me give you some of my truth, Michael. I honestly don’t give a shit about what you two went through, or if you were in a good relationship or not when with her, but you broke up. I don’t care why, but you did. And there was a time when you chose me over her. That’s why you proposed, right?”

Michael doesn’t answer her.

“So, please, for the love of God, stop being a child and move on with your life. You’ve been mopping around her, touching her all the time as if you’re dying to do it at every second of the day… Even if she does still like you, you are with me now, not her.” She spits at him, “Move. On. She’s not yours anymore, Michael. I am.”

He swallows hard at her words and looks at her emptily.

Polly makes her way back inside the kitchen, acting as if she didn’t hear a thing, but that seems to not scare off Gina from continuing.

“Are you even listening to m-?”

“I am.”

“Then say something, Michael.” She scolds, “Is it not true, what I’m saying?”

Polly looks between them as if waiting for it to evolve in any way, and simply extends her hand towards Michael, so he can grab the clean shirt.

“Is she your priority or no-”

“Yes.” Michael answers, “Y/N is my priority.” He nods, sure of himself and his words. “Yes, I’m engaged to you, Gina, but I care for her, and she will always be my priority.”

Gina bites her tongue and looks at Michael.

It honestly comes to no surprise. She had just thrown these words at him not that long ago, at lunch. He had just never confirmed it for her, and now… he did. But ‘always’? You will always be his priority? Now, that, doesn’t sit right with her.

They stand in silence and Michael leans back on the counter, finally taking the shirt from his mom’s hands. He thanks her with a look but to no avail because her eyes are not even on him.

“You’re serious?” Gina comments in slight disbelief.

“I am.” Michael confirms.

“What does that mean for us, then?” She asks.

Michael stays silent and the blonde slides off the highchair she has been sitting on, standing on her heels. Her eyes stay on him as tears threaten to swell up at her eyes.

“I’m not sure.” Michael answers truthfully.

She nods at his words and brings her eyes to the ground. She feels disappointed but mostly betrayed. Her eyes are good to show that emotion, but soon, it evolves into something else.  Pure anger. Anger over the betraying words and truth, the one that just got thrown around as if it was nothing.

And Polly notices it.

“I think it’s better if you leave, Gina.”

Michael takes his eyes off his fiancée to stare at his mother, who just opened her mouth. He didn’t expect her to get herself involved in his worries, but she did.

“What?” Gina asks, bringing her head back up to stare at Polly.

“You heard me.”

Her eyes travel to Michael in hopes that he would defend her, but nothing. He’s just staring back at her, almost holding the same look as his mother.

He doesn’t want her here. He wants her to leave.

She shakes her head, overcome with emotion, and forces her feet to move. Her palms tingle with the idea of hitting something, or rather, someone, but her eyes fill with tears.

How could have she been so stupid?

She slams the front door shut behind her and the Gray family stand in the kitchen unphased.

“Rather dramatic that one, uh?” Polly asks her son.

Michael doesn’t answer her venomous comment, but that didn’t seem to surprise her. His mother walks around the counter and grabs the cup Gina used for her whiskey, bringing it to the sink so she can wash it.

It’s like this conversation didn’t affect her a slight bit.

Michael feels weird. He doesn’t regret telling Gina anything but the look she gave him spoke more than any of her words could. She felt betrayed by him, and she was holding back so many emotions and words.

He knows that if it wasn’t for his mom, Gina would be screaming at him, maybe even throwing stuff at the walls. Just like she usually does when she’s upset. But she didn’t do anything, she decided to contain herself and not scream or even curse him out.

And honestly, Michael doesn’t know what’s worse. The fact that she could be destroying his mom’s kitchen or the fact that she’s bottling up all her frustration and anger.

He thought he knew Gina before coming back home, but the trip only made him and her show their true colors. One can’t stop comparing his newfound love to his old one, and the other obsesses over the idea of power and desperately wanting to overthrow anyone in her way.

Quite a pair, that’s for sure.

(…)

You open your eyes as the lights burns your eyelids open and an involuntary groan runs off your mouth as you’re hit with the morning light right in the face. You turn your head to the side, but you’re met with another window with the curtains open.

“Fuck.” You curse out loud.

You sit up and another sound escapes your mouth, but this time, a whimper of pain.

It takes you a few seconds to connect the dots and you finally remember why you’re in pain in the first place.

“Jesus Christ.” You comment to yourself, again.

Your bloody sheets are set to the side, right next to your door, and before your mind could even try to process it, you push any thoughts of your nightmare away from you.

You pull yourself up carefully and try to ignore the tightness that you feel over your wound. You’re not quite sure what happened after the doctor appeared, but if you’re still at Polly’s house, it could only mean one thing…

It’s not as bad as it looked.

You walk to the bathroom and the sight that meets your eyes is, just, great.

Your shirt is mostly unbuttoned, bloodied, just like your bra. Some of your skin has been cleaned, but not all. Your face as some blood smeared on it, but it doesn’t surprise you. You remember moving so much when you woke up, it would be a miracle it your feet would be clean.

You throw the clothes into the bin and start cleaning yourself off. You can’t exactly bath over having to make the wound be dry at all times. But you have been able to manage quite nicely. With weird positions, for sure, but you’re able to wash your body and hair quite nicely.

You put on some washed clothes on and make your way out of the bedroom. It must be really early since the house is more than silent.

Before you walk down the stairs, you walk over to the guest’s room just to check. Finn is laying on his back over the large bed, mouth partly open as some light snores escape his lips, making you smile at him.

You take a step back and close the door back up. He must’ve gotten here after the doctor.

You make your way down the stairs easily, and as soon as your eyes land on the couch, you see Michael.

He’s awake with a mug on his hands, eyes on the carpet as he is completely lost in thought. He has a scowl over his face, hiding any kind of emotion from anyone’s eyes, and as your feet finally meet the last step, he looks up.

His scowl disappears and a slight grin appears over his lips.

“Good morning.” You say before he could.

“Good morning.” He answers back.

You walk towards him and he watches you as you carry yourself with ease over to the couch. You take a seat next to him and notice that his mug is still filled with warm coffee.

He extends the mug your way when noticing your interest and you smile, taking it.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

The hot mug burns your cold palms, and you welcome the almost uncomfortable heat into your skin. You bring it to your lips and take a small sip of the dark liquid.

You’re sitting close to Michael, sitting on top of one of your legs as you sit looking at him. You’re not wearing much more than a shirt, exposing your legs to him and to anyone in the house, but you don’t seem uncomfortable with your lack of clothing.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks and you bring the mug down from your mouth, licking your lips at the same time.

“Yeah” You nod.

You give him back his mug after taking your generous sips and he takes it back onto his hands.

“When did Finn get here?” You ask him, curious.

“About half an hour after the doctor left.” He answers, leaning forward to put down the burning mug on the coffee table, finding it impossible to drink from how hot it is, still.

You nod at as his answer and while you’re thinking about what else to ask, he speaks again.

“You scared the living shit out of us last night.” He says, making you look back at him.

His eyes are back on the carpet and your chest tightens at the sight.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize.

“Don’t.” He says, finally looking back up, “It’s not your fault.”

He leans back on the couch and both of you continue to look at each other. The air is not thick as it usually is, it’s light and easy to breathe in. Your looks are both familiar, always taking your minds back in time for a quick second.

Your mind takes you to your dream and soon his pale face reappears in your mind. You shake the thoughts away, right as Michael opens his mouth to talk.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, “I can make you something to eat.”

You smile widely at him and bring your hands to your lap.

“Are you finally proving yourself useful around the house?” You tease, making him smile back, “I must be in a dream. Since when do you-”

“I’ve always been able to cook” He defends himself.

“Yeah, right.”

“It’s true!”

“Michael, you couldn’t even cook potatoes!”

“Couldn’t!” He says to you, leaning forward to be right in front of you, “Things have changed in my kitchen.”

A laugh escapes your lips as he smiles down at you and he stands from the couch. He gives you his hand and as soon as your palms touch, he pulls you up from the couch.

“Come on, I’ll show you my experienced cooking.” He encourages as you take small, demotivated steps his way, “Do you want me to make you potatoes, just so I can prove my point?”

“No.” You giggle, “Just- Do whatever.”

He turns around and starts walking to the kitchen, letting your hand fall from his as you stay a little behind.

“You know what?” You ask him as you get in the kitchen, making him look back at you, “Maybe you’re not as insufferable as I thought you were”

Michael laughs at your words as you say them, and he nods.

“Oh, why, thank you!” He says enthusiastically, “Aren’t you lovely right as the sun rises?”

You let out a loud laugh and he moves over behind the island counter, looking around the cabinets to look for something to cook for you.

You stare at the back of his head as he walks around and take a seat on one of the chairs.

One could get used to this.

Taglist: @ohhersheybars @woodland-mist @onlythechicagoway @soleil-dor @finn-shelbys-bulldog @oh-theres-a-woman @peakyxtommy @ms-reader @beautycinders @lovemissyhoneybee @graceedwards @jadesbabylon @marvelismylifffe @a-dorky-book-keeper @peakascum @shanetoo @hufflemendes @cherrytop02 @http-cherries @burnitup @livingforbarnes @iccyyyybitch @ravennaofasgar @carezzesuigraffi @fernweh-fangirl @hufflepeople @huskyhunny @desertgremlin @fireawayxx @lemur46 @sugarcoated-lame @i-sneeze-to-appease @gabytodd​ @cococola-cocaine​ @namelesslosers​ ​

If you’d like to be apart of the taglist, let me know.

Hope you enjoyed this! If would like to make any questions about the characters or when the next part will be available. My ask box is always open.

[fruitcoops]

Hey I was wondering if you could write something kinda angsty but with a pretty ending with the cubs, I’m trynna project getting stood up and turning it into something nice and good, even if it’s just in my head. No pressure but I just wanna smile for a bit and your work always makes me do so :)))

Hello lovely! I’m so sorry that you were stood up--that feels awful and whoever did it missed out on a wonderful person. I’ve combined this with some other asks in the same vein (y’all wanted my boys to hurt) so I hope you don’t mind. Sending love and hugs your way! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove​ <3

1. Bad mental health day for Finn + pushing himself too hard + passing out (ft. Bee anon!)

2. O’Knutzy boiling over with a fluffy ending

3. Insecure Leo

TW for internalized guilt, vaguely implied self-harm (pushing himself too hard at practice), and relationship arguments

Finn had a few bad habits. He left dirty dishes in the sink, could never remember which setting the laundry was supposed to go on, and barely wiped his shoes on the doormat before entering the house. He wasn’t proud of his flaws, but he acknowledged that everyone had some—as long as they didn’t hurt anybody, it wasn’t the end of the world.

This one…this one was different. Even Finn knew that.

He gritted his teeth for the next set of squats, ignoring the ringing in his ears and the climbing nausea in his gut. The chart only said to do three reps, but he had been beating himself up for slacking a set earlier in the week and decided to do five to make up for it.

That, it seemed, was a poor decision.

His thighs were shaking when he finally put the weight down and he leaned on the wall to stabilize himself. “Fish? You okay?” Logan asked from the yoga mat to his right, staring up at him in concern.

“I’m fine,” Finn lied. “Just straightened up too fast.”

“D’accord.” He could feel Logan’s eyes on his back as he left the gym and headed toward the showers.

Finn’s worst habit was taking care of himself, and it wasn’t something that could be explained away as “oh, silly Harzy” like the washing machine. He made a mental note to take some ibuprofen before driving home so he would be marginally less sore in the morning, but he had the sinking feeling it would be a rough practice the next day.

Remus and Talker were playing some sort of volleyball with an old balloon between their stalls when he entered; he missed getting nailed in the head by a narrow margin and waved off their apologies with a forced smile.

A hand closed around his bicep as he passed, snapping him back to reality as Leo’s bright eyes came into focus. “Hey, lovey, is Lo with you?”

“He’s finishing up.”

A small furrow appeared between Leo’s brows. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope.” Finn faked a yawn and stretched his arm over Leo’s shoulder, dragging him down for a kiss on the cheek. “Cap’s workout just kicked my ass today.”

“That’s what they’re supposed to do,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes playfully as he passed. “You’re not a rookie anymore, O’Hara.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.”

Logan entered the locker room a few minutes later; Finn closed his eyes and breathed in the thick steam of the shower until the fog in his head cleared a bit and he couldn’t feel the skin on his shoulders. It billowed off him as he dressed again and tossed the keys to Leo, who raised his eyebrows. “Me?”

“You. There’s a little bit of slush left, and you still need to learn how to drive in it.” And I feel like I’m going to pass out at any minute. He swallowed down the last thought and pasted a teasing grin on his face—what Leo and Logan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. It was his own fault for being lazy in the past.

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

What Leo and Logan didn’t know apparently did hurt them. In hindsight, Finn should have seen that coming before he passed out in the middle of a scrimmage.

The lights of the coach’s office made his headache even worse. “Care to explain?” Arthur asked in a voice like frost. To his left, Sirius was glowering.

“I already told Hestia—”

“Yeah, I know what you told Hestia,” Arthur interrupted. “I want to hear it directly from you.”

Finn sighed through his nose and picked at a stray thread on his jersey. “I…I pushed myself a little too hard at yesterday’s practice and didn’t say anything when I started feeling bad.”

“Why.” Sirius’ eyes were hard as flint.

“Because I didn’t want to be a pain in the ass! I can handle some aching muscles, it’s not a big deal!”

“Not a—”

Arthur put his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “That’s enough, Black. O’Hara, I want you to look me in the eyes.” Finn raised his head. “This was a dumbass mistake and all of us expected better from you. Your safety and health come before any workout routine, and it is your responsibility to speak up before you scare the shit out of us by dropping like a rock.”

“I’m sorry, Coach.”

“Apology accepted. I also want you to call Heather when you get home and schedule an appointment with her.” Some of Arthur’s frustration melted into genuine concern and guilt crawled up Finn’s throat. “Doing that to yourself isn’t healthy, Finn. You’re a good man, smart, and I know you know better.”

“Can we talk for a second?” Sirius asked quietly, glancing at Arthur. He nodded and left the room.

“I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck, Finn?” Sirius ran a hand down his face, suddenly pale. “What the fuck was that?”

“It was stupid.”

“Yeah, no, I got that part.”

“I slacked off a set on Monday.”

“Wow, nobody’s ever done that before,” he said sarcastically, sitting down in the chair by the wall as Finn resumed messing with his hem. “You scared the hell out of all of us.”

“I know.”

“You know I’m not mad at you, right? I’m upset that you thought you had to do that at all.”

Tears prickled the backs of Finn’s eyes. “I know.”

“I’m sure as hell not your coach or your dad, but I’m going to say this as your friend, okay?” Sirius leaned over into Finn’s field of view. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you. This team wouldn’t be the same without you. I wouldn’t be the same without you. We need you to take care of yourself, Harzy.”

Finn nodded silently and Sirius gave his hand a quick squeeze, which he returned. “Does everyone know?”

“I told them you were under the weather, nothing more.”

“Classic media answer.” He tried and failed to crack a smile. “Thanks for not telling on me.”

“That’s not my job. My job is herding cats on ice skates for five hours a day.”

Finn’s smile was real that time and he managed a light laugh as he swiped away the dampness on his cheeks. “Love you, man.”

“Love you, too.” Sirius helped him stand up and hugged him tight for a second before letting go. “Speaking as someone who used to do the exact same thing, talking to Heather makes a world of difference.”

“I’ll give her a call.”

The cold feeling returned to Finn’s gut when they stepped out of the office; Leo and Logan were waiting by the opposite wall, looking angrier than Finn had ever seen. Sirius patted his shoulder once before walking off down the hallway toward the locker room, where he would no doubt deflect even more questions.

“Hey,” Finn said, barely above a whisper. Logan continued to stare at the ground.

“You lied to us,” Leo said bluntly. “Several times. Both of us asked if you were alright and you told us you were fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I accept your apology, but I don’t understand.” He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Finn, this isn’t how we deal with things. We agreed to be a team.”

Finn bit his lip. I fucked this one up. “We did. I am so sorry for scaring you—”

“We’re not mad that you scared us,” Logan snapped, still looking anywhere but his face. “We’re upset that you refuse to take care of yourself and then lied to us about it.”

Leo nudged Logan’s shoulder before turning back. “Why did you do that, Finn?”

“I didn’t want to fall behind. I was just trying to make up for the set I skipped on Monday.”

“What? Twenty squats and some pushups? That’s not worth your health, honey.” The pet name soothed the terror clutching Finn’s heart and he took a deep breath. They still loved him. This wasn’t the end.

“It was a stupid thing to do and it won’t happen again.”

“Good. Let’s go home.” Logan grabbed his duffel bag off the ground and started walking toward the door; Leo looked like he was going to say something, but Finn gently took his elbow.

“He’s going to need a minute,” he said under his breath. Logan was a hothead about many things, but lying was in the top three. Finn knew he hurt him deep.

“Did you…” Leo trailed off and pressed his lips together as they followed Logan into the parking lot. “Did you feel like you couldn’t tell me?”

Finn shook his head. “No. This was all on me.”

“It’s just that I know I’m younger than both of you and I’m new to the hockey lifestyle, but I never want you to think you can’t trust me—”

“Leo.” Finn stopped walking and tugged on Leo’s hand, turning him around. Worry was painted all over his face and it sliced to Finn’s core. “I trust you and Logan with everything, but I got into my head about this and I wasn’t thinking about how it would hurt you. Please believe that.”

Leo sighed. “I do. I just don’t get it.”

“Neither do I, to be honest.” Logan was already sitting in the car with his headphones on as they crossed the lot. “It’s going to take him a while to talk to me, isn’t it?”

“He was really upset.”

“We’ll figure this out.” He tightened his grip on Leo’s hand. “We’ve made it through worse.”

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

The apartment crackled with tension until Finn literally had to stick his head out the open window to get a breath of fresh air. Waves of frustration and hurt rolled off Logan, though he still refused to look Finn in the eyes.

After dinner, Leo slid into the armchair before Logan could get there, leaving only the couch available. They carefully sat on opposite sides—Finn stole glances at Logan out of the corner of his eye for the entire first half of the movie. Ninety minutes of action later, he felt something chilly poking at his calf.

Logan kept his gaze trained on the TV as he scooted his freezing toes under Finn’s legs. Relief flooded Finn’s veins; he felt a little like crying, but instead schooled his expression into a small smile and rested his hand on Logan’s ankle, where it stayed until the movie ended.

Leo had fallen asleep by that time, splayed out sideways on the cushion with his face smushed against the armrest. “Il est mignon,” Logan said softly. There was a beat of silence and he looked over at Finn. “He’s cute.”

“He is.” Finn cleared his throat and met his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lo. I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I’m sorry.”

“Promise me you won’t do that again.”

“I won’t.”

Finn had a few bad habits, but backing out on his promises would never be one of them.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Something in the woods is stealing peoples’ Souls;

Merlin learns the hard way that he's a little more... fragmented, than normal people when he tries to solve the issue himself.

Part 2 (final part)

All of the Physicians in the town are being overrun.

Bodies keep showing up, still breathing, still perfectly functional, all seemingly unharmed... but they won’t wake up.

None of them will even twitch, as if, whilst the physical bodies were in perfect condition, there was something lacking somewhere, stopping any sort of higher brain function.

The King, his Knights, and even the Court Physician and his (newly titled) Co-Worker (as opposed to Apprentice), were baffled.

Medically, they had nothing to go on, all they could do was keep the bodies alive as best they could, and hope that some sort of solution could come about after some good old fashioned detective work.

Thankfully, it only took five days, and twelve comatose patients, for The King’s best Knights to realise that all of the... victims(?) had been found in a specific area of the woods just outside the city limits.

With such a distinct, and unexplainable issue, it was assumed (rightfully) that magic was involved somehow; whether it be some sort of creature, or yet another evil sorcerer hell-bent on revenge.

Which of course led to Merlin, one of the Court Physicians, and also (Secretly)TheMostPowerfulWarlockEver™, putting on his warmest clothes and sneaking out in the dead of night under the worried gaze of Gaius.

He did not come back.

Not that anyone but Gaius knew.

~

Early the next morning, King Arthur gathered his best Knights, Sirs Leon, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan, to go and hunt down whatever it was that was rendering his people permanently unconscious.

Gaius and Merlin had explained the previous day, when these plans were conceived, that Merlin would have to stay behind; Camelot’s Physicians were so overwhelmed with not only normal patients, but now twelve comatose bodies as well; they needed every pair of hands they could get. For once, Arthur was happy to leave his manservant behind. 

The man cared greatly for his people, and whilst he would love nothing more than to have Merlin at his side all day, every day, he knew that he was safer, and more needed, in the city.

It was meant to just be in case Merlin got injured and had to hide it, but Gaius did well to hide his worry when he waved them off, and didn’t mention that Merlin wasn’t even in the city, that they could be finding Merlin’s comatose body next.

It took the Gang barely half a day to get there, and they had supplies to last them a few days in the woods, if that’s what it came to, but they were all still tense.

They hadn't seen anything like this before. They had no idea what they were up against; there were no physical injuries to assess, no eye-witness accounts, nothing found in their blood or on their person. Just unconscious bodies that showed no sign of waking.

Thankfully, they found no more bodies as they methodically searched the forest, but they also found no sign of what was wrong.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary: nothing attacked them, there was no blood, no destroyed areas, not even a scrap of evidence that something had even happened.

They finally stopped to make camp at sundown, dejected. Their mood definitely worsening with Elyan’s terrible cooking.

Gwaine was, of course, the most talkative:

“I know he’s needed or whatever, but are we sure we can’t go back and get Merlin? I’ve eaten a lot of gross shit over the years, but I’m not sure if I can take this for four more days.”

Elyan grumbles in embarrassment as the others snort, amused, and he throws a twig at Gwaine. It snaps in two across the knight’s face with a satisfying crack.

Arthur ignores the childish behaviour (something he can’t believe he has to do in the first place), shaking his head as he replies:

“No. The health of the people comes before your stomach. If Gaius says he’s needed in the city, then he stays in the city. Though I was surprised that he wasn’t there to wave us off.”

Gwaine smirks knowingly, and Percival puts a warning hand on his shoulder, but it does nothing to deter the knight as he waggles his eyebrows at The King.

Arthur flushes slightly, but he covers it quickly, not having time to retort before Gwaine opens his mouth again:

“Missing him, are you? Perhaps next time you should request that he stand on the battlements in a dress, and wave a handkerchief at us as we heroically ride out?”

Arthur throws a much larger twig (it’s more of a branch, really) in Gwaine’s direction, and this one knocks him off his seat, but before anyone can even snigger at him, Arthur loudly announces the watches and tells everyone to get some sleep.

~

The next day went much the same. 

That is, until late-afternoon.

The Knights were continuing their methodical search of the woods, once again finding themselves somehow tense and bored, when they came across a clearing that had clearly seen a gruesome battle.

Trees were uprooted, the ground was covered in deep holes and scorches, and there were even the occasional splashes of blood.

Which honestly raised more questions that it answered.

After thorough searching, they were hopeful. It looked like it had been some sort of fight between a sorcerer, and something... not human, some sort of creature. BUT, going by the tracks, the sorcerer had survived, and wandered off.

Was the sorcerer injured, or was the creature injured? If the sorcerer had walked off, injured or otherwise, where was the creature? Surely they should find the body of one or the other?

Another question that no one really wanted to ask: was this even related to the bodies?? Or had the Knights just stumbled onto something completely unrelated that they would inevitably get dragged into dealing with anyway?

Either way, they couldn’t ignore it, and with new-found motivation, they followed the tracks deeper into the woods, instead of setting up camp, like they had intended.

Whoever it was seemed to be wandering aimlessly. The blood trail slowly came to a stop, and it seemed that every step was stronger; as if whoever it were was gaining more energy from walking, as opposed to becoming more tired.

Still, whoever they found at the end of the tracks would be able to provide some sort of answer.

Eventually, after around two hours of diligently following the footsteps through the woods, Arthur signalled everyone to stop.

He wordlessly dismounts his horse, and gestures everyone to quietly do the same, before silently pointing ahead.

The knights look carefully to where he gestures, to see a man stood in the centre of a clearing, facing away from them.

They, still silent, draw their swords and sneak closer, but the man doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was stood upright, they would think him dead.

Arthur steps into the clearing, about twenty feet from the man, and furrows his brow. That looks like.... no... it can’t be, can it? He shakes the thoughts from his head, convinced that he’s just imagining things, but before he can make his presence known, the man turns around, as if he sensed them stood there.

All of them gasp and take a step back, immediately recognising Merlin.

But he’s... different.

He stands scarily still, unusual for a man who was constantly fidgeting or on the move.

His face is blank, and if he hadn’t been staring straight at them they would think he hadn’t noticed them at all, and whilst he stood as if uninjured, his tunic is ripped and blood-soaked.

But what draws everyone’s attention, was the bright golden glow of his eyes, highlighted especially by the quickly descending darkness of the evening.

Arthur brings his sword up slowly, taking a cautious step forward as he calls Merlin’s name.

Merlin simply tilts his head slightly, otherwise staying still, before stutteringly beginning to speak:

“Mer... lin... Merlin....... Merlin is... Merlin is...... Merlin is gone.”

It’s clear that something is deeply wrong with the manservant, but the way he spoke, as if he knew how but had never actually done it before, like he was still figuring it out, creeped the hell out of everyone.

His words as well, “Merlin is gone” do nothing but fill them with dread.

Lancelot steps forward quickly, moving to stand in front of Arthur, sword unsheathed but pointing at the ground. He was unsurprisingly less fearful of the golden irises, and recovered the quickest:

“What do you mean, “Merlin is gone”, gone where? Who are you?”

Merlin... or... not!Merlin, tilts his head further:

“Merlin is... gone. I... I... I want him... back.”

Lancelot gulps but before he can reply, Arthur breaks out of his stupor, and growls:

“What have you done with him?! Whatever you are, give him back!”

Merlin moves his gaze from Lancelot to Arthur, and takes a step forward, before bowing his head slightly, as if out of respect:

“You are... The Once and Future King... I want him back... you... you... you need him... back.”

The rest of the knights are fully freaked out now, but they hide it well, and gather slowly around Arthur. Lancelot scowls at them, holding a placating hand out. He really doesn’t want any of them to get jumpy and skewer Merlin. He takes another step towards the golden-eyed man:

“We all want Merlin back. The bodies, the same thing happened to you? Happened to Merlin?”

Not!Merlin nods slowly once again, looking back to Lancelot:

“It... took him... from me. I... I... I want him back.”

Lancelot returns his nod, letting out a deep breath:

“And who are you? What are you doing in Merlin’s body?”

Not!Merlin frowns slightly, as if confused, the first actual expression he’s pulled this whole time. It takes him a few moments to respond, and Lancelot is getting desperate; he can feel the knights behind him getting more and more jumpy, especially Arthur:

“I am... I... I have always been here... I am... I am... I am me. I am Merlin’s... and he is... mine... I want him... back. He is... mine.”

Lancelot tenses slightly. He has a feeling he knows what’s going on. Merlin talks about his magic sometimes, talks about it as if it’s... sentient. Described the way it’s always desperate to reach out to Arthur and the Knights and Gaius and Gwen, how it sometimes does things without his permission.

Lancelot gulps. This is bad. Merlin’s magic is walking around in his body without him there to control it. They were going to struggle to explain this away, as much as Merlin claimed Arthur was an idiot, it wasn’t completely true. Lancelot bit his lip, glancing back at the others as he re-sheaths his sword.

He knows there’s no way to get them to relax... unless... this might backfire terribly, but it also might be the only way to get them to calm down a little.

Lancelot frowns thoughtfully, and just before Arthur works up the nerve to say something else, he turns back to Not!Merlin:

“Do you mean us any harm?”

Not!Merlin once again tilts his head and frowns as if in confusion:

“No... Merlin is... Merlin is fond of... you. I.. I was made for... for The Once and Future King. I am... unable to hurt him.”

Lancelot nods, before saying slowly:

“Do you have any reason to lie to us?

The golden-eyed man shakes his head slowly, the glow seeming brighter as he replies:

“Why would I... I... lie? I could kill... you without a... second... second thought. I want Merlin... back.”

The knight nods one final time, looking back to the others to gauge their reactions. Their swords are still unsheathed, but lowered, their faces tense and concerned, but not angry. Lancelot supposes that’s the best he’s going to get at this point.

He lets out a rough sigh, running a hand through his hair as he looks back at the Warlock:

“You’re not Merlin. What do we call you, until we can get him back?”

Not!Merlin lets his gaze wonder to the knights, before finally landing on Arthur. His speech had been getting better with use, but he speaks slowly and keeps his stare on The King, as if curious to his reaction:

“I am... I am... I am part of him. I don’t... have a name. Call me... me... Emrys.”

Lancelot grits his teeth, and his eyes whip to Arthur, to see if he recognises the name.

With The King’s gasp, and widening eyes, Lancelot knows that he does recognise the name.

“You... you’re Emrys?? I thought Emrys was some all-powerful sorcerer, what are you doing in Merlin?”

Arthur is too distracted to notice Lancelot’s panic, but Leon, ever the observant one, is not, and frowns at the sudden fear on his fellow knight’s face.

Mer-... Emrys had already admitted that he wouldn’t lie, if Arthur keeps asking questions, he’ll figure it out. But before Lancelot can think of a solution, Emrys replies:

“Emrys is... is... our other... name. But I am not... Merlin. Not on my own. I want... want him back.”

Arthur looks taken aback, but before he can ask another question, Gwaine steps forward, giving Lancelot an unreadable look before:

“Right, well that’s all fine and dandy, but we need to set camp up and figure out what we’re going to do about... this.”

He gestures vaguely to Merlin’s body after sheathing his sword.

Arthur looks about ready to argue, but with another pointed look from Gwaine, Lancelot jumps into action:

“Gwaine’s right, we need to gather the horses and set up for the night. Here is probably alright, then we can come up with a plan to get Merlin back, and presumably, all of those other people.-”

He turns to Arthur, a sufficiently subservient expression on his face:

“-If you think that’s best, Sire?”

Gwaine rolls his eyes and scoffs at that, heading back to gather the horses from where they’d been left without further prompting. Arthur’s argumentative expression drops after a moment, and with one more mistrustful glance to Emrys, he nods, instructing the others to gather wood and get started on dinner.

Lancelot lets out a breath, but flushes slightly and tenses his jaw when he sees Leon giving him an inscrutable look. He turns away after a moment, under the pretence of helping Gwaine.

The moment Lancelot reaches Gwaine, a few metres into the treeline, the other knight quickly turns around and grabs his shoulders. He glances desperately back towards the clearing, and when he establishes that they’re the only two within earshot, roughly whispers:

“Please tell me you figured it out?? Because I’m not sure how the hell I’m going to keep Arthur from finding out on my own.”

Lancelot’s eyes widen, but his shock keeps him silent for only a few moments before Gwaine shakes his shoulders. He blinks away his surprise, whispering his response:

“You know?? Does Merlin know that you know?”

Gwaine shakes his head, finally letting go of Lance’s shoulders:

“No. I worked it out like twenty seconds ago, I’m sort of hoping that Arthur isn’t as quick as me. How long have you known?”

The other knight nods his head understandingly:

“About as long as I’ve known him, but I’ll explain later. This whole thing is... terrible. I don’t think our odds are good. Mer- Emrys won’t lie, and we won’t be able to stop Arthur from asking questions. He’s probably asking them now. We need to get the horses and get back.”

Gwaine nods roughly, and without another word, the two of them gather the reins of their six horses, and quickly make their way back to the clearing.

They had only been gone a few minutes, and in that time, firewood had been gathered and arranged. Elyan pulls a flint out of his pocket, and Lancelot widens his eyes as he sees Emrys tilt his head (still stood in the same place), moments before waving his hand casually.

The wood bursts into a roaring flame, and Emrys suddenly has four swords on him. Lancelot and Gwaine rush forward, standing in between Emrys and the other knights, holding their hands out as if in surrender. Gwaine speaks first:

“Hey! You might be freaked out by all of this, but that’s still Merlin’s body, and he needs it, so lets not poke holes in him, alright??”

Everyone bar Arthur lowers their swords, but before Gwaine can growl something out, Lancelot turns back to Emrys:

“Look, they’re all a little... unnerved, by magic, so maybe stop using it for now, yeah?”

Emrys tilts his head and furrows his brows again, and everyone stares at him in shock as he replies, not quite knowing what to make of his response:

“But I am magic. I am magic... incarnate. If I stop... I... I cease to exist. And Merlin... Merlin needs me. He needs me like... like... like humans need to breath. I can not just... stop. He would... would... we would die.”

Lancelot tightly shuts his eyes. There is officially NO way to explain this one away. Gods, Merlin is going to be so scared when he finds out.

After a few moments of shocked silence, Arthur finally squeaks out a:

“What??”

Gwaine quickly responds, before Emrys can reveal anymore:

“No. It's cruel to take Merlin’s secrets from him when he isn’t even here. We find Merlin, then you can ask your questions.-”

Arthur looks angry, like he wants to argue, but Gwaine takes a threatening step towards him, resting his hand on his sword at his hip as Lancelot and the other knights look on the scene with panic in their eyes. Gwaine growls out:

“-I said no, Princess. Everyone here knows I’m more loyal to Merlin than you, and that doesn’t stop just because he’s not here and you’re about to throw a temper tantrum.”

Arthur huffs, but lowers his sword as Gwaine glares at him, and Lancelot lets out a breath. The other knights follows The King’s lead, sheathing their swords and settling tensely around the fire.

Lancelot goes back to the horses, tying them down and removing saddlebags, with Leon’s help (and constant stare, which was an odd mix of concern and suspicion).

Gwaine points Emrys to a spot on the floor, and tells him to sit. The knight settles next to him protectively, his sword across his lap as he glares at Arthur on the other side of the fire.

The evening passes awkwardly, food being cooked and eaten in silence, no one quite sure what to say.

Arthur spends the whole time with a pinched look of frustration on his face, but the knights look to him as he takes a deep breath, his expression morphing into an odd mix of concern and accusation in the blink of an eye:

“How do we even know that the... Merlin, part of... part of you is alive? What happened to hi- to you? How do we get him back?”

Lancelot wants to be annoyed at his tone, but he poses valid questions. They still had no idea what actually happened or why or how they fixed it.

Emrys tilts his head, aiming his golden stare at Arthur:

“It is one of... of the Manducan, or The Eating Ones. They... are very rare, they steal... steal souls. Bodies can survive a short while.... a short while without them. Hence your... comatose patients. I am... we are, a little more... fragmented... than most. I contain too... too much power, so The Manducan took... only the human... human part.”

Everyone looks extremely worried at that, but Arthur’s face turns desperate as he rushes out:

“What do you mean, human?? What are you??”

They all stare at the raven-haired man as he speaks, his eyes focused on the King:

“We do not... know. Some call us a Lord, or a King. Others call us... call us... a God. In moments... of power, we... we hear prayers. It can be... disconcerting.”

The camp is silent for a while after that, everyone processing what had been said. Merlin heard people praying to him... not even Lancelot knew that, Merlin had never told him.

After around half a candle-mark, Leon breaks the silence to ask the questions that had been pushed to that back of their minds:

“How do we kill this creature, and what happens if we do? Can we get the souls back, undamaged?”

Emrys turns his golden gaze to the curly-haired knight as he replies:

“It is already... weakened. The Forever King needs to... strike... strike it with Excalibur. They hibernate for.... for centuries... and only return to this plane of existence to... collect food. If you... if you... if you kill it before it leaves, the souls will... will return...naturally.”

The knights all let out breaths of relief, but Arthur looks at his sword oddly, before muttering:

“What’s so special about my sword? And why do you keep calling me strange titles?”

Lancelot gulps, and Emrys tilts his head:

“You know of Emrys, but not of the... the prophecies?”

Arthur nods his head slowly, but Lancelot interrupts before Emrys can start the complicated process of explaining his and Arthur’s destinies:

“Perhaps that’s a... story, for when we have Merlin back in one piece. How do we track the creature?”

Arthur gives him a glare, before lowly saying:

“Do not think I do not notice you avoiding the subject, Sir Lancelot. You know of these prophecies?”

Lancelot grits his teeth, but gives a slow nod:

“Bits and pieces. Merlin isn’t fond of talking about it.-”

He raises a challenging eyebrow, still staring Arthur in the face, and everyone is take aback. Lancelot was never anything but respectful and polite to his King; this defiant look shocked them all:

“-You see, he’s spent his entire life in Camelot absolutely terrified that someone will overhear him, and have him burnt.”

Arthur took in a deep breath, hiding his guilt behind a blank façade, but before anyone can say anything, their gazes are drawn back to Emrys, who looks almost... mournful?

He nods his head slightly, and the sad look on his... on Merlin’s face, looks so out of place for someone so normally upbeat:

“He is... we, are constantly frightened. It is exhausting. I try to... to reassure us but... Merlin is... is... is always so scared, despite our power. We used to... to love flames, fire. Now it is... terrifying to us.”

Lancelot had kept his gaze on Arthur, and when The King looks back at him, his despair badly hidden, the knight simply shrugs one shoulder and nods slightly.

Arthur lets out a breath, and looks to his lap, whispering so quietly that the group barely hears him:

“He’s scared of... of me.”

Gwaine growls out an “Of course he is, you’re a Pen-.”, but he’s interrupted by Emrys:

“No. He would allow you to... to kill us. But we couldn’t bear to... to lose you.-”

He finishes his statement quietly, and Arthur looks up at him, tears in his eyes:

“-We don’t want to be sent away. Camelot is... is... is frightening. But it is also our... home.”

“I would never send you away. When we get Merlin back, you... you tell him that. Tell him he’s safe with me, with us, and always will be.”

Emrys tilts his head yet again:

“And my people? Will we be an... exception? Will you make us watch you... continue to persecute our people, whom we... we... we should be protecting? Merlin does... does not want to make a... hypocrite out of you.”

The knights look at him expectantly, and he blanches slightly as he looks away. The King gulps, before taking a deep breath and looking back, straightening his spine and looking confident:

“The laws will change. Crimes committed with magic will be judged the same as crimes committed without; it’s about time I faced the cruelties of my father.”

The corner of Emrys’ mouth tilts up briefly as he nods, but says nothing. Gwaine smirks, Leon and Lancelot give The King proud smiles, and Percival and Elyan look taken aback, before they relax into fond smiles of their own.

The evening had passed quickly, and with all of them exhausted, it’s decided that any further discussion on how to track this... Manducan, would happen in the morning.

All of the knights fall asleep quickly, finding the protective golden glow of Emrys’ unsleeping eyes both comforting and unsettling.

~

They all woke the next morning oddly refreshed, but the relaxed atmosphere didn’t last long when, one by one, the knights noticed Emrys sat unnervingly still, in the exact same spot as last night.

Only the occasional blink and shallow breathing proved that he was in fact alive, and not some sort of incredibly life-like statue.

Food was eaten, and camp broken quickly; the golden eyed not-quite-a-servant staying in his spot the whole time. 

Despite Emrys saying that the souls would be fine as long as they got there in time, they were still full of nervous energy, and wanted to get this over and done with as soon as possible. Not least of all because they had a lot, and I mean a LOT, of questions for Merlin... or... all of Merlin.

Emrys was pointed to Lancelot’s horse, and once he mounted in front of the knight, everyone looked at him expectantly. He simply tilted his head, and Arthur huffed:

“Well? How do we find this... creature? Can’t you-”

He waves his hand vaguely, and Leon is the only knight able to hide his snort at The King’s impression of magic.

Emrys nods in understanding, and extends his hand in front of him. A thin stream of light, like a glowing string floating in the air, extends from his palm, snaking through the trees.

He nods, this time in the direction of the light, and the knights urge their horses to begin a quick paced journey.

Conversation is sparse, but eventually the question on all of their minds is asked by Percival:

“If you could do that the whole time, track the Manducan I mean, why didn’t you?”

Emrys doesn’t look towards him, but the horses noticeably slow as everyone bunches together, curious about his answer:

“They are of a different... different plane. Magic can harm them but... but... but not kill. I was waiting for The Once and Future King to bring... bring Excalibur.”

Percival nods in understanding, but Leon frowns:

“Well... what about us? Will we not be able to harm it with our swords?”

Everyone copies his frown at that. They’re valid questions, and Arthur is silently grateful that Leon had the tactical mind to think of them:

“No. It will be safer for... for... for you to... wait. I can distract and injure it further until... The Once and Future King can... kill it.”

The knights looks worried at that, but Elyan is the first one to pipe up:

“We’re meant to just stand back and watch? Can’t we set a trap, or help distract it?”

Emrys shakes his head:

“It can not be trapped. Being too close would... would have adverse effects on... on... on your souls.”

Arthur looks back from his position at the head of the group with a frown on his face:

“Well what about my soul? I’m presumably going to have to get close to it in order to stab it?”

Emrys fixes his golden stare on The King, and tilts his head slightly in confusion:

“Your soul was forged through magic, it is marginally... immune. It will take a little... longer for... for... for your soul to react badly.”

Arthur nods, looking back to the front, muttering something about “having a time limit before my soul implodes or whatever. Great.”

Once the knights finish snickering at Arthur, Gwaine asks:

“Wait wait, if Excalibur is the only thing able to kill it, what are you doing out here?”

Emrys tilts his head, looking back to the knights:

“We were... unaware of that at the... the time. We only figured out what... it was, when we fought it.”

Everyone nods, all of them wondering just how many times Merlin had snuck out to take care of something, with none of them knowing about it. The list of questions they had for when Merlin was back in one piece was getting longer and longer, and no part of this conversation was helping the anxiety swirling in Lancelot’s stomach.

After another hour or so of silence, Elyan pipes up:

“I’m surprised no one has asked yet but... what does this thing look like? I know we’re following a trail or whatever, but what are we actually going to find at the end of it?”

“They shift sizes, though they always take... the form of a thick-”

Emrys is interrupted by Arthur pulling his horse to a sudden stop, and pointing through the trees ahead of his, harshly whispering:

“Black shadow??”

Everyone stops behind him and their gazes dart quickly to where Arthur gestures. Through the trees they see a large mass of deep black smoke.

The black tendrils seem to writhe in the air, and the knights can see vague impressions of limbs tipped with impossibly sharp claws darting out occasionally before retreating back into the fog.

The creature looks like evil in semi-corporeal form, and the usually strong-willed warriors take in stuttering breaths at the overwhelming instincts of “Unnatural, run run RUN!” screaming at them with every passing second.

The shadow doesn’t seem to have any front or back; being in a constantly shifting state, sometimes seeming to freeze, sometimes darting through the trees in a blur.

The knights have lost all colour in their faces, and their breath comes shallowly and quickly. Arthur gulps, tightening his grip on his sword as he whispers:

“Horse, or on foot?”

The sound of Emrys’ feet softly thudding on the undergrowth gives The King his answer, and he dismounts his horse slowly, trying to stop the shaking in his hands and legs.

He takes a deep breath as Emrys moves to stand behind him. His voice is shaking and desperate, as if he were a child reaching for help after a nightmare:

“How do I... what do I do, Merlin?”

Emrys tilts his head, but doesn’t say anything of the The King’s mistake:

“You need only get close enough to... deeply slice it. It is fragile in this... this realm. Cover your eyes when you... you do so, the light will be blinding. Do not let it... touch you. I am reluctant to admit that, after what it did to... to... to our soul, I do not know what it will... do to yours.”

Arthur takes another deep breath, and clears his throat slightly as he gives a firm nod. Time to be brave now, for his people, for Merlin.

The King can hear his knights dismount behind him and tie up the horses, ready to jump in and help at a moment’s notice, in spite of... whatever will happen to their souls. None of them are really sure they want to know, so none of them ask for details, and Arthur is unendingly grateful for their silent loyalty and bravery.

Emrys walks forward, past Arthur, and towards the creature. The King gulps before silently slipping off to the side; he doesn’t know how the creature sees (not having a head, or even eyes, as far as he can tell), but Emrys said he would distract it so... splitting up makes the most sense? 

The knights can tell the exact moment the creature notices Emrys walking towards it.

The tendrils of shadow seem to writhe even more frantically, and the fog bulges and retreats again, somehow giving the impression of anger, fear.

Emrys plants his feet strongly and raises a hand, summoning vines and roots from the ground with nought but a gesture; Arthur only gives himself a second to be distracted by the sight of Merlin so effortlessly doing magic before focussing back on the creature.

Everyone bar Emrys winces, and covers their ears as the beast lets out an ear piercing screech, moving judderingly towards the Warlock. The trees shake with the noise, and a few of Emrys’ magical attacks disintegrate into the air. He summons more, and snarls in concentration as the beast whips towards him.

Emrys rushes forward to meet the beast, and they clash in a burst of golden light and black shadow, each trying to take over the other. The shadows try to sneak around the Warlock, reaching towards the knights behind him, but they’re quickly halted in their tracks as cracks open in the ground, swallowing the fog before it can do any damage.

The golden light emanating from Emrys pulses brightly, and the creature is pushed back, the edges of its smoke disintegrating slowly into the air. It lets out another high pitched screech, and Arthur takes that as his cue; rushing silently forward, on the opposite side of the creature to Emrys, and swiping down precisely with Excalibur.

The knights see his attack coming, and step even further back, heeding Emrys’ warning and covering their eyes, Arthur doing so with his free hand as he brings the sword down. 

Excalibur cuts through the shadow with no resistance; the screech getting impossibly louder as the blade leaves a blindingly golden trail in it’s wake.

Emrys simply stands back to watch, but the pitch of the beast’s screech forces the knights to the floor, eyes tightly shut, and hands clamped over their ears.

Suddenly, the noise stops, and the shadows of the creature seem to disintegrate into nothing as the golden light of the wound takes over. The light recedes in on itself, before exploding outwards and fragmenting into pieces. The bulk of the fragments fly in the direction of Camelot, golden blurs through the trees, but one, the smallest and dullest (due to being only part of a soul, they assume) flies with speed straight towards Emrys.

The knights and their King finally look up, feeling oddly exhausted, to see Emrys take a staggered step back and grimace in pain as the light forces it’s way down his throat.

He falls to the floor, and the knights rush towards him as his muscles spasm and he begins to scream. His eyes are shut tightly and Lancelot quickly lunges forward to grab his wrists as his hands go to yank at his hair.

Everyone gathers around him, Lancelot yelling for them to hold him so he doesn’t hurt himself. They can only hope that Merlin is an exception, and this isn’t happening to the other victims back in Camelot. Lancelot keeps a hold of his wrists, and Arthur discards Excalibur in favour of holding down Merlin’s shoulders, whilst Elyan, Leon, and Gwaine hold down his hips and legs, and Percival wordlessly stands guard.

Merlin’s screaming dies down, and he stops thrashing so much (but stays tense), but the knights don’t let go just yet. He opens his bleary eyes, and whispers, so faintly they barely hear it:

“... Lance?”

The knight lets go of Merlin’s now limp wrists gently, and strokes a hand through the man’s raven hair:

“Yeah, I’m here Merlin. All back in once piece?

Merlin closes his eyes again, and goes fully slack as the others let go of him fully, nodding slowly as he gulps before groaning:

“Yeah, that fucking... hurt.”

Lancelot huffs out a gentle laugh, but before he can reply, Merlin gasps and quickly sits up. When his wide, panicked eyes land on the rest of the knights huddled around him, his breath deepens and he scrambles back frantically, only to run into Arthur, who grabs his shoulders.

Merlin whips his head around and rips himself from The King’s grip, stumbling to his feet and rushing back, away from the knights and into a tree.

His ears are deaf to everyone’s gentle reassurances that he was safe, and his eyes are blind to the hands held up in soft surrender. He sinks to the floor as his breathing gets even more frenzied and tears gather in his eyes, but before he can process that he was safe, the mix of memories triggers a blinding pain behind his eyes.

He gives a pained yelp and shuts his eyes tightly, bringing his hands to grip the sides of his head as he curls up on the floor. Merlin begins to groan again, and Lancelot desperately gestures for everyone to stay back as he kneels by Merlin’s side, pulling his hands away from his head again:

“You’re safe Merlin, no one’s going to hurt you, do you remember? We said that to the bit of you that was left.-”

Merlin doesn’t seem to hear him, but squeezes Lancelot’s hands painfully tight as he continues to groan, arching his spine:

“-Ok, ok, what’s wrong Merlin? Your head? We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong. Is it your... your soul?”

Merlin shakes his head slightly, groaning dying down, but still struggling to draw breath, still gripping Lance’s hands:

“Your magic?”

Another shake of the head has Lancelot beginning to panic a little; none of them have dealt with anything like this before, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with his friend. He continues to try and comfort Merlin as he struggles to think of what else it could be, when Merlin begins forcing himself to take deep breaths, and stuttering out:

“Mem... memories.”

Lancelot takes a fortifying breath, and the others crowd a little closer, panicking for their friend:

“Memories? Ok, which ones? Memories from the bit of you that was wandering around, or memories from the bit of you that was in the creature?”

Thankfully, Merlin’s pain seems to be dying down slightly. His breath comes easier, but his eyes stay tightly shut and his muscles still spasm periodically as he grinds out:

“Both. Two sets of memories from... from the same time. Hurts. My. Brain.”

Lancelot huffs out another gentle laugh, rubbing his thumbs softly over the back of Merlin’s hands, and the others relax at the sight of Merlin’s pain lessening. Gwaine kneels down next to Lancelot, and quietly announces himself before beginning to run a gentle hand through Merlin’s hair.

This goes on for a few more minutes; the servant’s pain dwindling and his breathing evening out as his mind sorts the two sets of clashing memories and stitches the two pieces of his soul back together, Lancelot and Gwaine not stopping their soft ministrations for even a moment.

He finally relaxes fully, opening his eyes but not moving from his position on the floor as he gazes tiredly up at Arthur’s worried face, over Lancelot’s shoulder. His words comes out timidly, and Arthur has to stop himself flinching at the hint of fear in his voice:

“Did you mean it? Am I... safe?”

Arthur forces a soft smile on his face, hiding his worry, and gives Merlin a firm nod:

“I promise Merlin, you’re safe. None of us will hurt you.-”

Merlin smiles back at him, before nodding, and closing his eyes, drained from the ordeals of the last few days:

“-though you need to make sure your head is on straight at your earliest convenience, I’ll need your help to write that repeal.”

Arthur says it with a weak, teary grin, and Merlin chuckles slightly, nodding softly once more before drifting into a deep sleep, exhausted.

Lancelot mutters that he’s asleep, and the smile drops from Arthur’s face, his brow furrowing in worry as he crouches between his two knights, putting a hand to Merlin’s forehead:

“Will he be alright?”

Lancelot shrugs, biting his lip, and sporting a similar expression to The King as he replies:

“I’ve no clue. His soul was split in two, his magic was pushed to the limit in that fight, and his body didn’t rest at all or eat much for at least a day; he’s probably just exhausted, but we should get him back to Gaius.”

Elyan, Leon, and Percival move back to gather the horses without prompting, and within minutes the gang is racing back towards the city, Merlin’s unconscious form being held protectively in front of Arthur (his excuse being that Lancelot’s horse had already held the extra weight for half a day, and he’s The King, so he can do what he wants).

~

Thankfully, the creature had been between their camp and the city, so it only takes them around a day to get back. They took few breaks, and ate whilst they rode to save time. Despite not waking up the entire journey, Merlin’s breathing stayed alright, and he occasionally mumbled nonsense to himself, so the knights weren’t panicking too much.

They didn’t stop when night fell, and so finally pulled into the castle courtyard at around midnight. A guard was immediately sent to wake Gaius, and Percival wordlessly took Merlin from Arthur’s horse, only after The King had given him a short nod of approvable.

They got to the Physician’s chambers to see Gaius wide awake and bustling around the room, clearing a cot and gathering various potions and ingredients.

Percival gently set the manservant on the cot, and Gaius firmly demands that they all leave the room to give him space to work, choosing to ignore the fact that he had told them that Merlin was in the city, and that they definitely shouldn’t have come back with his exhausted, unconscious body.

Arthur notes that Gaius doesn’t react at all when Lancelot stays behind, but has to temper his frustration (and jealousy) when the Physician shoots the knight a concerned look when Arthur himself also refuses to leave.

Lancelot sighs, but gives Gaius a reassuring smile:

“It’s fine, Gaius, they all know about Merlin’s magic, he’s safe. We said we’d explain when we got Merlin back in one piece.”

Gaius sends The King a curious look, hiding his concern well before he seems to catch up on what Lancelot said:

“Back in one piece?”

Arthur moves closer as Lancelot nods and begins to speak, content to let the knight explain as long as he got to stand near Merlin:

“He said it was Manducan?-”

Gaius widens his eyes in surprise, but nods, continuing to mix together various herbs as he listens:

“-Apparently, Merlin’s power was too much for it to handle, so it took the non-magical part of his soul. We found Merlin’s body being controlled by his magic. It was... odd. He was still Merlin, you could hear it in the way he spoke, or the words he chose, but it wasn’t... all of him. Just the magic part. He wouldn’t lie to us, and was desperate to get the “Merlin” part of his soul back. Unless we spoke to him he just... sat there, blankly.”

Gaius hums thoughtfully, and he and Lancelot politely pretend not to notice Arthur reaching out to gently grab Merlin’s hand.

Finally, the physician finishes mixing his potion, and gently pours it into Merlin’s mouth, holding his nose shut and massaging his throat so it goes down properly. He sits back on his chair, glancing at Arthur quickly, before looking back to Lancelot:

“The other victims began to wake just under a day ago, so I’m assuming that the creature was... dealt with?-”

At Lancelot’s nod, he continues:

“-Did Merlin wake at all when his soul came together?”

Lancelot nods again, speaking quietly, feeling oddly like he doesn’t want to disturb Arthur softly rubbing his thumb over Merlin’s hand:

“Hmm. Briefly. He screamed for a while, whilst his soul... I don’t know, stitched itself back together? Then he panicked, because he knew his magic had been outed, then he was in pain again. He said having two sets of memories from the same time hurt. Then he was just exhausted, he passed out a few moments after the pain stopped.”

Gaius nods, and Arthur finally looks up, knowing that the explanation was over, and a conversation was about to happen. The Physician speaks:

“Humans are not made for that, it would have been painful for his mind to try to comprehend and organise two separate sets of simultaneous memories.”

Arthur speaks, his voice quiet, but obviously worried:

“Will he be alright? How long until he wakes?”

Gaius looks to him once more, giving The King an assessing gaze. When he spies no anger or deception in Arthur’s face, he relaxes his shoulders slightly, and sighs:

“He will be alright, he just needs rest. Both his body and his soul have been through a great deal, it will take a few days to a week for him to fully recover physically, though I can’t speak for his mental state.”

Arthur looks panicked, and Lancelot worries his lip between his teeth as Arthur asks:

“His mental state??”

Gaius finds himself sighing yet again as he asks:

“How lucid was he, between the bouts of pain?”

Lancelot rushes to answer:

“Very. He understood what I was saying, I think, he asked a question and understood our answer. He just seemed tired.”

Gaius gives the two men an exhausted smile, before softly saying:

“Then I imagine he will be fine. Go and get some rest, I will send for you if anything changes, though it’s unlikely that he’ll wake up at any point in the next two days or so.”

Lancelot nods, and moves towards the door, but Arthur stays put. Gaius raises an eyebrow, but moves forward and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder:

“He will be fine, Sire. And... everything he has done, every lie he has told, has been to keep you safe. He couldn’t bare to lose you.”

Arthur nods absentmindedly, before looking up to the Physician, and whispering:

“I couldn’t bare to lose him either. You... you promise he’ll be alright?”

Gaius nods and smiles, noting with relief the tearful desperation on The King’s face:

“I promise.”

Lancelot smiles fondly from his place stood at the door, but wipes it from his face as Arthur turns towards him. The two men leave out of the room, Gaius’ assessing eyes following them all the way.

The door shuts behind them softly, and Gaius lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he had been holding, before running a hand gently through Merlin’s hair, and moving to settle in his own cot.

Of all the ways Arthur could find out about Merlin’s magic, out of Merlin’s control, Gaius never saw this coming, and though the pain Merlin felt was regretful, The Physician is grateful, that it went so well.

~

End of Part 1!!

Part two is already almost finished. It’s much shorter than this, and will be out at some point in the next few days!! Sorry this took so long lads, I’ve been really busy atm.

EDIT: I’ve actually just finished writing part 2!! It’s queued to be published at 12:30PM GMT tomorrow (09/05/21)

EDIT 2.0: PART 2 IS UP!!

Also I couldn’t find any mythical creatures that fit what I wanted, so I straight up just made one up ✌️

Head over to This List to let me know what you want me to work on next! :)

[omgbubbletea]

Dating George Weasley Would Include

Let’s get one thing straight, it doesn't matter what house you're in

Sure, it would be a bonus if you were in Gryffindor because that would mean he wouldn't have to sneak into your common room to be with you 

Blood status also doesn't matter to him

If he loves you, he loves all of you

The reason you and George are together is all thanks to Fred 

He had grown sick and tired of George constantly talking about you 

How pretty you were 

How nice you smelled 

How he felt butterflies every time you smiled at him 

The boy must have been in-love or something

On the other hand, Fred had found out you had feelings for George by constantly bugging you on the subject till you cracked and told him

Being the oblivious pair George and you were, neither of you had realised the others feelings 

This is when Fred decided to take matters into his own hands 

His plan consisted of locking both you and George in a janitors closet until you both confessed your feelings 

He had told you guys to meet him in this particular closet for an emergency meeting

With the two of you being so ignorant, you walked into this closet, wondering where Fred was and why he had chosen such a weird place to meet 

As soon as you guys crossed the line, that’s when Fred had locked the door 

“Fred! what are you doing? Let us out!” (you and George started to yell)

“If you guys want out, then there’s something you should get off your chest first”

You both knew instantly what he was talking about 

Fred’s plan was almost fool-proof except for the fact that both you and George had your wands and could just alohomora your way out 

Oh, wait...

Fred had known you too well and knew you both always left your wands in the dorm during free time before dinner 

“Fred this isn't funny”(George was starting to get on edge)

“Do you hear me laughing?”

The closet was small(but who said you found it a problem(; )

A couple of minutes passed 

“Look (y/n)...”(George began to say slowly)

“I- I like you”

“I like you a lot, more than a friend probably should”(was that his heart pounding in his chest George could hear?)

At that moment your head shot up to meet his gaze 

Did he just confess his feeling to you?

Did he feel the same?

Hope began to form in your heart 

“George...”(he was ready for his heart to be broken)

“I’ve felt that way since I first met you”(a smile began to break on your face)

When I tell you that that boys smile lit up the room 

Nothing more was shared at that moment except for a hungry kiss 

He had been craving your lips for awhile now 

Of-course the moment only lasted so long before Fred swung the door open

“Ew, gross guys!”

The two of you just grinned 

If you are not in Gryffindor, then your days usually consisted of sneaking into the others common room

It’s a usual thing

Cuddling on the couch 

Playing board games 

Your friends(and others in your house) are used to seeing George around 

Surprisingly, you guys have never been caught(thanks to the marauders' map)

He’s always waiting outside of the common room so you guys can walk to breakfast together

You guys always sit next to each other in the great hall

If you are in a different house, he will walk you to your common room at the end of the day and give you a kiss goodnight(which usually gets a bit heated)

Pet names

Darling and gorgeous are his most used

You can’t help but get butterflies every-time those words roll of his tongue

“Well hello gorgeous” 

Small forms of PDA

Hand holding 

Arm around your shoulder 

Arm around your waist 

Temple kisses 

Cheek kisses 

Knuckle kisses 

He LOVES it when you play with his hair and just melts into your touch 

I have a theory that the twins give the BEST hugs

Bear hugs that engulf you

Hugs from behind where he pulls you closer to him

(and he’s always so warm...like what?)

You love wearing his jumpers

Yes, they are always baggy on you

You love the smell of them though(strawberries, vanilla and a bit of a smoky hint)because it’s just like having George there

He gives you one of his jumpers to keep so you would stop stealing all his other ones

It’s your favourite item of clothing and you always wear it to bed

Your first “I love you” came out of nowhere

The two of you were in the common room studying for an upcoming test

You should have been in your bed by now but of-course this test was more important than your exhaustion

With papers strewn across the table and your hand cramping from writing, you continued with your work, although George had stopped

Suddenly, you had become aware of him gazing at you

“Can I help you?”

“It’s nothing, you’re just...so beautiful”

You couldn’t help the blush that bloomed on your cheeks

“I love you”

The phrase was just audible

You had looked up in shock unsure if you had heard right

George was yet to comprehend what he had said when it all hit him

“Oh (y/n), I’m sorry! It just sort of slipt out- I didn’t mean to say it- I mean I want to say it because I love you but not that-”

You just chuckled at his constant rambling

“George, calm down, I love you too”

“I don’t want to make you se- wait, what did you just say?”

“I love you too”(you said it gently)

“Really..?”(he didn't sound too convinced)

In gesture, you gave him a sweet kiss, melting into the moment

It seemed to calm his mind

Spending summer and Christmas at the burrow

Molly loves you 

She knits one of her famous sweaters for you for Christmas  

If you are muggle-born(or even half-blood), Arthur loves when you tell stories about muggle life 

When Ron was younger, he had a BIG crush on you 

Now when he thinks about it, he just gets embarrassed

Ginny looks up to you(and thinks you're a bad bish)

You and Ginny love to have sleepovers together and gossip about all the people in Hogwarts

You also get filled in on all her latest “love life” with Harry  

Fred is one of your best and closest friends 

He is happy that George found someone to make him happy 

You’re Fred’s wing-women(although he doesn't agree because you haven’t done the best of jobs)

You guys love to tease George together 

Although it’s mainly just Fred teasing you and George 

“Can you guys get a room?!”

It was in those moments that Fred may have regretted locking you guys in that closet 

As much as he loves you, he does get a bit tired of hearing George talk about you all-day(nothing changed since he confessed his feelings for you)  

Lee is also a close friend to you 

It was only inevitable for you guys to bond with the twins being best friends with him

Many times have the two of you tried to get back at Fred and George with a prank 

Sadly, the twins somehow always manage to know what you guys are planning 

Let’s just say they prank you guys twice as hard for trying to outdo the masters 

The twins are always playing “light” pranks on you 

From dying your hair bright pink

To slipping a small amount of love potion into your drink 

It’s always a risk being around the two of them 

They love to get you involved in their pranks 

This usually means standing guard though):

You remember this one time in potions when you were first learning about amortentia

There was a fresh batch of it at the front of the class and everyone around the room was trying to get a whiff 

“Do I even have to ask what it smells like to you darling?” 

You closed your eyes and gave a sharp inhale 

“Vanilla, candy apples and amber” (you had said it so innocently)

George’s face was painted in horror 

“What?!” 

He was in disbelief because he KNEW he didn’t smell of amber or vanilla 

“CEDRIC?!” (the twins spoke rather loudly in unison)

“But- I- wha-”(George began to stutter on)

At that point, you couldn’t hold in your laughter any longer 

“I’m only joking!”

When I tell you how quick that boy calmed down 

“Oh thank Merlin”

That was revenge for staining your teeth blue for a whole week!

In all honesty, the pained look on George’s face when he realised you may not love him pained your heart 

On the other hand, Fred thought it was hilarious 

(If) you play quidditch for Gryffindor, then you are a chaser, otherwise, you are whatever position you got placed into 

If you are not in Gryffindor, then you are always watching the quidditch game and supporting the twins(unless it’s your house playing)

He loves to find you in the crowd 

You’re his #1 fan 

Steamy kisses after the game

If they win the game then it’s going to be a lot more than kissing(;

He has ended up in the hospital wing a couple of times because of the game

It has never been too serious but you still can’t help but worry for him 

“You know, even with a black eye and bloody face, I’m still the better-looking twin”

Fred just cracked up 

“He must still be a bit loopy from all that pain killer”

If you don’t play quidditch, then George has defiantly tried to teach you

It didn’t go too well

You ended up falling off the broom at only 1 meter off the ground

Face-planted into the grass

Ended with you having a dislocated jaw

George felt guilty for the rest of the month and wouldn't stop apologising

Meanwhile, Fred had fallen on his ass from laughing too hard

Trips to Hogsmeade

Raiding Honeydukes

Dates at the Three Broomsticks

Drinking enough butterbeer to get tipsy 

Lots of puns and dad jokes 

You were once learning how to produce a Patronus in DA when someone had just spelled a deer

You looked over at George to see him struggling a bit with the spell

And that’s when the awful pun left his mouth

“Oh deer, I just can’t seem to produce a Patronus” 

You tried to hold in your laugh 

“Shove off Weasley”

He takes you to the Yule Ball

It’s a magical night 

Full of dancing 

Screaming the lyrics to the songs playing 

Drinking fire whisky that Fred had smuggled in

Drunk snogging to the point where Snape found you guys and took 5 points off each of you 

Dancing around the common room 

Sneaking into the kitchens to steal food 

Tickle fights(I feel like George is very ticklish)

Swimming in the Black Lake on a dare 

Snowball fights in the winter 

He never fails to make you laugh

He is more of the shy, reserved twin 

Sometimes you just have to remind him that he is loved and noticed 

He will compare himself to Fred and it will never be positive 

You will reassure him and hold him for however long he needs

If what he needs is a good vent then you are ready to listen no matter what you are doing 

He is more important 

He is also more of the jealous twin 

Don’t get me wrong, he won't go all psycho boyfriend when he sees another guy talking to you 

He respects you and knows you would never leave him for someone else 

But if there is flirting going on or the guy is trying to make a move 

Let’s just say his temper won't last long 

“Hello darling”

Que passionate kiss between George and you 

“Sorry mate, she’s already taken”

You had never seen a guys face go paler 

Or seen George go so smug 

He always knows what to do when you're sad

He will listen to your every last word if you have to vent 

Or he will hold you in his arms for hours while whispering sweet nothings into your ear if all you want to do is cry it out 

By the end of it, you can't help but feel just a little bit better because of him 

He loves to hear about your day and you can’t deny that he is the best listener

He low key has separation anxiety  

He LOVES to spoon

Definitely the big spoon

Although he can’t help but love to be the little spoon sometimes 

“Hey um...Do you mind if we?...”

“You wanna be the little spoon?”

“Yes please...”

He’s smiling on the inside 

He may be a little shy in public but he’s a freak in the sheets if you know what I mean(;

He’s usually top but it drives him crazy if you switch rolls 

I feel like he’s a hair puller?

Will always make sure you’re comfortable with everything 

Super gentle at times 

But also can be rough... 

Would never do anything that would hurt you 

Lots of cuddling after 

He loves to give you flowers just to see you get all flustered

One time he stole flowers from the school grounds

Little did he know, Mcgonagall had seen the whole thing

“Mr Weasley, are those flowers from Professor Sprout’s greenhouse?”

The look on his face was a dead give away

“Funny story actually Professor...”

Let’s just say it wasn’t the funniest of stories

Braiding his longer hair 

Showers together 

Piggyback rides to class

Studying in the library with Fred(but he usually just gets bored and leaves)

He reads to you 

Basically he is perfect in every way and will love you till the end