#but i think moment to moment its clear they care way WAY more about callum than they do rayla or ezran

[bittrlys]

I have heard some people saying that the show is going to address the issues of humans being discriminated against will be addressed in season 7 dark. What do you think about that?

Personally, I think it might be a bit too late for them to properly address it and do it in a satisfactory way especially because the main ship rayllum had rayla being prejudice against humans but her actions don't get called compared to Callum so i doubt her actions will be called out next season as both the fandom and the narrative love to frame her in the right when she can sometimes be quite hypocritical and in the wrong.

Also, I want zubeia to be called out for her actions and zyms father but I doubt that will happen either.

Another question I also don't like the series framing of dark magic. Now in season 6 (took us 6 seasons) to learn that dark magic creates a hole in your spirit and it corrupts you to aaravos but that feels like the writers adding it in there so people don't bring up the whole arguement that dark magic is bad because the narrative says so. Also the show doesn't convince me dark magic is so bad that viren SHOULDN'T of used it to save soren or that Callum SHOULDN'T of used it to save rayla.

Idk to be honest the handling of dark magic within the narrative is so confusing and bad.

Anyway sorry this got so long

My very upfront opinion is that there is clearly some dissonance, and perhaps even conflict, in the writer's room about Viren and Claudia, dark magic, the cost of it, and the intended take away from these characters and their actions.

Now, when writing, there's no particular requirement to be honest with your audience or to not accurately represent how history can be muddled and shift. "Humans learned dark magic" to "Unicorns taught humans magic and were slaughtered in thanks" to "Aaravos is implied to have taught humans dark magic" to "Aaravos's daughter Leola (a uni-horned elf) taught humans magic and was killed" is cohesive enough, even considering the writers are on record saying they may be changing things as they go, as happens with writing. (With dark magic being the main sticking point of anti-human sentiments, how and why it occurred matters.) I also don't think the show has never wanted us to sympathize with humans or not see their discrimination -- the sight of them in tears as they're exiled, evoking the Trail of Tears (still bonkers), or Ziard's bitterness over how humans starved or his terror when Sol Regem tricks him in hopes to destroy Elarion are moments of raw feeling where the camera centres humans and their pain. Most of our protagonists are humans, and Callum, though occasionally punished for his ambitions, is a character who wants magic who is heroic.

The ultimate problem, however, is that the show wants to have its cake and eat it too, which goes back to my earliest complaints in how they 'meta write' from what we expect of fantasy and muddle their own messages. Certainly this show could be a long-form exercise in tricking people into rooting for ethnic cleansing racists but like, it's a show for kids. Sol Regem is a bad dragon and he is obviously bad. Zubeia is a good dragon and she is obviously good. We're supposed to understand Sol Regem kinda had it coming and understand that Zubeia being hurt is allegedly sad. There's no deceit to this straightforward presentation. Viren, Claudia, and now Aaravos are sympathetic villains, but they're still villains. And when your villains come in two main flavours of Team Anti-Human (arising after humans wronged Xadians initially, natch) or Team Human (or adjacent) and every hero is Team Xadia because humans fighting against the disparity of their world is Causing Trouble while humans who extend the hand of friendship to Xadians are Bringing Peace, it ultimately teaches us that "Maybe humans had a hard time of it, but it's time they suck it up." I don't think there was anything more explicit to this than having our Out Of The Mouth Of Babes protagonist Ezran's Zubeia-backed speech at the Many Thunder Victims Memorial Valley.

A lot of writers like villains who have a point, because they feel it adds depth to them, but they often jump straight to "the villain is a marginalized person who is fighting for change in the Wrong Way" and this creates an implication that Fighting For Change At All is wrong because our heroes are never passionate champions for equality. They may like equality, but they say "Not now -- not like this --" and it isn't central to their beliefs. Team Xadia are not nominally Anti Equality or Anti Humanity, but their framing vis a vis our villains makes this lack of investment in the liberation of humanity quite clear.

All of this is to say that I agree, it would be too little, too late, and that the fact the show has *already established* humans as being victims of discrimination makes the narratives around them all the more galling and difficult to untangle. I absolutely would like to have the show deliver one of its extremely straightforward, directly to the camera-type messages on how humans were discriminated against, yes, but it doesn't fix six seasons of presenting all anger on behalf of humanity as something that is ultimately morally unsound and in need of changing. And how much further can they take it? Can they portray Xadians as a whole as privileged beings who have benefited from the mistreatment of humans? Not just a few bad apples -- can they actually, truly acknowledge Xadians as less than idealized? Can they take seasons upon seasons of trying to make us love Xadians and turn it around with frank questions about things like "reparations" and "acknowledging generational trauma without both-sides-ing it"? Can they give us a purely heroic human protagonist who is firmly Team Human and centres human interests? I don't think so. They prefer keeping to their "Callum and Amaya and Ezran constantly apologizing and putting down humanity in favour of their Xadian betters" agenda. (So bonkers they do this with three characters of colour, sidenote.)

Rayla is interesting because I think they have a fundamental disinterest in her inner world. She's so defined by her relationships with others and traumatic things that happen to her personally are ignored (her feelings on her banishment getting sidelined into Callum stuff, or her overcoming her fear of water to save Callum and Ezran happening off screen.) Her prejudice is a standard result of her upbringing but it's another thing that hasn't really come up in a while. I don't know if they so much want her as a character to be right, or prejudiced, or whatever, so much as they use her as a mouthpiece for particular opinions they need stated. She was learning about humans as much as Callum and Ezran were learning about elves and now she's learned she's just chilling being another one of Ezran's inexplicably pro-monarchy shooters.

Onto the second half of your ask about dark magic -- this season has firmly shifted the dark magic usage into an addiction metaphor, and so we get the "hole in your soul" (the anti-Birdhouse In Your Soul.) I do think this makes sense with earlier seasons. Dark magic has always been shown as corrupting the user (hence the monstrosity, and hence Viren being likely to die if purified of it, because it's become so entwined with his inner core) and this destruction of the self has been a reason to avoid it. I'll even be generous and say it's not entirely "Evil People Are Ugly" but instead a lot of "Self-Destruction Is Terrifying." However, I've been obsessed with this since I saw it:

"He shouldn't be monstrous in his final moments of heroism" is very funny. The writers are aware they have thoroughly codified Ugly, Monstrous = Bad and would try to bend themselves over backwards to let a Good Act be done via Evil Means in a way that minimizes the evidence of the evil means. This is why you have to put that "inherent evil" in quotation marks because real inherent evils don't tend to get a pass. And because they want dark magic to still exist in the show and still be used by sympathetic characters like Callum and Claudia without rendering them utterly reprehensible they have to make it the hole-in-your-soul addiction metaphor and say it costs the user as much as, if not more than, it costs the world around them.

Which is, like, fine, but at a certain point it is like -- Yeah, if we can see times where dark magic is basically a necessity because your choice is either "dark magic, or let your child die" or "dark magic, or let a dragon flambé your people" -- which many of us would consider non-choices -- then you have to respect that people maybe will have to make that choice. And if the cost is more on them, then ...? It's practically a noble sacrifice. To oppose it for reasons of Aaravos is a non-argument. Viren was mainlining dark magic for decades and it wasn't until he got that mirror that Aaravos became a problem and Aaravos isn't always going to be around ... not to mention that now that he's free I think he has abilities that go well beyond "souljacking." Aaravos in this case represents more the 'spiritual death' associated with this internal corruption. So can we find reasons to oppose it that go beyond The Harm It Causes To An Individual, Who Should Be Allowed their Autonomy?

They still throw half-hearted nods to the previous seasons much more heavy-handed "omg the beautiful butterfly" "omg the baby deer" (single crying tear) "stop hurting the environment" "magical beings are superior to you" type anti-dark magic rhetoric (see Claudia and the cat thing) but it seems the writers have come to realize they need dark magic to exist as much as the people in universe need it to exist, and so they're trying to focus more on the internal cost. Personally, I think this is a fine place to take it and if the intent is to return the discussion to how humans have been discriminated against, it's a wise thing to do. So I won't protest it much, although we can discuss villainizing addicts and so forth and why Rayla's lack of compassion in approaching Callum's dark magic use is difficult to watch.

It's funny, because I wouldn't even call myself "pro dark magic" as I do see it as harmful, but the hypocritical and condescending treatment of dark magic users in the narrative is something I take issue with more than the use of dark magic itself. This is why, if they are leaning into this more sympathetic reason for rejecting dark magic, I hope we see increased sympathy as to why dark magic is used and why, until humans are liberated (i.e. given equal access to magic and Xadian resources) it's pretty much essential.

Thank you very much for the ask! ♥ Don't apologize for the length, as you can see I love to ramble away myself. Also yeah didn't fit this in anywhere else but fuck that narrative deadweight Zubeia. Thunder at least got shaded by Rex Igneous even if Rex Igneous was Mean and Scary.

[keter-kan]

Okay!! I've been working on something for a really long time with some oc's that are near and dear to my heart ♡ I've gotten quite a bit already written, a bit less edited. I'm thinking of doing some more in-depth posts about the characters and their lore, if anyone would be interested! Possible first chapter post tomorrow?

Also, you're not allowed to make fun of me for the shit formatting of this post. I'll figure it out eventually, I swear.

tw: heavy mentions of sa, p*dophelia, abuse, death, murder

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Broken Legends

Prologue

Leandra’s father abused her as a child, but everyone could see that clear as day. The people knew of the king’s predilection for little girls, but none seemed to care enough to do much about it. Either that, or their fear was too great to intervene. Blood right, birth right, sovereign right, whatever they wanted to use as an excuse for the deranged, disgusting behavior of the man whose father’s father staked his claim on the coastal kingdom of Aphoreum.

He never touched his son; little boys weren’t his taste. He rarely touched his wife—may her soul flow freely—but she certainly seemed to keep him in line. Until her death, there was a restraint to him that withered away as she did; rotting and leaving a smell no one could erase from his soul.

Queen Imogen died under seemingly un-mysterious circumstances. She didn’t fall suddenly ill after a lifetime of health, she didn’t claim abuse, and she certainly didn’t suspect that someone quite close to her could be the cause of her failing body. Everyone mourned for the appropriate period of time.

Everyone except the children, of course. They still find themselves mourning the idea of a mother they could barely remember. To Leandra, her mother was strong and wise, the way a woman should be. To her older brother, Callum, there was the abandonment of the only woman who would unconditionally love him. She chose to remember a legacy, while he was bound to the anger he felt towards the undeserving dead.

The first child, the original heir, was sickly; an affliction seen often in the more recent royal blood. Really, though, the only difference from the royal blood and that of all peasants was its incestuous nature. That was something the Terrance Reign brought back to the royal line after nearly a century of free marriages.

Heir to Aphoreum, Prince Terance VIII, died peacefully in his sleep on the night of his tenth birthday. Those who said his mother killed him to give him a better life soon found their heads in burlap sacks, so not many say that anymore. It was soon after Terance was dead that their mother went to join him.

Callum was named the successor to the throne just a day after his mother’s funeral. After the grand ceremony, as the succession of High Councilors and Noblemen kissed the stones at Callum’s feet, Leandra’s father took her away where no one would see for the first time.

From that moment forward, Leandra had a new understanding of her place in the palace. While her brother grew up to become the king he wasn’t meant to be, her father taught her what being a woman of royal blood really meant: when her brother left on his journey to become a man, she would go with him and ensure pure heirs.

Aphoreum’s soul was born of the blood shed by those who fought and killed the demons plaguing the land. Countless villages were saved, small kingdoms sprouting throughout. As men pushed forward, demons fled back to the oceans, leaving Aphoreum to be conquered by whoever was left. At least, this is what was taught to the people.

There are thousands of dusty and cracked scrolls of parchment scattered throughout all cities and towns in Aphoreum containing the history of the land; how the Gods rewarded us with lush fields and bountiful rivers for banishing all of their enemies to the sea. That is, to this day, where they are said to dwell.

Things started crumbling at the end of Aphoreum’s War, started by none other than Terrance the First. It took five generations, yet they reigned victorious. For the first time since anyone could remember, the entirety of Aphoreum was ruled under one king. None of the other prior kingdoms were proud of that. With their previous rulers executed during the Reckoning—the day Aphoreum’s War was officially won—they fell into disarray. Villages plundered, women sold to richer men, entire ways of life decimated under the fist of a barbarian king. For King Terrance VII, the duty to uphold total power over all of Aphoreum was a goal only completed by the iron fist of his forebearers. He held to the pride of men who fought for honor while he sat upon his plush throne.

Leandra was literate thanks to an old wetnurse that her father had killed when she was eleven. Once she was no longer needed to feed Leandra’s bastard half siblings, she was sent with the Wind. After that, the only person ever present in Leandra’s life was High Councilor Jonas, a man who never touched her unless to pat the top of her head. He taught her of Natural Chaos and what tarnishes the soul, but he also taught her that there are good odds and ends in the world, too. She just had to look very hard to see them.

Jonas was the sole educator of both Leandra and Callum, but also their father before them. He was a truce sent from the church to Terrance VI, begging him to forgive them for not modifying their scripture the first time he asked. After Grandpa Terrance killed the High Priest residing in the palace chapel, they changed their tune. Jonas, however, understood the weight of the duty he’d been assigned. To teach the young is to mold the innocent in whatever way you see fit. But not every child is as easily molded. Terrance was a child full of hate, instilled in him by his own violent father. Callum seemed to be taking after his father in more ways than one, although Jonas continued every day to try to stray him from that path. Leandra, however, was different.

Before being sent to the palace, Jonas’s congregation of High Councilors—beknown to him or not—swore upon themselves that they would right the wrongs of the Natural Chaos afflicting the royal blood, whether that be by violence or sacrifice or any other means necessary. This was a promise the church sat upon for far too many generations to count if it hadn’t been for the numerals after each king’s name. But they had to bide their time. They had to bend their rules, change their faith, modify their scripture, all to appease the man they planned to overthrow. Another mighty aspect of the Terrance Reign was the slow and steady separation of the church from the crown, an unspoken duty bestowed to each heir as the generations passed.

It was through Jonas that Leandra learned of the world, the scrolls of scripture being her main escape, but not the modified texts of the Terrance Reign. Jonas was molding Leandra to be the savior Aphoreum needed, and this was the beginning.

Leandra would read the stories of the Gods who seemingly abandoned her. She found solace there, between the pages of their legends. The comfort of long forgotten rules set by wrongly worshipped Gods was the only kind of comfort she could afford.

Terrance was of a breed of man who more closely resembled their primal counterparts: feasting, fucking, and fighting. Not much else crossed his mind.

There are those who know better, despite class or background or who sits upon Aphoreum’s throne. But the rage projected by King Terrance found a home in the hearts of his men, creating a society of violence. There were few pockets throughout the kingdom where none could be found, most of which were under attack by those taking after their king.

On the day Callum turned twenty he found himself embarking on just such a conquest, yet one of a much different scale. A Wandering is any man’s rite of passage, giving him a year to stake his claim away from his family someplace else amongst the Waters and Winds. If they never returned after a year’s time, they weren’t ever meant to be a man. With Callum, however, his Wandering was an expedition into the known world with an army at his back and a ship full of wine. As were the odds of all those who could afford it, he would likely return more of a man than those without the gold in their pockets.

It was a simple plan with a grandiose design, allowing a full year of celebration for the future king of Aphoreum. Ships made of the finest timber harvested from the southern coasts, casks of wines and spirits shipped from around Aphoreum, clothes and finery made by request for his highness. With him would go his soon-to-be wife, Leandra.

The relationship Leandra shared with her brother wasn’t one of solidarity. He was to be his father’s spawn as Leandra was to be an instrument in his success. The moments of torture and humiliation caused by her father were in preparation to be used by the future king. Knowing this, she harbored many emotions for him, none of which she understood. She knew he was tainted the same way their father was before him, and their children would be after them, and she prayed that something—anything—could steer her fate in any other direction, for she knew his never would be.

When Jonas approached her after class, crumpled parchment in a High Councilor’s shaking hands, she took it without question. She looked in his eyes and saw the pain he felt, the longing for the Gods to make the world what it once again should be.

When she unfurled the note, she needed no further explanation than what was found there. Stained with the sweat of her mentor’s hands, four simple words bleeding into the page; Jump. You’ll know when.

The final weeks leading to her brother’s Wandering were full of tension. Leandra unfurled the parchment in her hands night after night, feeling the scratches of ink fade away as she rubbed it between her fingers.

Jump.

She could barely contain her excitement. She was going to weasel her way out of the chain of command. The only man who ever truly understood her the way the Gods intended had devised a plan for her to escape.

You’ll know when.

Stiff in her seat at the Grand Table, Leandra watched her plate as the men feasted around her. Tomorrow morning the Wandering would begin, and as the fleet of Aphoreum’s ships left the harbor, she would have to be ready to flee at any moment. She knew what Jonas meant about knowing when: she needed to wait for a message from the Gods. She would pray and worship and fast and deny herself the pleasures of life to prepare herself for the message she knew the Gods would give her. She would be ready.

When the sun rose over the harbor the following morning, Leandra was at peace for the first time since she was last held by her mother. She felt as though there was finally a real purpose to her plight in life and that she would be able to break the mold that her many greats-grandfather had created here. She felt as though she—alone—could crumble the system built by generations of the world’s most appalling men.

They set sail on a glorious day. Callum made a speech just after King Terrance, pushing the entire kingdom into a week-long celebration. Bottles broken, oars heaved, sails unfurled, and they were out of the mouth of harbor in just a few hours’ time.

For the first week of their voyage, Leandra didn’t speak with Callum. Not that he had much to say to her, anyway, besides the remarks of needing to secure an heir before the year’s end. Every night he’d mention it, and every night she’d comply, silently awaiting the sign promised her.

After that first week, Leandra grew a bit restless. And the week that followed that one made her even worse. The further they traveled from Aphoreum, the more the bruises left by her father healed, the more Leandra thought that there wouldn’t be a message, or maybe she had missed it… She started toying with the idea of living a life with her brother and what that could entail for her. She couldn’t stomach the thought of living in a world that her Gods had forsaken, but if she could make her brother see things the way Jonas had intended, maybe there could be a change.

When she finally spoke to her brother, she asked him if he’d care to know her, because, really, they just knew so little of each other.

He said he very much would. He was strong, but he was nervous. He couldn’t ever rule the way his father intended, but he wanted to try.

She said she could help him, if he’d let her.

They were children. What little they could have learned through life was filtered through their father’s vision. But he wasn’t here with them now.

The storm hit just three days from where they would dock. As the rain pelted the decks of the ships and the waves swelled, Callum’s men remained calm. They knew how to work a ship in a storm. For a while, everything remained intact. The fleet, the men, even Leandra.

But the storm became something else. After countless hours of toiling under the whip of rain and wind, the air started to become heavy with the stench of something bigger. As the waves turned from rolling hills to staggering cliffs and the raindrops into daggers, the men started to lose themselves.

The young ones jumped first. Callum was called from his cabin, forced to peel Leandra from his side. As she huddled amongst the furs adorning the mattress, Callum entered into a scene from the pits of the Gods’ hatred.

He was met with a force of nature never defeated by any king. As the ship was flung from one wave to the next, Callum’s men were dropping to their knees and scraping themselves towards the rails, throwing themselves into the raging sea. As he inched over the deck, grabbing the rigging and buckets dropped by his men, he saw a look on their faces that reminded him of his mother’s corpse in her ornate casket; there was no soul within them. Not anymore.

Screams were swallowed by the waves and the winds, words lost and breath wasted. As Callum pleaded with his mean until his throat was bloody and cracked, it overtook him.

She was calling to him. No, no…

Singing.

It was subtle at first, a slow drone playing at the base of his skull, humming away as he grabbed at his men bent on suicide. The more he pleaded, the harder his skull thrummed, filling his head with a desire unknown to man. As the irritation started to spread and his screaming and howling continued to fail, the soft beads of sound started to poke pin-pricks in the humming, driving Callum to gasp and shake with momentary relief before again being swallowed by the desperation. As another wave threw the ship far off course and doused the men in water colder than ice, he broke.

“Mother?”

She was there. Her golden hair cascading down her shoulders, her naked form hovering above the railing of the ship, situated the way a God would be. When Callum locked eyes with her, he felt that she was truly there, waiting for him to reach her.

She called to him, sang to him, cooed over the man he had become. Tears mixed with the rain and sea as they poured down Callum’s cheeks. He slowly made his way towards her.

Leandra emerged from the cabin as the thrumming started to overtake her. Her shift whipping in the wind and her hair matted to her head from the rain, she saw the horrors on deck.

The Gods had sent their message.

Tears brimmed in her eyes, too, but they didn’t get the chance to meet the wood of the ship. Leandra trusted her Gods. She trusted Jonas.

She jumped.

There was no sound as she hit the water. There was no cold embrace of the ocean, no being swallowed by the waves. She let herself be taken fully, succumbing to her fate.

Although she wasn’t expecting pleasure, nor was she expecting the pain.

Hands grabbed at the shift plastered to her skin, ripping it from her body in mere seconds. As the thrumming ceased in the back of her skull, she was taken in a way no one had taken her before. Not the man slaves who lurked after her in the palace, not her brother who she grew to love, not even her father, who defiled her in a way no other living thing could.

While her soul was ripped apart, shredded down to the sand that littered the ocean floor, she knew her Gods had forsaken her.

-

Leandra had no recollection of returning home. One moment she was suffering the pain of all the Natural Chaos, and the next she was dragging herself across the wharf, blood trailing in her wake. The moon was full.

Jonas found her and took her back to her father at the palace.

Her skin was burnt, her hair missing in chunks. Her bones poked through her skin like they wanted to free themselves from its cage. Her eyes drooped in their sunken sockets, unable to comprehend the world around her. She cried her story to Jonas, who begged her father to let a healer see her, even just one from the church. He refused.

For Leandra was with child, and heavily so. Her body, slowly failing her, was feeding something inside of her that wasn’t human.

She was pregnant when Jonas lifted her from the harbor, but the progression of her state was faster than it should’ve been; her stomach bruising and aching and protruding more every day. Her bones became brittle, her legs sitting at crooked angles and her neck unable to support the weight of her head. Upon the next full moon, when the tides were high, Leandra called for Jonas with what little strength she had left.

He leaned down to her ear, her breath almost too light to decipher the words.

“Please,” she whimpered, “don’t let him kill my daughter.”

That night, as her screams of labor began, Jonas pleaded once again with the king. Terrance, with a glare in his eye, allowed for a wetnurse from the palace chapel. He wouldn’t permit anyone besides himself and Jonas in the chambers, let alone a practiced healer. The nurse was the most she would get.

When she arrived, the horror that overcame her hit a part of her soul that hadn’t ever been touched before. The king demanded death to the child upon delivery, bolting the door behind them as he left.

When Jonas asked her to defy him, her soul said yes, as the woman had done for him many times before.

She died without seeing the full moon that night. As her child took their first breath, Leandra took her last.

Her child was a beautiful monster. A writhing mass of body, shifting in form while the wetnurse clung to his mottled skin. Within a moment, the child opened his eyes, and ceased being a monster. He was a baby, covered in his mother’s blood, eyes peering into those of the woman who held him.

When the king asked for proof of the death of the monster upon the following morn, Jonas provided a mangled piglet’s corpse. The wetnurse, covered in cattle entrails, told Terrance it took more work than she’d have thought to kill such a small beast. He was satisfied.

Leandra’s body was burned in the kitchen fires by Jonas’s hand, as Terrance commanded. There would be no funeral. There would be no knowledge of the children who failed at their Wandering. That would be the end of their stories. Terrance would find a concubine to produce a legitimate heir amongst the few cousins he had left. Aphoreum would live on.

But so did Leandra’s child, deep in a forest untouched by man, left in the hands of powerful women that the Gods would grow to fear.

[raayllum]

Anyway this is the most important scene in the episode (To Me) so let's talk about it

Aka Callum's angry but somewhat impassive expression before Finnegrin finishes his sentence makes me 100% think that Callum was assuming he would be the one being fed to the leviathan. After all, he's made it pretty clear he won't budge and give Finnegrin the dark magic spell, and Callum is the one who punched him, so it'd only be fair that the punishment is given to him.

Then he finds out it's Rayla and his expression does a 180, and he immediately starts spouting ingredients.

I will never help you.

This to me works synonymously with Callum's statement from the scene prior, in which he states, "See? So long as we love each other, so long as we protect each other, you can never control us." He never mentions strength, but Finnegrin does, the implication that "Freedom = power = strength & having control" with "love = weakness = being controlled" as its oppositional force. Because here Callum is being controlled, and doing what he said he never would to spare himself in hopes of sparing someone he loves from a fate he was willing to face. Love and protection aren't necessarily opposed to control, but aspects and motivations that can also, such as in this case, lead to being controlled (which the episode also reaffirms given that Callum's prior dark magic use is what allows Aaravos to literally control him, and Callum explains his motivation directly: "I had to, to save my friends" AKA Rayla).

I also think acknowledging Callum being controlled, and actually going along with Finnegrin's wants at this turning point, is important considering the end of the episode in which his epiphany specifically about control and self hood, and is weakened if him helping Finnegrin isn't seen as a genuine (under duress) attempt to do so.

If you are interested more in my thoughts regarding the list of ingredients, you can read it here (re: why I think the condensed list of spells was actually included - to show his panic and the longer dialogue would've been too clunky for the urgency of the moment - vs the potential in-universe of the condensed spell, if Finnegrin had lived to try and use it, might've led to more collateral damage than a 100% accurate ingredient list and therefore why I don't think Callum omitted anything purposefully as a result).

Then there's also the fact that everything Callum was scared of in 4x07 is now coming to pass:

I'm not afraid that [Aaravos] will hurt me. I'm afraid that he'll use me to do awful things. Or hurt people I care about.

and that he'll choose to do the awful thing > having one of his loved ones be hurt every time.

However, to talk about this scene in the way I want to, I need to talk about the scrapped line from this episode, mostly because I think it neatly verbally explains the central implied dichotomy at the heart of 5x08:

Seems to me that love's got a tighter grip on you than those chains round your wrists. So I'll do you a favour and set you free.

In episode, this line would've come before the "sea leviathan is gonna eat Rayla" reveal, but I think it sums up the dilemma that Callum has exceedingly well. He has two choices:

To let Finnegrin 'set him free,' not give into the control of others (Finnegrin and thematically Aaravos), and lose Rayla as a result. He can choose freedom over love and also protect innocent strangers

OR

To choose to keep his chains on (dark magic) and give into Finnegrin's control of the situation ("that's the dark magic you want") in order to not lose Rayla at any cost. He can choose love over freedom even if that means risking himself and other people

And well, we all know what he chooses

[hiccstrxd]

Heart in disguise

I mixed muse and the crush prompt together and behold the outcome! Read it on ao3.

Summary: Callum couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she had become the primary subject of most of his artistic compositions, though he can admit — if a little shyly — that somewhere along the way, when the mistrust faded, new feelings arose in its place.

Sometimes he’d find himself drawing the unfamiliar curve of a horn or the foreign form of a hand; a face with sinuous markings underneath the eyes or the rather pointy tip of an ear instead of the usual rounder ending.

It caught him unguarded, leaving him baffled.

The features were new, unlike anything he has drawn before and they intrigued him to no end. He wanted to depict them on paper when possible, study them from afar, learn more about this newly discovered truth about elves not being the bloodthirsty monster people claimed to be.

Or maybe he just loved drawing her.

Callum couldn’t pinpoint exactly when she had become the primary subject of most of his artistic compositions, though he can admit — if a little shyly — that somewhere along the way, when the mistrust faded, new feelings arose in its place.

They have come a long way since that eventful encounter in the castle’s hallway. Somehow, they have grown closer – there’s a bond that wasn’t there before, a dynamic that has changed throughout their journey. And a feeling that ran deeper than mere friendship. Sure, he likes to consider her as one of his closest friends – his best friend, dare he say – but there was something else that Callum couldn’t wrap his finger around no matter how hard he tried.

Because it’s new, it’s thrilling, and it’s completely different than anything he has felt before.

He is no stranger to the concept of having a ‘crush’, after all, Soren used to refer his infatuation towards Claudia as such. But unbeknownst to him, there has been something akin — if a bit more serious — blossoming deep in his chest ever since they started their solo trip that has thrown him off guard and left him with a heartwarming afterthought.

It started simple, taking notice of small things that he has overlooked before. Like the way her ears twitch whenever she is excited, or how they droop down when she is either feeling emotional or crestfallen. The very thick accent that he has come to found absolutely endearing, especially when at moments it just gets even thicker on its own accord. The glimmer in her eyes when she talks about something she deeply cares about, or a notion she firmly believes in.

How she is one of the strongest, bravest, and most determined individuals he’s known and how she doesn’t credit herself enough – which he tries to remind her whenever possible – and that past that hard exterior lies one of the gentlest, most selfless souls.

Then came the increasing heart rate, the blushing when she decides to tease him or when her hand brushes against his by accident, and the warmth that pools in his chest when she smiles that fond smile of hers.

And, sometimes, he can’t help but put them on paper, to freeze those little moments that captivate him so much, that make a fluttering sensation settle in his stomach when he so much as looked her way. Just thinking about it makes his heart swell and the corners of his mouth to involuntarily twitch, because – when he stops to think about it – how could he not develop feelings for someone as fierce and smart and kind and beautiful as Rayla.

The way he feels safe, feeling like everything thought impossible is possible around her, weightless by her mere presence and encouraged with a sole smile shot his way.

“What are you smiling at?” She said with a light laugh upon laying eyes on him. He might have looked utterly ridiculous with a silly smile on his face and a love-struck expression towards nothing in particular.

He cleared his throat and fought the crimson color from spreading across his cheeks but to no avail, “Uhh... nothing,” Callum adverted his eyes, fearing they could give him away.

She slowed down her pace and came to walk next to him, giving him a playful shove on the shoulder. Zym was perched on his own shoulder, watching with wonder in his eyes everything around him, but when hearing the conversation taking place, he leaned his little body forward to have a better look at his two – out of three – favorite people. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Hmm, I don’t know. Because since a mile ago you’ve been zoning out, and now you won’t look me in the eye?” Her voice carried a humorous tone, one he has become familiar with as of lately. It’s heartening to see her at ease, less uptight, and with her walls down.

He flinched but soon covered it with a small laugh, “Seriously, it’s nothing.” Callum gave her a reassuring smile, one he thought was convincing enough to drop the subject but even he thought it lacked genuineness.

Rayla hummed again, “Whatever you say, sad prince.” Zym chirped behind him as if saying he wasn’t convinced either. The betrayal.

“Well, if nothing’s wrong then come, I want to show you something.” He barely registered when her fingers laced together with his and yanked him to a direction that definitely would take them a little off track, but he couldn’t make himself care about the slight detour.

It wasn’t the first time that they held hands, but he’d never get tired of how their fingers fit together almost perfectly, almost as if that was supposed to be.

She took them to a meadow where a ton of fluffy little creatures made their afternoon a whole lot better. And later that day, it was unavoidable to not draw the scene that was very much printed in his mind; Zym playing around with the adoraburrs, Rayla laughing without a care in the world – a sight that as of recently does not fail to make his heart soar.

Drawing has always meant more than just a diversion. It was more than just a form of manifestation, more than simply portraying tangible things on paper. A charcoal in his hand felt like the whole world on his fingertips — it’s what made him feel complete, fulfilled.

His art embodies who he is and everything he has come to love over the years.

So it should really come as no surprise as to why Rayla has been filling page after page of his sketchbook, why drawing her brings him such delight. Maybe he has developed feelings for her, and the sudden pang of heartache whenever he thinks about it it’s hard to ignore because the sentiment — he is rather positive — is pretty much one-sided.

But he likes her beyond what words can express and right now, her friendship and everything in between, means the world to him. Perhaps one day, they could take one big step forward in their relationship and he would no longer have to cloak his heart’s true yearning.

(They do).

[whumping-every-day]

(Insert arrow here) for Callum Ask Ash if he wants a hug/headpat/physical affection of any kind, if he says yes then give him affection. Vamp bapy has been through enough and I want him and Callum happy even if Callum is awkward about it.

Thank you, Anon! I sat down with this intending to write some fluff, and... well. I don’t know what i fucking expected. xD Please enjoy, Nonnie! 

CW’s: Aftermath of torture and references to said torture, some dehumanization, reluctant/clinical/sorta creepy caretaker, comfort, alternating POV, food mention, blanket warning for Ash’s fucky headspace. 

-

Callum squints at the order. He doesn’t mind offering the vampire an affectionate touch here and there, of course; but the undeniable power dynamic has always made him hesitate. It’s the way Ash watches him; he’s always a silent shadow at Callum’s side, always so eager to obey him. (Too eager).

It’s the kind of eager that has fear behind it. Eager to please, so Callum won’t starve him; quick to obey, so Callum won’t beat him. Every action is driven by the belief that if he can’t keep Callum happy, Callum will do something horrendous to him. 

He looks at the hunter, sometimes, and Callum almost thinks that he wants to be touched. But then the hunter will clear his throat, or uncross his legs, or move, and the vampire will flinch like he’s been electrocuted, and Callum knows better. 

There’s so much about the time that Ash spent with his captors that Callum doesn’t know. But there’s a lot he can tell from what he’s seen; and the vampire is always so grateful for such small mercies. 

Even the briefest kindness still gives Ash that dazzled, awed look, and every time a little bit more of the dazed, worshipful quality stays. He could ask anything of Ash, anything at all, and the vampire would give it. 

“Hey, kid?” Callum keeps his voice soft, tries with all his might to ease what he knows is an impressive resting glare. Something still clangs in surprise in the other room, and there’s a hurriedly stifled gasp. 

There’s silence, and then the quick pattering of bare feet. Ash appears in the door frame like a phantom; his dark eyes glitter, wary compliance layered over alarm at being summoned. 

“Y-yes, Sir?” It’s soft, and Ash shifts uneasily on the balls of his feet, gaze darting from the floor to Callum’s feet and then back. 

The vampire is always so good; waiting to be fed, waiting for permission to leave his cell, waiting to be told what to do and where to go. Callum still wishes Ash wouldn’t call him Sir. But it seems to bring the vampire some comfort... and it’s better than the first thing Ash had called him. 

“I just wanted to ask you something,” the hunter says carefully, and Ash’s shoulders immediately go tense, distrust plastered all over his face. Shit. “You can say no,” Callum promises; the whites of Ash’s eyes show, like a skittish horse. 

From the vampire’s perspective, the space between it and its master is both too little and too much. The hunter moves with an unassuming grace; it’s easy to forget just how big he is, until he walks through a doorway and nearly grazes the ceiling. He’s seated, at the moment, loose and nonthreatening, and his bulk trapped safely (hah) on the other side of the work bench. 

The vampire’s instincts are still blaring a red alert. 

“Would you like a hug?” The creature startles, refocuses on Callum’s face with bewilderment. Its gaze drops then, to the hunter’s work-worn hands, his scarred forearms, the size of his biceps. The terror in its eyes has him offering again; “or I could pet your hair. Shh, shh, hey,” he murmurs. “You’re alright, bud. There’s no test here.” It’s in that same patient, soothing tone, so unusual coming out of Callum’s mouth. 

Ash’s heart hardly beats anymore, but even sluggish and undead the creature’s pulse tries to thrum. The question is a trap - there is always a trap. It hasn’t figured out where the pitfalls are, yet. And every hunter has traps to be tripped, it’s only a matter of stumbling onto them. 

“I’ll tell you what.” Callum speaks to break up the spiral he can see unfolding behind Ash’s eyes. The vampire’s gaze snaps to him, and Callum gives it a light smile and wiggles his fingers. “I’m halfway through this project. Just oiling Hugo’s gears, here.” 

The vampire’s gaze slips to the workbench, where the mechanical crow is perched. One of its wings has been removed, and Ash can see the moving gears beneath, like muscle and nerves. Hugo turns his head to the side and eyes the vampire with one beedy black eye. 

“It won’t even be another ten minutes.” The hunter speaks casually, but the vampire still shrinks under his attention. “You’ve been working hard. I’m very pleased,” he adds. “So if you’d like, you can come sit with me while I finish this. Okay? And if that means some head pats, well, that’s up to you.”  

Up to you. 

The vampire isn’t used to being a you, yet. It doesn’t know what to do with this lack of boundaries, and every step it takes feels like navigating a rigged obstacle course while blindfolded... but it knows from experience that when Callum tells it to choose something, it will have to choose. 

The vampire briefly debates the merits of fleeing back into the other room. Callum might let it go, it thinks... the hunter’s punishments have been unbelievably lax so far. He lets it sleep, lets it cower away when it’s frightened, doesn’t punish it for flinching or crying. 

It doesn’t run. 

The hunter waits patiently while the vampire stands there chewing on its bottom lip, caught between indecision and fear. If it goes closer, the hunter can grab it, hurt it...

...

But also, if it goes closer, the man can pet it. The thought crosses its mind, unbidden, that those hands are big but they’d also be warm.

There’s suspicion and something else warring behind Ash’s eyes as the vampire takes a halting step forward. It waits for a split second, for the other shoe to drop, for the hunter to spring up out of his seat and shout gotcha. 

It doesn’t happen. 

Ash - and that is something else the vampire has to be grateful for, its name. Ash inches into the hunter’s space, and it doesn’t dare take too long, lest the man lose his patience. It’s not like this is the first time it’s been close to the man - the hunter had carried it in the beginning, every day, from its cell to the lab, and then back. But this is the first time the hunter has summoned it like this, no tests to perform, no wounds to tend. 

When it stops, shoulders hunched in Callum’s shadow, there is no retribution, and no sudden, violent outburst. The hunter just nods, and he puts one of those massive hands in his lap casually, picks up the oil-stained rag with the other. 

“This won’t take long,” he says again, still soft, still careful. The vampire watches him for a moment, and Callum can feel him assessing the situation, trying to figure out how it might end. “I’d say you’ve earned a break, little one,” he murmurs, and each word is laid with intent. 

He’s pieced together by now that Ash was made to earn a lot of things, before. Blood, shelter, mercy, a slightly less heinous method of torture. The language of rewards and punishments isn’t something Callum likes to employ... but from the corner of his eye, he sees the vampire hesitate, and then loosen, like magic. 

Ash doesn’t speak again, but some of the tension has eased. Framing this as a reward had worked, which... Huh. Callum turns that over in his head for a moment. He also knows that the peace is fragile; he can’t pay the vampire any undue attention, or he’ll spook it. 

To all outward appearances, Callum is exceedingly casual, and entirely relaxed. He’s careful as he goes back to work one-handed, and he leaves the other hand in his lap, open, fingers loose. There’s a second stool beside his; Callum knows better by now than to try and force the vampire into it. 

Instead he feels the air shift as Ash sinks slowly to his knees, folding his hands in his lap. It puts the vampire at just lap height, and Callum carefully doesn’t look down as he goes back to removing, cleaning and then reinstalling Hugo’s gears. 

From where the vampire is kneeling, its palms prick with sweat. It has been summoned here and told to take a break - so of course its heart is in its throat waiting. But when it risks the tiniest glance upward, minutes after kneeling, the hunter seems to be genuinely invested in his work. 

This hunter is so smart, the creature thinks. He’s always working on something; diagrams or strange substances and powders, things that click and spark and grind. Callum calls them machines, says that they are new. But to the creature’s eyes, much of it seems like magic. 

It is glad to be allowed to sit there; Callum has been generous to give it tasks. It can be useful this way, counting arrowheads or polishing leather, or scrubbing the pots clean. It is a far kinder use than the others had for it. 

Instinct tells the creature that it’s in danger; but it squeezes its eyes shut and breathes, dredges up the hunter’s words from memory. You’ve been working hard, and I’m very pleased. 

Pleased. With it. Assuming that the human does not jest, Ash can only marvel. 

But then, the vampire reasons, if the man was displeased, surely he would have made it known by now. Surely he would correct its behavior, and not simply allow it to continue in its filthy, rotten ways. 

Something moves in the corner of its vision, and the vampire tenses - but it’s only the hunter’s hand, draped loosely again his thigh so his fingers hang free. 

Headpats are up to you, he’d said. 

His hand is close, but it’s not reaching, not tugging or yanking or grabbing. Ash casts another glance upwards, and Callum is busy, not paying any attention. Even just the simple act of being ignored is comforting - the hunter can’t be angry with it if he’s not thinking about it. 

It takes some time, but the vampire slowly, slowly starts to lean. It’s stupid, and its heart is in its throat - this is a test and it is failing, it’s failing terribly. But somehow, irrationally (desperately) the creature wants what has been offered. 

This is what the man wants. The vampire tells itself that, over and over again, to stifle its own hesitation. If it does this, it’ll be good. If it does this, it will stave off the hunter’s wrath for just a little longer. 

Callum’s leg is thick and warm when Ash finally leans into it. The creature is shivering, left-over vestiges of adrenaline rattling through its system at the touch. It holds its breath as it settles; it’s barely there, resting a fraction of its weight as it braces for the anger and yelling. 

Instead, there’s nothing. Ash’s fingernails dig furrows into his palms with how tightly he clenches them, but it’s like the hunter doesn’t even feel him. 

The ground is cold, but the hunter is warm, and it seeps through the fabric of Ash’s shirt and sinks into his side. The heat is soothing, and the vampire bites down a soft, high sound as it slumps a little further. It waits, at each stage, for the human’s reaction, and each time there isn’t one. 

Ten minutes later, Ash is curled up at Callum’s feet, resting his temple against the of the hunter’s knee. Its head is almost in his lap, and this time it barely flinches when something settles on its hair. 

The vampire peels its eyes open, and the hunter has a hand on top of its head. Ash checks again, and Callum is still occupied with his task, like the creature sitting at his feet isn’t a dangerous, blood-sucking leech. 

Then that hand moves, slow and careful; the first proper stroke makes goosebumps break out all along Ash’s arms and shoulders. He whines softly, but he quickly swallows it down; Callum’s hand pauses, and Ash’s lungs don’t work until it starts to move again. 

There has always been something to be longed for in the grace of human warmth. Eventually, the vampire even dares to nuzzle against Callum’s knee, timid and soft. The hunter huffs quietly, and his touch drifts to the back of the creature’s neck, scritching gently at its nape. 

This is the reward, the vampire thinks - or hopes. Not a break from its tasks, it’s been given a multitude of those already, far in excess. No, the reward is the touch, a mercy given without being earned or bled for. 

Its hair is still a mess, frazzled and wild - and longer, now, than it had been before. Calloused fingers pet over the brown curls, then dig deeper, nails scraping ever so lightly against its scalp. The vampire shudders in pleasure at that, and its eyes flutter halfway, murring needy in the back of its throat. 

Callum drags out the simple task of cleaning Hugo’s gears for another thirty minutes. By the time he’s finished, the crow’s gears shine like new, and Ash is purring, slumped bodily against Callum’s legs and head fully in the hunter’s lap. Callum watches him for a moment, dark lashes against soft cheeks, and feels something fierce and protective stir in his chest. 

For Ash, time has started to blur again. The creature knows what it feels like to have the passage of day and night lose their meaning, but this is different. This is pure bliss, a thrill that starts at the back of its spine and trickles in shivers down its back. 

It doesn’t know what it did to be worthy of such a kindness. (something, it must have done something.) But it hopes, this time, that if it keeps trying to be good, if it’s small and silent and sweet enough... maybe it can earn this sort of reward again. 

[END]

Tagging the vampire gang this time :3    @wildfaewhump @pepperonyscience @robinsdoghouseofwhump @angelsuperwholock @pennsss @silver-sparrow-462 @silverinkgoldenquill @kestrelspaverius @learningtowhump @shameless-whumper @latenightcupsofcoffee @thebluejayswhump  @what-huh-imconfused @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic  @pink-and-purple-flowers @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @whump-em  @umniyah-s  @adventuresofacreesty @scarheart  @kyra-plays @lionhxartxd-blog @blue-flare10 @whumpywhumper @doityourselfbombs  @pastry-case @maybeawhumpblog @httyd-chocolate  @maqcyloup @yyyee-haw @to-hurt-and-comfort @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @manip-loki @dungeons-and-dragons-and-whump @ariirenn @poetofswords86 @whumpity--whump--whump @swagjudgehandsdragon @machimaquiaveli @theladyoffangorn @oracle-of-maybe @cuddlycryptid @the-potato-beeper @insanitycheshire @slam-whump @sweeterthanadonut @ffaerie-dustt @whump-in-the-night @elfo8792 @kinda-bad-poet @crackedskel @deluxewhump @this-zombie-will-eat-you @a-moment-to-write @stoic-whumpee @paradigmparadoxical @burtlederp @whump-with-wren @whimperwoods @winged-ace-whump @whump-only @sola-whumping @theoretical-toes @servenas-inner-fangirl  @hurtmebeautifully @shaegal @crystalrainwing

[honey-hippie-harper]

Walking through the dark

Hello :’) ahdjabndms well...I didn’t enter the gift exchange (I WAS HAVING A BREAKDOWN I’M SORRY) but...ansdhnsj yeah :’) @honey-harper-official like I had already told you...I wanted to do something for you. You asked for angst about Adrian talking about his mom...but this turned out to be kinda Nodrian, I hope you don’t mind :’)

Idk what to say :’) You were an important part of this fandom, and I’m going to miss you a lot. Still, I am (I think we all are) proud you’re doing what’s best for you. Carry on <3

I hope you like this <3

And thank you.

I’m a little rusty in all this writing straights businesses

Walking through the dark

Two years after the Supernova, they were trying to “get more creative” with the parade, while trying to make it more affordable at the same time.  

This year, it looked like an illustrated book. There were no paid actors, nor were the Renegades on top of a float. If anything, they were patrolling alongside the rest of the teams, and the only extra checks were for the marching band and the drivers.

The first float was about the lift of the city, and it had a city in ruins, with Ace Anarchy standing above everything. The background was in greys and reds, which made his gold and blue costume glow like a traffic light in the shadows. By the right corner, were Queen Bee and Cyanide, turning their backs at the audience, and staring at Ace Anarchy instead.

The second float was about the Renegades’ first public appearance, standing at the front, ordered by height, while the Anarchists’ silhouettes stood behind them, taller and bigger, so they could fit into six different people.

The next one was the Puppeteers’. He was standing on a Ferris Wheel, with the strings coming from his hands tied around the Anarchists and the Renegades’ shadows. The Renegades had blue strings, and the Anarchists had red strings.

The following one was new, because her parents had never been in the floats before. It was a beautiful car, with colors that resembled the Milky Way, and it showed David Artino, with a woman (Tala Artino) and a little girl (Evie, now Maggie Artino) standing behind him, placing a star into an older girl’s hands (herself). There was another, golden silhouette behind them, too.

The Day of Triumph came right after. Ace Anarchy standing on the cathedral, and Captain Chromium watching him from below, Silver Spear in hand, and a little capsule on his back.

Then came the scene after the cathedral, with the Renegades standing together outside the building. No masks. One of them missing. The rest, bruised but victorious. Captain Chromium was holding the Silver Spear above his head, and the Silver Spear had the helmet, which was on Max’s head the following float.

The supernova. Max being the one standing above them. The two of them.

Adrian and Nova. 

The supernova float had a lot of colors, and it was Adrian’s personal favorite. Maybe that’s why Nova remembered the floats so well in the first place. She had spent a good amount of time discussing with Adrian about them.

She also remembered them because she was watching them from above when she fell from the roof.

It was an accident, and it was stupid.

In order to avoid having people scattered all over the place, the teams were asked to split this year. While Danna and Nova watched from two different roofs, Adrian, Oscar and Ruby were left on the ground. From her roof, Nova could see Adrian, and if she went across it, towards the space where the water tanks were located, she could see Ruby. However, Danna was the one who could see Oscar.

When the floats arrived into their assigned street, the security camera started bothering Nova more than it should’ve had. It wasn’t really misplaced, but it surely looked so to her, because she had once been here, and she was one to know about the tricks a person who had bad intentions could play. She also knew that two could play that game, especially if they both knew those tricks.

Now, the camera wasn’t misplaced. It wasn’t. It really wasn’t. But Nova was stubborn, so she climbed on the edge of the roof anyway to go check on it. For some reason, the structure being slippery due to mold or water or whatever, never crossed her mind.

One moment, Nova was standing at the edge of the roof.

The next one, she was falling.

It happened so fast she couldn’t even scream or think, but somehow she managed to activate the emergency alarm in her bracelet, as the wind made her eyes tear up, and she felt her body suspended in time, though it was still falling, and falling, and falling.

First, the panicked swarm of butterflies reached her, careful not to block her vision because that would only make the death experience worse for her (yes, at the moment, Nova was sure she wouldn’t live to tell the story about how she fell from the roof) while also trying to help, perfectly knowing there was nothing they could do.

And, a few seconds after that, all Nova felt was a wave of overwhelming pain, when Thunderbird tackled her to stop the freefall and then wrapped her arms around her, flying all the way up to the roof, and then going down again. Nova had never been rescued by Thunderbird before, but she didn’t know one single person who said being rescued by her had been a pleasant experience. Her movements felt controlled and it was evident she knew what she was doing, but she was rough as hell, to the point where, despite knowing she had already been saved, Nova screamed for her life, until she was dropped on the ground in a mildly gentler way.

Upon stepping on stable ground, Nova realized this would be the dizziest she would ever be, and stumbled. Danna, who was already reformed, standing next to her, caught her by the arm so she wouldn’t fall.

At first, when she regained control over her senses, she heard nothing but Thunderbird’s ranting, and her voice demanding to see the entire Team Sketch, here and now, because, to put it lightly, Thunderbird was as blocked as her, and none of the two were able to hear Adrian in the distance, until they spot him.

He was bawling.

The parade was following its course, as they were trying to keep things as calm as possible, and Tsunami was still out there, acting as the only active council member at the moment, although aware of what was happening. Above all the noise and the commotion, Nova spotted Ruby politely nudging her way into the crowd, following Thunderbird’s call and, obviously, the emergency alarm sent by Nova when she was falling.

Oscar was also coming, although slower.

And Adrian was bawling.

Nova could see him knelt down on the floor, with Captain Chromium’s, who also happened to be his dad, arms surrounding him, holding his body tightly. The Dread Warden, his other dad, was there too, uselessly trying to block the scene.

Well.

Maybe his attempts weren't that useless, and it was only that Nova happened to be in the right spot, at the right time, from which Adrian’s silhouette was impossible to go unnoticed, even with the Dread Warden standing in the middle.

“Who’s riding with her in the ambulance?”

An ambulance.

The words almost didn’t make sense in Nova’s head, not even with Thunderbird’s voice, which was pretty clear most of the time, especially when she was talking to the recruits. An ambulance.

An ambulance, because Nova had fallen from a roof, and Thunderbird had caught her.

Half of her body was sore, because she had been hit by Thunderbird’s body after all, but Nova was pretty sure she didn’t need an ambulance. She didn’t need to go to the medical wing. If anything, maybe she needed some water, but she was sure nothing was broken, nor dislocated or sprained.

She was fine.

Adrian, in fact, looked way more affected than her. Nova’s heart was pounding, but she wasn’t bawling after all.

He was.

“I’ll do it.” Ruby said. “I’ll ride with her in the ambulance.”

She did understand that.

“I’m okay.” She said. “Literally, I’m doing good. I don’t need to…”

“Just in case.”

Thunderbird patted her shoulder, which made it hurt a little.

Even so, Nova was still convinced she didn’t need an ambulance.

Yet, said ambulance was already coming closer to her.

“I’m fine. I’m just fine.”

“Sssh.” Ruby came over and, as Danna let go of her hand, wrapped her arms around her, so Nova could use her as the human crutch she didn’t need. “It’s okay, Nova.”

“Don’t fight it.” She heard Oscar’s voice say.

Sweet rot, she was just fine.

Being bruised by Thunderbird wasn’t something that required her being taken to the medical wing, mostly because it hadn’t been her intention to hurt her. On the contrary, Thunderbird had saved her. She was okay.

They wouldn’t believe her, of course. It wasn’t a possibility.

It never was, when something as awful as this happened.

Ruby rode with her in the ambulance.

Adrian showed up into her room a few minutes after they started allowing visitors. His face seemed wet, and his eyes were red as cherries.

Then he got into the bed and rested his head on her chest, while she gently ran her thumb through the space below his ear, going all the way down to his chin, feeling the remnants of facial hair he had previously shaved, perhaps a couple of days ago.

For the next week, Adrian said nothing about it.

Nothing.

-.-

Nova had an intermittent schedule because, once she grew to accept the fact she also needed some spare time and do something besides work, she decided she couldn’t just work as part of the patrol units and work in the Vault. On the other hand, she also had refused to leave all the work to Callum, and it’s not like she didn’t like the Vault or hanging out with Callum. For instance, she decided she would be part of the patrol units for a week, and then she would rest from that the following one, working at night in the Vault instead.

So far, it was working. She felt more rested and relaxed, even on busy days.

The post-parade days were usually busy, if she wanted to be honest, mostly because of the things that had happened during the parade but nobody noticed them until everything was over.

Nova had covered a shift with the team when she was supposed to be getting ready to join Callum at night. In her defense, the parade was pretty stressful for everyone, even the Council, now that they have to work as staff. Still, that didn’t change the fact they were walking alongside the floats, following them through the entirety of the city by foot, with the patrolling teams working as their side view, checking if there was any threat in the spots they couldn’t see.

The Anarchists were gone, and so were the Rejects.

Both Winston and Leroy had stopped considering themselves Anarchists some time ago and, besides, they didn’t like the parade. If anything, Winston had speeded towards the Headquarters the moment they called to the house, saying Nova had fallen from a roof, but none of the two were among the crowd to see her fall.

“I would love to see them dressed in the patrol units’ uniform, though.” Winston said. Because, indeed, to make sure everybody knew they were part of the staff, they had chosen to wear patrolling uniforms, and not their official costumes. “But I won’t.”

And he didn’t.

At least, not a first.

The thing was…he did see them in the hallway when he came to the medical wing, but he was too busy freaking out to even make the slightest offensive comment.

It wasn’t until later, a few days after the parade, that, while laying on the couch, Winston started wheezing at how tight the uniform was on Hugh’s chest, how uncomfortable Kasumi looked (and how she had pulled up the sleeves), how Tamaya kept tugging on the fabric around her neck, and that photo where Simon was trying to get a little piece of tape off his clothes but, out of context, looked as if he were checking on his own butt.

Winston had a blast, but only after Leroy, Maggie and him were scared to death.

The Maggie thing was questionable.

A little. Nova wasn’t sure.

Because, just like Adrian, she didn’t mention anything about it after she snuggled up in bed with her as soon as she came home from the Headquarters.

But maybe that was just Maggie.

She was like that sometimes.

Adrian, from his part, wasn’t. He wasn’t one to be closed to his feelings. In fact, he was usually willing to talk about what was wrong and why he was upset, which was pretty useful to Nova because, even if she sometimes had some trouble admitting it, she wasn’t particularly good at reading signs. It was something she was working on, relentlessly, but Rome hadn’t been built in a day.

Maybe he was just worried.

Nova never called in sick. She rarely missed a couple of days at work, let alone the entire week.

The day of the parade, just like she suspected from the start, the healers didn't find anything unusual in her body. In fact, everything was as it should be apart from the bruises. Nevertheless, they did say she might experience some mild pain in the next hours.

And mild was only one way to put it.

Maggie had been asleep, curled into a ball, next to her, for a couple of hours already, when Nova felt the sudden urge to throw up, and when she tried to move, half of her body was so sore she couldn’t find the strength to run. Or walk, whatsoever. Instead, she somehow managed to reach for the trash can, and even that was painful as fuck.

People were right when they said Tamaya wasn't tender. Nova had had her doubts, but right now there were no doubts left. When she called to notify she wouldn’t be going to the Headquarters at all, nobody tried to convince her otherwise. People rather encouraged it, knowing Nova verged on workaholic.

Adrian texted her a couple of times, and they talked about stuff unrelated to the parade accident. Nova didn’t think anything about it, as she attributed that to the fact Adrian was as sensitive as he was open. Perhaps he thought talking about it would make her upset, despite her having left the headquarters seemingly unaffected when it happened.

Then, after Thursday, the texts stopped. They were having a conversation about pizza, and then he stopped. Which made sense, to a certain extent, because Adrian was part of a patrol unit after all, and Ruby had already told her they had a couple of night shifts these days.

Once again, she tried not to think much about it. Besides, once her muscles were a little less swollen, she agreed to paint flower pots with Winston.

Not that that was something she exclusively did with Winston. Everyone in the house had done it, because they were always trying to find ways to bond and, in this case, due to Winston’s suggestion, they had painted flower pots. So far, they  were trying their best. Maggie’s flower pot had pretty dark colors, because she claimed she liked those. Leroy’s was pretty simple, because he had just sketched some formulas and painted the top part in green. Winston had not one, but three different flower pots already, plus the one he was painting at the moment, all of them very colorful and with elaborate drawings. As for Nova...she was doing her best.

She wasn’t an artist, but, with tons of dedication, she had managed to paint her flower pot in black and blue. She was now writing her name in italics on it, thinking about how she might also draw some stars later...or tell Winston to help her draw some stars. It occurred to her it would look nice.

Their house was sort of small, meaning they had a small yard too, but it was big enough to have a small garden and to place a blanket, and sit on it while they painted.

Both Winston and Nova had awful postures, if she wanted to be honest, and hers was even worse now that half of her body was aching, though she could feel she was already getting better.

A lot, in fact.

At least now she could limp through the house without feeling like she was dying, and get into the shower without Maggie’s help (which she provided reluctantly).

Over the time they sat together, Winston and Nova did some small talk, not enough to get the other distracted from their work.

In fact, the sound of Nova’s phone vibrating distracted them more than themselves had managed to do.

Normally, she wouldn’t have answered any calls or text messages when she was in the middle of a bonding session but, somehow, she also figured it could be Adrian, so she discreetly lifted up her cellphone.

Adrian: Hey.

Adrian: Can you come outside?

“Is it Adrian?”

“It’s Adrian.”

Winston scoffed.

“Don’t make that poor guy suffer.”

-.-

Nova didn’t like bright lights, because she wasn’t used to them. Hence, when she was given the chance to decorate her own room, she chose to only illuminate it with night lamps instead of light bulbs. Not only did it make her feel more comfortable, but it also helped save money, especially when there were four people living in that house.

Her closet was right next to the door, and it was fairly messy, to the point where Nova managed to reach for a sweatshirt, without even opening the closet per se.

Oscar had given it to her as a present during her last birthday, and it was in full black. At the back, it had a phrase, written in a very small font: if you can read this, you’re too close.

Nova liked to wear it.

Maybe it wasn’t that adequate in this situation but, on the other hand, Adrian couldn’t even see it and, besides, it was more adequate than a paint-stained white t-shirt, which was what she was wearing underneath it.

Nova’s bed was made most of the time, as she rarely ever used it. It was a twin bed, of course, and she had filled it with cushions and some plushies, because one was never too old for plushies (she even managed to get a teddy bear that looked similar enough to Dolly Bear). On top of the bed, there was also a blanket Nova had been knitting ever since they had moved into this house. It was so long it fell to the floor, on the carpet, and it had several, several types of wool. Sometimes, when she felt sad, mad or stressed, she just knitted and knitted for hours, non-stop, sometimes until she got blisters in her fingers.

Needless to say, she was emotionally attached to that thing and Adrian, since he was her boyfriend, was aware of it, so he always tried to be very careful when he sat on it.

He was being careful even now, as he sat down on the bed, on top of the knitted blanket, and Nova sat on the swivel chair, although not without asking:

“Do you want something from the kitchen? I think Winston made some cookies yesterday. We also have orange juice and...pizza leftovers. The usual. So, do you...want something?”

Staring at her from the bed, through the light, Adrian smiled sideways, as he reached for her hand, lowering his gaze towards the small tattoo she had in her index finger. It was nothing special, just two dots, one next to the other. Each represented one of her parents. Adrian himself had helped her make it, back when Maggie arrived into the house and everyone was having a hard time adjusting.

(Nova had always had weird ways to cope with stress).

“Is there a reason why you’re so quiet?” Nova asked, carefully, knowing that’s what he had asked some time ago, when they finally sat down to talk about everything that had happened the previous weeks to the supernova. Especially, how he had taken her bracelet away in a rather personal way, and how that had hurt her.

They rarely ever talked about it anymore, mostly because Gatlon preferred not to talk about the supernova. Leroy often said that, like the Age of Anarchy, it was an event that had caused collective trauma. When people...people who weren’t the Council, or direct witnesses, that is, tried to talk about the issue, they automatically lowered their volume, though they knew there were no legal repercussions to the mention of the tragedy.

Still, it was delicate, so everyone just chose not to talk about it.

Nova, personally, and after some time of therapy, was open to tell her experience, though she rarely took the initiative to do it. Adrian was the same, more or less.

“Am I quiet?” He asked, his sideways smile widening. Nova tilted her head to the side, scoffing.

“Pretty much.” She confirmed. “And I don’t mean just in this very moment. Is there a reason why you’re pretending I don’t exist? You know...not texting back and such?”

For a moment, he seemed uncomfortable, and it occurred to Nova that, maybe, her tone hadn’t been the right one. Her voice was like that, but she usually managed to manipulate so it would fit in a situation the way she wanted it to.

“...I’m not mad, just so you know, but still, if you want me to know, then...I...I want to know too.” She cleared her throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Adrian pushed his glasses up, with the tip of his pinky.

“How are you?” He asked after a while. His voice sounded delicate, almost weak, and thin as a thread.

For a second, Nova didn’t understand.

“I’m...good. How are you?”

He laughed in response, but it wasn’t a genuine laugh. Nova knew him well enough to know that had been a nervous chuckle.

“No, I mean…” He coughed. “Thunderbird hit you pretty hard when she...when you were…”

“Oh! Yes!” Nova felt immediately stupid, so she chuckled a little too, before pulling up one of her sleeves.

Adrian’s eyes widened.

The massive bruise was getting better, but it was still there, and it still hurt to the touch. Besides, obviously, it wasn’t only in her arm, but also in her entire side, before it abruptly ended in her thigh. She wasn’t going to show that to Adrian, because one couldn’t just start getting undressed in a serious situation. He was good with just watching her arm which, on its own, was already making him uneasy for some reason. “For some reason”, she said, because this wasn’t the worst wound he had seen on her skin. These were just bruises. There wasn’t blood or anything.

“It’s getting better.” She said. “A few days ago, I couldn’t even move, but now I don’t feel as sore. Winston and Leroy brought an ointment for me, and…”

She wasn’t yet finished, when she noticed Adrian was already taking out his marker, which he usually carried in his pocket, getting it closer and closer to the bruise, to which Nova flinched, taking it out of his reach.

“Easy there.” She said, smiling and arching an eyebrow. “It’s not necessary. It's healing on its own just fine.”

“Don’t fight it, Nova.”

“Adrian, it’s fine. I’m okay. I’m doing okay. Don’t wo--”

“You’re not doing okay. You have a bruise.”

“Duh! But it’s healing. It’s fine.” Nova grabbed her own wrist, tying to get her arm out of Adrian’s reach. The bruise burned.

“It’s not fine, Nova!”

“Chill, Adrian! Chill! What’s gotten into..?!”

“IT’S NOT FINE, NOVA!”

“Why are you screaming?!”

“IT’S NOT FINE!”

The marker wasn’t directed towards her. First, because she knew Adrian would never. And, second, because she could tell it wasn’t particularly aimed at anyone or anything. Still, he threw it anyway. And given that, for some reason, Adrian appeared to be pretty distraught, letting his marker fall didn’t feel fair. Hence, Nova tried to catch it, but the chair was sort of stretchy so, in the moment she leaned backwards, it looked like she was falling.

Gasping, Adrian grabbed her by the left wrist, very tight, to the point Nova almost felt he was going to get that bruised too.

The marker fell to the floor, on Nova’s knitted blanket, and she just stared at it, while Adrian stared at her, not letting go of her hand.

Silence fell among them, as the sense of overwhelming confusion surrounded them, making them feel like they knew nothing, or that they were meeting for the first time, or that, simply, they weren’t on the same page.

As the marker laid on the floor, Adrian gulped, and finally let go of her.

“I...I think it’s not the time. I should go. I should just…”

“No.” This time, Nova was the one who grabbed him by the wrist, trying to be gentle, but also firm. “Stay. Please.”

Once again, Adrian’s eyes found Nova. He looked lost, almost like a small child, and where Nova had asked for a favor...kind of like a request, he had heard a command for some reason.

He didn’t move, but Nova did.

After picking up the marker, she moved towards the bed, sitting cross-legged, feeling the cushions behind her.

She placed the marker between them, but Adrian didn’t take it. Instead, he kept staring, until Nova took a deep breath and placed a lock of hair behind her ear, straightening her back.

“If you don’t want to tell me, then take your time.” She said. “But we can do something else. We can...paint flower pots with Winston. We could try to go on a date. Watch a movie. Nap for two days…”

That one last line was meant to be delivered as a joke, but Adrian didn’t catch it, and if he did, it wasn’t funny enough to get a reaction from him.

Sighing, Nova filled her cheeks with air, and then let it go, trumpeting with her mouth, and grabbing her own ankles, as she turned away, staring at the ajar closet.

“Nova?”

Upon hearing her name, Nova became alert, just nodding, so he knew he could go ahead, which he did after a while.

“I know it wasn’t your fault.”

“What are you talking about, Adrian?” She asked in a soothing voice, to which Adrian fidgeted with his own fingers, suddenly incapable to look her in the eye.

He was frozen.

And he couldn’t.

“When...when you were falling...when you were falling from that roof…” Adrian squirmed, frowning, and massaging the bridge of his nose. Hesitating. Maybe scared. Maybe a little confused.

Nova waited for him.

“When you were falling from that roof, before Thunderbird caught you… before we realized you were okay...before… before...before everything was okay.” He gulped, still not being able to look her in the eye.

“...It’s like…” he scratched his own arm. “...It’s like I almost saw her.”

Her.

Her, wh… ?

Something clicked inside of her brain, and all the dots connected with each other.

Suddenly, Nova remembered the one who had fallen from the roof, and taken half of the world with her in the process.

Georgia Rawles’ ghost was hanging from the sky, but not this one; she was hanging from another sky, perhaps the same one Nova’s parents were, and nobody could see her, nor hear her.

Nevertheless, they could feel her. And her absence stabbed the ones who had loved her in the stomach, perforating their insides.

Choking down a gasp, Nova took her hands to her mouth, remembering how she, too, had fallen from a roof, and for a second she saw nothing but Adrian knelt down on the floor, clinging on his dad.

“Adrian.” She whispered, in a suffocated voice. “Adrian, I’m sorry, I…”

She stared into his eyes once again. They were shiny as crystal, and red as blood.

Maybe it was time to stop talking and do something instead.

So, gulping, Nova reached for him, and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight and being corresponded. After a couple of seconds, Nova’s arms started to get a little tired, and the pain came back to her, but she didn’t let go. On the contrary, she just changed the position of her arms, putting her arms beneath his’ , and resting her chin on his shoulder.

For his part, Adrian kissed one side of her head, and Nova felt his breathing between her hair. Then, she felt his fingers, tenderly caressing her scalp.

His body became tense, and his heart started beating fast, for Nova could feel it in her own chest, and in her entire body.

As Adrian shivered, Nova made sure he knew she understood, and rubbed the tip of her nose against the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m here.” She reminded him.

“I know.” He said, in a broken voice. That, for some reason, made Nova feel some sort of relief, and she hoped Adrian knew how much she meant it.

Because she did. A whole lot, in fact.

“...I know it wasn’t your fault...” He said, once they had separated, and he had wiped the tears from his eyes.

Nova held his hand, and her bracelet shone under the soft lights.

“...I know it wasn’t her fault either.” Chills ran down Nova’s spine. “It’s not her fault she died...and sometimes I wonder if she knows that. That it wasn’t her fault. That I know she wanted to stay. That I know she loved me. That I know I miss her and that I…”

Adrian cut himself off.

“That I’m sorry.”

Nova resisted the urge to ask him how therapy was going, because she knew having intrusive thoughts didn’t necessarily mean therapy wasn’t going well. Still, she held his hand tighter, and gulped.

“I’ve heard many things about your mom.” She said, smiling sideways. “And I didn’t get to personally meet her, but I trust she loved you very much. Raising a child...while trying to take down a government...that is badass, Adrian.”

She gulped.

“... And if she was willing to do that for you...then I’m sure she knows.”

Adrian shivered again, visibly, and as tears started rolling down his face again, Nova placed her hands on his cheeks, wiping some of them away.

“And I’m sure she knows it wasn’t your fault, too.”

Adrian hiccuped, pressing Nova’s hand against his skin, calm.

“...When do you learn to see in the dark, Nova?” He asked in a low voice.

And for some reason, the answer was clear from the first second, as she, staring directly into his eyes, said:

“You don’t.”

Because she knew.

“...What you do learn, it’s to walk by the ones who have an excellent night vision and are willing to help you through, and you also learn to follow the voice of those who aren’t here anymore.”

Nova gulped.

“Your dads, Max, Danna, Oscar, Ruby… and me. We’re all here… maybe she’s also still here, somewhere up there, in the universe.”

By feeling him right there with her, Nova felt that they really were.

That they were.

And that they could.

Adrian smiled sideways, and when they laid next to the other to nap for two days, and Nova made sure they both knew they could use the blanket if they wanted to, she asked:

“Remember when you said that maybe you wanted me to be your nightmare?”

“I remember.” Adrian rested his head on his own arm. His eyes were still shiny for the tears, and they were very brown and very beautiful.

“I don’t want to be.” She said, slowly. “Let’s not be each other’s nightmare, okay?”

“Then what should we be?” He asked, scoffing a little.

Nova thought about it for a while. Then, she kissed him. A small kiss, that felt as if the other were a safe, warm space.

“Light.” She said.

“Let’s walk together through the dark, so we don’t fall.”

And for a while, the world was theirs.

Then, Maggie came to knock on the door, saying Leroy wanted them to take the car and go buy food, knowing Adrian would stay for dinner.

[redassassin]

please don’t say you love me

happy holidays @darkalinas!! here’s an extra-angsty nodrian fic for the gift exchange hosted by you and @scxundress!! 

wc: 1388

tw: death, angst in general (i went all out)

Nova’s eyes filled with tears as she stood over Adrian, gun in hand, finger hovering over the trigger. 

“Pull the trigger, Little Nightmare,” Ace whispered behind her. “You can make the decision for yourself now. His parents made the decision for you all those years ago. It’s your turn, Nova. Pull the trigger.”

Adrian only stared at her, still shirtless, a hand pressed to his arm where Honey had cut away his tattoo. 

“Pull the trigger, Nova. Kill him. End this, and we will start anew.” 

Perhaps the worst thing was that Adrian didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t even look at her, instead staring blankly past her. She could tell that he was in pain. He sat so still that the only sign of movement was the shaky rise and fall of his chest. 

Pull the trigger.

Her mouth moved this time, whispering quietly to herself. 

A chill swept over the room, announcing the arrival of Phobia. He settled behind Ace, watching her from the shadows. 

Nova adjusted her grip on the gun, her hands sweaty and her arms shaking. This was her revenge. She had been waiting for this for 10 years, and yet, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t. 

She remembered the night where she’d lost everything. Evie’s silenced cries, the dull thud of her parents’ bodies hitting the floor. Her labored breathing as she stood over the sleeping hitman, waiting for the Renegades to come, whispering over and over to herself to pull the trigger and that the Renegades would come. 

The Renegades didn’t come, but Ace Anarchy did. He had saved her, and raised her and fueled her hatred for the Renegades, using her as his weapon to destroy. 

She’d been blind for so long. They’d never cared about her, Ace especially. They hardly cared for each other. When she’d killed Ingrid there was no mourning. In fact, they’d hardly mentioned it. 

She wasn’t an Anarchist, not anymore. They’d never truly been her family, and could never replace the family she’d lost. Of course, she would rather die than become a Renegade. 

She wouldn’t kill Adrian. She couldn’t kill Adrian. 

“No.” 

Adrian’s eyes snapped to hers, something incomprehensible on his face. 

“No?” Ace laughed. “You dare defy me? He is a Renegade. The very thing you despise more than anything.” He scoffed. “I always knew you were weak. Just like your parents. Unable to do what needs to be done. I should have had you killed too.”

“You did it. It was you.” Her voice quavered, barely over a whisper. She wanted to scream, to yell, to ask him why, how he could kill his own family, but the battle still raged around them, getting closer and closer. Her jaw clenched, heart pounding in her ears. 

In that moment everything was clear. Ace would stop at nothing for power, and she could stop at nothing to stop him. He was right, this was her one chance for revenge, but not against the Renegades. Against him. 

This ended now. She spun around, pointing the gun at Ace. 

Pull the trigger.

Her arms started to shake, finger twitching over the trigger. 

Ace sneered. “Even now, you can’t do it. Pathetic. Kill him.” He motioned at Adrian and Phobia moved in the shadows, his scythe glinting. 

Nova squeezed the trigger. 

She winced at the blast as it echoed around the chamber of the cathedral. Ace stared at her, eyes wide as he stumbled back. 

A loud crash sounded from below. Nova looked over the edge to see the Captain climbing up the wall. He was climbing impossibly fast, determined to save his son. 

A shadow loomed behind her. Phobia raised his scythe, ready to end Adrian in the same as Callum. 

Nova acted without thinking. As the blade fell she ran to him and pushed Adrian to the side. He gasped in pain, and a second later in horror. The scythe was embedded in her stomach. Ace laughed, hand pressed to his thigh. 

“I guess it was all for nothing. How’s it feel, Insomnia, to die for nothing? You sacrificed your life for him, but you’re outnumbered. He will die, and you will watch. If you even last that long. Maybe I’ll make him watch as you bleed out, helpless, and then kill him. Or maybe I’ll keep him around just long enough to make his parents watch.” 

Nova stumbled back against the wall, hand pressed to her stomach, praying that the Captain was close and could at least save Adrian. 

Something clattered behind her and the Captain launched himself at Ace. They disappeared from Nova’s view and Phobia floated after them, leaving Nova and Adrian alone. 

Adrian watched as Nova pressed a hand to her stomach, staring at the blood that stained her hands. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground, still staring at her bloody hand. 

“Nova!”

Adrian rushed to her side, kneeling beside her and gathering her in his arms. One hand was pressed against her stomach in an attempt to stop the blood loss.

“You’re going to be okay, Nova. I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

“Adrian.”

He stood up with her in his arms, looking around desperately for anything to help, but everyone was fighting. 

“Adrian. There’s nothing you can do.”

He looked down at her, and Nova could see tears forming in his eyes, threatening to fall. “No. No,” His voice broke. “I have to do something, there has to be a way-”

She reached up, cupping his cheek with her hand, still smeared with blood. He sunk down, still cradling her in his arms. One of his hands covered hers, squeezing her hand slightly. His tears began to fall, splashing gently against her face. 

“Nova, I-”

“Please don’t say you love me,” Nova whispered. 

“What?” He choked out.

“That makes leaving so much harder.”

“You are not dying. You can’t. I love you, Nova. I have for so long.”

Adrian just shook his head, holding her closer and burying his face in her hair. 

“Adrian.” 

“I love you.” He whispered once again.

Her hand slipped from his cheek, smearing blood down his face as it fell to his chest, right over his heart. 

“Nova!” Her eyes were starting to glaze over and her breathing was ragged as her eyes struggled to focus on him. 

“Make sure we win, Adrian. Destroy him. Destroy my uncle. He can’t win.” Her words slurred together. Adrian cupped her face. Her skin was so cold and pale, it was as if she was a ghost. 

Her eyes started to unfocus, and he shook her gently, bringing her eyes back to his. 

“Hey, look at me. We’ll win, and you’ll be there to see it. Just hold on, Nova. Hold on. For me.” He took his hand off of her stomach, threading his blood-soaked fingers through hers instead. He kissed her hand, ignoring the metallic taste of blood. He held her hand against his cheek, closing his eyes and leaning into it, searching for any warmth that might remain. 

“Adrian?” 

He opened his eyes. The pain behind his eyes broke her heart. 

“I love you.”

Adrian smiled, ever so slightly. He leaned down, kissing her as gently as he could, only for a second. When he pulled away, she was smiling, her eyes closed. 

Adrian’s suit was covered in blood, his helmet discarded beside them. His attempts to stop the bleeding had been unsuccessful, and they were both soaked from the blood pooled around them. 

Nova’s breathing was forced, and her eyes unable to stay open. She gave his hand a weak squeeze before her hand loosened its grip and her hand fell open on the ground. 

“Nova.” Adrian shook her, gently at first, then harder. She didn’t wake. 

He fumbled for her pulse, desperately waiting for anything, just one beat. 

“Nova, please. Please don’t leave me, it’s almost over. We’re going to win, Nova. Everything will be fine, it’s almost over. You can’t leave before it’s over. Please.” He broke down, cradling her head against his chest.

An explosion rang through the air near them. Wiping his tears away, Adrian stood up with Nova’s body in his arms. He brought her to the sidelines, away from harm, and donned his helmet. 

Adrian only knew one thing.

The Anarchists were going to pay. 

[ljf613]

Soren from The Dragon Prince for the 10 Headcanons. If you don't watch Dragon Prince then maybe Mako from Korra?

I do watch TDP, although I’ve been so focussed on ATLA lately that I haven’t done much in the way of headcanons or metas for any of the characters, but let’s see what I can do: 

1) Soren’s got a strong inner compass, even if it doesn’t always point perfectly north. He might bend his beliefs, but he won’t ever break them. 

2) The reason Soren chose to stay with Viren, instead of leaving with his mom, has very little to do with which parent he actually preferred, and more to do with that moral code I mentioned. In his juvenile mind, he thought his mom was in the wrong for giving up and leaving-- and Soren never gives up. 

3) He and Callum have actually always been good friends, even if they don’t really get each other. In Soren’s world, a little good-natured teasing is just how he shows affection, and Callum knows that, so he takes it in stride. They very rarely get into any real fights, and neither of them is very good at holding grudges. 

4) Soren wasn’t always the family jokester. When he was younger, he was more stoic, focussing on imitating his role models like his father and the members of the Crown Guard. 

5) After Lissa left, Claudia, who had always been the cheerful, chirpy, inquisitive one, started withdrawing, becoming more and more depressed about everything that had happened. And Soren, who could never stand to see his little sister sad, made it his personal misson to make her laugh again. 

6) Soren loves writing stories. He thinks of it as just a distracting little side hobby, but they’re actually really good. He doesn’t realize this, though, because his image of real storytellers are bards and poets, people who weave long, grand epics.... which are not his forte. His stories are shorter and less grand, humorous yet adventurous tales that would probably be popular with children. 

7) Callum is one of the few people who knows about the notebook Soren keeps with all of his half-baked little plot bunnies, because it accidentally got mixed up with his sketchbook one time. He just flipped through the pages, trying to find a name or some other identifying details, but he became so fascinated he ended up reading the whole thing. Soren was super-embarassed when he found out, and ended up lying and telling Callum it was actually Claudia’s. But Soren, as we all know, is a horrible liar, and Callum wasn’t fooled. He pretended to go along with it, though. 

8) Soren doesn’t actually know what happened to his notebook-- those last few weeks are such a blur, he can’t remember if he packed it in his saddlebag, left it at the palace, or lost it somewhere along the way. 

9) He actually did bring it along, but it got mixed up and left in Claudia’s saddlebag. Claudia doesn’t actually know what it is he used that notebook for, but she knows he used to write in it when he thought nobody was looking. She knows that it was important to him. And, when she found it after the battle (while trying to find ingredients she might be able to use to save Viren), she was so angry that she set it on fire without really thinking about it, and watched it burn to ashes. (She regretted it, afterwards, though she won’t admit it. A part of her wonders if there might have been some answers in there, an explanation for why he betrayed their family.) 

10) One evening, a few days after the battle, Ezran asked Callum if, maybe, he could tell him a bedtime story. Callum thought for a moment, and then turned to Soren and said that he would probably do a better job of it. Soren protested, but eventually allowed himself to be convinced, and ended up entertaining them all with a hilarious tale about a bird who’d lost its nest. 

Bonus headcanons for Mako: 

1) Mako can’t remember his last name. It’s not something he thought much about when he was younger-- last names are mainly used for paperwork and stuff, and most people don’t even have them (they’re primarily an Earth Kingdom thing). It wasn’t until he and Bolin met Toza, and the older man asked them if they had a surname to put on their team registry-- only for Bolin to be like “nah, we don’t have one”-- that he remembered, oh yeah, dad did have an extra name he used for stuff like this-- he just couldn’t recall what it was. He didn’t say anything to Bolin or Toza, though. It was just another thing to add to the list of ways he’d failed his little brother-- he couldn’t even give him a name. 

2) Mako can’t remember a lot of stuff about life Before (that’s how he thinks of it: Before and After). He can’t remember where their house was, or why they were actually out the night his parents died. He can’t remember what his mom’s laugh sounded like, or how the punchline of his dad’s favorite joke went. He’s not even sure he can remember their faces. 

3) His memory of the Incident is perfectly clear, though. He remembers screwing his eyes shut, the feeling of Bolin’s shoulders beneath his arms as he pressed his brother’s face into his chest to shield him from the sight. He remembers the muffled sound of his father’s screams, and the ashy taste that was left in his mouth. It’s the smell that he remembers best--  of smoke and burning flesh, and that horrifying but instinctive thought that it actually smelled..... good, like freshly cooked meat. 

4) Mako couldn’t eat meat for years afterwards. He hid it from Bolin, telling him that he was a growing boy and needed any scraps they could get their hands on more than Mako did. 

5) That first night after they met Toza, though, Bolin took some of the money he’d won from betting on the match (see Republic City Hustle) to treat them both to dinner at a “nice” (for them) restaurant, and ordered dishes that had meat in them. And Mako, who’s never been able to say no to his little brother, ate it with a smile plastered on to his face. It tasted delicious (he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not). 

6) Despite all of that, he’s never had any hang-ups about his firebending. His mom was a firebender, and she’d made sure to drill it into his head that bending was a tool like any other-- some people chose to use it for evil, but that didn’t make it inherently bad, and she wouldn’t have wanted him to stop doing it just for her sake. He remembers that much, at least. 

7) Mako’s always wanted to visit the Fire Nation, to see the place his mom grew up, maybe try and find her side of the family. But there’s just never been the time or money-- and, of course, he’s never admitted this to Bolin, who has never expressed any particular desire to go. He thought about it a lot during the three years Korra was gone, especially after Bolin left with Kuvira, idly wondering if there was a way he could scrape together enough time off to go, but it never seemed to work out. It’s just another thing on the list of dreams he’ll get to.... someday. 

8) He doesn’t know what happened to the firebender who killed his parents. He never saw the man’s face. For all Mako knows, the killer could have been someone working in the Triad with them. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t. 

9) Mako really, really wants to be a dad. He wants to settle down, get married, build a family, and create a loving, supportive home like the one he can barely remember. This is part of the reason he tends to rush headlong into relationships, even if he knows they’re not quite right for him. He’s learnt that this causes more harm than good, though, and has decided that right now, the best thing he can do is take a break from dating and work on his own personal growth. He’s still young, there’s no rush. 

10) Mako can’t remember the last time he actually cried. At the very least, he hasn’t done so since before his parents’ deaths. He’s not sure he remembers how.

[whump-it]

Dream; Callum Remembers

@haro-whumps @grizzlie70   @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @iaminamoodymoodtoday @burtlederp @untilthepainstarts @my-whumpy-little-heart @moose-teeth @pepperonyscience @faewhump @slaintetowhump @whump-tr0pes @spookyboywhump @finder-of-rings @liliability @whumpfigure @girlwithacoolcat @tears-and-lilies

I don't think there's any CW's here. This is Callum at the very very very start of his healing with Rory. I made myself cry writing the part after the dream.

Callum stood in his room and held on to his teddy tightly in one hand.  He squeezed its matted and crusted paw tighter each time that he heard a noise from beyond the closed door.  A clatter or a tap running.  A mutter of something that he couldn't quite make out.  He knew that if he stood here for long enough in someone else's room, wearing someone else's clothes, that Rory would eventually come and get him.  He always did. 

Callum both anticipated and dreaded it each and every morning. 

Everything was strange and new and every morning the only thing that felt right was the fact that his teddy was near him.  His first thought every day was that Master Hayden didn't know where he was and that was unbearable.  Unthinkable.  It was painfully wrong.  He woke to a bone deep and aching fear that no amount of atonement could make up for this absence.  And then the feeling ebbed.  The desperate ache to run in any direction because that would surely bring him closer to his Master leeched away. 

Slowly he remembered what Rory had been telling him every day.  That Master Hayden wasn't going to get him.  That he was safe. 

That what had been done to him had been wrong. 

Remembering it wasn't the same as believing it.  But it was close enough for now.

Callum took a breath in, closed his eyes, held it, and then released it.  While he did so, he tucked one of his teddy's paws into the back pocket of the jeans that Rory had leant him.  Today they were going to go and buy him his own clothes.  Even wearing the jeans and jumper that Rory had leant him as well felt strange after three years in shorts.  Sometimes in nothing at all.  He was still all too aware of the touch of the cloth on his arms and legs but he had taken to curling Rory's big blue cable knit jumper around himself so much that Rory had laughed and said that he needed one of his own.  And so the shopping trip had become set in stone whilst the jumper became an all encompassing safety net that could cover and embrace and shelter. 

It smelled good too.  It smelled of a flicker of a memory that he had no access to but he knew that it was nice.  He wanted to remember and that shocked him.

With his teddy safe and the jumper on for yet another day, Callum forced himself to the bedroom door and opened it in one rapid movement, determined to be out before Rory had to come and get him.  He was getting clothes.  He had an idea of a memory.  He wanted to get himself out of his room on his own.  With one more deep breath in and released back out, he forced himself across the room and out. He found Rory in the kitchen, clattering about and putting away the washing up from the night before.

“Oh!”  Rory jumped when he caught sight of Callum out the corner of his eye.  “You’re up.  I didn’t...I mean I was going to do this last night.  I really was.  Time just kinda...”  Rory wafted one hand around, a spatula clutched in it, dripping water on to the floor.  Callum smiled small, just a tiny hint.  It was still too early and he was still too unsure if this was ok.  If it was an ok thing to do, to laugh at Rory for not cleaning up.  To be apologised to instead of being the one doing the apologising. Rory trailed off and scratched at the back of his neck, grimacing at the water that he'd forgotten was still on his hand.  "You're so much better than I am at tidy.  I'm working on it.  I'm a work in progress!"  Callum shuffled a little where he stood, words a little caught up in his throat.   His heart told him in an instant that he should tell Rory that he was a perfect work of art just the way that he was.   His brain dammed up the flow and stopped it behind a concrete wall of nervousness and years old pain.   Years in which honesty might well be the best policy, but in which it hurt and bled and broke him. 

“What should I...should I...umm...”  Callum shuffled a little closer to Rory, a little closer to his energy and warmth and that something that was pulling at him to be just that bit nearer.  That bit more within an invisible aura.  Rory put the spatula down and Callum shifted unconsciously closer again.  No implement meant less chance of pain and although he had received nothing but kindness and compassion here, surely it could all come to a swift and agonising end.  But his body and his mind and that strange pull moved him closer and closer to Rory until he was close enough to feel arms come up and around him, drawing him into Rory’s chest. 

They stood and breathed in and out. Breathed one another for a long moment. And Callum held on, held on and let himself turn away from doubt and press up into the certainty that always ebbed back into his brain each day. It took a little less time every day.

"Big day today huh?" Rory mumbled into the curls at the base of Callum's neck before pulling back. Callum smiled again, shy and flushing pink at the pleasure of doing something for himself but also at the terror of it.

"Yeah," Callum whispered the word before clearing his throat to try again. "You...umm... will you stay with me? Near me I mean. I don't...I can't pay..."

"Sweetheart, I'm paying."

"I uh... no I...I...I know I don't have anything. I meant I've forgotten. How things work. In shops. No. That's not quite it. It's more.. " he took a deep and slightly shaky breath in. "I'm nervous." Gently and slowly, Rory pulled back and away from him.

"I'll be right with you."

With the washing up done, breakfast eaten, and the promise of support safely tucked away, they left the apartment. Rory glanced nervously at their neighbour's front door as they passed, speeding up a little as he went. Callum wanted to ask but he didn't dare upset the balance on such a big and nerve wracking day. Through the course of the day, all of his energy and focus stayed on shopping and on Rory. On staying close and always keeping him in his line of sight. And it had been more tiring and harder than he'd anticipated. They had agreed that he didn't need to use the changing rooms, preferring instead to hide himself away from the glaring lights and mirrors. Preferring instead to hold clothes up to his body and look to Rory for approval. He found himself instinctively drawn to blue tones, following in line with his love of Rory's blue jumper. Of blue butterflies. On the way home, when Rory spotted a beautiful blue velvet trunk with black leather and studded corners and ducked into the shop to buy it and present it to him, he had cried. Tears of joy and exhaustion. Of nervousness and panic. It had a catch and a tiny padlock and it was in his control when that lock could be unlocked. It was overwhelming.

Rory held him tightly in the street while he sobbed his heart out. Then he told him that there was no way he was cooking for them. Not after such a busy and big day. Callum nodded into Rory's shoulder and let himself be led home, hand in hand, to take-out and Netflix and a vodka for Rory before he collapsed, tired and unsteady and asleep before his head hit the pillow.

A knock at the door and he giggled.  The sound had a familiarity to it.  It rolled over him and he thought that maybe his eyes flickered open.  Or shut.  But Rory was there and he had food and drink with him. 

"I'm not breaking the rules," Rory said.  Laughed.  "It only says I have to feed you."

Warm.

Content.

Rory was everything.

"I could stay," Callum breathed out.  Wrists cuffed.  His space, his box, he felt safe.  "I want to be here forever."

"Eat," Rory raised a fork of food to Callum's lips.  "And stay.  Don't go.  Don't go."

Laughter, laughter, food and drink and security. 

And home. 

"I don't think I was meant to leave," Callum said, stood outside the Locality.  No cars.  No sound.  He laughed out loud when a blue butterfly landed on Rory's nose. 

Rory sneezed.

Callum woke with a jolt that sent his teddy tumbling out of his bed.  It hit the floor and he tipped himself out after it, snatching it up and hugging it to his chest. 

That was the memory that Rory's jumper had been picking and picking at.  That was what caught his breath and stole it away when he hadn't known why. 

He scrambled up from the floor in a messy hurry, tumbling from hands to feet in a lurch towards the door.  Grabbed at the handle and wrenched it down, letting it slip from his grip and spring back up with a bang.  There was no way that he could get out of the room fast enough.  His steps, which were usually so measured and careful from years of trying not to trip over his chained and cuffed ankles, paid no heed to their locked-up history.  He stopped himself at Rory's door, not wanting to slam through out and frighten him.  He pushed the handle softly, gently, his measured and careful entry into Rory's room a complete contrast to the cluttered way that he had excited his own.  Every moment closer to him felt like gravity.  It had its own speed.  Its own time.

The door hushed over the carpet, announcing his arrival on his behalf.  The sound woke Rory and he blinked into the darkness, picked out Callum's silhouette, and pushed himself blearily onto one elbow.

"Is everything ok?" Rory asked, his voice husky and sleep laden.  "Do you need something?"

Callum walked to the side of the bed closest to him and the door, the side that Rory didn't sleep on incase he needed to come in on the rare nights that he tried to sleep in his own bed, and knelt on the mattress.  The pressure of his weight tipped Rory closer to him.  Tipped him closer to Rory.

The motion was easy.  A slide deeper into one another's orbit.  Gravity again and on their side as though the universe knew what to do.  Rory reached out a hand, not to stop himself from rolling but to touch Callum.  To bring him contact.

"Are you ok?" Rory whispered, asking again.

"You fed me," Callum said.  Rory blinked up at him.  "In the box.  You got in with me and fed me didn't you.  Didn't you.  I can't have got that wrong because I just remembered it in a dream and I get it.  I got it.  I...I get it..."  Rory shifted up and closer to Callum, letting the covers drop and pool around them.  He climbed his hands up Callum's sides to his shoulders, listening as he moved.  Not daring to interrupt quite yet.

"...I remember it.  I know why... why... things... the familiarity of it all.  The feeling...safe... and..."

"And you,"  Rory whispered the words next to Callum's lips and pushed himself cheek to cheek.

"And you,"  Callum echoed.  He raised his hands, encircled the warm skin and gentle press of the other half of his entire existence.  "I was never meant to leave you,"  Rory hiccuped into the crook of Callum's neck, where the scars around his throat melted into nothing but smooth skin.

"I think about it a lot,"  he murmured, muffled by Callum's neck and new-found certainty.  Almost silenced by the dam of love and adoration that caught up in his throat when he tried to speak.

"I want to think about it a lot too,"  Callum held on tighter.  "It's been there for so long and I don't want to forget it again.  I don't want to forget you again.   Please don't let me forget you again."

Rory pulled at him, pulled him down into the warmth of the covers and his embrace.  Pulled him into safety.  Held him down and pressed against him so tightly that if he could have, then he would have made their very atoms bind together so securely that nothing would split them apart again.

"I'm so so sorry that I let you go," he said.

"No sorry's.  None.  Not now.   Not when I feel like I've found you again.  Pl...please?  No sorry's?"

"I love you,"  Rory said, louder this time.  Callum stilled where he lay, pressed up so firmly against his very life.  Rory held his breath.  Waited to feel regret once again, feel it's awful fingers crawling up his body from toes to scalp where it could wrap him up and suffocate him.

"I love you,"  Callum said.  Firmly.  "I love you."

[foxie-roxie]

why rayllum is a MASTERPIECE part 3

*RUBS MY CLAWS TOGETHER* IT IS SEASON 3 TIME BITCHES AND H O L Y S H I T I LOVE THIS SEASON SO MUCH

i even rewatched it for this!

this time i’ll try to have SOME order, and go by episode. this will however still include unintelligible screaming

1. DAMN THESE FUCKERS BE PINING MORE THAN A PINE TREE FOREST!

first off, affectionate eye rolling, nose boop, and head bonk is the best thing.

second, IF SOMEONE SAYS THAT DURING WHEN CALLUM WAS HELPING RAYLA PUT ON HIS SCARF AND THEY J STARED AT EACHOTHER FOR A BIT BEFORE RAYLA TURNED AWAY THAT HE WAS N O T LOST IN HER EYES? they’re wrong. this is fact now.

third, their teamwork and decision making is excellent. they agree to try and sneak past sol regem, and when that fails try talking to him and then decide to simply trick his senses with the scarf. and instead of rayla shooting down callum’s “smelltriloquism” idea, she simply adds onto it! LOVE HEALTHY FRIENDSHIPS

“i think it’s good luck!” YES IT IS RAY THAT’S UR BOYFRIENDS SCARF

also, here you go. you’re welcome.

2. STILL PINING. GOD DAMN.

first, CALLUM BEING SO EXCITED BY ALL THE MAGIC IN XADIA IS S O CUTE! MY SON. this might turn into an overrall review of s3. o well

second. FLUSTERED RAYLA AND FLUSTERED CALLUM. Y E S

third, THE ADORABURR FIELD! their smiles were so fond and soft and A. they make me cry of joy. 

an overall look on it, i like how this episode really shows their feelings clearly. no “will they won’t they”, at least for rayla. it’s clear she has feelings.

3. AH FUCK. ANGST.

first i love how when rayla mentions that she’s excited and happy but also terrified, callum tries to comfort her. good boi. best boi.

second, elf callum. i love that scene so much even if the second-hand embarrassment kills me, and rayla is j like “why the fuck do i love you. im gonna kill him.”

third, DANCE! callum not being rude and saying her home is “modest” before rayla explains it’s an illusion, his BLUSH WHEN SHE HELPS HIM, and the softness in general. rayla’s excitement that she’s home and talks abt that she can show callum where she went to school, the best moonberry surprise place, until...

fourth, AH FUCK. A N G S T T I M E. rayla being crest-fallen before callum says that it must’ve been a mistake, and she realizes that ethari would probably understand!

and then CONFIRMED GAYS. YES.

rayla realizing ethari ghosted her too and then callum GOING O F F. he angy and when rayla runs out callum IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWS (like in a later episode) and comforts her again.

when ethari comes down and breaks the spell and says to callum “trees to meet you too” and rayla’s like “don’t encourage him”

also callum trying to get on the shadowpaw and ethari being Concerned is AMAZING. concerned dad content

i’ll talk more about ezran/ruthari/the dark magic trio in a later ted talk

4. H E R E W E G O

first, rayla clearly being sad and callum picking up on that quickly (he even seems to be almost falling on purpose, perhaps to make her smile?) and asking if she’s ok before being shot down by rayla insisting she is fine. GOD DAMN. THAT HURTS.

second, their interaction with nyx is so amazing. rayla being protective of zym and callum being a DORK is awesome, but also their decision making.

after rayla reluctantly decides that they can go see how nyx could get them across the desert so quickly, they see the ambler and then their reasoning is amazing.

“what do you think?”

“the dragon queen is dying.” and then i forget the rest of the exact quote but they give a subtle nod to eachother. they make their decisions TOGETHER. AS A TEAM. AND THAT’S ON HEALTHY FRIENDSHIPS X2!

third, callum continuing to gently press for rayla to express her emotions. he doesn’t pressure her, but seems to simply let her know that if she needs to talk (when she insists she’s fine), he is there. 

four, MORE FLUSTERED RAYLLUM. YES. TY NYX but also fuck u for taking zym but also ur hot- A N Y W A Y

five. OOOOOOH. MY FAVORITE SCENE.

rayla’s crying and callum tries to reassure her. nyx is plotting, while rayla runs away and callum follows. Y E S.

rayla talks about how there’s nobody left that cares about her and she lost everything.. and then the SPEECH. i have this speech memorized i’ve watched this scene so many times

"JUST SHUT UP, YOU'RE TALKING CRAZY. JUST, LISTEN TO ME. YOU'RE TOO GOOD TO FEEL THIS BAD ABOUT YOURSELF. I KNOW THAT, AND YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT. YOU HAVE TRUE COURAGE, AND A BIG HEART! I'VE SEEN YOU GET KNOCKED DOWN SO MANY TIMES AND EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. YOU GET UP AGAIN. THAT'S REAL STRENGTH. AND.. AND YOU'RE TEN TIMES FUNNIER THAN ANY HUMAN I KNOW! chuckle SEE? SEE YOU KNOW YOU'RE AMAZING. YOU'RE SMART AND FAST AND BEAUTIFUL. RAYLA YOU'RE THE MOST AMAZING PERSON I'VE EVER MET."

LOVE THEMMM

and then rayla kisses him and that’s all that happened. callum was not a dumbass. right? RIGHT???

5. MY FAVORITE EPISODE!

first, rayla saving callum from the soulfang serpents and callum helping her get up is AMAZING, LOVE THAT.

second, callum tryna get a good position and rayla j saying to hold onto her and callum GETTING FLUSTERED. BOY IS PINING also he didn’t have to hold her that close.

“I DON’T THINK OF HER THAT WAY” “YOU AND I DON’T HAVE THAT YET” LIAR.

three, THEM JUMPING OFF THE AMBLER AND. THAT WHOLE MOMENT? THE ROMANTIC TENSION IS KILLING ME

four. DAMN CALLUM RLLY DO BE HAVING HEART EYES @ RAYLA WHILE SHE KILLS LIKE 80 SOULFANGS HE IS PINING PART 2

five. THE SPEECH. THE SOFTNESS. THE KISSES. GOD DAMN. FAVORITE SCENE OUT OF THE ENTIRETY OF TDP. LOVE THEM.

also here you go again

what can i say except YOU’RE WELCOME

6. ANGST BUT ALSO FLUFF ALSO REUNION

once again won’t b talking abt ezran specifically but there’s some passing mentions of him from now on

first, rayla and callum reaching the stone thunder and callum asking “is it... a statue?” and rayla sadly saying “no. it’s not a statue” A. I CRI.

1.5 ayla and callum best dragon parents

i’ll get to an actual analysis later

second, THIS MOMENT IS UNDERRATED EVEN THO IT’S ONE OF MY FAVS why has nobody mentioned the lil tender moment where ezran is by phoe-phoe and rayla puts her hand on callum’s shoulder AND CALLUM PUTS HIS HAND ON HERS. SO SWEET.

third, OK I’LL STOP MOST OF MY UNINTELLIGIBLE SHRIEKS AND ACTUALLY ANALYZE THIS.

callum is upset because of thunder and rayla sympathizes immediately. this is similar to how callum lets rayla let out her own emotions, and rayla is doing the same. he explains how he feels angry, upset, confused, sad, and rayla quickly empathizes. he keeps on venting, not knowing whether to feel regretful, or glad, and how he’s confused because that’s sarai’s spear. he feels sorry that all this happened, but rayla reassures him that zym and ezran are going to break the cycle! that’s hope! and then they hold hands and i screech

AND THAT’S SO FUCKING HEALTHY AND I LOVE IT. THEY RLLY BREAK ALL BAD HET RELATIONSHIP STEREOTYPES (coughbutistillheadcanonthembothasbiandcallumistransilldieonthishillcough)

7. angst but not rayllum angst so its ok

first, they begin to go up the storm spire and i really love their banter. “and i’m guessing the dragon queen didn’t make her den at a nice, halfway kinda place?” “nope. tiptop!”

cuties.

second, ASSDHFNF THE FACT THEY M O C K THE IDEA OF A FORBIDDEN RELATIONSHIP. THEY’RE IN LOVE AND THE WORLD CAN DEAL WITH IT. LOVE THAT FOR THEM

third, RAYLA CATCHING CALLUM. IT’S. NOT RLLY BIG I JUST LIKE IT AND THINK IT’S CUTE HOW EVEN THOUGH SHE WAS ALSO OUT OF BREATH SHE RAN UP TO CATCH HIM. 

four, AHSDHGDHFG THEY DEADASS FORGOT EZRAN WAS THERE. more flustered rayllum i love that

8. FUCK IT’S RAYLLUM ANGST NOOOO

one, ibis is j a good boi. back to rayla and callum

two, rayla going in to see the dragon queen and when she runs out callum QUICKLY FOLLOWS to see if she’s ok. asks her if she’s ok, and she OPENS UP!! CHARACTER GROWTH BABY!!! and then they hold hands and i once again shriek

three, AH. HELLO ANGST.

before we go to the actual angst, can i say that THE LAUGH AFTER RAYLA SAID “STORM SNEEZE” IS SO CUTE. CALLUMS IN LOVE. MY SON.

oh no.

*bonks rayla on the head* nO SELF SACRIFICING!!

although their fight is super angsty and i hate it, it does provide some conflict and more plot because it gives callum a reason to want to find out the truth about rayla’s parents. and then he does! people argue that this fight was unnecessary or that callum was a jerk, but this was needed i think. he did let his worry become a bit of anger, and that was not a nice move, but he knows he fucked up and fixes it!

and then we get soft rayllum this is fine

9. AND YOU THOUGHT LAST EPISODE WAS BAD N O *CRYING*

there’s not much rayllum featured in this ep, but the amount we do get is 80 PERCENT ANGST AND I WASN’T OK WITH IT

first, the fluff! callum trying to do the wing spell and rayla teasing “did you pull a muscle in the middle of a jumping jack?” is so cute. i LOVE THEM. also they hold hands and i SH RIEK again. 

also soren how dare you interrupt callum he was abt to confess

second, callum when he’s explaining the battle plan and his ZAP HAND. rayla is j watching him like “yep. that is my dork.”

and CALLUM SEEMS SO FOND WHEN JANAI CALLS RAYLA THE LAST DRAGONGUARD. PERHAPS I SOB

skipping forward in time a bit for the angst oh no

third, callum going up to the storm spire after ez encouraging him to go to rayla. love that soft brotherly relationship. and we think “oh, soft rayllum, right?”

NO. VIREN’S UP THERE.

fourth, THEY DIDN’T NEED ME TO BE ROLLING ON THE FLOOR WTF. the fact that rayla’s blade went right in front of callum and he looks up and sees zym in danger, viren is there, and RAYLA is there, p a n i k.

and then rayla jumps and the entire rayllum fandom SC REAMS after callum’s “no!” before she jumps and “no, no, no, RAYLA!”

fifth, CALLUM NO WHY ARE YOU JUMPING TOO- oh wait its ok he did the wings and im still crying fuck

THAT CONFESSION THO- i cri tears of joy now. they’re in love

sixth, I J WANNA KNOW WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT BEFORE EZRAN SHOWED UP. like it’s clear that they’re talking or something, but abt what is the question. also yes they hug and raylas fond

seventh, THEY HOLD HANDS!! soft bbs,,,

AAAND IM DONE! this is. quite long so if you read all of this i hope u have a good day and thnx for listening to me ramble with some coherent thoughts

[beautifulterriblequeen]

A little epiphany about the moon arcanum

(submitted by @lily-lilou​)

Hello ! I just realised something about the moon arcanum and I wonder what you would think about it:

Remember the other day, when you asked “how do you kill death?” and I answered “death is an emptiness of life, darkness is an emptiness of light”?

And remember in S1ep1 when Rayla said “moon reflect sun, as death reflect life.”, Implied: sun is life, moon is death? 

Well, something bothered me with this last point. Because, if the moon was only death-related, Moonshadow elves would just be “empty” since they are all death and shadow/darkness. No light, no life. It doesn’t make sense. (I mean, we’ve seen in the novel that, indeed, some of them are really dark, as dark as a dark mage like Viren, it seems, but not all of them.)

While looking at Callum’s spellsbook, I saw that the moon arcanum is indeed death-related. But it’s also dual. 

And suddenly, I had my little epiphany: 

The moon has no light in herself, what she reflects is the light of the sun. And the light of the sun is “life”. So indeed, without it, the moon is “empty”.

But that’s my point, she does reflect it, and so: when the moon shines in the night, does she bring life? no. Does she bring death? neither.  What does the moon do, then?

She reflects light when shadows and darkness are surrounding you, she makes them receded, she allows you to see in the dark.

Seeing light in darkness, isn’t this the definition of “hope” itself? 

So now, my little theory about the duality of the moon being “death-hope”, it’s really neat (’>_>), but what about the show, what could prove my idea?

Well: the world is about to be engulfed in an all-out war, darkness and death are on almost every hearts, on the verge to destroy everything. And the moon, with her Moonshadow assassins, reflects “death”. But if my theory is right, shouldn’t she also reflect “life”, shouldn’t she bring “hope”?

And here goes Rayla, bright little light in the dark, sparing her enemies for the greater good, ready to sacrifice her life for a chance for peace. She’s the reason her little team’s adventure was possible to begin with, after all. 

I mean, seriously, if the moon is dual, if one aspect of it is “death” and the other is “hope”, wouldn’t this explain “different” Moonshadow elves like Rayla, Lain and Ethari? 

Just like a lot of sunfire elves are more connected to the destructive aspect of their arcanum and have a “heat mode”, and a few other are connected the more comforting and healing aspect of it with “light mode”. Why wouldn’t Moonshadow elves be like that too? With a lot of them related to the destructive aspect of the Moon (death), and a few others more connected to that other facet of it: hope. 

As for Lain and Ethari, why do I think they’re more “hope-related” than death?

We haven’t seen a lot of them yet (and I’m waiting for S4 to see more of Ethari). However, the few elements we have is already not bad:

Lain literally saw “hope” in the egg’s survival. As for Ethari, even if he wronged Rayla in his grief, he did broke the spell and help her. Without him, they would have never made it in time to the Storm Spire, Rayla wouldn’t have been here to stop Viren, who would have probably killed Zubeia. 

So sorry, it’s a little longer than I thought, but I hope you’ll be interested. (if not, sorry for waisting your time - and sorry if my english isn’t… arf, sorry if it’s torture, I have no one to check on it)

good night :)

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

Hey, thank you for this! I love seeing other people’s ideas! I’ve spent plenty of time pondering Moonshadow culture and philosophy because its duality is so fascinating. But the way you’ve put it gives it a beautiful new spin: hope in the dark. And I do agree with you, because I can think of several times when Moonshadow elves acted as that hope when things got dark--and not just Lain and Ethari, either.

You said that the moon acts like a kind of mirror, reflecting the light (and life) of the sun even in the darkest places. Like she’s encouraging everyone to hold on, because the day is coming back again. In such darkness, even the smallest bits of light make a big difference. And I think that’s exactly what we get from the Moonshadow elves.

Tiadrin and Lain left their daughter behind because duty was so important to them. That’s noble, but also sad. Yet Tiadrin valued life so highly that she tricked Viren into sparing the egg, just on the odd chance that someone could rescue it later somehow. I bet she was betting on Runaan right then. Saving the egg was her light in the dark, and so was hope that her good friend might rescue it when she couldn’t. And he did try once he saw it, but neither of them could’ve predicted that Rayla would find it before they did.

Ethari did ghost his daughter while he was suffocating in his own grief. He couldn’t stand up to the whole village in that moment. That was a very dark time, for him and for who he might’ve turned into. But then Rayla came home, innocent of the crime spoken against her, and Ethari knew he’d been wrong. He broke through his own darkness and became the hope that she needed.

Lujanne straight-up told Callum that humans can’t do magic, while sitting in the seat of her own power. That was all she knew, even as an experienced mage, and though she was kind, she definitely had her people’s misinformation and prejudices against humans and dark magic. And yet, when Claudia and Soren came, and Rayla asked for her help to escape safely back toward Xadia, Lujanne used that special exclusive magic, and her own personal Moon Phoenix to help test the intentions of Claudia and Soren, and it helped them stay safe.

Even Runaan has some very bright spots in his dark story. He saved Rayla’s life once he realized he’d endangered it. That cost him dearly, but he paid it willingly. And despite all of his broody loner tendencies, he lets his extended family drag him out on his own birthday. He does special things for Rayla on her birthday. He definitely does something special for Ethari on his, too. He’s a stabby dark angel of death, and probably the darkest Moonshadow elf we’ll ever meet, But he knows what love is, and it makes him break the rules, just like Ethari did. He let Rayla live when the conventions of his profession demanded otherwise. We never got to see what kind of trouble that might’ve gotten him into. But I bet it wouldn’t have been a hit back home.

And don’t get me started on Rayla. She’s very grumpy and rule-oriented much of the time, but her soft heart can’t resist doing what’s right if it clashes with what’s expected. She learned that from all her parents, and she can’t help being their daughter at every turn, acting as she’s seen them all act, following the rules right up until her heart tells her otherwise.

See the pattern? All of these elves live in a society that’s strict and ordered with very clear rules. But they’re still people, still individuals with hearts and minds. And they keep finding little ways to be soft despite their hard world. They are the night, and the night is very black and white. But they all live for the light of the moon, and for its hope, its love, and its promise.

Moonshadow elves have a rough job. They guard the dark and the dead and all things scary and creepy. They are what’s in the dark. That fits well with why they’re not supposed to be afraid: they’re supposed to be the scary ones. 

In a way, I see Moonshadow elves as the recycling of Xadia. Part of a bigger cycle, like day and night, part of an endless cycle that will never stop. 

They deal with death and spirits. Usually people don’t like to think about those things. They’re unnerving. Just like we humans don’t really like to think about our garbage bins. But when you recycle, you take old gross dead things and you turn them into something new and useful again. 

When we trim shrubbery, it’s so that the plant can grow more healthy. When we separate our glass and metal and cardboard, it’s so we don’t pollute the planet and kill life unnecessarily. When something dies in the forest, the itty bitty creatures come out and take care of it, reusing all those nutrients, passing them on and turning them back into life and health. Even mushrooms and molds are recycling. You may not like their job. It may seem icky to you. But imagine a world where everything that died or was discarded just. Sat there. Stinking forever. Would that be better? No, it wouldn’t, eew. 

The recycling that happens in the natural processes of the world is mostly invisible to us. It happens on a very small scale, or underground, or in the dark. But it happens. It’s happening right now, all around us. Invisible, if you will. And from that slightly distasteful, invisible, endless process, we will get fresh leaves on our trees, new flowers, new generations of helpful insects and animals, and a lot fewer gross smells on the breeze. You’re welcome!

The moon is the hope in the dark. But that hope is borne out by the individual choices of the elves we know and love. When they choose to be soft, to be heroic, to be selfless or sacrificing, they’re acknowledging that they are part of a bigger whole, an entire ecosystem of elves and dragons and even humans, and they act for a cause bigger than themselves. No one has a better sense of their place in the bigger scheme of things than Moonshadows, I think.

I’m eager to see what Rayla’s arc will be like from here, because it’s looking more and more likely that she’ll literally arc away from her Moonshadow upbringing instead of cycling back to it. She is the hope in the dark of her people. Will she save them, will she step away from them, will anyone come with her? Will it go smoothly does ghosting count as smooth, or will there be trouble?

All good thoughts, @lily-lilou​, all good thoughts. Thank you for sharing your ideas!

[babygirlgalitzine]

here comes the sun (and i say, it’s alright) 

(read it all here)

It's their night to have Lexi. It's something that happens often during her school holidays. She doesn't really have a routine, as such, because both of her parents are so active in her life that she sees them both everyday, despite the fact that they've both moved on to new relationships. It works, and she's happy. Ben's been living at Callum's for a while now, officially, and even longer unofficially, and Lexi loves nothing more than joining them there, her own little room set up now they live alone. She's got her own cups and plates and a toy box that constantly seems to have more and more dressing up clothes in, on a weekly basis - though neither Ben nor Callum admit to spoiling her rotten. She's got her own space on the sofa, and Callum doesn't even complain when she sits there in the morning eating buttery toast watching the kids channel he never knew he had on his television before her.

Lexi's sat there now, her legs swinging back and forth against the bottom of the sofa and she's cuddling into Ben's side, tiredness overtaking her though she's trying to fight it. The news theme tune chimes, and the only thing she cares about is how hot it's going to be tomorrow. Her day at the beach. Callum wraps his arm around Ben's shoulder, fingers lightly skimming past his hair, and Ben looks at Callum and smiles. He tilts his head towards Callum, who presses a kiss to his hair, and smiles back at Ben. The man on the news is talking about the local happenings, though it's nothing too exciting. Ben nearly falls asleep, and he knows Lexi is too, judging by the weight of her against his side. Then they go to the weather reporter, who is standing in front of a green screen of the map. Lexi doesn't understand it, not properly, but the adults do. Callum lets out a short huff before Ben even has time to process it all, his tired brain only working at a percentage of what it usually does.

"And the weather along the coast tomorrow is set to be miserable, with drizzle and dark clouds all day long. The temperature is set to drop to the mid-teens, and not rise from that for the remainder of the week."

"What does that mean?" Lexi inquires.

Ben curls her hair around his finger and then realises it. "It means we can't go to the beach tomorrow darling, I'm sorry." He says.

"Why not?" She asks, and Ben's almost grateful that she's clearly tired, because she's not fighting it.

Callum speaks up, looking over Ben's body to watch her. "It'll be raining and cold. We can go another day though."

Lexi nods. "Before I go back to school?"

"Course, Princess." Ben smiles. "Anyway, it's past your bedtime now, so go and brush your teeth and I'll be in to check on you in five minutes."

She stands up, pyjamas far too big on her, though they are in her age category. "Can you read me a story?" She asks, rubbing her eyes with the bunched up sleeves of her shirt.

"Only if you pick one out for me." Ben smiles, stretching his limbs out. He watches as Lexi runs to the bathroom, clearly excited about the idea of her Dad reading one of her books to her.

It's barely past nine at night, the sky only just fading into a navy colour, the stars coming to life, but they're so tired. Callum falls into a cuddle, wrapping his arms around Ben's body as he stretches out. Ben laughs mid yawn, an ache in his chest as he does so, and his hand falls to the back of Callum's head, fingers threading through his short hair. He presses a soft kiss to Callum's head and whispers. "Get in bed, babe, I'll only be ten minutes."

Callum looks up. "You sure?"

Ben nods. "Yeah." He says. "She was falling asleep against me so she won't be awake much longer."

Callum hums against Ben's chest, feeling comfortable and at ease with Ben holding him. Like they were meant to be. Ben runs his fingers through Callum's hair, the television still playing news, now the national news, and it's relaxing. Callum can hear Ben's heartbeat, steading and thumping against his chest. Lexi walks out of the bathroom, and the sleeve on her right arm is dripping in water. Ben chuckles, and taps his fingers against Callum's head, silently telling him to get up. Callum complies, though it pains him when Ben stands up and walks away.

"Say night to Callum and then go pick a book then darling." Ben says, his hands on Lexi's shoulders.

She climbs over to Callum, and wraps her arms around his shoulders, her tiny body barely able to reach up that high, even though he's sitting down. He presses a swift peck to her head and hugs her back, telling her to have a nice sleep, and then she's soon walking towards her bedroom, ready to pick out a book for Ben to read to her.

"Ten minutes." Ben says, stepping towards Callum and letting Callum drag him in by the waist. "I promise you."

Callum nods, looking up at Ben with a smile on his face. "I'll get into bed then." He says, and puckers his lips. Ben bends down, holding Callum's face in his hands and presses his lips against Callum's, softly sighing into the embrace. Neither of them want to break apart, but Lexi shouts that she's picked a book from her room, and Ben knows he has to go.

Callum follows him, quickly turning the television off and he throws the remote control down on the sofa, ready to be used in the morning. Ben walks into Lexi's room, and Callum walks into their room, though he can hear all the words that Ben's speaking as he reads the tale of fairies out loud. There's something so domestic about it, about going to bed early, bone tired, about hearing Ben read stories to his daughter, about being able to have his daughter stay the night in their house together. Callum's flicking through his phone, the light from it and from the lamp illuminating the room, when Ben walks in moments later. He drops down into the bed, sinking into the mattress, and Callum hauls him into an embrace. Serenity is surrounding them, and Ben links his fingers with Callum's, their bodies pressing together. "She picked the longest book." Ben chuckles, bringing their joined hands up to his lips, pressing a kiss to Callum's skin. "And then fell asleep before I finished the first chapter."

"You'll just have to finish it tomorrow night." Callum laughs, nudging Ben's shirt with his nose, exposing the skin of his neck.

Ben unlocks his hands with Callum's, and takes his shirt off, throwing it to the floor. He'll worry about that tomorrow. "You can do it tomorrow." Ben grins, pressing a kiss to Callum's neck.

"Yeah?" He asks.

"Yeah, course." Ben smiles. "You know she likes you, right?"

Callum hums, though neither of them are completely certain he understands. "She's proper been looking forward to going to the beach." He says, fingers catching Ben's hair, getting tangled in short knots.

"We'll take her another day." Ben promises. "Maybe make a weekend holiday of it."

Callum wakes up first, climbing out of bed. The cool air hits his body and he's grateful for it, the covers that were once over his body now way too hot for him. He leaves his boyfriend sleeping peacefully, though there's sweat visible on his forehead, and he walks into the kitchen. It's early, but it's clear to Callum that the weather presenter on the news the day before was wrong. It's hot, even at this early hour, the air muggy. Outside the sky cascades over the trees and houses a vibrant blue, with white and fluffy clouds sparsely littering the sky, breaking up the brightness of the blue.

Looks like a day at the beach is on, after all.

He flicks the television back into life, and there's a renovation show on. He takes no notice of it, just needing a bit of quiet noise playing in the background as he starts up his day. He's making himself a cup of coffee, when arms wrap around his waist, a head falling against his shoulder blades.

"Didn't wake you up did I?" Callum asks, and his voice is croaky because he's not had a drink yet.

There's a shake of Ben's head, and Callum can feel the movement against the expanse of his back. Callum turns, facing Ben now, and he wraps his arms around his boyfriend's body, just holding him there. Ben's head is against his chest, his glasses digging into Callum, pushing upwards off of Ben's eyes, making it difficult for him to see. The kettle grinds to halt, steam puffing out of its spout, and Ben groans as he pulls away from Callum.

"Want a cuppa?" Callum asks, as he watches Ben sit down on the sofa, resting his legs up on the small coffee table that resides in front of it.

Ben smiles over at Callum. "I don't deserve you." He says, and Callum knows that's Ben's way of saying yes.

Callum grins, and his heart flutters, all happiness and light. "I reckon we could go to the beach today." Callum admits, passing Ben the cup of tea.

"You think so?" Ben asks, raising an eyebrow in Callum's direction.

"It looks beautiful outside, and it's hot." Callum says. "We could go this morning, and then even if it starts chucking down in the afternoon we could just run back to the car and come home."

Ben hums, looking outside and watching as the clouds stagnate in the sky, the sun rising above the houses opposite. He knows Callum's right. "Alright then. Yeah, let's go."

So they do. Just over an hour later, and breakfast long since eaten, Lexi's standing at the door dressed in shorts with pom poms on, a bright pink shirt, and a hat, sunglasses in hand. Callum throws Ben's car keys at him, deciding to take his car just because Lexi's booster seat is already in there, plus it's bigger. Ben swings his keys around his fingers, and pats his shorts, checking that his phone's already hidden away in there. Callum picks up the bucket and spade, handing the latter over to Lexi, who takes it gratefully, and then he grabs a bag with a change of clothes, blanket and food and water. If nothing comes from this, at least he's prepared for all eventualities.

When they get to the beach, it looks like everyone’s had the same idea. It’s busy, and it takes Ben at least ten minutes before he’s able to find a place to park the car without paying extortionate prices to do so. Lexi's able to just look over the brick wall leading down to the beach - if she stands on the tips of her toes and cranes her neck.

"Daddy!" she shouts, though Ben is holding onto her hand and would be able to hear her if she just speaks. "There's a bouncy slide on the sand!"

Ben and Callum look at each other, fear in their eyes. It'll end in tears. Whether it'll be theirs because of the price, or Lexi's after she hurts herself, who knows? There's squeals of children all around, an inflatable obstacle course paving the way down to the beach. There's men playing football across the sand, sunbathers relaxing, children playing with buckets and spades. The second that Lexi steps foot onto the sand, the grains flicking into her tiny sandals, she sets off running, Ben and Callum quickly following her in the hope that she doesn't just go missing.

By lunch, it's hot. The sun is right there in the centre of the sky, at its peak. Ben's laying on the sand, tan grains sticking to him where he's sweating, or sticky with sun cream. Callum's sitting upright, helping Lexi tap down the sand in her bucket so that it doesn't all crumble when she tips it back around, building a castle. It's highly elaborate, with a moat, and sticks acting as a drawbridge. Ben grins, watching them play together. Lexi looks up at Callum with a bright grin, and he knows that means she's ready to flip it over, but needs help. Compacted sand is heavy on her little arms, especially in this heat. Ben takes his phone out of his pocket, and notices that it's hot to touch, but quickly snaps a photo of the two of them together. His two favourite people.

"It's lunch." Ben points out, looking at the time on his phone. He sits up. "Do you want to go and get something to eat, get out of the sun for a bit?"

"Can we come back here after?" Lexi asks, looking up at her dad, her hat just that little bit too big and falling off of her head. He fixes its position on top of her head and smiles. "I want to go in the water."

Ben chuckles. "If it's not raining by the time we come back then yeah." He says, shoving their things into their bag. "But I'm not going in the water. There's sharks in there."

"Ben!" Callum scalds, punching Ben's arm lightly. "I'll take you paddling after Lex, but we can't go in properly."

She accepts that, and carries her bucket away with her, holding onto Ben's hand as the three of them walk off the beach.

It's not long before they find a cafe, hidden away in the corner of a street. It's got an outside sitting area with only a few people there, covered by large parasols. Lexi sits down on a chair, and Callum follows, Ben drops the bag on the floor, underneath the table and stands towering over them. He takes his wallet out, reading to go and order some food.

"Do you need help?" Callum asks.

Ben shakes his head. "Just watch her, make sure she doesn't go running off." He leans down and rests his forearm across the back of Callum's neck, and hooks him in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. There's no need for it, it's just nice, and it sends shivers down Callum's spine. "What do you fancy?" He asks, voice low.

Callum grins, and he can't resist. Ben's stumbled right into a trap. "You." He says, lightness in his voice, and a laugh escapes him. "Just get me chips or something."

Ben pulls away, cheeks now a shade of pink. "Chips, and Lexi? Strawberry milkshake if they have any?"

Lexi looks up at her dad and grins, nodding her head. Callum leans over and takes her sunglasses off her eyes. She doesn't need them right now, underneath the parasol. Ben chuckles softly, shaking his head in disbelief at how lucky he is to have this life. He walks into the cafe, and is instantly grateful that there's cold air blowing out from above him. It's quaint, reminiscent of the photos he's seen of his own Mum's cafe in the past. Something within him clicks, and he feels at home straight away, though he knows he's never been here before. There's newspaper clippings on the way, the paper decaying into a soft yellow, the glass of a frame protecting it from any harm. The headline reads something about a grand re-opening, though he doesn't take much notice of it as he's busy trying to find a menu somewhere.

When he walks back out, moments later, with a strawberry milkshake in hand for Lexi, with a cardboard lunch box with zebras and giraffes printed on it, the heat hits him again, even more so now. He sits back down with his family, and explains that they'll bring his and Callum's order out when it's ready. "Only three pound for Lexi's stuff." Ben says, looking at the receipt in his hands. "And there's quite a lot in it."

"Not bad." Callum admires. "We'll have to come again."

[chilling-seavey]

What if Florence and Daniel got into a fight bc both of them are stressed out worrying about money and taking care of the kids?? How would my OTP resolve their fight??? 🤔

This was lowkey emotionally draining to write...wowey. 3.3k words later, here’s some proof that Florence and Daniel’s relationship isn’t as perfect and flawless as it seems... x

Monday, November 4th, 2024

Daniel let out a heavy breath as he got into his car after another shift, having spent most of it with his supervisor never being satisfied but that wasn’t new. He turned on the car and connected his phone to Bluetooth to call Florence as he always did before leaving. Strangely, he was sent to voicemail but a text came through instead.

Can you pick up diapers on your way home?

He sighed and replied with a quick ‘ok’ before pocketing his phone and putting the car in reverse. Closer to home, he parked outside the drugstore and headed inside, rushing down the aisles to find the diapers and grabbed the biggest package before bringing it to the cash.

“$37.45.” the cashier said after ringing up the item.

Daniel waved his card and was directed to the machine. He typed in his pin and waited a moment only to be met with card declined: insufficient funds. The glance from the cashier made Daniel feel even worse and he cleared his throat nervously, brushing a hand through his hair before shuffling through his wallet to only be met with a $10 bill and a few loose coins.

“Sorry… I, uh, left my other card at home.” Daniel said softly before leaving the store empty handed.

He sat behind the wheel of his car and tried to steady his breathing after being unable to afford diapers for his baby daughter. After a few moments of trying to calm down and trying not to cry, Daniel turned on the car and headed towards home.

The apartment smelt like burnt supper when he walked in and the noise was insane, the baby’s piecing screams topping it all. No one even heard him come in. Daniel set his guitar case and backpack on the floor in the doorway to the living room, taking in the messy kitchen and loud TV with Clementine sat admits a pile of toys trying to watch it, Penelope on the couch with her face in a pillow and her hands over her ears as she cried, and screaming Lucy in Florence’s arms as the dishevelled looking mother tried to put the dishes in the sink.

“Hey.” Daniel finally spoke, earning the glances of Florence and Clementine.

Clementine jumped up and ran for him as if he was her saviour from the chaos and he picked her up with a tired grunt.

“What’s going on here?” Daniel asked softly.

“Mommy burnt the house down!” Clementine said with a giggle as Daniel carried her towards the kitchen, his eyes lingering on Penelope on the couch for a moment.

“I just burnt the lasagna a bit.” Florence sighed, wiping her damp hand on her shirt that was already covered in tomato sauce and baby drool. Her hair was pulled back but still almost completely falling out of its tie and her makeup-less face looked like she hadn’t slept in days. “Did you pick up the diapers?”

Daniel cleared his throat nervously, setting Clementine back on the ground to let her run back off to the TV, “No, my-”

“Goddammit, Daniel, I ask you to do one thing.” Florence snapped as quietly as she could, tossing the pan in the sink a bit too hard, making Lucy scream louder in her arms.

“I tried, I just-”

“It’s not that hard to remember. Your daughter needs diapers. We have, like, four left but that’s fine; when we run out I’ll just tie one of your shirts around her like a freaking monkey at the zoo.”

“Florence, what is going on?” Daniel asked at her obvious stressed out state.

“I had to pick up Penelope only an hour after dropping her off this morning because the teacher called and said she had a meltdown and wouldn’t relax and everything is setting her off today. The damn oven beeped and she lost her mind. Of course Lucy’s crying only makes it worse and she won’t shut up because she’s teething.” Florence pushed her finger in the five-month-old’s mouth to get a look at her swollen gums and the baby just cried louder. “She also pooped all over everything today which is why we needed new diapers earlier than planned because her personal nuclear bomb ruined half the things on the change table.”

Daniel watched with wide eyes as she rushed over to grab the last two plates from the dining room table and tossed them in the sink too before turning on the tap and letting the water run over everything.

“And Clementine is demanding that she gets this new set for her doll that everyone has at school. She won’t even hear of it for Christmas because she needs it now.” Florence continued. “And she keeps testing me! Judging everything I do like she’s the adult. ‘Mommy, the lasagna’s burnt’. Like I didn’t know!”

“Okay.” Daniel sighed softly, reaching over the counter to take the crying baby from her and made his way to the freezer to take the cold teething ring out and held it out to Lucy. “I’ll take the girls and get them ready for bed and then we can talk.”

“I don’t want to talk. I wanted you to get the diapers like I fucking asked.” Florence grumbled.

“Flora.” Daniel snapped sharply to shut her up.

His glare certainly helped, and she clenched her jaw before looking back to the dishes without another word. Daniel bounced the baby lightly as she kept screaming through the teething ring he desperately tried to put in her mouth as he headed back to the living room.

“Clem, angel, can you tidy up your toys and go get your pyjamas on please?” Daniel asked softly as he turned off the TV.

The almost six-year-old nodded and got up from the rug, starting to gather her things, “There’s a new set you can buy for my dolls, Daddy. It’s a whole car they can ride in and the radio even plays music! It’s really nice and all the girls in my class has it. I wanna get it so we can play together at school.”

“We’ll think about it.” Daniel said, trying to hold back his nausea from the harsh inset of reality. He wanted nothing more than to buy that stupid toy car for his daughter but it was no where near realistic. He set Lucy in her playpen with the teething ring before moving to tend to his middle daughter who was still face down on the couch with her hands over her ears. When he set his hand on her back she startled. “Just me, bug.”

Penelope rolled over, giving him a good look of her swollen red eyes and matted dark hair and tear streaked cheeks, and she held her arms up to him through a hiccup.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Daniel pouted as he bent down and scooped her up, the four-year-old cuddling right into him through her sniffles as he took her to her room to get her cleaned up for bed. He sung softly as he wiped her face clean with a damp cloth and got her into her pyjamas, something that always helped calm her down, and he took his time to help both her and Clementine brush their teeth and comb their hair before tucking them into bed.

Daniel grabbed Lucy for story time, all three girls cuddled up with him as he read them a bedtime story. Lucy fell asleep quickly, probably tired out from all her crying – same with Penelope – and he kissed the oldest two good-night before taking the baby down the hall to bed too. He let his eyes linger on the remaining three diapers in the basket before letting out a small sigh and took one out so he could change her into her pyjamas. Lucy was tucked into her crib with the teething ring beside her just in case and he pushed a pacifier past her lips, watching her for a second as she sleepily sucked on it for a moment, the plastic bumping lightly against her tiny nose.

The apartment was eerily quiet as Daniel closed the nursey door, baby monitor in hand, and made his way back down the hallway for a conversation he really did not want to have.

Florence had the kitchen cleaned up by the time he was back, and they shared expressionless glances as she closed the last cupboard.

“I’m sorry you had a bad day,” Daniel said, placing the baby monitor on the counter between them, “but you don’t need to take it out on me.”

“Maybe if you did what I asked, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

“I tried.” Daniel protested. “It was a hard day and to top it off my card-”

Florence held up her hand to cut him off, “You go to work to play music for eight hours and then come home to a good meal that you don’t have to cook. You have it easy.”

“Easy?” Daniel gaped. “Are you kidding me? You know how much shit I do in my job and how many late nights and early mornings and weekends I put into this. It’s no where near easy.”

“Oh yeah.” Florence chuckled humourlessly. “When you don’t have to lift a finger around here, leaving me to practically raise your children.”

“You think I like never seeing my wife or kids?!” Daniel frowned. “It was bad when Lucy was first born, yeah, but we even had a whole discussion and I got much more time freed up. But I can’t just sit at home all day with you guys, this isn’t a fairy-tale.”

“I know but you act like I’m a psychotic bitch when I let it all get to me! I got shit on today! And walked over and hit and kicked and bitten and screamed at and I burnt my arm trying to get the charred dinner out of the oven. You just don’t understand what it’s like to stay home!”

“You have no idea what it’s like to work! To go out and earn a salary! You could have gone to school and gotten a degree and then figured out what you wanted to do with your life but instead you chose to cruise off everyone else. You didn’t even pay for your first apartment! Callum did! You have no freaking idea the value of money!”

“I was raising my daughter.” Florence seethed. “Fuck you for even saying that.”

“You could have made it work.”

“Sorry I chose to focus on her rather than shoving her in daycare to be pretty much raised by a stranger for the first four years of her life. I didn’t have the money for any of that. I barely had money to put food on the fucking table half the time and you know that.”

“So get over yourself! Stop being so goddamn selfish if you’re so finically-aware!”

“Fuck you!” Florence shouted, walking around the counter as if she were going to leave the room but she stopped in the middle of the living room and turned back to him. “I get that you have to work and I am thankful that you even have a job, but a little compassion isn’t a lot to ask of you.”

“Compassion? Are you serious?” Daniel scoffed loudly, taking a few quick strides across the room to stand in front of her, shouting back his rebuttal, “I nearly wait on you hand and foot and I drop everything whenever you need me and for years I always have! I have done nothing but work my ass off for you and our kids and you still have the audacity to say that it’s still not enough? I work too much and now I don’t work enough and then I don’t ‘understand what you’re going through’. Well, dammit, Florence, what the fuck do you want from me?”

“I want you to care about other things than your work!”

“I already cut my hours! We’re nearly fucking broke, Florence, I don’t know why you can’t understand that! We literally cannot afford for me to lose one more hour a week! Last months rent virtually drained us and we are surviving on a $10 bill and my fucking shoelace right now! I’m pushed to the fucking brim half the time trying to get all the shit done so I don’t have to work overtime so I can still come home to you and the girls and all I’m met with is attitude and snark and an ungrateful wife who scolds me like my goddamn mother when I walk in the door!”

Florence didn’t reply for a beat and the silence lingered heavy over the apartment. Her eyebrows furrowed first before her face scrunched up in anger and she jabbed a finger in Daniel’s face before yelling, “Fuck you! I am not staying home just to make you a supper and serve you a beer in a pretty pink dress and heels with a face full of makeup and a fake smile when you get in from work. This isn’t the 19-fucking-50s! I am allowed to have emotions, Daniel James, and right now you are tugging at every single last one of them! How dare you say these things to me!”

“You are freaking out for no reason!” Daniel shouted louder to top her. “You’re twisting everything I’m saying! Do you even hear yourself?”

“All I can hear is you being a selfish and ungrateful son of a bitch!” Florence screamed, throwing a couch cushion at him.

“Throwing things at me? Real mature, Florence. Real fucking mature! God, why don’t you understand?!” Daniel shut his eyes and threw his hands into his hair and tugged hard to try and rid his frustrations. “You’re so naïve sometimes, you drive me fucking crazy!”

They were already even listening to each other anymore, simply off on their own tangents trying to out-volume the other. Daniel and Florence didn’t fight often, priding themselves on their open communication, but everything eventually hits a bump and when they did, they really did.

“Just go play your pretty music, Daniel! Make some pretty music with your friends and put it online for everyone rave over and shut up. I’ll be here taking care of and being hit like a punching bag by your children.”

“You know what, I would appreciate it if you stopped fucking accusing me of being a shitty father because I have a job! I have been trying my best and if that’s not enough for you then I don’t know what to tell you!” Daniel put his hands up.

“What? You’re gonna leave?” Florence laughed humourlessly, throwing her finger in the direction of the door. “Fine! Go on! Wouldn’t be the first time! Leave when it gets hard Daniel!” She cut her screams, leaning in closer to him to whisper sharply, “Just like Matt did.”

Their fight seemed to echo through the apartment as silence fell again, her angry expression still glaring at him as his face melted into neutrality.

“Don’t say that.” Daniel said softly, trying to each for her.

“Don’t touch me.” Florence stepped back before walking quickly down the hallway.

“Flora, I’m not gonna-” Daniel started after her but the slamming of the bedroom door startled him to stop in place. He took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face to try and calm down, leaning back against the wall of the hallway. It was surprising that the baby wasn’t crying given the fact they just had a ten-minute-long screaming match.

Daniel composed himself enough to open the girls’ bedroom door and peak in, finding them both huddled up together in Clementine’s bed, frightened looks on their faces.

“Hey, my loves.” Daniel sighed, sitting himself on the side of the bed. “I’m sorry if we scared you. Mommy and I haven’t been talking as much as we should have been, and we got a little crazy. Do you forgive us?”

Clementine and Penelope nodded. Daniel kissed each of their heads and got them tucked in again in their own beds.

“No more yelling tonight?” Penelope asked.

“No more yelling.” Daniel promised, smiling sadly between his two eldest. He couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on Clementine a moment longer, remembering the night Matt walked out, leaving nineteen-year-old Florence and baby Clementine alone and a mess in their small apartment. She stared up at him with those same blue eyes he always remembered, and he gave her an extra kiss on the cheek, staying with them until they were drifting back to sleep, “Daddy’s not going anywhere.”

Daniel found himself back outside the master bedroom door with his hand on the knob and his forehead against the cool wood, taking slow breaths to keep himself calm to try the conversation again. He finally opened the door and slipped inside before closing it silently behind him. The light was on in the ensuite and he stopped in the doorway.

Florence glanced up at him from where she stood in front of the vanity brushing her hair. She silently turned back and continued what she was doing.

“Come here.” Daniel whispered, stepping closer and gently pulled her arms down from her hair to wrap around his shoulders and he tucked his own tightly around her waist, peppering a few kisses over her cheek and across her shoulder. “I love you. So fucking much. Even when you scream at me and swear at me and throw things at me.”

Florence sniffled a little, holding him tighter. “I love you too.”

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Daniel rubbed a hand over her back. “No matter what.”

“I’m sorry.” Florence mumbled, wrapping her fingers around the material of his shirt and buried her face in his neck.

“I’m sorry too.” Daniel sighed. “My card got declined today. It scared me.”

“What?” Florence leaned back with concern, holding her hands on his biceps to keep him close as she stared at his flushed face.

“$37 for diapers and my card was declined. I felt like a fucking idiot, like an absolute joke of a father…can’t even buy the necessities for my kid.” Daniel sighed, turning to lean back against the counter and hung his head. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do, Flora. I’m scared.”

“I know.” Florence mumbled, petting her hand through his hair. “Maybe we should talk to someone? Get a budget figured out until we get back on our feet. Worst case scenario, we ask your parents for a bit of a loan. We’re not going to lose anything from this.”

Daniel nodded, biting his lip as he stared at the floor, fingers holding tightly onto the edge of the counter behind him.

“I’m sorry.” his voice broke and he struggled to hold back a small sob, quickly hiding his face in his hands.

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Florence frowned, wrapping her arms around him to let him cry against her shoulder, “I know how hard you work. You’re such a good dad and an amazing husband. I know you’re trying your best and I also know it’s slowly starting to destroy you.”

Daniel whimpered as he nodded, clinging onto her tighter through his tears as he muffled a sob into her neck.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.” Florence sighed, running her hand up and down his back. “I took my own shit out on you. I needed any excuse to yell, I guess.”

“Better me than at the girls.” Daniel chuckled lightly, pulling back from their hug a little to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I love you.” Florence said strongly, taking his face in her hands. “$0 in your pocket or millions. Doesn’t matter. Don’t you forget it, okay?”

Daniel nodded and leaned in to kiss her once, lingering there a moment longer before pulling back.

“Now no more tears.” Florence said, taking a deep breath herself as she started to feel herself start to cry. “There have been to many tears in this house today.”

[raayllum]

Could Rayllum have possibly broken up after the "you never did" scene in 3x08?

Oh, not at all. Even when Rayla sees Callum coming up to meet her on the pinnacle, what, maybe 20 minutes later? She’s still torn up over their fight, but she’s also not mad and she’s not, most notably in my opinion, defensive. She makes her boundaries clear — “I don’t want to talk about it, I’m not going to change my mind” — but Callum also makes it clear he’s not going to step on them: “No no [that’s not what I’m here to do.]” 

She’s not happy. It was an emotionally charged fight and they both said some pretty hurtful things. But they’ve also worked through far worse with far less reason to — everything with the Egg, Harrow, Soren and Claudia. And my next meta is likely going to touch on this more heavily, but one of the things that 3x05 always impresses upon me is how much, post the awkward aftermath of their first kiss, how much Callum and Rayla (Rayla, understandably, in particular) do to make sure their friendship stays in tact. 

“We walk away and this never happened,” is to save embarrassment for her, of course, but Callum is plenty embarrassed and flustered too. But he’s also still her best friend and she’s still the most amazing person he’s ever met, and they know it, and they don’t want to lose it. So Callum helps her up from the ground and Rayla has him hold onto her with little fuss, she helps him up the ambler and they figure how to deal with Nyx together. 

I’ve written about Rayla’s “You never did,” before, and I know I’ll touch on it again, too. I once said she said it in order to hurt him, in a way, because he’d also hurt her, but as an extension: she says it to shock/wound him enough to back off. And while she feels it’s true in the moment, they both know how untrue it really is; Callum likely knows her better than anyone else.

Rayla and Callum are a couple that bickers, and occasionally fights, and they do disagree fairly often. But every time they do disagree, or even argue, they also choose one another and their relationship over any obstacle that gets in their path. 

When Callum offers the Egg to Rayla, he proves that he trusts her whether she tells him the truth or not. When the truth about Harrow does come out, Callum chooses understanding and forgiveness over grief and hurt; when faced with the severity of Callum’s illness, Rayla chooses concern, forgiveness, and compassion over anger, about as unconditionally as it can get: “It doesn’t matter what you did before.” Whenever the world asks them to put something above their relationship, they say almost always say no, and when they don’t, they almost always agree on why they’re saying no. Even Rayla, in her initial decision to stay at the Storm Spire, makes sure to put her relationship with Callum as a priority and make sure he’ll have something to remember her by. 

But at the end of the day, every obstacle they’ve overcome has brought them closer. They’re both stubbornly compassionate people who cared deeply about each other at first against their better judgement, in some ways, and now actively choose to. Nothing’s gonna ever break them apart. Not permanently. And definitely not a fight that, I think at its core, in many way demonstrates just how much they care about one another.

[softballum]

So here’s something no one ever asked for. I’ve never written fic in my life, but heres 2k words of my ramblings.

I thought about this all day yesterday and had an idea for a ‘fix it’ for after Monday 1st’s episode. I really thought Ben might actually confide in Callum but I guess not. 

Anyway, hope you enjoy if you do read it!!

I’ve Got You

He’s been squeezing his eyes shut for what feels like hours now. The rooms pitch black and for once its completely silent in and out of the flat. Callum can only hear his own anxious breathing and the faint mumblings of the buildings plumbing. The t-shirt he wears to bed offers him no comfort like normal. Its scratching the back of his neck, the stitches feel like they’re burning into his skin. He’d managed a few pints with the lads earlier and was content with how the night had gone. The alcohol would normally make him drowsy, make him yawn till his bones ached and he carried himself off to bed. Right now though, it's like he can feel it buzzing in his veins, angsty to get up from the horizontal position he’s in.

He can’t sleep if he knows Ben is supposed to be next to him. Sometimes he’ll briefly wake up in the small hours of the morning and brush his hand across the mattress. Just to feel Ben’s warm skin beneath his fingertips. Some days he still can’t believe that what he has with Ben is real, that he wants to spend the most vulnerable hours of his day, lying next Callum. He knows he’s overreacting. Ben had let Callum know he’d promised to put Lexi to bed tonight and spend some much needed, quality cuddling time with her. He’ll have let her stay up a little longer so he can read an extra few pages of Lexis favourite fantasy. Unique character voices and all. Or he’s sat having a cuppa with his Mum. Kathy fretting over him with extra cake she’d made for the cafe that morning, knows its Ben’s favourite. It’ll be as simple as that. Nothing for Callum to worry about. 

But he knew he got a weird vibe from Ben this morning, shooing him off like that. Ben didn’t want to be a hindrance to Callum making new mates and now he’s avoiding him. He goes to pick up his phone from the bedside table almost knocking it off completely. He squints when he unlocks the screen, the brightness edging on his irritation. He opens up his text conversation with Ben, the glasses wearing emoji in his contact grinning at him. He sees that Ben still hasn’t replied to his earlier message about when he’d be home. He contemplates sending another, starts tapping on the back space with a loud sigh.

“He doesn’t need you checking up on him, you idiot. You ain't his mother” he mutters to himself, scowling at the wall in front of him. But Callum just cares, cares with his whole chest and he hates the thought of Ben avoiding him. After Ben’s confessions and brash words in the middle of the square the other night, things have been a bit…off kilter between them, but it won’t stop Callum from caring about him. He knows Ben still has this hard exterior up and its only being built higher the more he believes he’s not worth Callum’s affections.

Callum jumps when he hears the flat door slam a moment later, startling him from his thoughts. He waits for the increasing volume of Bens feet up the stairs, but they don’t come. Callum lies on his back holding his breath. His eyes darting about the dark ceiling like it will give him the answers he’s looking for. After a few unnerving seconds, the heavy thumps of Ben’s boots make their way on to the landing. Callum open’s the bedroom door with a gentle touch not wanting Ben to think he’s been clock watching his arrival back to the flat.

“Ben…?” He says it so quietly, he struggles to hear it himself. “Ben.”

Ben sees the change in light of Callum walking closer to him out the corner of his eye. Whipping his head up to meet the creased expression on Callum’s face.

“Hi, you alright?” He signs as he speaks. “Lexi enjoy her story yeah?”.

It takes Ben a moment to put it together. He clears his throat, teetering on the edge of nervousness.

“Yeah, she’s great..yeah” he answers, still glancing at Callum’s hands in mid air.

“I text you earlier. Didn’t want to leave you on your lonesome too long if I was out. Didn’t think you’d still be at your Mum’s.” He makes sure Ben can see his mouth move with each word, but even he can feel himself rambling.

Ben’s staring, mouth just slightly agape in concentration but he’s not caught a word. He blinks harshly against the little light coming from the living room lamp. His head is bursting. The ringing in his ears is still ever present and it feels like it’s pushing down on him from above. The pressure is too much. His hands feel cold but his palms are clammy. They’re balled up into fists, shoved deeply into the pockets of his leather jacket. He can’t even feel the pain of his nails digging into the calloused flesh. Hands that not all that long ago were holding a gun, punching some thugs and driving the get away car for him and Phil. He can feel his breathing picking up, leather jacket sticking to the back of his neck, like a bad dream following you around. He knows he needs to put on a show now, best lying performance of his life. Show Callum that everything is as it should be. Take his hand and lead him to the bed they share and at least try and get some rest. He can do that. He can. He’s lied to Callum about dodgy jobs and his family life so many times already, hidden his darkest secrets from him time and time again, it should feel easy. Easier than this. He needs to get away, run to the bathroom or grab a glass of water from the kitchen. Anything to get out from under the careful gaze of Callum. If he’s not looking straight at him, maybe, just maybe he could get away with the facade. But he’s stuck to the floor, his boots suddenly weighing an absolute tonne. He feels nauseous now and the room is spinning, seconds away from being sick. Doesn’t know whether its because of his ears or if the need to lie to Callum for the umpteenth time that week, is finally catching up on him. It was different when it was about Keanu. He could just push and push and it worked, for a time. It’s different now though. He needs Callum, needs him so much even he doesn’t realise. He can’t just push him away anymore, he agreed to be better, but right now he can’t do better.

“Phone Ben? Did you get my text?” Callum’s thumb hovers over his other four fingers, motioning to him.

Ben blinks again. Swallows hard, his throat dry and scratching. Concentrate, he thinks.

“Uhh no sorry. Not picked it up for hours.” Another lie, good. He drags it out his jean pocket ready to chuck it on the kitchen counter, forget about it and got to sleep with his boyfriend and pretend this night never happened. His thumb knocks the lock button though, the screen lighting up the picture of Lexi as his background. There’s a text from his Dad.

“Remember. Not a word to Callum.”

He feels himself choke, throat constricting. His eyes sting and he’s breathing harshly through his nose. He’s squeezing his phone so tightly, the bone of his knuckles could simply tear through the skin on the back of his hand. He’s getting hotter and hotter now, the rage bubbling up underneath the surface. His muscles all cramping up at his frustration. The remaining adrenaline from earlier only adding to his impending outburst.

Callum swears everything is stuck in slow motion. He sees Ben’s eyes focus on his phone, reading the same line over and over again, quicker each time he scans over the screen. Then his expression changes. He’s never seen Ben like this. Vulnerable, upset, cocky, confrontational but not this, he’s never seen him like this. He hesitates to react, doesn’t know what Ben will do or say next. No idea what could have been on his phone to make him like this. Panic starts to set in.

A sharp moment later. Ben lets out an aggressive scream, all his emotions finally coming up to the surface for air. His throat feels like its bleeding but its no match for how his head feels. His phone suddenly rips out of his hand and makes a heavy thud against the fuchsia-coloured wall of the flat, narrowly missing a photo frame. It rattles to the floor, the screen smashed and blacked out. It’s how Ben feels, bashed about and empty underneath it all.

Callums shocked into action then and runs to him, socked feet padding over the length of the living room. Ben’s pacing now. All shadows and amber street light, seeping in from the curtains. His hands grab his ears like he’s trying to pull them off. Huffing through gritted teeth, droplets of spit gathering on his lips. Eyes red raw as he scrunches them as tight as possible, defiant not to let his tears spill over and down his cheeks. Callum grabs his elbows and Ben starts to sob, noises only a broken, young man could make when he can’t carry on anymore. His cries wrack his chest, desperate to get a breath in but his emotions pull him deeper. Callum’s eyes are darting all over Ben’s figure trying to work out what could possible have happened to him and why he’s crumbling in his hands.

“Ben. Its okay, I’m here. What is it? Whats wrong?” His subconscious is using his police and army training to keep his voice as level and calm as possible,  feeling anything but.

Ben continues to cry hysterically, his shallow breaths echoing in the small space of the flat.

“Ben, please? Please let me help you. Tell me. Whatever it is”

There’s silence for a split second and Callum thinks he’s imaging all this, but Ben’s body is still trembling under his hold.

“I can’t do this” Its barely a whisper and Callum wonders if Ben even realises he’s spoken out loud.

“You what?”

“I can’t do this Callum. I can’t. I can’t do it.” And shallowly, for a moment, Callum thinks he’s talking about them. But that’s not Ben, he wouldn’t be upset like this, he’d act the hard man and pretend he’s only being that way for the protection of Callum. No, this is different.

“You can’t do what Ben? Whats happened.” He trails his hands up to the back of Ben’s, still gripping on to his ears. He tries to gently prise them away from the sides of his head. If he can’t hear or look at Callum, he can’t communicate and Callum needs Ben to know he’s there for him.

Ben slowly glances up, still huffing in short pants. His face is blotchy red and wet from his cries.

His hair is all over place, in tufts from where he’s been grabbing at it in frustration. Callum thinks he hears his own heart shatter when he finally sees his face, Ben has never looked this broken before. Callum thinks if he lets go of the sides of his head now, he might just fall apart like fine china. This is not a Ben he’s ever seen.

“I can’t Callum” he repeats.

“Cant what Ben!?” Ben can see it from Callum’s expression what he’s asking him but that’s the only way he can tell.

“I can’t hear Callum.”

“What? I know you can’t hear Ben! What are you on about?” Ben concentrates on Callum’s lips through his blurred vision.

“No Callum.” He hiccups out a broken sob. The words are right on his tongue, but its like a bad taste in his mouth. He just wants to swallow and get rid of it, but what else can he say. He takes another second, the air between the two of them fully charged. Callum just stares at him in anticipation.

“I’m deaf. I can’t hear you. At all.”

The floodgates open then and Ben is back to harsh, violent cries. His lips curling in and his eyelashes soaked with thick tears. Callum holds on to him, his mouth hanging open in shock. Ben crashes into him, head straight into Callum’s chest, balling up the cotton of his t-shirt in his hands, holding on for dear life.

Callum just holds him. Wraps one arm around Ben’s back, the other cradling the back of his head, fingers brushing through the short hair there in an attempt to soothe his boyfriend. He stumbles a little with the sheer amount of weight Ben is pushing on him. Can feel his chest tighten too, his vision becoming blurred as a stray tear rolls its way down his flushed cheek. He’s scared, scared for Ben and what this means for him. But Ben’s strong, they’re strong and Callum will do anything to see him through his.

He dips his head so his mouth meets the crown of Ben’s hair. He presses a small kiss there, silent and soft.

“Shhhh.” He hushes. “I’ve got you Ben. I’ve got you.”

[tenspontaneite]

Peace Is A Journey (Chapter 15/?)

In which Callum desperately needs a rest, and Rayla and Ezran bond.

(Chapter length: 14.5k. ao3 link)

Warnings: depictions of wounds, wound care, medical drug use, mentions of food shortage.

---

By the time Rayla returned, the flames had built into respectable enough a heat that Ezran had gone to gather snow, setting it into an icy pile a short way down the slope. Callum was heating the first pot of water, and had all of the soiled bandages and clothes – of which there were now an uncomfortable number – piled nearby.

“Don’t put any bandages in that.” She called, distant enough that he probably wouldn’t have heard her if she wasn’t upwind of them, and he and Ez turned to see the tiny figure she made at the top of the slope, a bundle of sticks under her arm. His throat went a little tight at seeing her arm in the sling, that reminder of its infirmity, and he blinked at her as she drew near.

“Why not?” He inquired, when she was close enough for it to not require shouting. “Did you have something else you wanted to boil?”

She didn’t answer for a few moments, occupied with unloading a pile of thin and brittle branches near the fire. “I found some stuff.” She announced, when she was done, and reached into her makeshift shirt-sling to start laying things out near his feet. “Cyanroot,” She said, of a weird and twisty looking thing that vaguely resembled a carrot, if carrots were shaped like a wrung cloth and were purple with hardy and brittle foliage. She pulled out another of the same, albeit smaller, before withdrawing something new. Tree-needles, fairly long ones, still on the branches. “Fresh pine needles.” She declared, and…he wasn’t entirely sure why she’d gathered those, but okay. “And some other stuff,” She added, withdrawing a crumpled lump of what looked like various ferns and tiny plants. “But it’s the pine needles and cyanroot you should boil first.”

“…Okay.” He said, dubiously, and watched her as she sat down beside them. He ran his eyes over her, briefly, worry making it a reflex. She seemed as fine as could be expected, though. The gathering expedition had evidently cleared her head a bit. “I’m…assuming they’re good for something?”

“Can we eat them?” Ezran inquired, looking at the two examples of the mystery cyanroot with interest. Callum was a little intrigued himself, after a good week with no proper vegetables of any kind.

“Yep. Well, you can eat the cyanroot, anyway. But that’s not all.” Rayla nodded, withdrawing a blade with her good hand and – and, for a second, her other arm twitched in the sling, her fingers shifting on her shoulder, and a shadow passed over her eyes. She stared at the weird twisty roots for a few seconds, inscrutable, then passed the blade to Callum. “Cut one of those open. If you’ve not seen them before, you’ll probably like this.” She managed a smile, but it looked a little forced.

He eyed her for a moment, just a little uneasy, because…well, he could guess. For a reflexive moment, she’d tried to reach for the thing to cut it herself, but she only had the one hand available. She could hold the root in place, or she could take a blade to it, but not both at once. He thought she’d be running up against a lot of limitations like that, over the next few weeks. But especially in the next few days.

Deliberately, he returned his attention to the weapon. “Somehow, that sounds almost ominous.” He commented, and shifted his grip. Carefully, he took the smaller of the weird roots, and cut off the end. And then he stared.

On the outside, it was a dark purple, still covered in earth and loam. Inside, though…

“Wow, okay.” His eyebrows went up. “I…probably should have expected that from the name, huh.” Cyan, after all, was a rather expensive paint colour that he had, on occasion, been permitted to work with. It was a gorgeous colour, a searing blue like shallow ocean under the sun, and the inside of this root was precisely the same hue. It leaked onto his fingers, even, and when he drew them away, seemed to have stained them like ink.

“I’ve never seen something that blue before in my life.” Ezran declared, astonished, then paused. “Well, except for Zym’s egg, I guess.”

“People use it as a dye, I think.” Rayla said, smile turning a little more genuine at their reactions. “That’s not all it’s good for, though. It doesn’t taste great, but if you chop it up and boil it, it makes a sort of…nutrient tea.” She nodded to the pine. “Same for the pine needles, but it’s easier to find those. I thought about how we’ve not really eaten anything but meat for a couple of days, and…” She shrugged. “At least this’ll stop us getting scurvy.”

“What’s scurvy?” Ezran inquired, which led into a brief but educational discussion on a disease Callum would be just as happy to never experience. If pine needles could forestall it, then…well. It was a good thing that the Belt had a lot of pine trees.

“Anyway.” She shook her head, when that was done, and nodded to the roots. “If you wash those, then just sort of slice them and boil them, you can toss them and the pine needles in together and we’ll have a weird nutrient tea-soup-thing. And then I suppose we can boil these plants, and eat those, and eat the boiled cyanroot slices, and have had a sort-of balanced meal for once.”

“…You should have more of the meat than us.” Callum decided, after he caught hold of a snatch of nutrition-related memory. “Meat’s supposed to be good for when you’ve been injured, or lost a lot of blood, or both. You’re definitely both.”

She grimaced, and her bound hand twitched on her shoulder. “I suppose.” She said, dubious, and Callum wondered if it was too soon to ask to check the injuries again. Though, if he was going to check on them, he’d need to take her arm out of the sling, and…yeah, if they were going to do that, it should be after they’d got the rest of the cooking and tent-stuff done.

There was, then, still quite a lot to do today. The tent needed putting up, they had to make the weird cyan pine tea, they had to boil their clump of plants, they had to eat…and then all the bandages needed boiling, Rayla’s bandages needed changing, and…well, there was still her binding. He probably still needed to do her hand massage, even though the gaping gouges in her upper arm seemed a more pressing concern at this point…

“What’re you thinking about?” Rayla inquired, a little tentative, and he realised he’d been staring with a furrowed brow at her sling for a good while. He jolted, shoulders hunching a little, and shrugged self-consciously.

He sighed, a little glum. “About how much there is to do, I guess.” He said, ruefully, and looked up for a moment at the windswept sky. It felt depressingly early, still. Though he supposed the time of day didn’t really matter – he’d have the same amount to do whether or not they’d stopped to camp later in the afternoon. “I think I’m starting to get sick of having to walk all day and do all this camp stuff afterwards. It’s…tiring.”

Her lips quirked, almost wry, and she reached out to pat him on the shoulder. “Only took you a week to start getting fed up of it, huh.” She quipped. “Don’t worry. You get used to it.”

He grimaced. “I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.” He reflected, and she huffed a laugh, withdrawing her hand.

“Cheer up.” She said, with something of a sympathetic look in the eyes she rested on him. “Most days we’ll have had an actual night’s sleep, after all. And we won’t have been ambushed and nearly killed in the morning.”

Callum wondered if, with the passage of time, he’d stop feeling these stabs of breathless panic in his throat every time he was reminded of said ambush. Right now, it didn’t seem especially likely. “…Right.” He mustered a little more fortitude, bracing himself for the tasks yet to come, and told himself “Most days, camp chores probably won’t be this depressing.” Most days wouldn’t involve near-death experiences, ambushes, and new terrifying injuries. Hopefully. Probably. So that was bound to make things less awful.

The wound care, though…that was likely to be a fixture of their routine for weeks to come, there was no way injuries like hers would heal quickly, and – and he should probably stop thinking about that, because one breakdown a day was plenty, thank you very much. He exhaled, and tried to feel less profoundly emotionally exhausted. He didn’t quite manage it.

Ez patted him on the knee. “That’s the spirit.” He said, encouragingly, and if he picked up on Callum’s ongoing lethargy, he didn’t comment on it.

“Speaking of camp chores, is there a reason you two didn’t do the tent yet?” Rayla inquired, looking between him and Ezran. “Was it too windy?”

“We thought it would probably be safer to wait till you were here to try, just in case it’s windier than we thought.” Ezran informed her, to a hum of approval, as Callum shifted forwards to set to work on their weird tea ingredients. It was effort to get himself to move, but…it was at least a distraction from his thoughts.

After a moment of consideration, he reached for a handful of snow to wash the first cyanroot with. It turned his fingertips numb and aching with cold within seconds, but…he found he didn’t mind. It was almost pleasant, to have something other than his thoughts and emotions to focus on.

“Do you need more of that?” His brother asked, and it took Callum a moment to realise he was being spoken to.

“Er.” He looked at the snow pile. “Probably. Got a lot to boil today, after all.”

“I’ll go get some more, then.” He said, decisively, and mustered his spare shirt as a receptacle (still a little snow-dusted from earlier) to go off and collect some more, Bait hopping along in his wake. Callum reflected that it was good that Ezran still seemed to have the energy to scamper off collecting snow. After the events of the day, not to mention the extra weight he’d been carrying…he was so tired that merely thinking about having to get the tent up made him want to cry.

Rayla settled a little closer as Ezran left, holding a pine-branch down with her boot to strip needles from it with her available hand. “Give it another hour or two, and you can spend some quality time with your sketchbook.” She told him, in an evident bid to be comforting, which he supposed was a sign that he looked as worn and tired as he felt.

“Honestly, I kind of just want to sleep.” He admitted, glancing over at where he’d left his book with all the rest of their things, atop the tent fabric. “I don’t even really feel like drawing.”

Her eyebrows went up. They’d not known each other long, maybe, but apparently it was more than long enough for her to recognise that as a very unusual sentiment on his part. It reminded him of the uncomfortably-revealing breakdown he’d had not all that long ago, and the highly personal discussion that had followed it, and – for a moment, he squirmed, vaguely bashful for reasons he couldn’t quite name.

To distract himself, he focused on the now mostly clean root, whose truncated end had stained some of the snow blue. He reached for one of Rayla’s blades and sliced a bit off, shedding a little more cyan fluid. It stained his fingertips like ink, and he lifted them for a moment, observing the colour with interest. “Wonder why I’ve never heard of this stuff before.” He said, and after a moment, dropped the slice of cyanroot into the pot. Blue swirled around it into the water like spilled dye.

She shrugged. “They don’t exactly taste amazing, so probably you only hear about them if you’re a dyemaker.”

“Or if you’re a sword-fighting, back-flipping, wilderness-crossing elven warrior.” He said, setting to work cutting the root with a vague sense of impatience. The thing’s intensely blue innards were interesting, maybe, but not sufficient to offset his increasing desperation to crawl into a dark tent and sleep for a week. He just…really wanted the day to be over, and there was so much left to do…

Rayla snorted, and her ears dropped a little. “Or that.” She agreed, her lips twitching at the edges. She set the needles beside the pot once she’d cleared one branch, saying “Best cut those up a bit before you put them in, too.”

He made a vague hum of acknowledgement, and for the next while, they worked in a tired but companionable quiet, Callum cutting cyanroot and pine needles, and Rayla stripping more needles from the branches. By the time Ezran returned with his next pile of snow, the water in the pot was an eye-searing shade of blue, and starting to smell distinctly like pine.

“Is that the tea?” Ezran asked, kneeling down beside the pot to peer in. “It’s going really blue.”

Callum dropped the last of the available pine needles in, and nodded ruefully. He was distinctly unused to seeing anything that blue outside of an expensive paint tube, or maybe the egg of the Dragon Prince. It hardly looked real. He glanced at his fingertips, still stained by what was essentially raw dye, and experienced a moment of sneaking premonition about the likely side-effects of drinking the stuff. “It’ll probably be bluer before it’s done, too.” He offered. “It’s barely been brewing five minutes.”

Rayla peered at it, and hummed pensively. “That’ll probably do for needles for now.” She said, and set her current branch aside. “Take it a little further off the fire, so it doesn’t get as much heat, and then we can leave it for a while. Get the tent out of the way while it’s brewing.” She took the blade from him, and used it to give the pot a bit of a stir. He couldn’t help but notice the way she winced when she leaned too far forwards, as if she’d agitated one of her injuries.

Under her direction, he finished up the preparations for their weird blue tea, and then left it there, tugged upright by Rayla’s hand closing around his upper arm. She was gentle, but insistent, and so he stumbled along in her wake as the three of them went back to where they’d laid the tent out.

“Oh, that’s right.” Callum said, with a sort of weary recognition, as his eyes fell on their initial preparations. “We were going to ask you about the pegs.” She tilted her head, curious, and Ezran spoke before Callum could muster the energy to.

“We were wondering how we’re supposed to get the pegs in anywhere, since it’s just solid rock here.” Ezran elaborated, looking up at her with wide curious eyes. “Do we just sort of cover them in rocks, or…?”

“Hmm.” Rayla said, thoughtfully, instead of answering. She knelt down, perched on her toes, and inspected the hard surface beneath the tent with a narrow stare. She tilted her head.

Then, matter-of-fact, she flipped out her second blade with her good hand, and drove it into the rock. It made an awful noise, and his hands fluttered up in an aborted motion as if to cover his ears, utterly reflexive. She eyed the hole she’d made, apparently finding it lacking, and did it again, stabbing into the rock as if that were a perfectly normal and usual sort of thing to do, instead of a feat of strength that he’d probably break a wrist trying to imitate. He watched her, wide-eyed, shocked awake and alert in the wake of – of the noise and spectacle of it.

That time, at least, she seemed satisfied. She scrutinised the wound she’d left in the mountain for a moment, and nodded. “Should be able to shove a peg at least a little way in there.” She announced, and glanced back at them. Her shoulders stiffened, just a little, as she saw the way they were both staring at her. “…What?” She demanded, somewhat defensively, fingers tightening on the blade-hilt.

Callum eyed her, brows high. “Rayla, you just stabbed a sword into solid rock like it was easy.” He informed her, more than a little admiringly. “That’s amazing.”

“Super cool.” Ezran agreed, and…regarding them, her posture loosened a little.

“…It was easy, though?” She said, a little questioningly, a little nonplussed. She looked down at the hand holding the blade, and her brow furrowed.

“Yeah, which makes it even cooler.” Callum explained, very reasonably, and she glanced up at him. Her ears dropped a little, and he still didn’t know how to read that, but her expression seemed a little more open, so…that was probably good? “I don’t know about elves, but normal humans definitely can’t do that sort of thing.”

“…Huh.” Rayla muttered, looking more thoughtful now, and she shifted to the side where the next loop in the tent straps were. She adjusted her grip on the sword, then brought it down again, stabbing into the stone as nonchalantly as if…into soft wood, maybe, or normal earthy ground, or anything which you expected to be able to lodge a sharp object in without too much effort.

“Can most elves do that?” Ez asked, eyes following her as she moved over to the next loop and hefted the blade. “Is that normal for you guys?”

Rayla opened her mouth, frowned, and closed it. “…Er.” She said, after a moment, and seemed to be watching a little more analytically this time when she brought the blade down. The noise was awful, and he had to resist the urge to cover his ears. “…I don’t know, actually? I mean, I’ve done this before, and I know the other assassins were doing it for their tents too, but…” She frowned, and flexed her fingers on the sword hilt. “Normally it’s not this easy…and before, I was using two hands for it, not…” She gestured with her one usable hand, and let it finish the sentence for her.

Callum watched her, settling out of his admiration into a brief and thoughtful quiet. “…So, what, you’re stronger than normal?” He asked, a little baffled. If anything, after the tribulations of the last few days, he’d have expected her to be…well, weaker. She’d lost blood, she hadn’t slept well, she’d been dealing with all the nasty in her bound hand circulating through her body…and, of course, she was currently definitely in pain from her new horrible injuries. It shouldn’t be conducive to greater levels of strength; rather the opposite.

She stabbed the blade down and made the next aperture in the stone. She frowned. “…I think I am?” She sounded bewildered. “Not a lot, maybe, but…” She stared down at her arms for a moment, then looked across at the horizon with a strange expression, as if she could see something beneath it, or beyond it. “…It feels a bit like when the Moon’s nearly full.” She said, after a while. “It’s normal for us to be stronger, then. But…the Moon’s waning. I should be getting weaker, not....” She trailed off, brow furrowed.

Callum exchanged a glance with Ezran, and they both shrugged. “Any guesses why?” He asked, and she snorted.

“No idea.” She shuffled over and hefted the blade again. “Still, I’m not complaining. Makes my job easier.” As they watched, she continued with her circuit of the flat tent, creating hole after hole in the rock face with barely any indication of effort whatsoever. Callum did finally deign to cover his ears, a few stabs in, and Ezran imitated him, and together they watched her and her display of inhuman strength with increasingly wide eyes.

By the time she was done, Callum imagined he felt much the same as he had when she’d hauled him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Astonished, bewildered, and distinctly impressed.

“That should do it.” She declared, when the full series of apertures had been made, and turned back to face them with obvious satisfaction. The effort hadn’t left her unscathed, and there were stone chips clinging to the burgundy of her sweater, but…she seemed in higher spirits, somehow. He wondered if reminding herself of her strength had cheered her up a bit. “You two get the tent up, and then we can get the pegs in.”

Despite their worries, the wind didn’t trouble them too much. Rayla held onto one of the storm lines while they worked, and that was enough to hold it in place while they got the thing up. It likely would have been a very different story, if not for the dubious shelter of the cliffside, but that was why she’d chosen here to camp, he supposed. In the end, they had a properly-pitched tent that was only slightly trying to pull them off the mountain, and Callum could live with that.

Rayla held the tent in place while he and Ezran tried to get the pegs into the holes she’d stabbed into the rocky ground. And…well. It was a little humbling, to struggle to so much as wedge a tent peg into a stony furrow, when Rayla had been matter-of-factly stabbing said furrows into existence for the last few minutes, with no visible signs of exertion at all. But humbling or not, Ezran couldn’t manage it at all, and Callum needed to recruit the aid of a nearby rock to use as a hammer to make any progress, and even them only managed to get the tent pegs in a short distance.

Callum progressed around the tent in this manner, slow, and increasingly worn-out. Ezran eventually managed to get a couple pegs in himself with his own makeshift hammer, and after the first few pegs were down Rayla let go of the tent to start heaping rocks over them, and after that it didn’t take too long.

He put his hammer-rock down and exhaled, heavily, fingers shaking a little from exertion. “I’d like to pass out for a month now, please.” He requested, when Rayla drew back to inspect the tent, and a fleeting smile passed over her lips.

“You probably want the inner-tent up first.” She informed him, dryly. “It’ll be a tad more comfortable to pass out in.” There were still stone chips on her sweater, which she’d apparently not bothered to brush off yet. There were even a couple bits in her hair.

His eyes lingered on those for a few moments until what she’d said sank in, and he realised that the inner-tent still needed seeing-to, and he couldn’t help but groan.

She huffed, and patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry.” She assured him, and glanced at her hand as she withdrew it. “I’ll take care of it. You go…” She waved vaguely. “Sit down. Rest. Take care of the blue nutrient tea, or something.”

He hesitated. “…Are you sure?” He asked, even though the idea of going and sitting down next to a warm fire sounded divine, and his head was swimming, and he wasn’t entirely convinced he’d avoid falling over if he stayed upright for much longer. “I can help.”

She rolled her eyes at him, and made a shooing motion with her one available hand. “I can manage this much, Callum. Go sit down before you fall over.”

He opened his mouth, maybe to say something about how she should probably be worrying about falling over given she’d been bleeding all day – but Ezran took him by the sleeve and tugged him deliberately back towards the campfire. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he sits down until he feels less dizzy.” He told her.

“Good.” She said, and pointed down-camp to the fire, fixing them with an expectant stare. “Now shoo.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Callum mumbled, wry, and he saw her lips twitch once more before Ezran hauled him away by the hand.

 ---

 It was a little tricky to hang up the inner-tent with only the one hand. Somewhat annoying, and somewhat fiddly, but still doable. It took longer than it ought, but it was doable.

Rayla thought she probably shouldn’t be so reassured by having managed such a simple task, but she was. Her efforts with making the holes for the tent-pegs had cheered her up, too. I’m not useless, she thought to herself, almost vindictively, as she espied the dull metal sheen of one of the pegs on her way out of the tent. There’s still some things I can do.

The extra strength was a little weird, considering she was definitely not at full capacity, had been bleeding all day, and was living beneath a waning Moon. But whatever the cause of it, that made her feel a little better too. It felt good to be strong – to be useful.

She lifted their bags into the tent, arraying them between the layers, and retrieved a couple of things from them before she left. The arm-sling, at least, made something of a useful carrying-pouch, even if it did deprive her of one usable hand. Then she closed up the inner tent and headed for the fire, where…

Rayla blinked. “Is he asleep?” She asked, surprised, at the sight of Callum slumped sideways over his brother, who seemed cheerfully unbothered by being largely engulfed by his sibling.

“He dozed off in like, a couple of minutes.” Ezran agreed, voice half-sad and half-fond. “He must be really tired.”

“…After today, I don’t blame him.” She said, settling beside the lopsided prince with her eyebrows raised. His mouth was open and…while he wasn’t quite snoring, there was a hint of it to the heaviness of his breath, in this ungainly position he’d dozed off in. He didn’t even react to their voices, which was an impressively deep sleep to have fallen into within such a short amount of time. “Suppose we’d best all get to bed as soon as we can.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, and after a moment, jerked his chin towards the pot. “You should stir that. I’ve not been able to with Callum all over me.”

Rayla eyed him. Honestly, she was impressed he was managing to sit upright, given that Callum was indeed all over him. “It’ll be ready soon.” She settled on, eventually, and leaned forwards to stir the virulently-blue tea with the blade she’d left in there. “We’ll have to wake him up.” She leaned back, then reached into her arm sling to start withdrawing things. The jar of what remained of the goose meat, and its empty counterpart. The much smaller jar that had once housed jam. Their only towel.

“Dinner?” Ezran guessed, looking at the arrayed items.

“Dinner.” She agreed, even though it probably wasn’t even four in the afternoon. “If you eat now, go easy on the meat. We need to keep some for tomorrow.”

His expression went a little odd. “…And then you’ll have to hunt again?” He said, looking at the jar, and a flicker of some complicated emotion went through his eyes.

Rayla watched him, cautious, and offered a slow nod. “Honestly, if we weren’t all about ready to pass out-“ or had already passed out, in some cases- “-I’d be trying to catch something today. But…” She shook her head. It wasn’t pleasant to admit it, but she knew she didn’t have the energy for hunting today, not to mention negotiating the process of cleaning and preparing a kill with only one hand.

He looked away, and then carefully shrugged his brother off and lowered him to the ground. Callum murmured, but didn’t wake. “…Right.” Ez uttered, lowly, and…for a moment, his posture hunched inwards in a way she misliked. But then he exhaled, and blinked solemn eyes, and seemed more-or-less normal again.

She eyed him. “…Are you okay with that, Ez?” She asked, eventually, and he looked up at her.

“I’m fine.” He said, still a little solemn, and still a little sad. “Thanks for asking, though.” He considered her for a second, then reached across the sleeping form of his brother to take her hand, the trace of a wince passing over his features as his skin touched hers.

Rayla blinked, and looked across at him, then looked down at his hand. Her eyes narrowed. “Ezran.” She said, a little warningly, because....well, he could just be being affectionate, but from the look in his eye, and the way he’d winced, she kind of doubted it.

He smiled serenely at her, utterly and audaciously unashamed. “Yeah?”

“...You could just ask me how I am.” She answered, after a moment, voice sardonic. “You know, with your words. You don’t have to use your special empathy powers to check up on me.”

“I know.” He said, eyes on her hand, and then he released her. “I just wanted to see how your pain was. Because you probably wouldn’t admit it if it was bothering you.”

She shifted, vaguely uncomfortable with this perfectly accurate insight into her character, and eyed him side-long. “…And?” She prompted, a little curious of his verdict, despite everything.

“And it is bothering you, but you’re ignoring it so hard you’re not even thinking of it.” He said, flatly, levelling her with the sort of disapproving stare that made her feel momentarily that she was the ten-year-old in this equation. “And ignoring it like that is making you go sort of…tense, and achy, so you’re feeling stiff and sore all over and you’re ignoring that too.”

She absorbed his words. For a moment, Rayla felt every inch of her body, and all its arrayed complaints of stiffness and soreness; every crick in her limbs and pull in her muscles, every livid ache of the bruising around her waist, every searing throb and burn of the wounds at her arm and shoulder, and the numb tingling pain of her bound hand. She felt it all with a disorientating fidelity, as if Ezran’s words had called her suffering by name and woken it up. Then she gritted her teeth, squared her shoulders, and shoved herself past it again. “It’s not so bad.” She said, staunchly, and Ezran stared at her.

“Yeah, it is.” He said, unimpressed. “And you’re doing it again, right now, aren’t you. Ignoring it, I mean.”

“What, you think it would be better if I was whining and crying about it?” She questioned, with some asperity. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Take some lilium.” He told her, as if it were overwhelmingly obvious. She stared at him. “Yeah, really.”

“…But there’s still things to do today.” She objected, a little taken-aback. “That stuff’ll make me useless. I can’t.”

He folded his arms, looking every inch a disapproving elder whose charge was being unnecessarily stubborn. It was a bizarre look on a ten-year-old. “Like what?” He demanded. “We’ve just gotta drink weird blue tea, and eat, and boil some bandages. Me and Callum can do that, if you’re too loopy to. And Callum needs to do your bandages and stuff too, which will be way easier for you and him if you’re not in horrible pain the whole time.”

Well. It made an uncomfortable amount of sense. Still… “I might tear my wounds open.” She said, dubious, with a deep and abiding reluctance to submit herself to the drug again. “I did that on my wrist last time, after all.”

“You won’t. We won’t let you.” He said, with such utter certainty and conviction that for a moment it was hard to remember what she was worried about. “And if you’re worried about that, just take less this time, so it doesn’t affect you so much.”

Rayla was silent for a moment, nonplussed, as she tried to come up with a counter-argument that wasn’t ‘but I don’t want to’. “…It’s not necessary, though?” She tried. “I can cope with this much pain?”

“Yeah, but you’ll heal better if you aren’t all tense and nasty-feeling.” He countered, entirely unmoved. “Also if you’re in pain when you get your injuries treated and cleaned out and stuff you’ll upset Callum.”

She paused, thrown.

“He doesn’t need any more upsetting today.” Ezran added, with a sort of satisfied nod, as if he were certain of his victory and she just hadn’t admitted defeat yet. There was a knowing look in his eyes, an unspoken statement: you don’t want to upset Callum, do you?

Rayla did not, in fact, want to upset Callum.

She stared narrow-eyed at Ezran, a little balefully, finding herself vaguely offended at having been understood and manipulated so thoroughly. It was just…rude, is what it was. She stared at him in some futile effort to forestall his victory, even as she tried not to think about how awful Callum’s breath had sounded in his panic earlier, how he tensed and hunched in on himself and looked so miserable every time she winced when he was changing bandages-

For just a second, she glanced at Callum’s sleeping face, looking exhausted even at rest, and…

She looked away, disgruntled. “…Fine.” She said, shortly, and spared a moment to be thankful that Callum hadn’t been awake for that exchange.

Ezran accepted his victory with grace, offering just a small and stately nod as acknowledgement. “Is the tea done yet?” He asked, in a blatant and yet annoyingly welcome effort to change the subject.

Rayla sighed. “Just about.” Her voice sounded sour, even to her, as she rummaged for the empty jam jar she’d brought out, as well as the much larger empty jar they’d been keeping food in before. She set it aside, took the pot off of the fire, and let it sit there for a while, steaming gently into the cold mountain air. “Build up the fire some more, will you?” Using the towel as a makeshift oven-glove, she carefully poured the cyan-pine infusion into the larger jar, then the smaller, setting the pot down almost empty. She piled in more snow, and set it back on the fire that Ezran was feeding twigs into. “Wake up your brother.” She instructed, then stood and left for the tent.

She returned with the first aid stuff that she knew would be needed soon enough, as well as a small and disgusting pile of soiled bandages that Callum had been keeping inside her tattered jacket. Ezran was still nudging his groggy sibling awake by the time she arrived, setting everything out and checking on the pot. She scrutinised it, then dumped half of the remaining goose meat into the shallow blue fluid at the bottom. It might taste weird, to heat up the meat in a makeshift tea, but a hot meal would probably do them all more good than cold. She dumped in the small clump of edible greenery, too.

“Hrrrng.” Callum expressed, lethargic, as Ezran poked him in the face repeatedly, making his eyes twitch and his nose scrunch up and his hands rise to weakly flap at his assailant. “Whassit – Ez – ugh-“

“It’s weird-blue-tea time, Callum.” Ez said, determinedly cheerful, and kept poking. “Wakey-wakey!”

“’mmmmawake,” He claimed, valiantly, peeling one eye open and finally grabbing hold of the poking hand, stilling it from his face. He blinked, both eyes opening this time, and squinted first at his brother and then at Rayla. “….I fell asleep?” He wondered, confused, then pushed himself upright to stare blearily at the fire. “…Right.” He wiped a hand over his face.

“Kind of impressive, actually.” Rayla agreed, and passed him a large and fairly heavy jar of blue tea. She took a moment to be thankful for her unexplained increase in strength – it would have been very challenging to handle the pot or the jar one-handed, otherwise. “Falling asleep that quickly takes skill.”

He blinked again, very blearily, and rubbed at his eyes. “…Or complete, terrible exhaustion.” He said, ruefully, and blinked at the jar. “Er…”

“Drink it.” She instructed. “You and Ez can share that. I’ve got my own.” She held up the significantly smaller jar, demonstratively.

Callum eyed it, dubiously. Then he shrugged, raised it to his lips, and drank. He made a face. “Well, at least it’s warm.” He said, unenthusiastically, and passed it to Ezran.

“What does it taste like?” He enquired, sniffing at it, and held it down for Bait to sample. The glow-toad punched his tongue in-and-out of it, turned faintly green, then shuffled away with obvious displeasure.

“Weird.” Callum supplied, rubbing his eyes, as his brother lifted the jar to drink. “Kind of sour, almost. I guess that’s the cyanroot.”

Ezran drank, and made a far more pronounced face than his brother had. “…Ugh.” He expressed, and lowered it, staring at it with distaste. “That’s horrible.”

At those rousing endorsements, Rayla stared reluctantly into the surface of her jar. Then, sighing, she drank as well. Her face twisted into an automatic grimace. “Definitely tastes worse than just pine tea on its own.” She muttered, disgruntled. These flavours, evidently, did not combine well.

Callum received the jar and took another swig. His expression twisted again, but almost thoughtfully this time. “It’s not that bad. Just kind of…weird.” He claimed, valiantly, and drank some more.

“You can have it all then. I don’t mind.” His brother said immediately, and then straightened with surprise when Rayla turned and pointed at him with the sword she’d been using to stir the pot.

“Drink your nasty nutrient tea, Ezran.” She told him, sternly. “If I have to, so do you.” He stuck out his tongue at her (which was turning blue), but didn’t protest when Callum handed the jar back.

Terrible taste or no, the warmth of it was pleasant; it spread through her body and chased some of the awful chill from her limbs. She sighed, forcing down another mouthful, before setting it aside. For a moment, she stared at the gently simmering liquid in the pot with dislike, pondering the thing she needed to do but didn’t particularly want to. After some effort, and several long moments of warring with herself, she made a disgusted noise and reached to the side.

“Open that for me, would you?” She said, sourly, handing a little bottle to Callum. He accepted it without looking, automatic, then glanced down. His eyebrows shot up.

“….Sure.” he agreed, diplomatically, and though he didn’t comment…

Rayla looked away, a little unsettled at his obvious relief, and took back the opened bottle of bloody-red painkiller with her eyes averted from his face. “Stupid lilium.” She muttered, and set the tiny bottle down to do some finagling.

She took the lid of the jam jar, and drizzled a little of the tea into it. Then, with the tiny lilium spoon, she let a single red droplet fall into the tea, swirling into the blue like ink. She mixed it around, and then took her allotted dose from a thin purple liquid that ought to be much weaker than the lilium on its own. Dilute lilium. It didn’t taste nearly as sweet on the tongue as the pure drug had.

Rayla scrubbed the jar lid dry with the towel, and sighed. She sincerely hoped the dilute dose would let her keep her head on straight, but she wasn’t especially optimistic about it. “Happy?” She asked Ezran, who looked disproportionately pleased with himself.

“Very.” He said, serenely, ignoring the curious glances from his brother. “Is it dinnertime yet?”

Rayla rolled her eyes, and reached out to remove the pot from the fire. “Drink your tea.” She reminded him, and he blew a raspberry at her.

“You drink your tea.” He countered, taking an almost rebellious swig from the large jar.

“I am.” She retorted, and brandished her nearly empty jar at him. “I’m nearly done with mine.”

He stared at her, unimpressed. “That so doesn’t count. Your jar is way tinier than mine.”

“You’re sharing yours, Ezran.”

“Yeah, but this jar is still more than two times bigger than yours.” He claimed, raising it at her. “You should take a refill. To make it fair.” He glanced at his brother. “Right, Callum?”

Said brother looked rather bemused, glancing between the two of them with a lifted eyebrow, and a smile twitching at the edge of his lips. “…Well, Ezran’s right, our jar is a lot bigger than yours.” He agreed, eyes crinkling a little as he looked at her. “So you probably should get a refill, Rayla.” He paused. “But…maybe let me have a bit more, first.” He took the jar, and started drinking from it – this time, without any apparent disdain. She and Ezran watched with a sort of disgusted fascination until he set the container down again, producing an almost satisfied sigh that displayed the purple-blue colour settling into his lips. “What?” He asked, at their expressions.

“You didn’t even make a face at it that time.” Ezran told him, staring at his brother as one might stare at someone who’d just eaten a live scorpion. “Do you like that stuff? That’s gross.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.” Callum claimed, exasperated, and received three dubious stares for his trouble, from Rayla, Ezran, and Bait.

“Then you can have the rest of it. Really.” Ezran insisted, then paused. “Well, after Rayla has some more, anyway.”

Rayla opened her mouth to tell him no, you have to drink yours to avoid scurvy – then closed it, an idea sparking in her mind. Contemplatively, she held out her jar to Callum. He got the message, and poured her a refill, whereupon she raised her makeshift flagon challengingly at Ezran. “Bet I can drink my disgusting blue tea faster than you.” She challenged, and watched his eyes light up.

“No way.” He denied, scrambling for the jar. They probably had about equal amounts left now, so it would be a decently equitable race. “I always win at eating contests.”

“He does, it’s true.” Callum nodded, amused, eyes darting between the two of them. “But usually that’s with stuff that he likes, so…”

“Count us down,” Ezran demanded, and his brother looked even more amused.

“Sure, why not.” He agreed, lips quirking, and then did precisely that, providing them with a slow countdown from five while they raised their respective jars and exchanged competitive stares over the rims of glass.

In the end Ezran did triumph, lifting his empty jar to the sky like a supplicant with an offering. “Ha!” He crowed, lips gone a dark purple from the dye in the tea. “I win!”

Rayla smirked at him, lowering her jar, until he stared at her warily.

“I win,” He repeated, almost cautious, as if he suspected he’d been caught out somehow.

“Made you drink your horrible tea.” She pointed out, a little smug, and he stared at her. A moment later, he folded his arms and glared with abject betrayal.

“That was a trick?” He demanded, disgruntled, and received a conciliatory pat on the shoulder from his brother.

“A masterful trick indeed.” Callum agreed, taking the empty jar and raising it to Rayla in a mock toast. “Getting a little brother to drink something he hates is definitely an accomplishment. Very sisterly of you, even.” He appeared to consider something, for a second. “I salute you, your sisterliness.” And then he did salute her, with that clasp to his chest that all the humans seemed to do. She huffed at him, taken-aback, and was surprised by how pleased the words left her.

“It was very masterful of me. I’m glad you noticed.” She agreed, airily, and set her empty jar aside. “Don’t know about the sisterliness, but…”

“…No, he’s right, that was totally a big-sister sort of thing to do.” Ezran said, arms still folded, evidently trying to seem sour but not really succeeding. He looked a lot more reluctantly amused, instead. He eyed her, almost speculatively. “I bet you’d make a good big sister.” He added, consideringly, like he was assessing her for the job.

Rayla eyed him. “Hard to say, since I don’t have any little siblings.”

“Well, you’ve got one now.” Callum said, and all eyes went his way. He shrugged. “What? You’ve basically been acting like Ezran’s big sister for days, so it’s a bit late to say you’ve not got any siblings.”

There was a pause. Rayla stared, a little flummoxed. Ezran eyed her appraisingly. Then: “I accept your appointment to the position of Sister of Ezran.” He said, grandly. “Your duties will be acting sisterly, being a sister, and doing the Jerkface Dance if you’re ever a Jerkface. You may consult Callum if you’re ever confused about how being a big sibling works.” Another pause. “Congratulations.” He added.

She stared.

Callum reached over and patted her gingerly on the good arm. “You might as well just accept it.” He informed her. “He’s decided you’re his sister now, there’s not any getting out of it. He’s too stubborn for that.”

Slowly, cautiously, a thread of affection wove its way into her heart. She considered objecting. She found that she didn’t particularly want to object. Eventually, she sighed, rolled her eyes, and extended a hand to ruffle Ezran’s hair. “You’re a brat, Ez.” She informed him, reluctantly fond, and tried not to think about how she was keeping a truly horrible secret from her ostensible new little brother.

Ezran beamed at her from beneath his mass of messy hair. “You’re off to a great start.” He informed her. “That was totally a sisterly thing to say.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Ugh. Whatever. Sure.” She withdrew her arm, and shoved the pot onto the soil between them. “Just eat your dinner.”

“Sisterly.” He repeated, obstinately, and dipped the lid of the jar delicately into the pot to withdraw a small platter of cooked meat and blue cyanroot slices, dotted with limp pine needles and sagging plant stalks.

“Eat.” She insisted, and passed Callum the other jar lid so he could do the same. He smiled at her, wide and lopsided and uncommonly warm, and she couldn’t help but flush at it. “What?” She demanded, defensive, and he raised his hands.

“Nothing! Nothing.” He assured, but he was still smiling. She huffed at him, and speared her blade into the pot to retrieve some of her own food.

Goosemeat boiled in cyan-pine infusion did taste weird, but surprisingly not as weird as expected. The flavours worked better in meat than in tea, to her relief, and she set about demolishing her portion with an unexpected breadth of hunger. She’d not quite realised how ravenous she’d been until she started eating.

“This tastes like beetroot, but really sour.” Callum declared, having picked up a boiled slice of cyanroot and eaten it. His fingertips were thoroughly blue, and there was a cyan tinge between his teeth. It was startlingly bright. “It’s not bad, actually.”

“Speak for yourself.” Rayla muttered, eyeing a slice of her own. Given her mislike of the taste in the tea, she didn’t think she would like it any better on its own. She could have sworn it didn’t taste this nasty when one of the other assassins had prepared it. Maybe he’d added something else in to counteract the weird flavours?

“I don’t like it.” Ez concluded, shortly after attempting his own mouthful. “I think this is my new least favourite vegetable.”

“Worse than turnip?” Callum inquired, eating another slice with aplomb.

“Way worse than turnip.”

“Sadly, we have to eat it anyway.” Rayla informed him. “We don’t exactly have a lot to pick from, here.”

He grimaced at his makeshift plate, and sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He offered a half-hearted smile. “At least it’s kind of cool how it makes us go blue.”

Callum huffed, a smile spreading on his face. “Yeah, I thought that would happen.” He said, plainly amused. “Your teeth are all cyan-dyed.” He shot a thoughtful look at Rayla. “You know, Rayla, you could probably dye your hair bright blue with this stuff. Your hair’s so white, it’d take the colour right away.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’ll pass, thanks.” She said, dryly. “Maybe if it was a stealthier colour. But cyan doesn’t exactly blend in.”

“Neither does white.” Ezran pointed out, to which she informed him that that’s what hoods were for, prompting a short discussion of how exactly elves with larger horns managed wearing their assassin-hoods. (Generally speaking, the solution was bigger hoods.)

In relative quiet, they worked through their dinner. There…really wasn’t enough of it. She was so hungry, but there was so little food. Rayla had rationed the goosemeat so they’d still have some tomorrow, but…tomorrow, they would run out of food. Somehow, she’d have to hunt, and prepare meat, with her left arm effectively out of commission. She grimaced at the thought, and looked up at the sky, where the thick snow-clouds were roiling. The wind tugged at her hair as she stared skywards.

If it snowed, as she was fairly certain it would…then that would make it all that much harder to forage for any extras. It would be harder to find most animals, too. And that was just if it was regular snow. In a blizzard….

She shifted, uneasily, and tried not to worry about the very imminent reality of short rations. She’d find them food somehow. She had to, after all. What else was there to do?

Ezran didn’t need too much prodding to finish his dinner, even as much as he evidently disliked the cyanroot. She thought, worriedly, that this was likely a result of hunger; their rations had been shorter than ideal for a few meals now. In the end, they ate every scrap, and then Callum took the pot from her to drink the remainder of the weird blue soup, and they were done. He cleared the pine needles out of the pot and set to work melting snow.

“Soon.” He sighed, wistfully. “Soon, we can just…go to sleep.”

Ez looked up at the sky, a little rueful. “I think this is the earliest I’ll have gone to bed in forever.”

“Barely late-afternoon, yet.” Rayla agreed, tugging on her awareness of the Moon. It was a little easier to feel than usual, even waning. “Though I suppose it’ll be early evening by the time we get sleeping.”

“We just need to clean these bandages.” Callum said, determinedly, with a sudden vigour. It was as though having the end in sight had given him a new burst of energy. “And then I’ll have a look at your injuries, and then we’ll be done.”

She nodded, slowly, thinking of sleep. “That’ll be nice.” She agreed, a little wistfully, and…for a moment, felt like she could just lay down and drop off immediately, like Callum had earlier. She wanted to lay down and sleep, hard cold ground or not. It was a strangely dizzying impulse, and she blinked, wondering at the abruptness of it. She watched the water starting to simmer in the pot, and after a pause for consideration, reached over for some bandages to drop in.

The water almost immediately went the thin yellowish colour of very dilute blood, the metallic tang of it wafting into the air. She wrinkled her nose.

“Gross.” She muttered, a little disgustedly, and tried not to think about how all that blood had come from her. Tried not to think about how she was probably still bleeding, at least a little. “We’re going to need a lot of water changes for all this.”

Ezran scrutinised their snow pile dubiously. “I think we’re probably going to need more of this, then.” He said, and got to his feet with a sigh. “I’ll take care of it.”

Callum looked up. “You want help?”

“Nah. I’ll be fine.” He waved it off, and in short order was departing with Bait in search of whatever nearby snow they hadn’t gathered yet.

“I wish we had more soap.” Rayla lamented, staring at the pot, and then reached aside to put more bandages in. Boiling water would do to sterilise them, but it likely wouldn’t be able to remove all of the odours, and certainly not the colour. “But we should probably save that for ourselves.”

“…Especially since we’re going to be changing a lot of bandages.” He agreed, awkwardly, with another look at her arm that he probably thought was surreptitious. “We’d run out fast.”

“Once the bleeding stops, it should be less messy, at least.” She reasoned, and shot her own arm a glance. Her brow furrowed, and she wondered if they should change the bandages now, so that the soiled bandage could join the rest in being cleaned…

In the end, though, she didn’t suggest it. If the lilium was working, she wasn’t really feeling it yet, and…well, she’d already taken the damn stuff. If she was going to submit herself to going moonstruck, she might as well wait for the benefit of the pain relief before having her injuries messed with. Still, she couldn’t quite help the way her fingers twitched to her damaged arm, keenly aware of the searing pain beneath the fabric.

Callum was watching her, fingers twitching and shoulders just a little hunched. “…Should I-“ He stopped. “Your injuries, is it…”

She exhaled. “Not yet.” She said, shortly, and he accepted that without a word. They returned to the somewhat disgusting task of cleaning the bandages (and torn clothes) that she’d got her blood all over, and didn’t speak much but for operative mutters like ‘pass me that, would you’ and ‘can you stir this for a second’. It might have been a companionable quiet if he wasn’t swaying with exhaustion and she wasn’t drawn terse with pain.

Ezran had returned twice with a shirt full of snow before she started to feel the lilium kicking in, a process which she couldn’t have missed if she’d tried. Her first experience with it was more or less a vague blur in her memory, which she could recall very little of; she remembered barely anything of how it had encroached before. This time, though…

There were probably some subtler effects she wasn’t noticing, but…considering everything, she could hardly fail to notice when the pain started to ebb. The experience of it was like a steady, dawning relief, like weight slipping from her shoulders, and even as slow as it was she could feel it. The searing ache and throb of the injuries lessened, and with it, so did her tension. There was less to brace against, less to grit her teeth through, less to endure. And so, as the minutes passed, the awful tension slipped from her along with the worst of the pain.

It was startling, how much better it felt. It didn’t remove all of the pain by any means – not even close. Maybe this dilute dose wouldn’t be enough for that, even when it had taken full effect. But it hurt so much less already, and that was such a relief she hardly knew what to do with it.

Callum noticed, of course. “Are you feeling better?” He asked, almost cautiously, as she exhaled another relieved breath through her teeth, stress sloughing from her like a snake’s shed skin. “You…seem like you’re feeling better.”

“Lilium’s starting to kick in.” She answered, and couldn’t quite help the gladness that crept into her words. She’d not wanted to take the stupid stuff, but – Moon’s Light, she was already glad she had. Ezran had, annoyingly enough, been right. “It’s…already a lot better.”

He watched her, almost a little warily, as if concerned that she might be lying for his benefit. Then he exhaled, in what seemed like his own relief, shoulders slumping as though their tension was escaping with hers. “Well, thank Mercy for that.” He sighed, and did appear genuinely thankful. She eyed him, and he fidgeted under her stare, plainly self-conscious. “It’s…been pretty horrible, seeing you in pain all day.” He explained, awkwardly, as if she weren’t already perfectly aware of that. “I’m just…glad.”

“Trust me, so am I.” Rayla said, with feeling, and tried to ignore the way her gut flipped and twisted at his concern. On one hand, it felt horrible to be such a source of anxiety and worry for him. On the other, though…

He cared. He cared enough that he’d broken down over it. Over her. She had no idea how to respond to that.

She wrestled her emotions back into their proper place and exhaled. “Give it a bit longer and then you can help me out of this stupid sling.” She decided, and leaned over the pot to make a face at the colour of its water. “Also, I think we should change the water on this, now. It’s disgusting.”

Callum looked at it and grimaced. He reached for the towel and then for the pot, lifting it carefully. “I’ll go pour it out down-slope a bit.” He said, and true to his word, went off and poured it and returned. Together they heaped snow in, ready with a new handful as soon as the existing stuff melted. “I’m so glad we have this campfire.” He sighed, after a while, casting a glance across the campsite where Ezran had been piling the snow. He held his hands over the hot air emanating from the flames, his fingertips flushed an unhappy red under the cyan staining. “The tent is probably going to be so cold later…”

“We’ll want to wrap up warm.” She agreed, a little absent-mindedly, shuffling closer to the fire to let its lulling heat warm her. “Jumpers and scarves and stuff. In a pinch we can heat some rocks in the fire and bring those in to warm things up a bit.” Her eyelids drooped half-lidded, and she stared into the embers, watching them dance. It was very hypnotic. “’Course, you need to be careful what you put them on, or they’ll scorch your stuff…”

“…Rayla?” His voice jolted her, and she opened her eyes, blinking blearily. It had felt like only a second had passed between her words and his voice, but…she realised she was lolling forwards, as if about to slump over, and the sensation of blinking herself back to alertness felt suspiciously like waking up. His hand was on her shoulder, as though to steady her. Or hold her up.

She rubbed her eyes with her one good hand, bemused. “Mm?” She questioned, indistinctly, and scrutinised the pot. The snow was still melting, so she hadn’t fallen asleep…

“You looked kind of like you were dropping off, there.” He said, tactfully, and withdrew his hand. “Didn’t want you falling into the fire.”

Rayla yawned, and grumbled slightly, and then shook her head in some attempt to dissuade the drowsiness. It didn’t quite work. Now that the pain was receding, it was so much easier to feel tired, and the warmth of the fire was so nice… “Well, if I did, that would wake me up in a hurry.” She muttered, arching her back a little to stretch. The motion pulled at her shoulders, but despite the wound there, it barely hurt at all. She sighed with satisfaction, and debated the wisdom of laying down by the fire. Even gravel and bare stone seemed potentially comfortable, at this point…

“Pretty sure you don’t need burns on top of everything else.” Callum said, eyeing her. “I mean. I still don’t know how much you’ve bled since the last time we changed your bandages. For all I know you’ve bled through them again.” For all that he was plainly trying to sound unaffected…there was a definite edge to his voice.

“My jumper’s not wet.” Rayla volunteered, and then hastily patted over her arm to make sure she was telling the truth. (She was.)

Callum did not seem particularly impressed by this. He was opening his mouth to reply when Ezran returned again, calling cheerfully to them.

“Okay, that’s like, the fourth lot of snow. Is it enough now? I’m getting really cold.” He said, and didn’t bother to wait for a reply before he approached the fire and crouched over it, little gloved hands quivering above the flames. Bait settled nearby, though not nearly so close to the fire as Ezran. “This campfire is amazing.”

Rayla hummed in idle agreement, eyes already half-lidded again from the soporific warmth. “Kind of smoky, though.” She commented, drowsily. “That’s what we get for using live branches, I guess.”

“The pine smells nice, at least.” He said, then looked at her curiously. “You look better.” He decreed, after a moment. “Sleepy, but better.” He reached out to lay fingers on her hand, and she fixed him with the best glare she could manage under the circumstances.

“Didn’t we already talk about this?”

He hadn’t flinched, this time. “Yeah, but you’re better now.” He said, distractedly, as his eyes half-closed to focus on whatever he was feeling. “Is that…that must be the lilium. It feels weird.”

Callum straightened a little, casting fascinated eyes on his brother. “You can feel what lilium feels like through her?”

“Kinda. It’s pretty mild.” Ezran tilted his head, for a moment. “But, I mean, besides how it’s made the pain a lot better…you’ve got this sort of…” He waved his other hand, vaguely. “Warm, comfy feeling. Sort of fuzzy, around the edges of your head.”

Rayla blinked. “I thought that was just being sleepy.” She said, after a pause for thought. “And the fire.”

He shook his head, and withdrew his hand from hers. “No. I mean, that’s part of it, but this is – I can feel that it’s different. It’s kind of cool, actually. I didn’t know I could feel when something’s drugging someone.” He shrugged. “It’s probably a new thing. I didn’t start getting so good at feeling people until we started travelling.”

Callum eyed him. “Why now?” He asked, and Rayla watched with a vague frisson of unease for his answer.

Ezran shrugged again, a little evasively. “Dunno.” He expressed, but his eyes flickered up-slope to the tent, where their bags were – where the egg was.

He was very plainly hiding something again, and Rayla sort of wanted to interrogate him about it, but she also wanted to fall asleep. She opened her mouth anyway – and then closed it, realising that the effort required for dragging secrets out of Ezran was probably beyond her at the moment. Now that he’d pointed it out, she could sort of feel the way the edges of her thoughts were all fuzzy, something alike but not-quite sleepiness slowing her thoughts and turning everything a little warmer and more pleasant than it should have been.

If it was anything like the first time, she had no idea. She didn’t exactly remember her first time on lilium, after all. But it was deadening most of the pain, and she didn’t think she was acting like an idiot, and that was good enough for her.

“You should get this sling off me.” Rayla informed Callum, twitching the dark fingers on her shoulder. “I think I’m drugged up enough for now.”

He went a little still and startled for a moment, staring at her. Then he shook himself out of it, and nodded. “Er.” He expressed. “Sure. If you say so? I’ll just…” He shuffled over, then reached over to carefully extract her from the improvised sling.

His hands were warm, as they manoeuvred carefully around the relatively few safe spots on her left arm. She found that warmth more compelling than the reflexive distaste she felt at her helplessness, and that was interesting. The negativity was still there, but it was…vaguer than she’d have expected. Oddly distant, and hard to grasp. That was probably an effect of the lilium, too.

Her arm ached as, newly freed, she slowly extended it, stretching out its various cricks as carefully as she could manage. The movement did pull at the wounds, and she could feel the pain of it, but…what pain remained was at a remove that made it surprisingly easy to deal with. She flexed her stiff fingers, and they ached too, but most of their pain had been eliminated entirely by the lilium. The stuff was very effective, apparently.

“Sweater?” Callum asked, and she realised that he was watching her with a sort of familiar, anxious dread. His eyes were on her arm, like he was trying to see through the layers of fabric and bandaging to assay the state of her wounds. He was afraid of seeing them, she realised. The thought felt unusually distant as it passed her mind.

“Sure.” She agreed, mildly, and submitted to having herself helped out of the burgundy jumper with far less shame and distaste than she’d have expected. It hiked the undershirt up with it a little, and she was distracted for a moment by a flash of colour from her midriff. By the time she glanced down, the undershirt had already replaced itself. “Hm.” She murmured, thoughtfully, mostly to herself. It hadn’t been bothering her as much as her arm-wounds, maybe, but her waist had been very sore and tender all day…

“Bled through.” Callum said, a little tightly, drawing her eyes to her arm. “Not much, at least, but…” He set the jumper aside, and reached out to gingerly inspect the state of the bandages. They were red-spotted, but the red was fairly dark and dry looking. Rayla noted that with interest.

“That’s less fresh.” She pointed out, with easy certainty. “It bled through a while ago and then stopped.” Did that mean the wound had stopped bleeding, then? That would be nice. Still. She was a little distracted by what she’d seen earlier. So…

She pulled her undershirt up and peered down, eyebrows shooting up at what she saw. Oh, well. That was – she made a small, startled noise, and drew the boys’ attention from her arm to her waist. Callum uttered a low, dismayed hiss at the sight of it, and Ezran’s hands flew to his mouth.

“Oh, Rayla, that’s-“ Ez said, wide-eyed and staring, while Callum still seemed shocked still. She could understand their reactions, even through the soft haze of the ever-encroaching lilium.

Around her waist, where the soldier had caught her by his chains and squeezed, there were lines of swollen, stunningly livid bruising. It had evidently spread out from the initial strips, homogenising it into an irregular band about her middle. Most of it was an astonishingly dark blue-purple, darker by far than her hand had been at its worst, and at the edges it was an unhealthy red that looked raw and swollen.

She lowered her fingers to it, finding it hot to the touch, and noticeably raised from the rest of her skin. “That’s…pretty dramatic-looking.” She commented at last, peering to the side. The chains had wrapped around her sides and back as well – she could see the bruising on her sides, but she had to twist a little to see any of it on her back. It seemed less severe, there. Fewer soft tissues to squeeze, she supposed.

“That looks really painful.” Ezran said, a little anxiously, and his hand shot out at once to touch her arm, as if needing reassurance that it wasn’t actually causing her tremendous pain. Which it wasn’t. When she poked it, it hurt, but in the same disconnected way that her arm still hurt. It was perceptible, but…not unpleasant, with that distance there.

“It’s fine.” She said, inspecting her bruising with a curious, analytic eye. “It’ll make things hard, if I need to do much jumping or climbing over the next few days. And it’ll hurt to sleep on for a while. But right now it’s fine.” Abdominal bruising this severe would interfere with most everything she did, probably. Once the lilium wore off, it would be impossible to find any sort of comfortable way to lay down, too. But she was having a very hard time caring about that, right now. The drug-haze seemed to make all worries more distant and ephemeral; as hard to grasp as smoke.

“….Is it dangerous?” Callum spoke at last, plain anxiety in every word. She looked at him, and found him looking thoroughly upset again. She didn’t like that, but the dislike was hard to grasp, too. “I mean – that looks bad, and it’s right over a load of your organs, and-“ He shut his eyes, for a moment, to take in a steadying breath. She hoped, distantly, that he wouldn’t start hyperventilating again. She really didn’t want him getting that upset again.

Rayla inspected her bruising again. Despite its lividity, it really didn’t hurt at all. With the disconnect from the pain, looking at it was a strangely dissociative experience. She felt almost like she was staring at someone else’s contused abdomen, rather than her own.

She shrugged, and let go of her undershirt, covering up the impressive colours of the skin there. “If I had the bad kind of internal bleeding, I’d have died from it hours ago.” She said, practically, and felt a little bad at how the words made him flinch. “I guess it’s possible I’ve bruised some organs, but they’ll probably be fine.” Vaguely, she recalled that there could be a risk of blood clots when bruising was very large and severe, but…well, she still had aspirin in her system, probably. And with luck, once her wounds closed up properly, she could start using willow-bark again, and put paid to any remaining risk.

“I really don’t like that ‘probably’.” Callum muttered, face gone a little pale.

“If he got my kidneys, I might pass blood for a while.” Rayla said, shrugging. Her shoulders felt oddly lax and boneless. All of her did, really. It was sort of pleasant, after she’d spent the whole day so tense she’d given herself muscle aches. “Aside from that, it’ll just be sore. Don’t worry so much.” She recognised, looking at him, that this was a slightly futile statement. Taking pity on him, she extended her arm, and said “Stop thinking about bruises and have a look at this.”

“Er.” Callum did a double-take at the sight of her bandaged arm, looking bizarrely thrown, like he’d completely forgotten about the actually bleeding injuries. “Er – right, yeah, just…” He shook his head, as if trying to dispel whatever anxious fugue he’d sunk into, and cast a nervous glance at Ez. “Disinfectant?” He asked, even as he reached forwards to untie the knots on Rayla’s bandages.

“…Right.” Ez said, brow furrowed, as he drew away from her and went to rummage in the pile of first-aid stuff she’d brought over. He grabbed several articles and settled next to Callum with a building efficiency that was vaguely sad to witness. He was getting alarmingly accustomed to being a healer’s assistant.

Callum peeled off her bandages and inspected the injuries with a familiar wince. For all that, though, she thought they were looking better. It still seemed pretty sludgy-looking in the wide and jagged middle, but the scabs were spreading nicely. “I really hope disinfecting this doesn’t open it up again.” Callum muttered, accepting an alcohol-dipped swab of bandages from Ezran with barely a glance.

She tilted her head. The seal on the wound did seem pretty fragile… “Mm.” She offered, unconcerned in the way only psychoactive substances could make her, and watched placidly while he daubed disinfectant over her wounds. “Ow.” She said, thoughtfully, at the sting it provoked, and he flinched away at once.

“Does it hurt?” he asked anxiously, and the sight of him looking so bothered and agitated made her want to…do something, but she wasn’t sure what. Hug him? Pat his face until he stopped looking like that? She had no idea.

Rayla sighed. She was definitely drugged. “Not really.” She said, eventually.

“But you just said-“

“I can feel pain at the moment, but it doesn’t really…hurt. It’s fine.” She attempted. “Just…get on with it.”

Callum eyed her, but obeyed. In an increasingly-practiced routine, he disinfected her injuries, and re-bandaged them, and then repeated the process for the shallow stab on her shoulder. That one had closed over completely, albeit tenuously, which seemed to relieve him. Then he moved down to her wrist.

“That’s healing better, at least.” He muttered, exposing the shallow sores that were by now circling her wrist in a vaguely flesh-coloured scab, on either side of the pale binding. He prodded at that, too, testing its tightness, and frowned. “…Ez, do you think you’ll be able to loosen this again soon? Not tonight, maybe, but…”

“Tomorrow should be fine, I think.” Ezran offered, after a pause. “Zym’s not feeling so tired now.” She wondered, absently, if he was saying that from memory….or if he could discern the state of the Dragon Prince even when he was half a campsite away from the egg.

“Good.” Callum carefully swabbed her wrist with disinfectant too, and replaced its bandages in quick, efficient motions. Then he stilled, a little nervously, his fingertips wavering over her skin. His eyes darted up to hers, and he ducked his head a little. “Er.” He said, awkward. “Should I – I mean – if it doesn’t hurt right now-“

Rayla stared at him uncomprehendingly for a few seconds, her thought processes slower than she thought they should be, and finally got it when she stared down at his hand on hers and experienced a brief, potent flash of memory of the day before. “Oh, right, hand massage.” She recognised, distantly, and thought for a moment. It wouldn’t hurt, or if it did, it wouldn’t hurt much. The last time he’d done it, she’d ended up coming to an unfortunate realisation, and it had been lethally embarrassing, but now…she thought embarrassment was probably beyond her. Convenient. “Sure.” She said, in the end, and presented her hand to him. “Go ahead.”

He flushed, eyes flicking briefly to her face again, then quickly away. “…Right.” He said, and Ezran sniggered at him. Rayla was having a hard time thinking of why, which was yet another sign that she was probably pretty drugged. She wondered if she’d been like this last time, and whether she’d actually remember any of this in the morning.

“Was I more…” She waved. “You know, moonstruck, last time?”

Both of them looked at her. “…Moonstruck?” Callum ventured, uncertainly, like he didn’t know what it meant.

“Is that a Moonshadow elf thing?” Ezran asked, with interest. “What does it mean?”

She stared, confused. “You know. Moonstruck.” Their expressions did not change. “…Drugged? High? Weird in the head?”

“Oh, it’s like the elf version of marsh-whacked.” Callum recognised, with interest, and returned his focus to her hand. “Interesting.” Carefully, and not looking at her, he started pressing his thumbs into her palm. It ached, but only very vaguely; it was considerably overshadowed by the startling pleasantness of the pressure against the sensitive skin. It was very distracting. “And, yeah, you were way worse last time. I guess the smaller dose is paying off.”

Rayla considered it. “I guess I’ll decide how worth-it it was in the morning.” She decided. If she forgot everything again…that would be a distinct point against the lilium. It was quite hard to think about at the moment, but she was quite sure she’d disliked losing the memory of almost an entire evening.

She was distracted from her thoughts again by the next press of his fingers. It was alarmingly pleasant.

“Hm.” She mused, to herself, and tried to think why she would find it alarming. Because…it was embarrassing, maybe? Embarrassment was beyond her at the moment, but it seemed a decent guess.

“…Why ‘moonstruck’?” Ez wondered, and pulled her attention to him. “Where’s the word come from?”

She’d never really thought about it before, but – “Oh.” She recognised, after a second. “It’ll be from the Full Moon.”

“Why?” Callum asked, a little sceptically, and she looked up at his face. She liked his face. She was quite sure she shouldn’t tell him that, though. It took her a moment to parse through his face and her thoughts to realise what he’d said, and to formulate a response.

“…Moonshadow elf things.” She explained, vaguely, and shuffled a little closer, eyes going half-lidded. She settled, feeling fuzzily relaxed in a really very pleasant way. She thought the repetitive, sliding pressure of his fingers on her hand might have sent her to sleep, if not for the vague accompanying ache. It still felt nice, though. “That feels much nicer when it doesn’t hurt.” She sighed, eyes resting idly on Callum’s face, and she watched it go pink.

“…Er. Good?” He said, in something of a squeak, and Ezran sniggered at him again.

Rayla sort of…drifted a little, then. Almost like she was daydreaming, or actually dreaming, she spent some unknown stretch of time floating in the warm haze of the lilium and the warmth over her hand. The latter stopped eventually, though.

She opened her eyes, which until then she hadn’t realised were closed. “Oh, you’re done.” She noticed, and accepted her hand back into her lap as he released it. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He answered, voice still a little high, and then he cleared his throat. “I thought you’d fallen asleep for a second, there.”

“That would’ve been nice.” She commented, drowsily, after a moment. “But no.”

He peered at her. “…You can go to bed now, if you want.” He said awkwardly. “All your bandages are changed, so…”

She straightened, rousing herself from her sleepy haze, and shook her head. “I’ll stay up to finish boiling the bloody stuff.” She decided. “It won’t be much longer, now. And we can heat some rocks for the tent, too.”

Callum surveyed her for a moment. His lips were still stained blue from the cyanroot, but it had faded somewhat. Now, without its earlier virulence, the blue-purple tinge was subtle enough that it almost made him look hypothermic. Or like he was suffocating. It was quite disconcerting.

At least she was too drugged to feel truly uncomfortable about it. Even so, she couldn’t help but recall how terribly he’d been gasping for breath, earlier. She…hadn’t liked that. She hadn’t liked it at all.

“…Alright.” He accepted, softly, and turned back to the pot. “We can all go to sleep soon.”

Together, the three of them washed the bandages, and then draped them over the tent to dry in the night. Rayla put her sweater on, and the boys wrapped themselves in extra jackets before taking themselves and some hot rocks into the tent. Said rocks were wrapped in clothes and towels, and left near their feet. They’d help the tent interior warm up faster, at least.

Rayla laid down on her fur cloak, and fell asleep in seconds.

 ---

 Corvus woke slowly to a pleasant drug-numbed haze, and the even more pleasant comfort of an actual bed. This is nice, was his first thought, registering the softness of the mattress, and it didn’t occur to him to think much more until a good five minutes later, when he woke up enough that it seemed prudent to open his eyes.

Above him was a ceiling. He studied it for a while, thoughts numb and vacant, and noted the whorls and swirls of the wood grain with absent-minded interest. After another few minutes of that, he looked down, and found that he was within a curtained-off section of some sort of room, and also he was not in his armour, and there were obvious signs of competent medical treatment all over his body. His right leg had been splinted and bandaged, his shoulder set, his middle and ring fingers on his left hand splinted and bandaged…

“Hm.” He mused aloud, distantly curious, but not enough so to call out or try to leave the bed. Instead, because there seemed little reason not to, he fell back asleep again.

The next time he woke, it was to pain; pain that gripped him, pain that screamed at him, pain that scrabbled at his dreaming mind and drew it awake, drew it away, pulling him numb and confused into a waking agony. He hurt in so many places that, for a minute, he couldn’t really tell where it was worst. It was as though his injuries had collated into a single mass of pain, generalised across his whole body…

Then, with a little more focus, he felt the terrible state of his leg, his shoulder, his fingers, his head…

He groaned, low and pitiful, and when he cracked open his eyes there was a familiar face there.

“Good evening, master Corvus.” Said Marla the Healer, who lived in Verdorn. “I was wondering if you would deign to awaken today.”

“…Healer.” He croaked, blinking rapidly, eyes full of grit. “I…what happened?”

“Some bargemen spotted you by the riverside, and sent a few ashore at their soonest opportunity to come to your aid. Then, of course, they brought you back here.” She answered, sedately, and leaned forwards to peel back his eyelids, one and then the next, peering at his pupils. “I admit, I was not expecting to see you again so soon, if at all. I suppose your endeavours met with unfortunate resistance, hm?”

For all her collection and calm, he thought there was a hint of unease there. A hint of worry. He struggled to push himself past the pain, and past the disorientation, to something approaching sense…

His endeavours… “I…caught up with them.” He remembered, wearily, voice scratchy and hoarse. “A while before dawn…”

Marla pursed her lips, leaning back to watch him. “You did not succeed.” She noted, neutrally. “You could not apprehend the elf assassin.”

He closed his eyes, shame twisting more viciously than the pain. “…No.” He agreed. “I couldn’t. I nearly had her, but-“ But, what? What had stricken him? What had wrenched him from that cliffside, at the moment before victory?

“…What of the princes, Corvus?” She asked, slowly, as if dreading the answer. “What became of them?”

He remembered, unvarnished by the heat of combat, the faces of the two young princes. How they’d screamed for their elven captor, all fear and concern for her. Captives’ accord for certain, but so much more entrenched than he’d feared… “They were fine, when I saw them.” He said, slowly, because it was true. “They certainly had a rapport with their captor.” He closed his eyes again, the effort of speaking wearing him out. “They were worried about her…tried to protect her…”

Tried to. Tried, tried, tried.

Wind had picked him up and flung him to the cliff-edge. What was ‘tried’ about that? Rather, he should say they succeeded. If, as he thought, they were responsible for his fall…or, at least, the elder prince was.

It was so hard to remember. He was sure that Prince Callum hadn’t uttered any spell. But what had that been in his hand?

“Prince Callum blew me off a cliff.” He said, aloud, and the absurdity of it made him laugh. Weak, rusty chuckles that made him cough, made his head swim, made the room blur…

“…What?”

He would have killed the elf. She’d been skilled, and stronger and swifter than he’d expected, enough so that the impediment of her left hand was likely all that had saved him in melee with her. But he’d caught her. He’d had her, and she’d known it. And then – then, wind had hit him, and dragged at him, and pulled him across the precipice into thin air, and…and that had to be magic, didn’t it? What else could it be?

Corvus knew enough about elves to know that wind was not a property of moon-magic. It couldn’t have been the assassin. So, then, what? It wasn’t as though humans could use elf-magic…

“Master Corvus,” Marla said, sharply, and jolted him from his scrambled reverie. He looked at her, and in that brief shock of clarity, remembered his duty.

“A crow.” He spoke, suddenly, heart gripped with urgency. “Is there a crow? She should be here – she should have found me by now-“

“I set her to roost near the door. I assumed she was a valuable bird, bound to you as she evidently is.” The Healer said, and tilted her head. “…You want to send a letter?”

“I need to report.” He corrected, head swimming, and tried to sit up. He found himself unceremoniously pushed back down again.

“You’ll stay there, Corvus, and make no mistake. You’re in no state for being up.” She told him, uncompromisingly. “If you must send a report, you may dictate it to me. I know enough of the situation, surely, that it ought not trouble you to allow this.”

For a moment her words seemed completely reasonable. And then his mind caught up, and he shook his head. “That won’t work.” Corvus said, a little apologetic. “I write to the General in code.” His eyes tried to slip closed; he forced them open. “It’s…necessary….for sensitive information…” Justice and Mercy, but he wanted to sleep. But he had to report…

Marla pursed her lips, and nodded. “…If the situation were otherwise, I wouldn’t allow it. But…” She shook her head. “Stay down. I’ll get you a board and some writing things.”

No fingers on his right hand were broken, but the arm had been dislocated and set, and even the smallest movements of his hand sent protests down from the shoulder. He gritted his teeth, head swimming, and forced down every pertinent detail he could manage. The encounter. The status of the elf. The status of the princes. The magic that had hit him. He briefly consulted Marla about his injuries, and listed those too.

The writing was sloppy, the ink smudged, and he thought with resignation that it was probably less coherent than ideal, but…he wrote it. He’d told the General what he needed to.

That task complete, it became harder and harder to stay awake and alert. “Send it.” He thought he said, or pleaded. “With the crow…”

“I’ll send it.” The Healer said, gently, and took the writing board away. “Now rest, master Corvus. I’ll wake you again in a few hours.”

The last few words passed into a dream-haze, and he was asleep before she finished speaking.

 ---

End chapter.

 Notes:

If this chapter felt forced at any point, it’s because it resisted being written like Rayla resists recreational swimming. Which is to say I’m pretty sure it stabbed me a couple of times, and maybe maimed a few fingers. I finally managed to push through and finish it motivated by the thought of getting to describe Rayla’s horrible abdominal bruising. Also good motivators were all the people who've taken the time to comment lately; thanks, all.

I know this isn’t exactly the most groundbreaking chapter in the world, which is part of why it was so annoying to write, but it really did block me like a bitch and I fought tooth and nail to finish it, so…if you have comments or kudos or whatnot to offer, that would be great. And I guess people have been saying they wanted the kids to have a breather…does this chapter count? I think it probably counts. On the edits I found it cuter than I remembered.

Good news is that I’ve got the majority of next chapter already – it’s one I wrote a lot of sometime last year. Some edits needed, and scenes filled in, but expect a shorter break this time. I’m quite excited for it – finally, Runaan’s plot kicks off in earnest.

Hope everyone’s coping well in the quarantine. And if not, I hope that this chapter helped a little.

 Worldbuilding notes: (fun fact: my piaj worldbuilding is now so outrageously extensive I had to start a private database to keep it all organised. It currently has 31 sections and 325 entries.)

Cyanroot: made it up. Fake root vegetable. Created partially because of my artistic angst over there being no proper source of cyan pigment in nature to make paints and inks with. Writing allows us to imagine fantasy worlds where our dreams can be real, and in my dreams, I can paint in cyan.

Cyanroot is quite hardy and can grow in cold, inclement climes – but it’s slow to grow compared to other root vegetables, so not especially economical as a food source unless you live somewhere that basically nothing else grows. Also, by most people’s standards, it doesn’t taste great. Still, it’s sometimes grown for food in the winter in milder-climate regions and in other seasons in more harsh climes. It’s an excellent source of good dye, though, and provides nutrition for hungry travellers. Similar nutritional value as beetroot.

Pine needles: an excellent real-world source of vitamin C. If you ever end up needing to ward off scurvy during a long cross-country trek, pine tea is your friend. Just make sure you get pine needles. There are plenty of trees with needles that aren’t pine, after all. Some people genuinely enjoy pine tea and drink it even when they don’t need the vitamins.

Note on preparing pine tea: The kids are technically murdering a lot of the potential vitamin C from those pine needles by brewing them in boiling water rather than just hot water, but eh. Some of it will survive. Just, if you’re ever in a position to need to stave off scurvy with pine needles, don’t boil them.

More notes on lilium: Marsh-pollen, from which the drug is derived, is usually aspirated as particulate matter in the air; when inhaled (especially through the nose), it is extremely fast acting, beginning to take effect more-or-less immediately. The pollen’s effects are explicitly adapted to make large animals go loopy and drowsy, to seek water out, and to fall asleep in it. Essentially, the effects of the pollen revolve around drowning things. The lilium, which is typically ingested, is quite slow-acting, and can take a good half-hour or longer to kick in – but it has the same effects as the pollen, in the end. It makes you thirsty, drowsy, and pleasantly contented about everything. It is extraordinarily difficult to be worried or afraid when under the influence.

Moonstruck: A word used by elves, particularly Moonshadow elves. To quote from my database: (Definitions: 1. The state of a Moonshadow elf at Full Moon. 2. High, stoned, inebriated; generally in a pleasant or euphoric way. 3. Lacking good sense, or fixated on strange, nonsensical, trivial, or impractical thoughts and ideas. 4. Absolutely overjoyed. 5. Infatuated.)