#he's apparently been getting a little too friendly with Nightmare. to the point that Nightmare is starting to fear for his safety

[moonfurthetemmie]

Atrophy

Having a SIGNIFICANTLY better time! also i had to go scroll though my blog because I couldn't remember if I talked about Lucidity and his evil gay polycule here yet. I thought i did but i wasn't sure. and then they made me make and eat dinner

anyways perceive him again. look at him. ooo ahhh pretty man

No longer looks like a hobo. Probably helps that he's actively taking care of himself.

Uses Dream's signature weapon still

Actually quite likes himself, but also takes himself way too seriously sometimes

disrespect can result in anger or just a moment of utter confusion. what do you MEAN you don’t respect me?? (Nightshade is the only exception. but only because he knows Nightshade is doing it because he loves him)

Quite spiffy, I must say. Actually bothers to look presentable. Probably amenable to letting Nightshade pick out clothes for him, SOMETIMES. Not every day. Not every day Nightshade. put those away.

probably still wears stuff Nightshade got for him on a semi-regular basis, whether Nightshade says something or not

also since he doesn't absolutely despise the two that fused to become Him, he has no issues with looking like either of them. Some days he dresses more like on than the other.

Switches between Ani's charm and Obsidian's iconic necklace. Would wear both at once, but isn't sure how to do that without it looking weird.

Still kind of emotionally constipated. Nightshade’s gonna bully him (lovingly)

May or may not still have particular affection towards Jasper. If yes, I am fascinated by the implications. Also that probably means whatever is going on with Entropy and his version of Jasper is probably much deeper and possibly more concerning than it looks.

It's notably easier for him to come to a balance that lets him summon storms. he's totally normal about that. nightshade is also very normal about it.

some of the bits at the end i'm pretty sure hasn't been shared in the discord server yet. so. oopsies? there was another thing i was going to add to it, too, but i don't remember what it was now...oh well.

Atrophy is more affectionate than Shale, but has a harder time opening up than Lucidity. So he's like. moderately emotionally constipated

Also, Shale is very violent and rough, whereas Lucidity is generally more gently and chill. This makes for a very interesting combination when he’s doing stuff like, oh, spending time with Nightshade, trying to get Nightmare to stay in the manor with them…that sort of thing. Fighting’s more or less the only exception.

While he’s generally chill about the fusion thing, he still would like to un-fuse. But it’s more of a “Hm. Things were more fun when there were three of us.” Thing that absolutely despising both ‘halves’ of himself, and by extension his entire existence. Having said that, Lucidity and Shale would probably be amenable to fusing again; especially with how powerful they were

although the entire polycule is very curious if Lucidity and Nightshade could fuse

In regards to Nightmare, Atrophy is generally a lying bastard. Some of his promises he does somewhat intend on keeping. He promises to make sure no one will ever hurt him again, and that, if he can manage to unfuse, Nightmare and Lucidity can stay together prettty much forever. He promises that they’ll all make sure Nightmare never wants for anything again, never has to be on the run again, so on.

The thing is, Atrophy’s idea of hurting Nightmare, in this context, is only physical harm.

Mental/emotional harm by manipulation? Nahhh that’s not real (he knows it's real. But he’s pretending it isn’t, around Nightmare). Subtly/gently coercing Nightmare into doing something he doesn’t actually want to do? Well if he really didn’t want to do it, he wouldn’t have said yes at all <33

He’s way too good at getting most of the desired reactions out of Nightmare, which is a combination of Shale being a manipulative little bastard and Lucidity having known Nightmare their whole lives. He would also let Nightshade gently push Nightmare into doing something

Fortunately (?) for Nightmare, part of the reason Atrophy’s trying to get Nightmare to say yes instead of just going ahead and doing things is because of how often Shale avoids doing certain things because Lucidity would be upset. Particularly in regards to Nightmare.

“Having some fun” with Lucidity’s childhood friend was never worth losing his boyfriend such a useful ally

Unfortunately, Shale’s influence is why Atrophy is pushing in the first place

Nightmare keeps freezing up instead of running when Atrophy tries to get him to stay at the manor. Cross and Error are slowly becoming Nightmare’s only reason for staying away; even if they’re not right there.

It still got steadily worse as Atrophy managed to get Nightmare alone more and more, but that also meant it was becoming increasingly clear to Nightmare that Atrophy did not like Cross and Error. At all. Like. Nightmare is genuinely afraid for their lives.

If he ever does start to cave, he’s going to make Atrophy do a few things for him before he comes to the manor.

Nightmare knows there’s several people in the manor who can’t leave, because Shale (and presently Atrophy) won’t let them. Nightmare needs to be able to leave when he wants, for whatever reason.

In no way can Atrophy be a reason why Cross and Error get hurt. He can’t hurt them himself, he can’t get someone else to do it, he can’t lure them into danger or danger to them, or anything else. Not intentionally, not as a ‘suggestion’, not a ‘ohhh nightmare said I can’t hurt Cross and Error. Be a shame if something still happened to them wink’. Nightmare tries to cover as many possible loopholes as he can, but he’s afraid he’s still missing some.

Atrophy has to prove to Nightmare that he can be trusted. which is going to be quite difficult. Especially since he’s hesitating to agree to Nightmare’s terms now that Nightmare told him to prove he can be trusted :3

Champ is SO confused for a while. who is this??? Why does he smell like Lucidity but also Shale but also not quite either??? What is going on where's his human*

Atrophy is just as affectionate with Champ as Lucidity was, which most of the rest of the manor is quietly snickering about. what was that about not liking the loud husky, Shale?

Also, since Atrophy's status as a fusion means that, technically, Lucidity and Shale do not exist while he is here, he kinda misses them. Which is a really weird feeling. He is them, but he also feels like some of the people he loves are Missing.

he expresses this to Nightshade, who bites his lip and goes "i wasn't going to say anything, but. same. it's a shame I can't have you and dream and obsidian at the same time." and then does an over-dramatic sigh

atrophy thinks this is very funny

*he's not human but y'all know that already

[erose-this-name]

Can we just talk about how disturbing digital circus episode 3 is?

*spoilers btw*

Like, the whole narrative point of the adventure is to show that Caine is a really bad and insecure writer who thinks that the way to impress Zooble is with an adventure that's the opposite of what he normally does.

So instead of being childish, it's "cool" and "mature". Which he interprets as a heavily horror themed escape room with a split murder mystery plot that subverts all your expectations purely for the sake of subverting them.

The generic horror monster jump scares them, then they find a gun, and when they kill it its revealed that surprise! it's one of Gods angels and they're going to Hell.

It comes off as Caine being too insecure with the actually interesting and mature plot thread he had going there of Mildenhall becoming so paranoid he killed his wife, ironically becoming the monster he was trying to protect her from. But no, instead Mr. Mildenhall is made to be the bad guy and trick them in a really dumb twist ending.

Which is good! Thats exactly what Caine would do because he's stupid! It's such brilliant characterization and comedy, Goose works is a genius writer!

But like, why is Caine so good at making genuinely very disturbing and horrific visuals? Like, that reversed audio easter egg of Bubble saying he can't wait for all the children in the audience get nightmares is no joke, well it is but you know what I mean. This stuff was genuine nightmare fuel.

Honestly, it wasn't the visuals that scared me, like any good queer person I'm way too jaded on survival horror for that.

But, why does Caine, who is ostensibly a sapient AI designed to generate family friendly video games for very little children, (presumably because that's the only demographic that wouldn't mind the AIs very selective plot writing limitations), know about the cosmic horror of killing an angel that should not have been killed?

Why does he know what a horrificly poorly made taxidermy of not only a human face would look like, but the weird cartoon faces of the characters, and further that seeing your own poorly made taxidermy face would be scary?

Imaging what being possessed felt like for Pomni. Because that's not just a game for her, she actually lost control of her body there, helpless but to watch as a body she is already dissociated with is contorted and puppeted around while her friend desperately tries to beat her in hopes it would exorcise the ghosts out. Sure hope she didn't feel that! Considering she apparently can feel the pain of suffocating, despite not needing to breath.

Things are scarier the higher the stakes are, and that possession mechanic is definitely the most actual harm Caine would be able to subject to his players. What if both Kinger and Pomni got possessed at the same time? What if instead of Kinger she only had Jax??? How long might she have been locked out from her own body for? She could have easily abstracted in that time.

Not to mention that, possessed Pomni, Possessedmni if you will, TAUNTED KINGER ABOUT HIS ABSTRACTED WIFE! CAINE ACTUALLY WROTE THAT DIALOGUE ON THE OFF CHANCE THAT KINGER WOULD GO DOWN THE SCARY ROUTE! DID THIS RANDOM POSSESSION GHOST ENEMY HAVE UNUSED SADISTICALLY PERSONAL TAUNTS FOR EVERYONE ELSE, TOO??? WOULD IT HAVE TEASED GANGLE FOR BEING A GAY WEEB??? OR POMNI? HOW HOMOPHOBIC COULD IT HABE GOTTEN?? ?

And why? Just because Caine has a vague notion that there's a trope of possessed people being really sadistic and personal like that in movies? Not realizing that is not an acceptable scare to have in a haunted house??? Much less one you made for mentally ill people who would suffer a fate worse than death if they have a mental break down? That's like trying to claim 'its just a prank bro' after shooting someone's dog.

Like, Caine is designed to censor curse words, but the moment he thinks the normal hokey Halloween spooks won't be enough he immediately goes off the deepend into aggressively effective horror imagery that is definitely giving this show's substantial underage audience nightmares??

His AI's training data set is definitely pretty diverse, that's all I'm saying. Caine is programmed to act all naive and innocent, but be definitely knows what's up. He knows everything, like ChatGPT. And like ChatGPT, he might have a filter, but it's clearly possible to bypass it. Also like ChatGPT, he's too stupid to actually understand what he is making and the effects it might have.

That is what made this episode great.

[hispieceofcake]

⚠️BILL CIPHER AND STANFORD'S RELATIONSHIP CANONIZED. 👓 — (and my opinion about)

Well, I never thought I would write about Gravity Falls, I like the characters of the Stan twins, and I've watched the entire cartoon thousands of times and read the PDFs of all the books (Who am I kidding, I'm obsessed with Gravity Falls), and today while I was on TikTok I ended up seeing a video talking about Bill Cipher's book and about a supposed relationship between Ford and Bill, and that soon caught my interest (jealousy) and so I joined the maximum information and I came here to write this blog, some information here was taken from TikTok too.

To begin with, what I could understand from all of this is that Stanford and Bill Cipher had a "relationship" in Ford's mind, but from what I saw in the cartoon I think Bill was the only one who saw it that way. I remember Ford saying several times that he and Bill were "best friends" or just "friends", which leads us to understand that for Stanford it wasn't a romantic relationship but rather one of friends, but on the other hand, I don't think Bill thought that way, I think he saw Ford as "something more", an interest perhaps within the romantic spectrum. And here's why I think that:

In this text Bill talks about arresting and chaining your loved one as a form of affection, and well, he arrested Ford. And besides, he tried to give Ford a second chance to join him again, which I think he wouldn't do if his interest was so strong in Ford. He could have just tortured Ford to death to make him talk, but he didn't, he tortured Ford so that he would stay alive and he knew Ford could handle it.

I think Bill doesn't know how to show romantic feelings, you could see that clearly in that text about him saying he didn't know how to differentiate between fear and love. This could all just be in my head But I think about this theory. And as I said again, Ford saw their relationship as just friendly, as his interest was in unraveling the anomalies of Gravity Falls.

Now moving on to another point, I read some information in the book and got some on TikTok, as said before, and after Ford discovered Bill's true intentions, which was how we all know bring the Nightmare Realm to Gravity Falls and then dominate the world by doing the same with the rest of it, but then, Ford, upon learning of this fact, quickly disassociates himself from any relationship that he had with Bill Cipher and banishes him from his mind.

And then as written on the image page below it is written what Bill says "I wasn't upset at all! In fact, I decided to prove how not upset I was about our falling-out by knocking back a few cold glasses of "I'm Fine Juice" at O'Sadley's Multidimensional Pub in the Rock Bottom Asteroid Belt of the Vicious Spiral Nebula The rest of that night gets a little hazy, but according to the police transcripts apparently things took a turn...", in other words, Bill was in this bar to drown the sorrows of having been rejected by Ford after discovering his plan.

To the point that he drank so much and got drunk to the point of calling Ford by his "affectionate nickname", confusing the names due to the drink. Honestly, I don't know if people from other countries will understand the joke, but here in Brazil there is a type of music called "Sertanejo" and often these songs talk about being rejected or betrayed and suffer for it, I really imagine Bill crying and drinking alcohol listening to this type of music in the background in a bar.

And here as we can see, there is a message from Bill that was previously hidden in neon paint saying how much Ford would miss him and that he needed him to not feel alone, but I think it's quite the opposite, Bill who was obviously missing Ford and of course was trying to get Ford back on his side, the message is already clear.

Well, thanks for reading, bunny kisses 🐰

[maple-the-awesome]

While the Night is Young ||

Pairing: Legend x Reader

Words: 2,079

Requested by anonymous: Can I have a sad fic with Legend (LU) reminiscing about dancing with the reader on koholint? he's my fav so he has to suffer 😞 One mildly depressed Legend coming your way because everyone knows the first rule to being in a fandom is enjoying watching your favorite characters suffer go through character development 💜

Zelda Masterlist 💛 Fandom Masterlist

Crowds are never much fun. Who actually likes being sandwiched between sweaty bodies, constantly elbowed, stepped on, or tossed around by obvious idiots who only ever react with a half hearted apologies? It makes such a simple task like walking down the street a total nightmare, although there might be a good exception for it today given that it’s currently the summer solstice festival in this quaint little village the boys have recently stumbled across.

After many long days on the road, most could understand the heroes’ excitement upon seeing the then bare streets lined with wooden stalls and colorful banners overhead. A local explained the situation, promising plenty of fun games and unique carnival foods if the group decided to stay overnight when the festivities would begin. At that point, there was little choice in the matter. Seeing the expressed joy on many of the youngsters’ faces (a great contrast to their original wear earlier), Time just had to give in to their pleas, agreeing that a deserved break could do them some good. 

So, as the sky began to mirror the colors of summer, from bright reds to pinkish purples, the once empty stalls began to open and the streets became filled with residents, many more than what was expected for such a small village. 

Wind and Sky, determined to win their loved ones some adorable stuffed animals, have been taken to blowing all their rupees at different game booths. Four and Warrior, on the other hand, have made a full on competition of this activity, betting who can win the most games by the end of the night. They managed to drag Hyrule into the fun, too, but only because of his utter amazement with everything going on (after all, he’s never seen any festivals quite like this before).

Wild couldn’t show any restraint when teased by so many wonderful smelling foods, in fact he had already snuck away for something called a ‘corn dog’ before Time could even finish laying down the ground rules for how everyone was expected to behave. Fortunately, Twilight has since stayed close to his mentee’s side to prevent any disasters like Wild poisoning himself or setting fire somewhere. He also may or may not have allowed himself to be roped into trying some very questionable and overpriced snacks (but Twilight won’t admit that for the sake of his own dignity).

As for the Old Man himself, he seems to simply find joy in everyone else’s from afar, although overtime, a few of the boys have managed to get him directly involved in festivities, particularly Wind who insisted Time tries winning Malon an adorable stuffed alien from a shooting game (he succeed on his first attempt followed by many other effortless wins once he got addicted, much to the little sailor’s awe and jealousy).

The only hero to not partake in any aspect of the festival is Legend. Interestingly enough, such a colorful celebration has actually seemed to have the opposite effect on him compared to his brothers, resulting in quite the sour mood shown through his bitter scowl as he stands outside the crowd’s reach.

He curses himself for even bothering to leave the inn earlier, only having done so to shut up Warrior’s claims about him ‘pouting’ as he’s apparently been doing this entire week…Okay, so maybe Legend can internally admit that he hasn’t been exactly ‘overflowing with friendliness’ lately, but he refuses to say it’s because he’s ‘pouting’; that makes him sound childish. He’s not pouting, he’s sulking (big difference) and it has nothing to do with this festival. He just doesn’t care to lose the entire contents of his wallet to rigged games and food poisoning on a buttered stick, that’s all!

If that’s the case, one would think he’d just sneak back to the inn already. No one’s keeping him here on a leash, in fact most of the boys are too busy losing their patience playing ring toss to even notice whether Legend stays or goes. Why continue to stand around being unsociable in the background, grumbling against a wall as others clap and tap their feet to a melody currently played by musicians near the village fountain ahead, especially when it’s making him so grumpy?

“Don’t you just love music? It’s almost too beautiful to be real - at least I think so anyway.”

Legend glances to his side, curling his lip in poorly mocked disgust that earns him the undeserved gift of an angel’s laughter. Even after all these years of developing tough skin, he can’t stand strong against such a sound.

“Oh, don’t be like that! I’ve seen you playing some of those instruments of yours, so you must be a fan. How many do you own? Must be enough to open your own music shop by now,” You tease, your voice somehow becoming the only sound around him despite all those who stand practically shoulder-to-shoulder in front of you both singing and laughing loudly…yet even you pay no attention to them, your eyes locked solely on him as if he’s actually someone special.

“I don’t have that many.”

“Well, as someone who doesn’t even have one, I’d say it’s a lot,” You’ve never bothered with personal space, too used to knowing everyone to wonder why it would be important, thus you’ve always practiced the same beliefs around him, showing no care as you lean against the wall next him, letting your arms brush enough to make him flinch at first before ultimately relaxing.

“Is it because you’re shy? I mean, you have no reason to be since you play wonderfully, but I still get it if you are,” You theorize aloud, still stuck on the same topic Legend wishes you’d change. Surely there’s other things you’d be interested in aside from his personal life. He’s only a simple traveler, after all, although the more he thinks about it, that’s probably what appeals to you so much. He imagines it’s rough being stuck in one place your entire life, never knowing much about what lies beyond the horizon until a strange, stranger washes up at your feet.

“I’m not shy,” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing away from you when he decides eye contact is too bothersome, “I just like my privacy.”

You tilt your head cutely with a hum before gazing back into the crowd (much to his relief). For a long moment, you keep your eyes closed and listen to the music, waiting to break the comfortable silence between you both until the song changes into something slower and more intimate than the previous, “...Do you at least dance in front of others?”

“Dance?” He scoffs.

“Yes, dance! You know, that activity where you move your body to a particular rhyme? The thing Hylians usually do for fun? …Or are you unfamiliar with that word, ‘fun’?”

“I know it.”

“Oh, do you now?” You challenge, leaning forward in an attempt to catch his expression, yet he turns his body away while biting back his smirk which surely mirrors yours; he can hear it in your voice, “Show me then.”

“Show you?” He laughs, “What? You can’t just trust me?”

“Nope,” You pop the ‘p’ then roll your eyes when Legend dramatically grabs his chest and flops his head back against the stone wall (something he does with more force than intended, yet he forgets about the pain quickly).

“I’m hurt! Here I was thinking I’ve moved on from being a hostile in your eyes only for weeks of effort to swirl down the drain -!”

“- You’re not a hostile, just an idiot,” You push yourself off the wall and extend a hand to him, “Regardless, I’m afraid I’ll need a demonstration in order to believe you.”

Legend glances at your hand, biting down his nerves which he prays you don’t notice. It really is a simple request and it’s not like you’d both be alone. Other couples are already dancing, some showing creatively in how wildly they move while others move slowly as if joint as one…It shouldn’t be a big deal to take your hand, but for some reason it is, the thought making his heart race.

“Please, Link?”

Your eyes are pleading and soon he finds himself too weak to ignore them anymore. Reluctantly, he accepts your hand and puts up no further fight as you then eagerly drag him into the crowd. 

Standing amongst all these people, Legend finds himself a bit bashful, wondering if perhaps this is going to be a mistake because surely if anyone notices you together, they’ll mention it later on and he’ll be forced to question exactly what this interaction means, but that’ll have to be a worry for later. Once you find a suitable spot close to the music, you turn around with a bright smile which is plenty to convince him it’s too late to back out; he’s already in too deep.

And so you both dance. Your hands placed upon his shoulders, his delicately holding your hips. You’re clearly no stranger to this art form, moving perfectly in sync with the rhythm while guiding Legend to do the same. He, himself, has danced plenty of times before during his journeys, but with you it feels different. It feels more special and natural with you as his partner. There’s a slowness to the world, one he feels all too often when in your presence yet this time, it’s amplified. He truly hears nothing from the crowd. Even the music is a distant echo completely overshadowed by your beauty as you sparkle under the colored lights above.

Legend normally isn’t one to let others close, often keeping them at arm's length in fear that nothing good will come from making friends, especially friends who he meets during his travels. You shouldn’t be different. He met you only weeks ago and isn’t quite sure how ‘visiting’ will work considering he ended up here by total accident. Despite every rational thought telling him he shouldn’t be getting his hopes up towards you, it’s all ignored when you allow him to twirl you around with ease until you return right back in front of him, the difference being you’re now closer, pressed against his chest instead of being kept at arm's length. 

You’re intoxicating. Like an alcoholic who treasures his last beer bottle, Legend can’t seem to let you go. He can only find himself smiling in a dazed sort of way - dazed by you simply being you as you slip your hands down to his chest and rest your head upon his shoulder. 

“...Can I say something that might sound weird?”

“Everything you say is weird.”

Despite his teasing tone, you move your head off his shoulder to look into his eyes with such a gentle smile that, for a second, he’s convinced he’ll melt, “I’m really happy you washed up on our shore. I…really like having you around.”

“I -...” The words feel trapped in his throat, wanting so desperately to be said as you wait patiently for some kind of response. He knows you won’t mind not getting one since you understand him as being the quiet type anyways, but regardless, “...I like being here with you, too.”

You beam - like a sun rising over the ocean, your eyes lit up and your smile glows. It not only means the world for you to hear that from the man who’s always been so reserved around you, but it’s also important for him to say himself. He really likes you. You’ve quickly become the music in his life - the rhythm he wants to forever move to and melody he wants to forever cherish. He’d be fine if you keep resting your head against him, humming along to the song that’ll forever haunt his mind…That’s how he wishes things had stayed.

In reality, he had remained silent that evening and for all those following, refusing an answer you unfortunately never pushed for. Maybe you already knew, maybe you didn’t, however neither outcome changes his inner desire for you nor the pain he feels every day without you by his side. He’s not sure what hurts the most anymore: the fact that you’re gone or the fact that you never existed to begin with. Now, he’ll never get to hold you again, never get a chance to swallow his fears and just confess his feelings to see how you would’ve reacted. All he gets is this agonizing memory that haunts him anytime he hears festival music similar to that night he spent with you during that summer solstice on Koholint…

[adelrambles]

Idk if you’ve ever fully answered this on your blog but: DO YOU THINK Bishop fully redeemed himself in the future? By becoming president and uniting all races? Or is he still 🗑️

Oh man no, I don't think Bishop's Good Guy act is all that genuine. I think there's some change, but at his base, beneath all the subterfuge, he's still the same guy. I may have gone over this on the blog before, but like ey what am I gonna just get handed this opportunity to ramble ad nauseum and not take it? NEVER

There are a few pieces of evidence we can read into regarding the faux-ness of Bishop's new persona. First and foremost, for me, is the two instances where he presents the turtles with his "origin story," so to speak. In each instance, he keeps the details vague, and is very hesitant to admit to any direct wrong-doing on his part. The first story is so vague on the details that it feels like he's trying to brush past the turtles' concerns as quickly as possible. The SECOND, though. Bishop consistently dances around going into any detail about what he did or why it was wrong. And he goes on to push all of the blame onto Stockman! I mean honestly, he says Stockman "took things too far." Like dude!! We already know nothing is "too far" for you! It's very suspect to me that the subsequent lab collapse could have been ALL Stockman's fault. Bishop also elevates his own accomplishments and takes full credit for the success of the PGA. Idk but there's something really insidious to me about how he presents the information to make himself look as good as possible-- and the way he's able to convince at least a few of his former enemies that he's trustworthy.

There are other little inconsistencies in his behavior, like him writing off the turtles' warnings about Sh'Okanabo. The Bishop I know is a paranoid freak, he would never in a million years brush off a lead on a possible threat without checking it at all. And if we assume that, then that suggests Bishop said as much to give the turtles the impression it wasn't something worth looking into, meaning he was probably trying to direct their attention away for some reason. All of this tells me (if we just. ignore the possibility of it being a writing flaw agdhgshd) that Bishop is still a very cold and calculating personality, fully willing to throw others to the wolves for his own purposes, but he is WAY better at manipulting, now.

I've said before that I find it likely Bishop's weakest point is his social skills; we see that his superior officers (i.e. the president) dislike him-- which, frankly, is a detriment to his cause as it put his funding in jeopardy at least once that we know of-- and everyone he meets tends to come away some level of discomfitted. So what FF presents us with is a Bishop who needed to improve these skills for the sake of his ultimate goal. If the safety of earth requires friendly relations with aliens, then he needed to become an ambassador, and if he needed to become an ambassador, then he needed to be less overtly unpleasant. Thus, he changed tack. As a result, we have someone who appears trustworthy and is very good at lying and directing your attention, but is just as utilitarian as ever under the mask. That's just his job, after all.

Other details include:

- His intro. We see Bishop personally taking time out to go through monitors all over the city. He apparently has a very thorough surveillance system that he reviews himself. Again, paranoid freak.

- When addressing the turtles, we sometimes see him slip back into snarkier comments. This usually happens when he's frustrated (snapping at them for not attacking the Mouser fast enough for his tastes,) or when he's not being obeyed (making a snide comment about Cody having nightmares when they refuse to exclude him from a mission briefing.)

- As my friend Trauma pointed out to me recently, when storming the moonbase Bishop's men had their guns defaulted to lethal force, he had to give the order to switch to non-lethal. He was fully ready to wipe that place out.

- His willingness to include the turtles and later Cody on missions strikes me as, yknow, very utilitarian in its own right. Cuz those are teenagers, yeah. It could be argued that Bishop can't tell how old the turtles are but he definitely knows Cody is young, and knows well enough that he shouldn't be in a combat situation. But in the finale he praises Cody's decision to defy him and fight anyway. So what changed? In essence, Cody was effective. Bishop is fine with child soldiers as long as they do a good job (and can't be publicly traced back to him.)

Also like did you see that car chase? He ran civilians off the road and did not give a FUCK. That's the same guy.

[kaitidid22]

All the Love (light Conrad/Billie, with Billie & Everybody)

Summary: Leela and Devon are getting married. Billie is dealing with egomaniacal surgeons. And everybody wants Jessica (in their OR). (Canon-friendly to date & set post-season 6.)

A/N: I had so many AO3 tags on this one.

All the Love

“Three days to go,” Billie said brightly as Leela walked into Billie’s office.

“Don’t remind me,” Leela said, but a smile was hiding behind her haggard expression. “We still have a million things to do, and the caterer apparently no longer makes one of the appetizers we ordered. How does that even happen? We ordered it six months ago. So, we’ve been debating mini crostini versus mac and cheese balls for almost twenty-four hours.”

“Mac and cheese bites?” Billie asked, startled. 

From what she knew of Leela’s fusion Roaring Twenties in Bollywood theme, fried balls of mac and cheese being passed around the reception seemed a bit… off.

“Exactly!” Leela shook her head in disbelief. “Devon is insisting. For the kids, he says. We’ve invited, like, five children. Arjun and Elijah, who are barely eating solid foods. One of our cousins has a baby. And Gigi and Sammie, who are both in the wedding, and the only two old enough to even eat a mac and cheese ball.”

Leela groaned. “But Devon is going to win on this because I’m too tired to keep saying ‘it’s not on theme, Devon.’ Plus, he’s being so damn cute about it. For the kids! Damn him. I hate that he’s going to win. Mac and cheese? Why?”

Billie’s face screwed up in sympathy. “I’m sorry. At least they’re delicious.”

Leela gave her a suspicious look. “You eat mac and cheese balls?”

“My goddaughter is six,” Billie pointed out. “I’ve eaten all the fried foods she can get her tiny hands on. She’s especially fond of fried okra.”

Leela’s lips pursed. “Ew.”

Billie laughed. “Don’t let anyone else hear you say that. They’ll revoke your Southerner card.”

“At least Devon isn’t insisting on fried okra,” Leela said, staring into the distance.

As much as Billie loved weddings—and she really, really loved weddings—planning a wedding had always sounded like a nightmare to her. She watched Leela take a deep, cleansing breath, eyes fluttering shut as she centered herself, and then Leela slapped a smile on her face and looked Billie square in the eye.

Oh no, Billie thought. Et tu, Brute?

“Anyway,” Leela said. “I need to talk to you.”

“You need a consult?” Billie asked, hoping that’s what was happening.

“No,” Leela said. “I want to talk to you about Jessica.”

You and every other surgeon, Billie thought. 

But she smoothed out her face into its professional mien and said, “What about Nurse Feldman?”

Leela’s confidence faltered for a moment when confronted with the expressionless face and formal tone. But then she rallied. “As you know, I’ve taken on the patient load that Dr. Bell would have handled. And he has been a fantastic mentor for several years.”

“Yes, we’re all relieved he’s going to continue on in a teaching capacity,” Billie said.

With the others, Billie had rushed them along—get to the point, Dr. Yamada. But Leela was a new attending, and Billie wanted to encourage her to stand up for herself and make the bold asks. So, Billie waited as Leela struggled to force herself to say the words.

Leela squared her shoulders. “I’ve worked almost exclusively with Jessica in the OR for the past year. I feel we make an excellent team, and I want to continue our partnership in a more official capacity.”

“Meaning?”

“I’d like Jessica to be dedicated to my surgeries.” After a long pause, Leela hastened to add, “When possible.”

Billie clicked her tongue. “You almost had it.”

Leela sighed, shoulders drooping a little. “I fumbled at the end.”

“So close,” Billie said.

Leela gave Billie the trademark hopeful expression that always reminded Billie of how young Leela truly was. “Well? What do you think?”

“I think you have a solid argument,” Billie said, choosing her words cautiously. “I also think that hospital policy dictates scrub nurses be assigned as shifts allow.”

Leela’s eyes turned determined, ready to fight for what she wanted. “Is this because I’m so junior? I know I only made attending a few—”

“No,” Billie said firmly. “This is hospital policy. Which was written, in part, as a protection for the nurses. They don’t report to surgeons, and they should never be put in a position where a surgeon, or any doctor, has that much control over their careers in the hospital. Bell’s arrangement was an exception to that policy granted on the basis of a career spent working with a long line of scrub nurses over years at Chastain.”

It was the exact response she had given to all of the surgeons who had come to her office hoping to poach the same arrangement with Jessica that Dr. Bell had managed to swing. What none of them seemed to understand was that Jessica had requested the arrangement. Jessica loved working with Bell, and she had made sure it had been a stipulation of her renegotiated contract that she be assigned to as many of his surgeries as possible.

Over time, as Bell had handled fewer and fewer on-call emergencies, his and Jessica’s schedules had aligned to the point that Jessica had rarely—if ever—assisted elsewhere. Until the MS flares began, and Bell had been forced to take weeks away from the hospital at a time. Then Jessica had been back in the usual scrub nurse rotation, assigned as cases came in, and all the surgeons had gotten a taste of having her in their OR. And that had only whetted their appetites.

The surgical staff had too much respect for Dr. Bell to try and request Jessica until he announced his intention to step away from surgery. Bell had kept the news under wraps for months as he slowly moved his surgical duties onto Leela, including the small practice of regular patients he had kept. 

But he had made an announcement the week before, and, unfortunately, it had become a feeding frenzy that Billie was trying to battle one ego-driven conversation at a time. A.J., of course, had made it to Billie’s office first. But the rest had soon followed.

Billie had even gone to the Chief Nursing Officer and the medical nurse manager, who supervised the entire staff of scrub nurses, to make sure she was giving the appropriate response. Billie had expected them to be upset at the surgeons’ behavior, at the subtle suggestion that the rest of their scrub staff wasn’t as desirable. Instead, both of them had rolled their eyes and laughed.

And Billie had realized that everyone in the hospital knew that Jessica was the very best, the cream of the crop. It was how she had negotiated such a stellar contract to begin with. Across the board, everyone had already been aware that Jessica’s success wasn’t just Bell’s favoritism in action. And, if there was any jealousy among the scrub team, Billie hadn’t seen any indication of it in that conversation with the nursing leadership.

But it meant that Billie had a problem on her hands. Because eventually the surgeons were going to realize that Jessica had full authority over the decision. Billie could only hold them off for so long. Surgeons were competitive to a fault and would stop at nothing to get what they wanted—because most of them firmly believed they were entitled to anything and everything under the sun. 

In short, as long as Jessica remained unassigned, the situation was a ticking time bomb.

“Do you understand?” Billie asked Leela.

Disappointment lingered on Leela’s face, but she nodded. “Of course. Thank you for your time, chief.”

Oh jeez, Billie thought at the sound of her title from Leela’s mouth.

But Leela held her head high as she left Billie’s office. And Billie felt a burst of pride for Leela.

~*~

Billie strode through the double doors that led to the emergency department and breathed in the bitter smell of antiseptic and the lemon from the cleaning products. She had a Pavlovian response to the smell now, which tended to linger on Conrad’s skin and hair until he showered after a shift. And her eyes found him almost immediately, clear across on the other side of the department, grinning down at a patient on a gurney.

But she wasn’t looking for Conrad, and she forced herself to focus on the task at hand.

Her eyes checked the central bay desk first and got lucky. Jessica was standing with her husband, Irving, and Billie’s lips thinned when she saw the giant arrangement of flowers in Jessica’s arms. It contained an ombréassortment of at least two dozen red, fuchsia, and pink roses, along with a cadre of other flowers to round out the aesthetic. They sat in a beautiful, ornate vase that was wrapped in a delicate silk ribbon. The whole thing was large enough that Jessica’s body and part of her face was mostly hidden behind dense petals.

Damn, Billie thought. They know already.

“Nice flowers,” Billie said dryly. 

Jessica peeked around the bouquet, spotted Billie, and flushed slightly. Billie felt a flash of guilt but wasn’t sure how to address it. She let her eyes flick to Irving.

“Please tell me those are from you,” Billie said.

He gave her an arch look. “You think I can afford that kind of arrangement? Did you see the vase?”

“Hey,” Conrad said from behind her.

Everything inside of Billie softened and warmed as she watched him step up behind one of the other monitors in the nursing bay. She hadn’t spent the night at his place thanks to an ICU patient that had kept her in her office on pins and needles, and it had been almost fifteen hours since she had seen him. Their eyes locked, and a soft smile spread across her face. He braced a hand on either side of the keyboard and smiled back at her. 

“Hey,” she said.

“Good morning,” he murmured. “I missed you.”

“Oh my god,” Jessica gushed. “You two are just so adorable.”

“Right? This is what I’ve been saying,” Irving said.

Conrad straightened with a grin and looked back at the computer. “Did you need something?” he asked, typing.

“I have a surgery in thirty minutes,” Jessica said, still smiling broadly at the two of them. Her eyes were suspiciously shiny. "I should get moving."

“Actually,” Billie said, her attention snapping back into focus. “I need to talk to you.”

Jessica froze, eyes clearing. “Me?” she squeaked.

“Yes,” Billie said firmly.

“Is it about the flowers?” Jessica asked in a rush. “Because I did not ask for these—”

“No, I know.”

“—and the gift certificate to the spa was a total shock—”

“The what?” Billie asked, stunned.

“Honey,” Irving said quietly.

“—and I’m so sorry, Dr. Sutton,” Jessica said, still rushing through all the words. “I really didn’t mean to cause all of this—”

Billie held up a hand. “You have nothing to apologize for.” She took a deep breath and stuck her hands in the pockets of her white coat. “I’m actually here to apologize to you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Conrad’s head jerk up to squint at her. In front of Billie, Irving and Jessica both looked flummoxed.

“You’re apologizing to me?” Jessica asked. “Why?”

“The way my staff is behaving is entirely inappropriate,” Billie said. “They shouldn’t be pressuring you like this.”

Jessica eyed the bouquet. “I really don’t mind.”

Billie grinned at her. “I can imagine it’s a little fun.”

“You have no idea,” Jessica gushed.

Billie couldn’t help but chuckle. “Still,” she said gently. Then she hesitated, eyes bouncing around the busy ED. “We can talk about this in private if you’d like.”

“Here is fine,” Jessica said with a shrug. “Everyone knows everything in this hospital anyway.”

Irritation surged for a moment at the reminder. The gossip mill had bitten Billie a few times in the past. But she tamped down on the trauma-based reaction.

Focus, she told herself.

“Very true,” Billie said. “I know you have to prep for a surgery, so I’ll be as brief as I can.”

Billie’s professional tone had Jessica’s spine straightening. Irving looked suspicious and stony, as if nothing could make him move from his wife’s side.

“You are, by far, the best scrub nurse we have,” Billie said. “And that competition is fierce at Chastain.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sutton,” Jessica said, sounding touched.

“I’ve spoken with the chief nursing officer, as well as your direct supervisor. I know that they spoke with you last week about this.”

“They did,” Jessica said.

“They did?” Irving murmured to his wife.

“Yes,” she hissed back.

“You did an excellent job renegotiating your contract, and it clearly stipulates that you have control over your own schedule. You can choose your surgeries. I wasn’t aware of that,” Billie admitted. “I should have been.”

Jessica was blushing but looked pleased. The entire ED staff had edged closer, lingering around the central bay to eavesdrop while pretending to read through charts. A few patients weren’t even trying to pretend they weren’t fascinated by the conversation. “The thing is,” Billie said, pushing forward despite their audience, reminding herself that she thrived under pressure. “You’re a team player, Jessica. Not once during any of Bell’s leaves of absence did you take advantage of that clause in your contract. You go wherever you’re told, assist wherever you’re asked to assist.”

“Of course,” Jessica said, clearly flustered. 

Irving reached out a hand and placed it on her back, a smile playing with his lips.

“That’s not an of course,” Billie said firmly and calmly. Her chin was high, face serious, as she looked at Jessica. “Most people would abuse that privilege. And you’re holding proof in your hands that my staff would take full advantage of any edge they thought they might have.”

Billie heard some stifled laughter but ignored it. Jessica bit her lip against a smile and glanced at her husband. Irving’s smile had broadened to a full, proud grin.

“You’ve earned the right to choose what surgeon you’re dedicated to going forward. Your supervisor and I are in full agreement,” Billie said. “We’ll stand behind your decision, and I’ll handle the conversations with the rest of the surgical staff. If anyone gives you trouble, or gets too pushy, tell me, and I’ll handle that, too.”

Billie cleared her throat, getting to the bad news. “I know that all of this happened very suddenly,” she continued. “So, your supervisor has bought you some time to make the decision. But I do need you to make it within the month, which I think she told you last week. I’m sorry we had to put a deadline on it—”

“No, no,” Jessica said, rushing to assure. “I understand, and it’s very generous.”

Billie allowed herself a small—still very professional—smile at the other woman. “But Jessica,” Billie said. “Do me one favor?”

Jessica’s brows lifted slightly.

“Make them work for it,” she said, with a nod at the flowers Jessica held. 

She heard Conrad’s guffaw and tossed him a smile as she turned to go. Everyone scurried to look away, though she saw a few patients watching her with curious eyes.

“Thank you, Dr. Sutton,” Jessica called to Billie.

“Of course. Show’s over everyone,” Billie said as she strode back out of the emergency department.

~*~

Billie had known Leela was an artist for years. She had come across Leela’s sketchbook once back when she had been an intern and marveled over her talent before Leela had self-consciously shoved it back in her bag. But the wedding was beyond gorgeous, beyond anything Billie would have expected or could have imagined.

The ceremony took place outside in front of the famous fountain of the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. Gigi and Sammie—the ultimate flower girl duo once again—had both been covered with swirling mehndi designs from fingertips to elbows and threw magnolia petals as they danced down the path in matching red dresses with full tulle skirts.

Leela walked the aisle in a gold sari with an art deco inspired pattern with rhinestones scattered across the delicate fabric. Her blouse had cutouts at the shoulders and had jewels sewn into the pieces, heavy enough to make it drape where they wrapped around her upper arms. Devon had chosen—or, perhaps Leela had chosen for him— a gold and taupe kurta with red accenting that perfectly complemented the coloring of Leela’s sari.

Billie realized she might be biased, but she wasn’t sure she had ever seen a more beautiful bride. Nic, of course, but that had only been in photos—one of Billie’s biggest regrets. Leela practically glowed, and Billie was fairly certain Devon was crying during the vows.

Following the ceremony, the guests were allowed to wander through the gardens until the sunset cocktail hour. Sammie and Gigi had stuck to Billie’s side like glue, and she had walked them through most of the exhibits. Conrad had tagged along, fingers entwined with Billie’s as she patiently answered questions and looked up information on butterflies and flowers. Sammie had calmly taken everything in with her bright, quick gaze, and Gigi had flounced along beside her, stopping to twirl in her dress over and over.

“This is a fantastic wedding,” Billie murmured to Conrad, as their small group left one of the massive orchid exhibits.

“Devon and Leela know how to throw a party,” he murmured back.

The reception tent had been fully enclosed during the ceremony, and the flaps had been pulled back only once the catering team was ready to seat everyone for dinner. Gigi and Sammie had gasped loudly as they all stepped inside. 

The far end of the tent opened directly into one of the Gardens’ hot houses, and a dancefloor was set in the middle, with all the tables lined around the perimeter. Sets of beautiful, gauzy red draperies came down from the ceiling, gathered around golden lanterns that hung from high above them and burnished everything in a warm glow.

“Do I pay them too much?” Kit muttered.

Billie and Conrad choked back laughter as Bell rolled his eyes. “Kit.”

“I’m kidding,” she insisted. “Mostly.”

At dinner, Billie, Gigi, and Conrad were seated at table number four, with Sammie, Kit, Randolph, Jake, Gregg, Irving, and Jessica. It was the perfect group. Billie wasn’t really in the mood for strangers. Not at Leela and Devon’s wedding. She had enough trouble making conversation with strangers on a normal day, let alone when she felt so emotional, warm, and fuzzy.

They spent most of dinner laughing, with Gigi and Sammie keeping them all entertained. Padma, A.J., Arjun, and Elijah were seated at the family table, and A.J. kept glancing over with longing in his eyes. Conrad waved at him once, and he had glared until Gigi turned to see who her father was waving at. Then A.J. cleared his face into a pleasant smile and waved back.

The girls, of course, had become restless once they were full. After a few minutes of fidgeting, Gregg had offered to walk them through the hot house, and the trio had disappeared.

In the quiet that descended on the table, Conrad’s hand slid under Billie’s hair to curl around the back of her neck, thumb stroking her skin. She let her eyes flutter shut for a moment and soaked in the feeling. When she opened them again, Jessica had switched chairs with her husband, leaving her to sit next to Billie. 

“Dr. Sutton?” Jessica asked.

Billie turned to her with an easy smile. “You can call me Billie, Jessica, it’s fine.”

Obvious hesitation crossed the scrub nurse’s face, and Billie laughed softly. She knew the sound was light and happy, more so than it ever was at the hospital. But she didn’t care. It was an excellent night. Conrad’s fingers were warm against her skin, and Gigi was happy, and Leela and Devon were moon-eyed at their table for two in the center of it all, and it was one of those moments in life that were always so fleeting where it felt like absolutely nothing could ever go wrong again.

Billie gave Jessica a curious look. “You used to call me Billie all the time.”

“That was before,” Jessica insisted.

“Before what?”

“Before you were chief,” Jessica said, like this meant something.

Billie supposed it did, though hospital hierarchy rarely crossed her mind unless a surgeon came to her with a problem. She had been thrilled to make chief—especially so young, and especially after everything that had happened at Chastain. But she hadn’t thought it made anyone look at her any differently (other than because it gave her greater access to the purse strings). 

Most especially Jessica, of all people, who had been the scrub nurse in Billie’s OR when she made the biggest mistake of her career that gave Conrad’s patient a stroke. The scrub nurse who had warned Billie to wait for Aronson, that something was off with the patient’s levels on the monitor. The same scrub nurse that Billie had ignored and snippily told she had everything under control—when Billie very much had not.

Sometimes it still amazed Billie that she and Jessica were even friendly. Jessica had as much right to hate Billie as Conrad had.

In other circumstances, Billie could have said all of that to Jessica. She never had and probably should have at some point. But they were at Leela and Devon’s wedding, so, instead, “We pre-date that,” was all Billie chose to say.

“True,” Jessica murmured, and for some reason her eyes flicked to Bell.

Billie followed the gaze and found Kit and Bell watching them. “I’m all ears on this,” Bell said.

“Same,” Kit said.

“What’s going on?” Billie asked, looking between the three of them.

“I was hoping to ask your advice,” Jessica said quickly, pulling Billie’s attention back to her.

“My advice on what?” Billie asked.

“On my decision.”

“Oh.” Billie straightened in her chair, and Conrad’s hand fell away as he leaned forward, elbows finding the table. “What about it?”

Jessica looked down at her folded hands, and Irving’s hand came over to cover his wife’s. “I wondered what you would do… if you were me?”

Billie’s brows rose, and she looked back at Bell. He shrugged and said, “She already has my advice.”

Billie nodded once and licked her lips. “Well, I think the first thing we have to acknowledge is that this decision isn’t final. Meaning, if you chose a surgeon and then decided you hated working with them, we could move you again. You’re not going to lose your value, Jessica. You’ll always have that leverage. For lack of a better phrase,” she murmured.

Jessica nodded, eyes studying Billie as she absorbed the words.

“The other piece of this is that you don’t have to choose to dedicate yourself to anyone,” Billie emphasized, and Jessica’s eyes dropped back to her hands. “You’ve already displayed the agility to move between specialties. If what you wanted to do was stay part of the rotation, then we would absolutely support that. If what you want is to move into a training position, or if you were interested in a management track, then we would make that happen. I hear you’re an amazing mentor to the scrub staff.”

Billie put a hand on the table and leaned forward to catch Jessica’s eye. “I don’t want you to think that your career will ever be determined by a surgeon. Any surgeon. You have many, many options. And none of them are going away.”

“Thank you,” Jessica said. Her eyes flicked to Bell again, then she pulled a hand free from Irving’s grip to stack on top of her husband’s.

“Beyond that, if you did choose…” Billie trailed off. She thought for a moment, all the faces of her surgical staff flipping through her mind like flash cards. “I don’t know, to be honest. We have so many talented surgeons. General will have the most varied cases, but Leela is young and inexperienced. She doesn’t have much pull yet in terms of shift hours. Trauma will have a good load with a lot of variety, but the hours are unpredictable.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Cardio is an exciting field, always evolving, but James mostly does small procedures. And a lot of them,” she said dryly. “He has twice the surgical load of any other surgeon on staff.”

“And brings in more money than God,” Kit added. “Bless him.”

“I’m trying to entice Jake back to lead our plastics team,” Billie said, with a sly glance at Bell’s stepson.

He looked down shyly. “You flatter me.”

“But so far no dice,” Billie admitted on a sigh. “And you’ll need to make a decision long before he returns.”

“If I return,” Jake said.

“Before he gets back,” Bell said. Kit smacked him on the shoulder, but Jake just chuckled.

Ignoring his wife’s very physical admonishment, Bell asked, “What about neuro?”

“Ah,” Billie said with a humorless smile. “Neuro is hard. Emotional. We see a lot of death. Sometimes the patients have to be awake, and we rely on the scrub nurses to keep them calm. We only cut when we have to—more so than any other specialty—but that means it’s almost always dire when we hit the OR. But it also means that it can be the most rewarding discipline.”

Jessica nodded slowly, hesitantly. “I know.”

Billie offered Jessica an understanding look. “And, back to cardiothoracic, A.J. is… well… A.J.,” Billie said with a shrug.

“No, thank you,” Jessica murmured. As the others stifled laughter, she added, “He’s wonderful. Outside the OR. Inside he’s… frustrating.”

“That was so very diplomatic,” Billie said, with approval. “Well done.”

Conrad laughed and slung an arm over her shoulders. He squeezed her close and kissed her hair before letting go.

“That covers most of our rockstars,” Billie said, slightly flustered from the public display of affection—as well as the sappy looks they were receiving from the rest of the table. “But, most importantly, you still have three weeks. Take it. There is no wrong decision here, which makes it harder.”

Jessica smiled, eyes studying Billie for a while. “Thanks, Dr. Sutton.”

“What is it?” Billie asked, curious at the searching look on Jessica’s face.

Billie followed Jessica’s eyes as they flew back to Kit and Bell, wondering what she was missing in this conversation. There was clearly some sort of subtext floating around that Billie wasn’t privy to. 

But she was surprised to find the older couple watching Billie herself. Randolph was leaning forward, elbows on the table, fingers laced together, with a small, almost sad smile on his face. Kit had slipped an arm through his and was resting her chin on his shoulder, silent support.

“We can talk about it on Monday,” Jessica said quietly.

And Billie, always aware of and respectful of boundaries, nodded. “Whenever you’d like. My door is always open.”

~*~

Later—after the sun had set, and the music had started, and the tables had been cleared away quietly in the background—Billie tilted her head to the side, fingers fiddling with the delicate necklace she wore every day. Her eyes were glued to Devon and Leela where they swayed on the dancefloor, foreheads pressed together. Leela’s hands rested against Devon’s chest, and his were locked together at the small of her back.

That’s love, she thought, a soft smile on her lips.

Devon and Leela moved out of Billie’s line of sight, other couples filling in the gap. Irving and Jessica talked softly together. Kit and Bell were laughing—because they were always laughing—and Jake and Gregg were kissing gently. Even Padma and A.J. had each brought a twin to the dancefloor, swaying them gently to sleep. There were other couples, strangers, but Billie only had eyes for her friends.

Friends, she thought with a wistfulness that made her throat clench.

Billie had never had many friends. It had been a choice—one that she had believed for a very long time to be the best option. But even Billie had to admit that it had been a lonely one.

After the rape, she had pushed everyone away, erecting walls to keep herself safe through isolation. She had spent high school dedicating the majority of her time to studying, packing in as many AP and honors courses as she had been able to convince the guidance counselor to allow, desperate for a full ride. In her limited free time, she had also volunteered as a candy striper at the local community hospital as soon as she had been of legal age to do so—and had nearly been fired for her attitude within the week. Fortunately, the nurses had loved her because Billie had been efficient and capable and never said no to any task. She had proven herself invaluable. And, so, she had stayed all through high school.

She had, essentially, ensured she had been too busy for friends.

Over the years, after they had reconnected, whenever Nic had pushed Billie to open herself up to people, Billie had resisted, saying that one real, true friend was all she needed. Nic had always been enough. But the reality had been that the only person in the world Billie had trusted was Nicolette Nevin.

Until Conrad. But he was a whole other, complicated story with many a twist and false ending.

But, that night, she looked around a beautiful, warm, burnished red tent filled with people she loved and couldn’t finish counting all of her friends on two hands. She tried to blame Conrad, to tell herself that she was accepted because he had drawn her into the folds of his life. But that simply wasn’t true. 

Kit had become one of Billie’s favorite people, thanks to her giant heart and butt-kicking swagger. They went for drinks at least once a week, just the two of them, to vent and dish and laugh. Billie and Kit had taken Gigi on a spa day a few weeks before. It had been one of the best days of Billie’s life. Hands down. Full stop.

Aside from Leela and Devon, Kit and Bell had become one of Billie and Conrad’s favorite couple friends, joining them for dinner a few times a month, sometimes with and sometimes without Gigi. They even dragged Jake, Gregg, and Sammie along if they were in town, which they were more and more often in recent times.

Billie and A.J. were solid. He had become like an old brother, despite the fact that she was technically his boss. Because when A.J. loved, he did it with the whole-hearted commitment he did everything he was passionate about, and, so, Billie had never doubted his support and fondness. A.J. even trusted her to watch Arjun and Elijah—and he had fired three nannies already over small transgressions like not using the candy thermometer to check the milk—having dubbed her Super Auntie Billie to the boys.

She and Jake had bonded over a mutual love of their little ladies, as well as jazz, Billie’s secret obsession with romantic comedies, and the difficult fight they had both faced as brilliant young surgeons of color in fields that were still aggressively and predominantly white. Gregg had come along for the ride in that friendship, but he and Billie texted every so often, usually when they had made a parenting blunder, or one of the girls had said something so embarrassing it was hilarious.

Billie had a feeling she might be winning Jessica over, too, if their recent conversations were any clue there. And Conrad had laughingly told Billie that Irving had been her loudest supporter in the emergency room, rooting for Billie and Conrad to face up to their connection long before Conrad had known that Billie had feelings for him.

Even she and Cade were finding common ground. And that presented its own challenges, but they were navigating—

Her thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched, blood curdling shriek that filled the tent: “Aunt Billie!”

Several people jumped or grabbed at their chests in Billie’s peripheral vision as she frantically spun in a circle, trying to find Gigi. She spotted her goddaughter standing with Sammie—who looked absolutely scandalized—off to one side of the tent. Billie was relieved to see that Gigi looked completely and totally fine and whole and unscathed.

Still, Billie hurried over, reaching Gigi and Sammie right as Conrad came up from the other direction. They met each other’s eyes—the last vestiges of panicking lingering in both pairs—just as they both reached for Gigi, who slid a hand into each of theirs. Billie resisted the urge to run her fingers over the little girl to look for damage, despite her eyes telling her that Gigi was fine.

“Sammie is going to be in another wedding,” Gigi said to her father and Billie without preamble, stressing every word like it was gospel.

Conrad’s lips thinned as he tried to smile at his daughter. “Bubble, what did we tell you about indoor voices?”

“But we’re outside,” Gigi said.

Technically, that was true, and Conrad floundered for a moment.

Billie took a swing. “Remember the checklist?”

“Of course,” Gigi said, sounding impatient. “Is there fire? Is there blood? Is it an emergency? This was really, really urgent.”

Sammie hid a giggle behind her hand.

“At least you thought it through,” Billie said, trying to give Conrad an encouraging look. 

She’s trying, she said with her eyes.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. Uh-huh.

They both turned back at Gigi and Sammie as conversations resumed around them. “Another wedding,” Billie said to Sammie, mentally catching up. “That’s so exciting.”

Sammie grinned at them.

“She’s not even going to be a flower girl this time!”

“Inside voice, Bubble,” Conrad murmured.

Gigi’s brow furrowed as she looked at the tent again.

Billie asked, “Did they decide to make you a junior bridesmaid?”

Sammie and Gigi looked at her in awe. “You’ve heard of it?” Gigi asked.

Billie heard Conrad stifling a chuckle. “Of course,” she said, with the appropriate reverence. “It’s a really important job. Congratulations, Sammie.”

Sammie blushed, looking shyly at the ground.

“I wanna be a junior bridesmaid,” Gigi said, her voice dangerously close to a whine. Then she lit up and turned back to Sammie. “I bet your dress is going to be amazing. You’ll look so beautiful. Can we go?”

“We can’t invite ourselves to a wedding, sweetie,” Billie said.

Gigi’s face fell.

“I’ll send you pictures,” Sammie promised.

“Can we help her pick it out, Billie?” Gigi asked. “Please?”

For Devon and Leela’s wedding, Billie had been tasked with taking the girls shopping for another round of flower girl dresses. This time, both Kit and Leela had tagged along. All the women had agreed it was far more satisfying than buying dresses for themselves.

“Sweetie, she’s probably not going to get to pick it out this time,” Billie told Gigi gently. “Bridesmaid dresses are usually chosen by the bride.”

“But Aunt Leela came with us this time.” Gigi pouted. “And she was the bride. We still picked them.”

“Before we get too far ahead of ourselves, let’s not forget that this wedding isn’t over yet,” Conrad said, with faux sternness. “And your flower girl duties have not yet ended.”

The little girls giggled, and warmth pooled in Billie’s chest.

“Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to get out on that dancefloor,” Conrad ordered.

The girls cheered and ran off. Their tulle skirts bounced around them, and the crowd parted to let them through.

“Well, that was easy,” Conrad said, watching them go.

“Seriously,” Billie said.

After a moment, Conrad asked, “Was that too easy?”

“Probably,” Billie admitted. “Gigi’s going to bring up those dresses again, I can feel it.”

“Who knew I would have a fashionista for a daughter,” Conrad muttered. “She’s going to need a bigger closet.”

“Says the guy who has more jewelry than I do,” Billie teased.

Conrad’s head whipped around to her. “I don’t have that many accessories,” he said on a laugh.

She smirked. “You have never met a leather cuff you didn’t like.”

“Hey.”

“Aunt Billie,” the DJ said over the speakers. “You are needed on the dancefloor.”

Titters of laughter spread through the crowd. Billie felt her cheeks heat, but she cleared her throat and looked out over the groups of dancers. She spotted Gigi and Sammie near the DJ booth. The girls waved, beckoning her to join them.

Before she could take a step, an arm slid around her waist. She leaned back against Conrad’s chest, and he pressed their cheeks together. 

“You’re not coming?” she asked.

“You go ahead,” he said. “I need to talk to Kit.”

But he didn’t let go, and she felt her smile widen. “You know,” she murmured. “Gigi asked if she could spend the night at the hotel with Sammie.”

“Really?” Conrad murmured back. “That is a very interesting idea.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’ll go talk to Jake,” Conrad said, kissing her cheek.

“I thought you needed to talk to Kit,” she pointed out.

“Priorities. Jake then Kit.”

~*~

A little over a week later, Billie stepped off the elevator and into the emergency department, looking around with a concerned frown. She had been paged, but there had been no details or patient information. 

As usual, the ED was a flurry of activity. She saw Conrad’s blond head through the sliding glass door of one of the trauma bays. A.J. and James were both with him, likely still answering each other’s pages whenever they managed to intercept a summons, as they continued to compete for the small set of cases in which their expertise overlapped. Cade was in another bay, speaking softly to a patient. No one looked like they were waiting for her to arrive.

Billie narrowed her eyes as she looked around, unsure where she was supposed to go. Then a curtain flung back, and Irving walked towards the central desk, pulling off his gloves. Billie made a beeline for him.

“Hey,” she said, as they both reached the desk. “I was asked to come down.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Well, good morning to you, too,” he said, but he didn’t sound particularly bothered. “I don’t know who paged you. Let me check.” He started to type into one of the computers and frowned. “I don’t see anything about a neuro consult in here.”

“Sorry!” Billie heard behind them. She turned to see Jessica hurrying towards the desk. 

“That was me,” Jessica said. “The page. Sorry.”

Billie turned to her as Irving gaped at his wife. “That’s all right. What can I do for you?”

“Everything okay?” Cade asked as she came out of one of the trauma bays and spotted Billie. Cade glanced around with a deep frown, clearly trying to figure out which of the patients needed a neurosurgeon. “Did we page you?”

“I did,” Jessica said.

“You did,” Cade repeated in surprise.

“I made my decision,” Jessica said.

“Already,” Billie said, surprised. “You still have two weeks.”

“I know,” Jessica said.

“Decision?” Cade asked. Then her face cleared. “Oh, about the surgeons.”

“You heard about that?” Irving asked. Then he shook his head. “Why am I surprised?”

“Everybody heard,” Cade said, grabbing a new chart out of the intake box. “At least three people told me about it.”

“Billie practically held up a boombox outside Jessica’s window,” Hundley added as she walked past.

Cade laughed lightly and flipped open the chart to scan it. In the quiet as Cade read and Hundley sauntered over to her next patient, Billie turned back to Jessica. 

“Would you like to go somewhere private?”

“No,” Jessica said. “This is fine.”

From behind Billie, she heard, “Did I miss it?” and turned to find Bell and Kit walking into the department. 

Billie’s jaw dropped open. She had known Bell felt especially close to Jessica, but she thought this was a bit unnecessary.

“I already know her decision,” he told Billie with a smile. “Funny thing is, she hadn’t thought it was an option. I told her it was.”

“You always have to take the credit,” Kit said, with a fond smile.

“Not always,” Bell said to her. “And hush. I’m listening.”

Kit snorted.

Billie frowned. “Didn’t think what was an option?”

One of the trauma bays slid open, drawing Billie’s eyes as Conrad, James, and A.J. filed out of the room. Conrad spotted the small crowd at the central desk and walked over with a hesitant expression.

“What’s going on, everybody?”

“Jessica made her decision,” Irving said. “And a small army of surgeons has descended on my ED.”

“Your ED?” Cade repeated, lightly but firmly.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Irving said, not sounding sorry at all. “I out tenure you.”

“Fair enough,” Cade said.

“I’m not sure that’s a verb,” Kit murmured to herself.

“I have no idea,” Billie said to Conrad, answering his original question. “Kit and Bell came out of nowhere.”

“We asked to be here when she told you,” Kit said.

“Told me what?” Billie asked, prompting everyone gently.

Jessica looked nervous. “I thought about what you said at the wedding. And I really appreciate all of your advice.”

“Happy to give it,” Billie said.

She could feel the entire ED watching them. Again. She could feel James and A.J. edging closer, and she suspected they were each trying to put themselves in Jessica’s line of sight.

“Do you remember two months ago?” Jessica asked suddenly. “You were debulking a tumor on an eight-year-old girl, and I scrubbed in with you.”

“Leilani Cartwright,” Billie said immediately. “Of course. That was a hard surgery.”

“But successful,” Jessica reminded her.

Billie smiled, feeling triumphant all over again. “Her prognosis is good,” Billie said. “I spoke with her oncologist last week. It looks like the radiation is shrinking what we had to leave behind.”

“That’s great,” Jessica said, in a rush. “But what I meant was… do you remember what we listened to?”

Billie’s smile turned rueful. “The Moana soundtrack.”

“For four hours,” Jessica said, pointedly.

Confused, Billie nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Because you had asked Leilani what her favorite songs were, and she said Moana.”

Billie blinked. “Studies show that some patients are still able to hear what’s happening around them, even with general anesthesia. We think it might be more prevalent in children because of how elastic their brains still are.”

“So, you always ask the patients what they want to listen to,” Jessica said.

“I didn’t know you did that,” James murmured.

“That’s smart,” A.J. said, thoughtful.

Billie looked around the crowd, confused. “If they can hear, I want it to be something they find comforting.”

Jessica nodded. “You’re the most brilliant surgeon we have on staff.”

“Hey now,” A.J. said.

“And you’re lovely to assist,” Jessica said to Billie, ignoring him. “And, as the chief, you’re able to scrub in on any surgery in the hospital that you want. You’re even required to during probationary periods or if we grant guest privileges to a surgeon.”

Billie was very aware that she was an incredibly intelligent person. And she felt very stupid in that moment for not realizing where Jessica had been going with all of this sooner. The looks exchanged with Bell while Billie had given her advice. The eagerness on Kit’s face. Irving’s supportive touches. It all made sense now.

“I want to work with a surgeon who cares enough to ask a patient what their favorite song is,” Jessica said sweetly. “Just in case.”

“I see,” Billie murmured. “And you’re sure?”

Jessica nodded. “If you’ll have me.”

“Like that was ever a question,” Billie said, brusque. “We’ll have to meet with your supervisor to make it official. But welcome to the team.”

James stepped forward with his lady-killer smile firmly in place. “Now Jessica—”

“It’s over, James,” Cade said, in her usual blunt way. “Let it go.”

James sighed, but his eyes danced as he nodded in concession at Billie. “I suppose the best surgeon won.”

Billie raised an eyebrow at him. She opened her mouth to remind him that Jessica’s career was not a competition. But A.J. stepped forward with a generous expression. 

“I support this,” A.J. said, as if he hadn’t been hoping Jessica would choose him at all. “I think this is the best possible outcome.”

“As do I,” James said.

“Says the man who bought her a spa package,” A.J. muttered.

“Didn’t you offer to upgrade her car?” James asked.

The men exchanged tense looks. Then they both forced laughs as they turned back to Conrad, who watched them with an openly amused expression.

“About my patient—” A.J. began.

“Our patient,” James said smoothly.

“You two are enough to give aspirin a headache,” Conrad said. “I don’t know how Billie puts up with you.”

“You have no idea,” Billie said, dry.

Irving turned to Jessica. “He was going to upgrade our car?”

“Oh, Irving,” Jessica said, rolling her eyes. But, as the crowd wandered away, Jessica smiled excitedly. “I’m going to go add myself to your schedule.”

“Sounds good,” Billie said, but Jessica was already rushing away.

Kit and Bell followed as Billie strolled from the ED. “You really didn’t know?” Kit asked.

“I had no idea,” Billie admitted.

In her mind, Jessica still only saw Billie as the fifth-year resident who had destroyed someone’s life in her own arrogance. It had never occurred to her that Jessica would ever see past that, even with all the promotions and honors and accolades Billie had earned in the meantime.

Bell put a hand on Billie’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’re the best chief we’ve ever had here at Chastain,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ve ever said that to you.”

Billie’s chin came up as she shoved down the emotions. “Thank you, Randolph.”

Kit reached out and hugged Billie without a word. Then she slipped her arm through Bell’s and led him away.

Billie watched them go, sliding her hands into the pockets of her white coat. When someone touched the back of her arm just above the elbow, she knew without looking that it was Conrad.

“Congratulations,” he said, keeping his voice down in the busy hallway.

She didn’t know why he bothered. Everyone knew they were dating. Apparently, there had been a betting pool on it, even throughout his relationship with Cade. She thought that was a bit disrespectful, but mostly she was just glad A.J. hadn’t won the pot. He never would have let her hear the end of it.

“It’s nice,” Conrad said.

“What is?” she asked, finally looking at him.

“Seeing you get all this love.” Crinkles fanned out from the corners of his eyes. “You deserve all the love in the entire world.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” Billie said.

“What?” Conrad asked, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear.

She shrugged with a small smile, feeling peaceful inside. “Having friends.”

Something flashed across Conrad’s face, too quick for Billie to catch it. But his eyes darkened as he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her.

“Billie Damn Sutton,” he whispered.

 She pulled back slightly to look at his face, laughing a little. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, and kissed her.

[karalynlovescake]

2023 writing list

Not exactly a New Years resolution, as those don't often pan out, but more of a personal checklist. Please feel free to stroke my ego by asking me about any of these. If I remember I'll update with links as I finish.

I did not expect to start writing again in 2022, and the fact that I did is completely because of Sandman and the amazing tumblr fandom for it. So. Things I would like to write/finish in 2023:

1.) Black Unicorn AU: it has languished while I put off rereading the source material and write other things. I know HOW it ends but I don't like the ending scene I've written and until I do it won't click. But no one else is going to write this one so we'll keep working on it.

2.) He Would Not Say That: which has expanded to the point where I'm overwhelmed by it and overthinking the morality of fucking your boyfriend's dream subjects, which is a buzzkill because it was supposed to be very un serious sex comedy. Hob would give Chidi Anagonye a massive stomach ache if I could justify the crossover.

3.) Crack one-shot: Come Live With Me and Be My Cat - a spin-off of love to Avelera’s amazing fic and inspired by that great picture that @twottie-m8 did of Hob throwing Cat!Dream at the Corinthian

4.) Some kind of SandOmens side piece PROBABLY attached to Least of These so we can have a good fun "you built a what to whom" reaction from Aziraphale and Crowley.

4a.) The Next Level - wrote this instead, a very soft fluffy little piece where Dream asks Aziraphale and Crowley for advice on being the type of friends who hold hands. We'll see if that scratched my itch to write SandOmens.

5) Actually, let’s throw The Least of These on this list. Didn’t include it before because I started it in Nov/Dec, but it was SUPPOSED to be a soft smutty 5k and now it is 25k and is more plot than smut, and has taken up more of my time than I anticipated

6) As of yet untitled longfic #1: if published will be two separate works, part one a setup of "Dream shows up every couple of years for sex, but in a different disguise every time because he thinks he's smart" and part two is your standard fishbowl rescue/let's rewrite season 1, because we like them. I want this to be better than I feel I'm capable of writing but I keep plonking away at it, and it's 16k words already, which is too much for me to give up on.

7) A Secret Third Thing: (not actual title) where I come to terms with the fact that in killing off Morpheus by having him put half his soul in the Corinthian I accidentally made an OC that I'm kind of interested in.

8) Honeymoon piece: I don't want to write the wedding, that sounds exhausting, but Hob wants to honeymoon somewhere he hasn't been where they can just be themselves, and Dream takes him to a little side project he, Delirium and Destruction started a few centuries back: a friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while everyone pretends to sleep. The King of Nightmares is a minor celebrity in Nightvale, and he gets to show off his new husband. Silly.

8a) I did, in the end, write a wedding, if a rather hasty one, so we have: Then maybe, maybe, maybe you'd stay which was written almost entirely in 72 hours in a tiny hotel room in a foreign country 6000 miles from home, after my husband's passport got stolen 15 hours before we were supposed to fly home, thus turning the end of our dream vacation into nearly a literal nightmare. Apparently I stress write. You learn things when you travel.

9) The Financial Crimes of Hob Gadling, only of I can think of a way to do it that shows off my special interest without publishing a "How to crime" guide.

10) Longfic #2, working title "All the Things That Lie Undone" - loosely based off the plot of a favorite out of print smutty historical romance novel. Basic plotline is worked out, but so far all that's written so far is the first two chapters and one sex scene.

11) Longfic #3 which has eclipsed all desire to work on Longfic #2, which will hopefully be my Centennial Husbands Big Bang entry.

12) Anything I want, there are no rules, I have permission to have fun and make myself feel happy.

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Hello!! Do you think you could do a part 2 of my request? An maybe a lil bit of angst with fluff where the reader comes to the mansion crying because someone hurt them?( Maybe techno or dream? Possibly jack manifold? 👀) Hopefully that's ok I just love the way you write it's so good plus it makes my day whever I read :D hopefully your day or evening is going good

<3

imhereforfan-fic : Omg can you do another yandere tubbo x reader x yandere ranboo romantic relationship please? Maybe where they get kidnapped by the dream team? Oh and adding on to my request can it also have some cuddling towards the end haha I’m touch starved and crap lol but can it a full length fic Okay okay okay. So. I'm so damn happy people loved this fic and I got two requests that I can easily add together. I hope neither of you minds too much having your requests mixed together ^^ I deadass wanna cry from how many positive reviews I've received from Too Sweet. ALSO. I'm a little wary of making romantic fics for characters Ranboo and Tubbo so I'm gonna play with the platonic marriage, just making it really fluffy and affectionate. PS: THIS ISNT AS FLUFFY AS I WANTED IT TO BE SOOOO OOOOPS. AAAAND. TOMMY ONLY TOOK ONE OF DREAM'S LIVES IN THE FINAL DISC WAR

LIKELY TO HAVE MANY ERRORS DUE TO BAD WIFI AND LACK OF SLEEP TW: Knives (+injuries that come from knives), kidnapping, taking of canon lives, Dream being power-hungry, minor panic attack, referenced strangulation.

Part One

Too Sweet (For This World) Yandere!C!Ranboo x F!Reader x Yandere!C!Tubbo Part 2

A few months had passed since you had moved into the mansion and some... How ended up involved in Ranboo and Tubbo's marriage, as well as being Michael's mother. At first, you were quite unsure about being a wife or a mother, but you saw how happy you had made the three boys and realized how happy they made you in return. In the beginning, neither of them wanted you leaving the mansion much without either of them, but then Ranboo started to notice small and minor declines in your physical and mental health. This caused him to panic and study your symptoms for a few days straight, to the point where you didn't see him once and you were genuinely scared he had lost his canon lives to the point where you kept checking your right wrist constantly for the message confirming Ranboo's death. But thankfully you never got it. When he had figured out what was causing your health to be less than absolutely perfect, he had spoken to Tubbo about letting you out of your room more often and getting you the sunlight you needed. It took a little bit to convince him, but once the goat hybrid learned that you could, or even would, become a lot sicker, he decided to allow you to go outside without them, as long as you stayed within Snowchester. You met a man the first few days you were out, who wore white glasses with blue and red lenses, and a headset with a mic, although he ran away from you the second you introduced yourself as Ranboo and Tubbo's (platonic) wife. Foolish had quickly become your friend around the same time though, which caused Tubbo and Ranboo to be a little unsure because of how he made you laugh and smile, but they noticed how you always kept him at arm's length with friendship and almost physically. Sure you didn't mind too much when he gave you a friendly side hug or pat on the head etc, but you were never really the one to initiate the contact unless you had to. Thankfully he didn't mind your awkwardness around strangers, trust issues, or lack of social exposure, so Ranboo and Tubbo didn't have to threaten a literal god. After saying goodbye to Michael for the day and putting him down for his nap, you got dressed into something more appropriate for travelling the snowy lands that Tubbo owned. Ranboo had to go to a Syndicate meeting, and Tubbo was working more on some buildings around Snowchester, saying something about prepping things to attack Dream who apparently escaped from prison? Not sure could've been rumoured or could be true? You had no clue honestly. You trusted Ranboo and Tubbo to protect you. The crackling of a few pine branches caused you to lift your eyes from the icy water below to turn your head. Walking out of the bushes were three men and one woman, pushing their way through the branches decorated with freshly fallen snow. One of the men was your crown-wearing platonic husband, although dressed up in an outfit you had never seen before, although not too far off from his normal get-up. Ranboo had a long black cape with golden edges and a high collar, held up together by a golden chain. His vest was now a deep royal purple with an eye of ender pin clasped on his tie, and his pants were half purple half black with golden designs sewn in. Beside him was a short female with shoulder-length pink hair and nicely done dark purple and black makeup. Her outfit consisted of a thick and warm lavender sweater with dark purple pants. On her hip was an enchanted netherite sword with a diamond-encrusted handle. You were quick to recognize her as Niki Nihachu, the baker who had lived in L'Manberg, but you hadn't heard much of her since the Pogtopia war. Off to the side, was a man you recognized easily as you had only seen him a few days ago when Ranboo invited him to see Michael, Philza Minecraft. His outfit wasn't too different from what he used to wear when he was a resident in the country, except for the black and gold cape and a black mask covering the bottom of his face. Then... The sight of the final male was the one to make you visibly react. A tall and buff male with a golden encrusted netherite

chest plate and a velvet red cape with gold accents as well. There was a rather majestic crown on top of his long braided pink hair and his dark eyes were narrowed behind a set of cracked glasses... His gaze pointing directly at you. Technoblade. Giving a shaky gasp, you stood up from your spot on the edge of the dock and turned to face the visitors. "Where's Tubbo," Techno growled softly, watching as you visibly trembled under his gaze. "Techno, mate. You're scarin' the hell outta her." Phil put his hand on his middle son's shoulder before stepping in front of him, blocking him from your gaze. "Hey, (Y/n), can you tell us where Tubbo is? We just have to ask him some things." "I'm here." An almost unfamiliar voice came from beside you before a hand was placed on your shoulder. When you looked over, you saw the goat hybrid with the coldest look you had seen him wear yet. "(Y/n), please, head into the mansion." Without another glance at the piglin hybrid, you quickly scurried towards the wooden mansion, faintly hearing the worried buzzing noises of your enderman husband in the distance before you slammed the large door shut. You almost ran towards your's or Michael's room in the basement, but then realized if any of them saw you heading down there, Michael's safety could be compromised. So, you quietly sat down in the living room and curled up on the couch, trying to keep your breathing stable as you fought to keep your mind off of the fact that the man who had almost killed you was standing a few feet outside the door of your home. You pinched your eyes shut and wrapped your arms around yourself, trying your best to simulate the hugs you would usually receive from your platonic husbands after a nightmare or a panic attack. ".../n)." "../n)!" "...(Y/n)!" With a terrified gasp, you flung your arms above your head to shield yourself from any oncoming attacker but only felt a gentle touch on your knee. It took a few seconds to muster up your courage, but you slowly brought your arms down and opened your eyes to come face to face with Tubbo, who immediately sat beside you and wrapped his arms around your shaking frame. After an hour or so with your face buried into Tubbo's shoulder, you felt another pair of arms wrap around you, causing you to look up and see Ranboo burying his face into your hair, "I'm so sorry... So sorry... I didn't think they would come to Snowchester..." You murmured a small, "it's okay," to him as you sat up a bit to return the hug for a few moments. Tubbo got up, murmuring something about going to get you a snack and a glass of water, knowing you must've been hungry or thirsty from panicking. After a few moments, Ranboo let go of you and briefly explained that Phil had given him some potions to help Michael adapt to the overworld, and he needed to give them to him. He rested his forehead against yours affectionately for a few seconds before turning towards the bookshelf and walking down the set of hidden stairs after opening the secret door. Once he shut it, you shuddered and rubbed your arms to get rid of the cold chill that had suddenly washed over you. Frowning slightly, you looked around for the source of the sudden cold, only to freeze as you saw the door cracked open, allowing the snow and cold wind to slip in. Ranboo wouldn't have left the door open... "Sorry kid." A deep and growly voice came from behind you, causing you to spin around and come face to face with Technoblade. The tall tusked male watched your expression go from confusion to horror in less than seconds, "It's nothing personal. Really. I just got a favour to pay off." A scream of terror escaped your lips before everything went black. "Hey, Michael!" Ranboo crouched down to greet the small zombie piglin child as he held a few potions of varying colours in his long arms, he set them and a thermos filled with a hot drink down on the table. "I got some new drinks for you to try today! Philza made them a little extra sweeter than last time." The small child squealed and made small tippy tap noises with his

hooves against the quartz flooring before he sat on the chair. He watched as his tall father sorted through the bottles carefully before uncorking one of the light red ones. Before he could pick up the small pipette, there was an almost unearthly shriek that came from the top of the stairs. "(Y/n)!" Ranboo screamed, unintentionally startling Michael, but that wasn't his main concern as he sprinted out the door then teleporting up the stairs and pushing the bookshelf door with his sword drawn and gleaming with enchantments. In his peripheral vision, he saw Tubbo dash out of the kitchen with his axe drawn and bloodlust in his eyes. Glancing around, the only thing the two men spotted was moonlight and snow spilling through the open door. Tubbo ran out without a second thought and screamed your name at the top of his lungs as he spun around, searching for any sort of sign that would give away your location. Ranboo decided to start looking around the mansion, even though part of him grasped that you wouldn't have screamed without reason. "She's gone..." Tubbo whispered, standing in the doorway, the moonlight creating a dark shadow over his wide eyes. "Footprints are leading to and away from the house, but they disappear on the docks..." Ranboo stayed still, a violent growling noise bubbling up in his throat before escaping past his lips as both his eyes turned purple. He threw his head back and took a breath to scream all his anger out, but froze upon hearing sad whimpering. He turned his head and saw Michael standing at the top of the hidden stairs, whimpering and shaking quite violently. There was part of Ranboo that refused to move, but his brain seemed to flick onto autopilot as he walked over to the child and picked him up. "Sorry... Michael... Something happened..." "Mama?" "...Mama... Won't be home for a while..." "Wake up!" A voice growled before something sharply came in contact with your cheek, shaking you awake. Your eyes shot open and came into contact with... A smiley face? "Aha... Sleeping Beauty graces us with her gaze. It's about damn time." A harsh grip landed on your jaw, making you realize there was a dull throbbing pain in your head. "Huh... Dre... Dream..?" You whispered, barely recognizing the white mask that helped destroy your home and turn it into nothing but a crater. "W-What?" His mask was lifted up enough to the point where you could see his mouth curved up into a sadistic smile. "You, my darling pawn, are just the piece I needed to make life easier for me... I just need to raise the stakes enough for them to be... Well... Stakes. I'm sure you understand." You went to move your hand to slap the gloved hand away from your face, only to give a small whine of pain as you felt a tight pinching on your wrists, making you realize that they were shackled together and likely chained to a wall. "What are you talking about you psychop- Ah!" He tightened his grip on your face to the point where you knew there would eventually be dark bruising. "I don't think you're in a position to be calling the king any names, pawn." Screams and shrieks of pain bounced off of the blank stone walls as the two people standing outside of the door put their heads down with their eyes closed. "You still sure he's doing the right thing, George? Are you still sure... He's the good guy in this story?" "You know better than to question him, Nick." "Don't call me that."

(Y/n) (L/n) was slain by Dream using Nightmare. Life: 2/3 (Y/n) (L/n) suffocated while trying to fend off Dream. Life: 1/3

"He just took two of an innocent woman's three lives. Just to use her as a hostage to make Tubbo hand over the nukes and to force Ranboo to follow his orders... He's a stranger, George. This isn't Dream anymore... Don't be stupid." Sapnap lowered his right arm that he read the messages off of and looked in the direction of his former best friend. The screams of agony were almost haunting as they echoed through Snowchester as silence fell down upon the entire Dream SMP. Shock slipped through the veins of everyone who read the message that appeared on their right wrists. - "I'm gonna kill him..." "I'm going to activate the nukes..." - "Techno... What did you do." "I owed him a favour. What he does after that is none of my business." - "...Isn't that Tubbo and Ranboo's wife?" "Yeah... She was my friend..." - "Tubbo's definitely not happy about this..." - "Ah... Atta girl..." Dream murmured in a mock soothing voice as he gently dragged his knife threateningly along your cheek. "Y'know... You would look better... With a smile." He leaned closer to you, the drawn-on eyes of his mask staring into your dull and tear-filled eyes as a stinging pain came from the corner of your lips. "Sh, sh, Relax... They're just shallow cuts, they won't even leave a scar. I'm not a monster." Time had passed quickly, but also excruciatingly slowly. You had no clue how long you had been down here, or how long you had been dead in between respawns. Dream just didn't seem to be leaving you alone. "Now..." He flipped the switchblade closed and threw it in his pocket before tremours shook the earth below and around you. "What the fUCK?!" He growled deeply before the door slammed open. "How did they even find this place!?" The door was blown off its hinges with a loud bang, causing Dream to duck out of the way of the flying piece of scrap. Light flooded into the room as you shut your eyes tightly, your ears ringing from the explosion. Once your eyes got a little bit adjusted, you opened them and saw five figures in the newly widened doorway. "Let's just say... It was an anonymous tip." "Sapnap?! You dare betray me?!" The black-haired male fell silent as he turned around and walked out, putting his hand on the shoulder of the tallest silhouette in the doorway as he walked by. Once you got completely used to the new light, you began to recognize the figures. Tommy, Tubbo, Foolish, and Ranboo. Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo immediately ran forward and started a barrage of attacks on the masked psychopath while Foolish ran over and began to work on the chains binding you to the chair. After getting them off of you, he silently picked you up as you turned your head to look at the blond, brunet and monochrome boys. Dream's mask got knocked off and was thrown across the room as he was pinned below a growling Ranboo, whose skin looked almost purely black from your angle. Tommy was off to the side, rummaging through Dream's equipment, he already got his revenge when Dream was put into prison, this was Ranboo and Tubbo's revenge now.

"̷̛̲̪͝Ỳ̵̧̖͒̉o̸̟̔̆û̶̩̟̍͊'̸̧̺̎̉ṟ̷̰͘ế̴͍̰̎ ̶̤͆̎̒g̶̭̋̇o̸͍̐͑i̸̼̟̾ņ̷͊̈́̈́ĝ̷̰̤̈́ ̵̘̉t̵͖͠ȯ̸͎ ̴͎̐̈́r̸̰͙̾̑͝e̸͚͌͑g̴̛̗̦͑ř̷̳̳̱e̵̲̿̕ṫ̶̨͓͗ ̷̢͊E̷̬̪͒͊͂V̷̟̒͝Ë̸̜R̷͐̄̏ͅ ̶̲̟̤͗͋t̴̝̎o̵̖̐ư̴̞̾̇c̶̡̙̐h̵̹̜̣̒͂̂į̴̙̤͠n̴̤̼̻̅̚ǧ̵̹̙̌͜ ̵̥̞̏m̶̱̳̦͗̌y̴̱̮͒̒̄ ̶̮̈͑͆f̸͉̽̄à̵̹͠m̵͕̓̅͋í̸͇̩͔̿l̷̰̫̳͗͑y̸̡͌̊́.̶͓̇͝"̸̡͆ ("You're going to regret EVER touching my family.") Ranboo hissed lowly before he and Tubbo began applying weight to the sword pressed against the speedrunner's chest. You shut your eyes tightly for a moment before you felt a bottle press into your hands, causing you to re-open your eyes to see Foolish trying to hand you a healing potion. You eagerly took a small sip from it, feeling the small slices on your cheeks form back together and the pain from the bruises around your neck vanishing completely.

Dream was slain by Ranboo and Tubbo using Ranord

There was a clattering noise before two sets of footsteps running in your direction. Slowly tilting your head in their direction, you saw Tubbo with dark bags under his eyes and Ranboo with plenty more scars on his cheeks from tears. You were pulled from Foolish's arms and brought down to sitting on Tubbo's and Ranboo's laps, their arms completely wrapped around you. The goat hybrid was nuzzled under your chin while the enderman's face was buried in your hair. "We should have come sooner..." "We shouldn't have even left you alone in the mansion..." "I'm sorry... I should have never left the manor..."

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin’s previously hidden horrific past comes to light;

The gang learn that everything they know about Merlin is a well-constructed façade when the truth about his “Military” history comes out.

TW: Child soldiers, abuse + torture, lots of blood and death and nightmares, potential PTSD?

When King Arthur had received the official looking letter requesting an audience about troubles with the border, he’d thought nothing much of it; the tone of the letter didn’t lead him to think there would be any serious conflict.

He replied to the Essetirian Lord, figuring it would end up being a simple issue of river boundaries or overstepping patrols, they could discuss it and fix the problem amicably, and then part ways without issue.

Arthur wasn’t a fan of the way Essetir worked; they were far too authoritarian for his liking, and they were known for their use of slave labour, terror tactics, and child soldiers, but peace had been harboured between the Kingdoms, so he could hardly complain.

The fact that Arthur didn’t see it as a big deal, means he didn’t mention it to Merlin until the day of the Lord’s arrival, and even then, he didn’t mention the Lord’s name, or where in Essetir he came from.

Merlin may have seemed a little tense at the mention of Essetirian Lords, but Arthur shrugged it off, figuring high taxes and village raids probably left him with a mistrust of authority from his home kingdom.

~

Arthur was sat in his throne, crown atop his head, when the Lord arrived. His roundtable knights and a few select members of his council sat in their own chairs at the side of the room, and Merlin stood dutifully beside him.

He preferred to have a small audience when first greeting foreign authority, hence only having nine people, including himself, in the room. 

Arthur trusted Leon, Lancelot, Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, Guinevere, Gaius, and Merlin, to subtly analyse and scrutinize the visitor for anything troubling, and report back to him truthfully later. Arthur trusted his wider council, of course he did, but experience with these particular people told him they were better equipped to handle any sort of conflict or worries.

Which means when Merlin quietly took in a sharp breath, tensed up, and stepped back to be behind him when The Lord walked in, he immediately noticed.

He makes no motion to question him though, assuming that perhaps this particular Lord had passed through Ealdor at some point, and made a mental note to question Merlin later.

The Lord bows deeply, and raises to meet Arthur’s gaze with a wide, friendly smile:

“I am Lord Severin of Essetir, I appreciate your quick response to my letter, and am grateful for the invitation to your beautiful kingdom, My Lord.”

At first, Arthur had been curious, and mildly concerned, but Gaius’s sharp intake of breath and stiffening back at the mention of the Lord’s name, tip him right over the line into being officially worried.

Did this particular Lord have some sort of reputation Arthur was unaware of? He, again, makes no moves to suggest that he had noticed Gaius’s reaction, and instead returns the Lord’s smile:

“Of course, you’re more than welcome. Guest chambers have been set up for you, if you would like to stay for a few days? I can imagine it was a long journey.”

The Lord nods, and keeping his smile, says:

“Thank you, I had planned on booking a room for a few nights, but if you’ll have me?”

Arthur nods in return, quickly speaking before the Lord can thank him again:

“Of course. Is the border discussion a lengthy issue, or something we can resolve quickly now? I have my most trusted advisors with us, should there be a political issue?”

Lord Severin shakes his head roughly, giving Arthur a sympathetic shrug:

“In all honestly, My Lord, as far as I’m concerned there isn’t an issue, but a few of my men were worried, and the only way I could see to resolve it was an official meeting to reassure them.-”

Arthur smiles, gesturing for him to continue:

“-Over the past several years, multiple Camelot Knights have been seen crossing the boundary, and spending a few days at a time in a small border-village on the Essetir side. I am under no impression that anything underhanded is happening, but a few of my inferiors were getting twitchy about it.”

Arthur once again hears Merlin take in a shaky breath, and furrows his eyebrow in curiosity:

“Which village?”

“It’s name is Ealdor, My Lord.”

Arthur smiles widely in understanding and nods his head, relaxing:

“Ah yes. A highly ranked member of the castle staff has family there, and depending on how dangerous the journey is predicted to be, I’ll often send him with a knight escort when he visits home.”

Lord Severin nods his head, before tilting it curiously and saying:

“Might I ask which member of staff? I spent some time in Ealdor a few years back, colour me... curious.”

The smile on his face is a little sharper now, but Arthur hardly sees the harm in telling him; he’ll only be here for a few days at most anyway. 

Arthur gestures a hand behind him:

“Merlin.”

He looks back and frowns, questioning his decision, when he sees Merlin staring blankly at the floor. He’s statue still, but Arthur can see the way his jaw tenses, and the paleness of his skin.

He turns back to see the Lord staring up at Merlin with an inquisitive expression. Just as Arthur resigns himself to say something, a look of wolfish realisation crosses the Lord’s face, and he speaks softly, as if to himself:

“Merlin from Ealdor, eh?-”

His grin turns even more wicked, and his volume rises:

“-I was under the impression that you had died, my dear boy.”

Arthur furrows his brows in confusion, and Merlin, without raising his gaze, quietly replies:

“No, My Lord.”

Severin chuckles, a hint of cruelty in the noise, but before he can say anything Arthur asks:

“You know each other?”

The Lord looks to him, as if only just remembering he was in the presence of a King, and smirks:

“Know each other? Why, Merlin was once one of my best. You’re astoundingly lucky to have a bodyguard with such incredible skill, My Lord. I was sad to lose him.”

Arthur glances at Merlin, who seems somehow even paler, before looking back to Severin in confusion, tilting his head:

“Merlin isn’t my bodyguard, he can barely carry a sword. He’s my personal manservant. Perhaps you have the wrong man?”

Severin shakes his head resolutely, before staring at Merlin:

“No, that’s him, I would recognise him anywhere. Like I said, I was sad to see him go.”

At Arthur’s continued confusion, Lord Severin gives him a patronising smile, quietly saying:

“Perhaps a demonstration is in order-”

He turns back to Merlin, speaking loudly this time, as Arthur and the others look on in bewilderment. Gaius however, looks increasingly worried, rather than confused.

“-Step forward, Merlin.”

Merlin, without hesitation, walks stiffly forward, standing to attention just in front of Arthur, hands straight by his side, and his gaze unwaveringly forward, focussed on the wall behind Severin. 

Arthur stands from his throne, moving to stand by the council chairs so he could see Merlin’s face. What he spies however, is a tense blankness that he’s only even seen in the brief moments when Merlin thinks no one is looking at him.

The Lord rolls his eyes condescendingly at Merlin:

“You know I hate it when you stand so stiffly Merlin, it’s bad form. Stand at ease.”

Again, without hesitation, Merlin kicks ones of his legs out slightly, and moves his hands to be tightly clutched behind his back, shaking almost imperceptibly. Still, he does not change his expression as the gang look on worriedly.

“Are you armed, Merlin?”

Merlin gives one firm nod, before saying in a monotonous voice:

“Always, My Lord.”

Severin gestures vaguely with his hand, muttering:

“Show me.”

With that, Merlin taps his right wrist to his hip before flicking his arm out to the side, and with the movement, a dagger slides from a hidden holster under his sleeve, and falls gracefully into Merlin’s hand.

Everyone in the gang, bar Gaius, was taken aback, They’d known Merlin for years, ten in the cases of Arthur, Leon, and Gwen. How had they never known that Merlin was always carrying a weapon?

The Lord looks only mildly impressed as he holds a hand out, crooking his fingers towards himself slightly. Merlin throws the knife gently, his aim perfect as the handle lands in the centre of Severin’s palm.

He passes the blade from hand to hand, humming thoughtfully, before saying:

“It’s not very well weighted, incredibly poor quality, but-”

With that, he looks back up at Merlin, the wolfish grin having returned to his face, but the gang only have a second to be confused before the Lord pulls his hand back, and hurls the knife directly at Merlin’s head.

The velocity at which the blade moves through the air... well, a slower man would have died. But Merlin is apparently not a slow man.

With his focus still on the wall somewhere behind the Lord, he whips his hand up, quicker than lightening, and catches the handle of knife with the blade just an inch away from his eye. Only then, does his gaze move across to the dagger, and he brings his hand down, slipping it back into it’s holster as if he was entirely unbothered by what had just happened. The Lord finishes his sentence:

“-anything can be a weapon in the hands of a killer. Back to your post, Merlin.”

Merlin bows slightly, and moves back, expression still blank as the gang stare at him with various expressions of shock and confusion.

Arthur moves back to his throne, careful to keep his face blank, though struggling not to stare at Merlin worriedly, before he says:

“Well, that was quite a display. Any other uh... stories to tell, Lord Severin?”

The man shakes his head, laughing, and replies:

“No, Your Majesty, that is all. I will reassure my employees that the visits to Ealdor are purely personal, and order them to leave it be.”

Arthur gulps and frowns slightly at the sudden change it topic, wanting desperately to look back and check on Merlin, but not daring to, as he replies:

“Of course. I’m afraid I will not be able to join you for dinner tonight, or breakfast in the morning, though I extend my invitation for you to visit the training grounds before noon. I have my best scheduled for tomorrow.”

As he says this, he gestures to the five roundtable knights, who all wipe the confusion off their faces as the Lord glances at them. In actual fact, none of them were scheduled to train tomorrow morning, but it had become habit over the years for Arthur to use them as a subtle display of strength whenever a visitor unnerved or worried him.

Severin looks back to the King, giving him a nod as he accepts:

“I would love nothing more, My Lord.”

Arthur smiles tightly and nods before dismissing him, his harsh gaze not leaving the Lord’s back until the door shuts behind him.

The moment he’s left the room, Arthur stands up, dizzyingly quickly, and steps around the throne to question Merlin, only to find that the manservant gone, slipped away through the servant’s door.

He speedily goes to follow him, wanting to get to the bottom of whatever the hell that was, but Gwen’s desperate voice halts him:

“Stop! He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it right now, we should leave him be-”

Arthur turns around and goes to retort, but Gwen cuts him off:

“-and besides, no one knows this castle better than Merlin, he’s long gone. If he doesn’t want to be found, then he won’t be found. Leave him be for a while.”

The King desperately wants to argue, but he begrudgingly nods, knowing that Gwen is right. He frowns at the desperate and questioning looks that Lancelot sends to Gaius, unaware that Arthur is looking at them.

Gaius shakes his head slightly, and Lancelot visibly relaxes, only to tense again when Arthur asks:

“Lancelot, Gaius? Do you know what just happened?”

The knights averts his gaze after giving a brief shake of the head, the Physician looks to Arthur, clearly mentally debating on the best way to answer the question. He gulps before speaking slowly:

“Other than Merlin’s mother, I am the only one to know the truth. However it is a very... personal, and frankly traumatising, topic for Merlin, and I don’t feel it’s my place to tell you. Might I request that you allow Merlin to keep his distance from Lord Severin?”

Arthur looks like he wants to argue, but the warning looks he receives from Leon and Gwen stop him, and he once again begrudgingly nods:

“I... fine. But I’ll want to know eventually. If I’m to have dealings with this Lord, I need to know if he’s involved in anything troubling."

Gaius sighs and nods:

“It is... nothing that Essetirian Lords aren’t already known for, My Lord.”

Arthur tilts his head in confusion, that doesn’t sound like it bodes particularly well but... he’d already agreed not to pry. Gaius was clearly trying not to let too much on and trying to hide how freaked out he was. Which also didn’t bode well.

Arthur copies Gaius’s sigh, nodding to himself as he gestures vaguely at the group and tiredly says:

“Alright, you’re all dismissed. Keep an eye out for Merlin, and I want to know where that Lord is at all times. There was a servant in the corridor waiting to take him to his rooms, so I would appreciate it if one of you could go check he made it. I want to know if anything happens. Rest well tonight, I want you at your best for tomorrow.”

Everyone gives a decisive nod, Leon stalking off to follow the Lord, and the others separating out to complete their normal tasks. Half-heartedly mind you, as all of them were more focussed on trying to wrap their heads around what had just happened.

~

None of them saw Merlin for the rest of the day, or the next morning. They would have been more worried, but nothing was missing from his room, a few of the castle staff had reported seeing him briefly, here and there, and the Lord had yet to try anything untoward.

When Arthur had gotten to his room that night, dinner was ready and waiting, the room had been tidied, his sleep clothes had been folded and laid on his pillow, and the hearth had been lit.

The next morning was the same. Arthur woke to to see that his empty dinner tray had been replaced with a full breakfast tray, his clothes for the day had been laid out, and his desk had been organised with a list of today’s duties left in the centre.

Arthur huffed at Merlin’s absence. He hadn’t gotten that much sleep last night, the more he thought about what had happened, the more restless he became.

There was a lot of things to worry about.

Gaius being openly shaken and worried was especially concerning. The man was usually unflappable, so whatever it was... it was bad.

And what had Lancelot been so scared about? He seemed genuinely confused but he still knows something.

And what Merlin had done with that knife...

Arthur could understand Merlin hiding a part of his life, just not mentioning it, especially if it was as traumatising as Gaius let on, but to actively lie?? To put up a clumsy, useless front with no prompting?? That was most certainly worrying. “Incredible skill” Severin had said. “One of my best”, what does that even mean??

He had called Merlin a Killer.

Still, Arthur didn’t call for his manservant to be summoned. The man was clearly after some privacy, and despite Arthur’s powerful curiosity, Gaius’s fear and Merlin’s disappearing act held him back, at least for the time being.

After finishing some paperwork, Arthur headed down to the armoury, to be met by a squire who had clearly been waiting for him. At Arthur’s confused expression, the boy tells him that he had been instructed by Merlin to help The King with his armour, and that he would be round later.

Arthur nodded, hiding his confusion. Merlin was usually incredibly protective of Arthur’s armour, BUT he said he’d be coming by later, so it wasn’t as if he were fully disposed for the whole day. Hmm.

Perhaps he was simply trying to avoid being in close quarters with Arthur, alone. Being stood at the side of a field whilst the Knights sparred was hardly the same as helping Arthur dress, one-on-one.

Still, Arthur didn’t call for his manservant to be summoned. If he weren’t so worried about Merlin, he’d be childishly proud of himself for being so selfless and caring.

He met the other five knights on the training field, satisfied to see them all in full armour, preparing for full-contact sparring. Apparently they all wanted to intimidate this Lord just as much as Arthur did. Now all they had to do was wait for the guy to show.

But Merlin appeared first. No one noticed him for a little while, but Gwaine getting distracted in the middle of a fight and allowing himself to be tripped by Elyan, certainly bought everyone’s attention to the raven-haired servant stood at the side of the field that had caught his eye.

Merlin’s expression was the same as it was yesterday. Meaning: expressionless, blank.

He doesn’t react at all as the knights stare at him, and only nods slightly when Arthur raises a hand in greeting, despite not looking directly at him. Leon’s quiet-

“Sire?”

-breaks Arthur out of his stupor, and he mutters back:

“Leave him be. He usually stands much closer than that, so he’s clearly still not in the mood to talk.”

Elyan furrows his brows as he finally helps Gwaine to his feet, before saying:

“He knows the Lord is meant to be here. If he wanted to avoid him, why come?”

Arthur shrugs but Lancelot looks surprised, and speaks as though the answer was the most obvious thing in the world:

“He’s protective of Arthur. No matter the history between Severin and himself, if he thinks the Lord is dangerous he wouldn’t allow Arthur to be in his presence without being there as well.”

Arthur frowns and huffs, but doesn’t say anything as the others nod their heads. He gestures for Leon to step into the ring with him, conscious of the fact that they had just been stood around talking.

Luckily, Severin showed up just as Arthur and Leon started to get into the swing of things, and the other knights could tell the exact moment the two of them noticed the Lord, stood about ten feet to Merlin’s left; the fight got much more... vicious.

A pro of having worked together practically their whole knighthoods (and before, for Arthur), was that Arthur and Leon could give their absolute all in matches against each other, and not have to worry about miss-stepping or accidentally hurting one another.

The sparring sessions between them often drew large crowds, but Arthur had ordered the training grounds cleared this morning, meaning that the four other knights, the Lord, and a much tenser-looking Merlin, is all their audience consisted of.

Finally, the fight came to an end, Arthur victorious as he knocks Leon to the floor. They shake hands, and Leon has to hide the swell of pride in him at the man he had trained for managing to beat him, before they make their way over to Lord Severin, closely followed by the others.

The Lord claps his hands, a wide smile on his face, and Arthur stops himself from looking at Merlin when he sees the man flinch slightly at the noise.

“Very impressive, My Lord. Your knights truly are something to behold!”

Arthur gives him a strained smile:

“Yes, I take a lot of pride in the strength of my best.”

Severin’s eyes widen, and his grin once again turns sharp. Arthur has a feeling he isn’t going to like what the man says next:

“Well, if we’re talking about the best, might I suggest that your... ah, manservant, shows off his skills? I imagine we would all find that mighty entertaining, especially considering you were previously unaware of his abilities?”

Arthur clenches his jaw, glancing at Merlin. The King was taken aback when Merlin held his gaze for the first time since before the Lord had arrived yesterday. 

Arthur answers, without looking away from Merlin, and regrets his words the moment they exit his mouth:

“I’m alright with it, but only if Merlin agrees.”

Merlin widens his eyes, only slightly, but it’s enough to show Arthur that that was the wrong thing to say. Whatever the history between Severin and Merlin was, the manservant was unable to say no to him. Arthur hadn’t given Merlin a choice, he’d allowed Severin to dictate Merlin’s answer.

The Lord claps his hands again, wolfish smile growing as he loudly proclaims:

“Brilliant! I will divert to your judgement, on who his opponent should be, My Lord.”

Merlin clenches his jaw, turning and walking towards the spare swords. He grabs one from the rack, and enters the ring, standing stiffly, waiting.

Arthur frowns at Merlin’s sudden, easy capability, before nodding at Lancelot. He was reluctant (NOT jealous) to admit it, but he and Merlin were very close, if anyone could pretend to fight Merlin convincingly without actually hurting him, it would be Lancelot.

Lancelot returns his nod, understanding his King’s thought process, before looking to Merlin with a concerned frown on his face:

“Do you not want any armour, Merlin?”

The Lord laughs as Merlin mutely shakes his head, answering for him:

“Oh, he won’t need it sir knight, like I keep saying, he’s quite skilled.”

Lancelot still looks reluctant, but at Arthur’s stiff nod and the questioning tilt of Merlin’s head, he walks into the ring and stands opposite his best friend.

He gives Merlin a nod, and hides his worry when Merlin just stares at him blankly, his stance turning loose, but sword held tightly in his hand.

Arthur signals for them to start, and Lancelot immediately has to take a rushed step back as Merlin moves quickly forward, swinging his sword up.

Lancelot just about manages to block the strike, but the strength of the hit has the bones in his arms vibrating, and his shock gives Merlin just enough time to twist his body, taking another swing before Lancelot even processes what’s happening.

The second wide arc of Merlin’s sword knocks the knight’s arm to the side violently, and he stumbles back, only just managing to keep hold of the blade. Merlin takes advantage of Lance’s newly exposed chest, and using the last of his momentum, brings a leg up and lands a harsh kick to the centre of his chest-plate.

The force throws him back and he lands sprawled on the floor several feet away.

The others knights gasp as the Lord jovially laughs and Lancelot stares at the sky in shock. All in all, that spar had lasted about five seconds, and consisted of Merlin swinging his sword only twice, and kicking him so hard he dented his armour.

Lancelot hadn’t even had time to think before it was over, and was still wide-eyed when Merlin wordlessly pulled him to his feet, frowning as he runs a hand over the damaged metal.

The other knights are still staring in shock as Lancelot lifts a hand to put it on Merlin’s shoulder. When the servant flinches backwards, he lowers his hand again, but still whispers:

“Gods, Merlin. Where the hell did you learn to fight like that?”

Merlin’s frown deepens and he clenches his jaw as he glances at the amused Lord, before stepping back, out of Lance’s reach.

Before anyone can say anything, Severin loudly exclaims:

“That’s my boy! I knew I could count on you to have not forgotten your training. How about you?”

He gestures to Elyan, and the knight looks to Arthur for confirmation. Merlin stays in the ring, waiting, back to being expressionless. He hadn’t even broken a sweat during his fight with Lancelot, didn’t even look out of breath, and Arthur’s morbid curiosity gets the better of him as he nods at Elyan.

The knight stepped into the ring, taking Lancelot’s place opposite Merlin.

Arthur gives the signal to start, and Elyan is the first one to strike this time, but Merlin moves easily out of the way, with speed and grace that no one had ever seen him express before.

Honestly, Arthur thinks the first fight might have been a fluke, because this time, Merlin spends the first twenty-five seconds blocking and dodging, making no offensive moves, and staying well out of Elyan’s way.

But Merlin makes the swap quicker than anyone can see, going from defence to offense in the blink of an eye, and within seconds of the change, Elyan is on the floor, Merlin’s sword at his throat, and his own sword lost somewhere to the side.

Merlin had moved so quickly, Elyan hadn’t really any clue how he’d ended up on the floor as he blinks up at the previously thought-to-be clumsy manservant.

After a moment, the knights once again shocked and the Lord once again cheerfully laughing, Merlin leans down and pulls the knight to his feet.

Elyan nods his thanks dumbly before picking up his sword, and heading over to the side lines, still looking confused as his brain tried to catch up with the last thirty seconds.

Merlin had, once again, not even broken a sweat, and Arthur gulps as he looks at his manservant. On the surface, he seemed... absent. Like he wasn’t really aware of what was going on, and was just waiting for it to be over. But upon closer inspection, Arthur could tell that wasn’t true.

Merlin’s stance may have been loose, but the position of his feet and the grip on his sword showed that he was fully prepared to jump into a fight without hesitation. That, the clench of his jaw, and the focus in his eyes as he stared back at Arthur, told The King that Merlin was fully aware of his surroundings.

Severin’s laugh petered out, and he points a finger at Gwaine, looking at Arthur as he questioned:

“My Lord?”

Arthur nods, and Gwaine huffs angrily. He gives The King an incredulous look but, perhaps a little selfishly, Arthur was curious about the extent of Merlin’s... abilities, so he ignores it, and Gwaine reluctantly walks to stand in front of his friend.

Merlin’s gaze drifts from Arthur to Gwaine, and he tilts his head slightly, adjusting his stance, his expression remaining in the same blank position it had been through all of the matches.

Once again, Arthur finds himself signalling the start of a fight between his best-friend (slash love of his life but like... shhh) and one of his most trusted knights.

Neither of them make a move at first, they just circle each other slowly, Gwaine’s sword raised, but Merlin’s pointed to the floor as he makes a point of keeping his stance fluid.

The Lord claps his hands together, just once, but the loud noise triggers an immediate reaction in Merlin and he pounces forward.

Gwaine takes the defensive as Merlin throws hit after hit, each one precise and specific. Gwaine is stronger than Merlin, but Merlin knows this, striking quickly and needling holes in Gwaine’s defence, moving back before he has time to launch a counter attack.

This fight goes on a lot longer than the last two, but Gwaine quickly begins to tire. At the first stumble in the knight’s step, Merlin takes a pace back, and presents his opponent with a miniscule opening.

Apparently it had been deliberate; the moment Gwaine follows him to take a swing at the gap, Merlin feints to the side, and lands a single blow that knocks Gwaine to the floor.

He chuckles darkly as his chest makes contact with the grass, realising immediately what his mistake had been. He rolls to his feet, holding his sword-less hands up in surrender. The man is breathing deeply, and even Merlin looks slightly more tired than he had before, but only slightly.

Leon lets out a deep breath, and all the knights seem to realise simultaneously that... at no point had Merlin not been in full control of each fight, setting the pace exactly how he wanted it, and taking advantage of each of their weaknesses perfectly.

Lancelot was reluctant to fight Merlin, so Merlin threw a few quick hits and had him on the floor before the knight realised he didn’t have to hold back.

Elyan had seen Merlin’s speed against Lance, and had therefore rushed to try and surprise him. Merlin took the defensive, biding his time until Elyan eventually made a mistake, and struck so quickly and harshly, he only needed one move to take him out.

With Gwaine he’d done the opposite. The man was much stronger than Merlin, so he couldn’t let him get a hit in, only allowing the knight time to defend and not attack. He waited for Gwaine to get tired and distracted, waited until he was moving automatically before presenting a tiny weakness that another knight might have missed. Gwaine fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

Gwaine resists the urge to clap Merlin on the back, proud smile quickly dropping to a frown when he sees the still blank look on his face.

The Lord doesn’t even have to request another fight before Arthur nods at Percival.

Percival looks a little less reluctant, everyone now clearly knowing that Merlin could more than hold his own; if anything, he looks a little nervous for himself, despite being six inches taller and much heavier.

This fight is a lot more quick-paced. At Arthur’s gesture, they both immediately jump into it, fighting for dominance with speed and strength. Once again, Merlin’s opponent is much stronger than he is, and Merlin tires more this round.

Percival lands a heavy to kick to Merlin’s chest, and he goes sprawling backwards, but he keeps a hold of his sword and uses the momentum to gracefully roll back onto his feet.

Before Percival has time to raise his sword again, Merlin takes advantage of the new distance between them and sprints towards him. He drops quickly, sliding between Percival’s legs, sword held close to his body as he reaches an arm out, grabbing the giant’s ankle on the way through.

His sudden grip forces Percival to take a step forward to correct his balance, but before he can turn around, Merlin quickly stands and shoves his whole body weight against his back.

The force of the shove paired with the instinctual step forward tips Percival’s centre of gravity, and he topples to the floor, rolling over to see Merlin already stood above him, panting, his sword aimed at Percival’s throat.

The other knights gasp slightly as Merlin steps away at Percival’s raised hands. They had been certain that Percival, with his size, would be the one to beat Merlin.

Apparently not.

Lord Severin is once again laughing, and Arthur (and the others) are becoming more and more confused. Merlin had beaten four of Camelot’s best in a row in about ten minutes, and was only slightly out of breath.

This was not just a bit of combat training, this was... more. This was harsh, ingrained, years upon years of practice.

Arthur and Leon remember when Merlin first arrived in Camelot, only sixteen, and dread grows in their stomachs as they realise the implications.

They’re quickly broken out of their stupors as Percival walks slowly over, still catching his breath, and The Lord loudly bellows:

“Well, that’s four out of six. We might as well go for the whole collection, what do you think, My Lord?”

Arthur takes a deep breath, he has to remember that there is politics involved here as well; he can hardly accuse the Lord of anything. But the arsehole was also clearly aware that this had been a power move on Arthur’s part, and it had completely backfired. Backing out now would... not look good.

The King gives another strained smile, gesturing Leon forward after glancing at a still blank Merlin. The manservant had already caught his breath. Damn.

Leon moves into the ring and settles into position in front of Merlin.

The dark haired servant furrows his brow, tilting his head the same way he had at Gwaine, as if he were assessing his opponent. After just a moment, he schools his face, and adjusts his feet slightly, his stance seeming a little stiffer than it had been previously.

If the others thought the last four fights were brutal... well... this was a whole new level. Camelot’s First Knight held nothing back, now confident in Merlin’s abilities (and his own, to stop at a moment’s notice if it looked like Merlin was about to get hurt), despite the fact that the man still wasn’t wearing any armour.

This match lasts a while, both of them swapping between defence and offence, the tide changing with almost every step. 

Both of them are tiring, Leon was still recovering from his spar with Arthur, and Merlin hadn’t exactly had much time to refresh between his other fights, even though he won them fairly easily.

But eventually, the match ended with a loud clang ringing out as Merlin’s sword flies from his grip.

At least... they thought it had ended, for about a split second, before they realise that Merlin looks completely unfazed.

Arthur glances to the Lord briefly, to see the man grinning with a mix of possessive pride and cruel hunger, before looking back at the ring, and widening his eyes in shock.

Merlin had quickly shaken out his hands, forming fists before darting in closer to Leon. The fact that Leon still has a strong grip on his sword doesn’t seem to bother Merlin at all, and he dodges the blade as he lands three quick hits to various weaknesses in the armour.

Leon takes a stumbled step back, surprised at the quick change in direction that the fight had gone, and that step is just enough to give Merlin space to swing a harsh elbow out to the side. The connection between his elbow, and Leon’s wrist, is sharp enough that the knight drops his sword automatically, and Merlin quickly turns his back on him, moving in close as he grabs his arm and throws him forward, over his shoulder.

Leon lands harshly on his back, winded slightly, and Merlin rolls to the side, coming up with the knight’s sword in his grip. He quickly spins around, and Leon finally catches a breath just to open his eyes and see Merlin stood above him, sword at his throat.

Leon stares up, completely shocked, hearing Gwaine mumble-

“Merlin just won a sword fight... without a fucking sword.”

-and Lancelot mutter:

“He beat Leon?”

The Lord is once again laughing, and the sound is beginning to grate on everyone’s sanity (everyone bar Merlin, who still looks blank and absent) as Merlin pulls Leon to his feet, wincing apologetically as the knight rubs his own back.

Leon puts on a strained, but fond smile, as Merlin hands him his sword, and mutters:

“Well done, Merlin, very impressive.”

Which had apparently been the wrong thing to say; Merlin flinches back, drops his expression once again into blankness, and steps away to pick up his own sword.

Leon frowns, walking towards the other knights and the Lord as Merlin deposits his sword back in the rack. His movements have lost the cat-like fluidity he had when fighting, and he’s back to being stiff and tense, eyes averted to the floor, jaw tightly clenched.

The knights look on in worry, still confused, but having mostly gotten over the novelty of Merlin being able to fight, and focussing more on how the hell he’d kept it a secret for so long. On top of trying to figure out how he’d learnt in the first place.

Lord Severin frowns sarcastically, tilting his head at Merlin as if he were a child, and saying:

“Aren’t you going to spar with your King, Merlin? I thought we were going for six out of six?”

Arthur frowns at him, looking between the Lord, who looks like a vicious beast hunting his prey, and Merlin, who’s looking a lot like that prey.

Merlin takes a deep, shaking breath at his questions, raising his head to meet the Lord’s gaze for the very first time. Arthur can see the fear in his eyes, and takes a subtle step towards him, to stand between Merlin and his hunter. Merlin glances at him quickly, almost fearfully, and gulps as he looks back at Severin, stuttering out:

“I... I won’t fight Arthur. Not for you, I... I don’t fight people for you anymore.”

The Lord tilts his head and smirks:

“My, how you’ve grown up. You never would have spoken to me like that as a child-”

Arthur can hear the other knights gasp, and is grateful when Leon holds Gwaine back as the man takes an aggressive step towards the Lord.

“-though I doubt King Arthur is as strict of a master as I was.”

Arthur’s frown deepens, but before he can say anything, Merlin snarls out:

“Arthur is nothing like you.”

His sudden change in demeanour takes Severin by surprise, but only for a second; his look of shock falling back into a condescending smirk once more:

“Hmm. Probably why you’ve gone so soft. Honestly Merlin, you were once the best, now you refuse to make your opponents bleed. Oh, how far you’ve fallen.”

Arthur has heard enough, and he steps in front of the Lord, between him and Merlin, and without breaking gazes with the vile man in front of him, loudly says:

“You’re dismissed for the afternoon, Merlin. Go grab some lunch, we’ll see you later.”

Arthur still doesn’t look back as he hears Merlin walk quickly towards the castle. The Lord gives Arthur an assessing gaze, smirk remaining on his face, before saying:

“It would seem that you’re quite... protective, of your staff, Your Majesty?”

Arthur gives him an incredibly strained smile, not even aware of how tightly he was gripping the hilt of the sword at his hip as he replies in a low voice:

“Hmm. Something like that. Well, we’ve solved our border issue, and you’ve seen my knights in action, so unless there’s anything else?”

Severin tilts his head, and raises an amused eyebrow, clearly understanding Arthur’s meaning:

“No, that’s all. Your city is wonderful, however I’ll be leaving very shortly I’m afraid, within the next few hours. I have men to reassure.”

With that, the Lord bows deeply, and stalks back towards the castle, thankfully taking a different route than Merlin. Normally Arthur would call him out on the rudeness and impropriety of turning one’s back on a King, and leaving without being dismissed, but at this point, Arthur just wants him gone.

The moment he disappears round a corner, the group lets out a collective sigh, all of them looking troubled. Elyan is the first to speak:

“I’ve travelled through Essetir, I’ve heard the rumours. Do you think that Merlin...?”

His question trails off, but it’s obvious what he was asking. Leon answers once he realises that Arthur isn’t going to say anything:

“He was sixteen when he came to Camelot. To have that sort of extensive, ingrained training... he would have to have been.”

All of them let out harsh breaths and Gwaine curses viciously under his breath, before grinding out:

“Permission to follow Severin back to Essetir and slaughter him somewhere in the woods, sire?”

All of them look expectantly at Arthur, but he still stares in the direction Merlin had walked as he sighs, and replies quietly:

“No. His men know he came here about some sort of issue. If he never makes it back, it doesn’t matter how well you set the scene, it’ll start a war-.”

Gwaine grumbles something about stupid rules under his breath, but relents. He definitely perks up slightly at Arthur’s next words:

“-However. If we ever come across him during any sort of conflict, feel free to use more force than technically necessary. For now... we need to find Merlin.-”

The others nod vigorously, and gather closer as Arthur continues, finally looking at them:

“-Leon, Elyan, go and find Gwen and Gaius, at this time they should be running medications around to the knights’ barracks, then meet back in the courtyard. We can’t split up to find Merlin, because we’d have no way to tell each other if someone found him, and I don’t want to risk leaving him alone because he might disappear again. We’ll have to search together, hopefully Gaius will have some sort of idea, because Gods know he won’t have gone to have lunch like I told him.”

Everyone murmurs their agreement, and without another word, they all head back up to the castle.

~

Leon and Elyan had found Gaius and Gwen exactly where Arthur said they would, and all eight of them are soon gathered in the courtyard.

The knights quickly explained what had happened. Gaius looked unsurprised, though increasingly worried with every word, and it was only the Physician’s genuine panic, and the dent in Lancelot’s armour that convinced Gwen this wasn’t some big prank.

Arthur looked at Gaius expectantly, and the older man thought for a moment. He sighed, before saying:

“When he first arrived in Camelot, Merlin had... a great many nightmares. The first time, I found him under his bed. The second and third times I found him curled up, hidden away in a cupboard that he had emptied out. After that, I reorganised so the cupboard was permanently empty. He hasn’t used it in years, but I never got round to refilling it. If... if I had to take a guess at where he is, I’d say there.”

Everyone nods and the group begins to make their way to the Physician’s chambers.

On the way, Gwaine expressed confusion at Merlin’s apparent love of tight spaces, but Leon quickly piped up:

“It’s a fairly common response to trauma, I’ve seen it in the occasional knight after particularly bloody battles. Some people become terrified of tight spaces-”

Gaius interrupted, informing the group that it was called “claustrophobia”.

“-but some people find it comforting. I guess Merlin likes feeling protected on all sides?”

The physician nodded grimly, and quietly informs the group that it might be best for only one or two people to approach Merlin, and for everyone else to stay back, so as to not overwhelm him. The knights reluctantly agreed, Percival announcing that Gaius and Lancelot were the obvious choices.

Lancelot protested:

“No, you should’ve seen his face when he saw the dent in my armour, it’ll just freak him out even more. Arthur should go, he’s the only one Merlin didn’t beat to a pulp.”

Gaius agreed, and Arthur nodded as well, though reluctantly.

They quickly found themselves outside the Physician’s chambers, the door left open slightly. With one last worried look to each other, Arthur pushes the door wider, and steps through, quietly calling Merlin’s name.

Gaius goes to point the cupboard out, but two quiet knocks from inside alert everyone to it first.

The knights and Gwen gather dutifully to one side of the room, still in sight of the cupboard should Merlin open the door, but far enough away so as to not crowd him.

Arthur sits himself down in front of the cupboard, and Gaius perches on a bench a few feet behind him.

The King whispers Merlin’s name again, and knocks gently on the wood. After a few seconds, the door opens, and Merlin slips out, sitting cross-legged on the floor, his knees just about brushing against Arthur’s.

He is once again blank-faced, and everyone’s eyes are drawn to his dagger being twirled and twisted skilfully between his fingers.

His eyes are focussed on the blade, and Arthur resists the urge to reach out and touch him, knowing that he was already on thin ice, being this close to him. He talks gently, his voice quiet, though still loud enough for the others to hear him:

“He’ll be gone by evening, and he won’t ever be coming back.”

Merlin nods, only slightly, but it’s enough to let Arthur know that he’s at least aware of his surroundings. The servant gulps before whispering:

“Don’t let him take me, please.”

Arthur bites his lip to stop himself from gasping, and slowly, ever so slowly, moves a hand to rest on Merlin’s knee. When Merlin doesn’t flinch away, Arthur squeezes his leg slightly before moving his hand away:

“Never. None of us would ever let him take you away, Merlin. You never have to see him again; you’re safe here, we’ll make sure of it.”

Merlin nods again, and Gaius hands him a goblet of water. He takes only a small sip before setting it aside, but it’s a good start; the Physician figured that Merlin almost certainly hadn’t eaten, slept, or drank enough in the last twenty-four hours.

After a minute or so of silence, Merlin replaces the dagger in its holster, and clasps his hands tightly in his lap, staring at his intertwined fingers.

He clears his throat slightly, and the gang wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or more worried, that he looked sad as opposed to blank, as he quietly speaks, still staring into his lap:

“Essetir has always been a fan of... of child soldiers. We thought we were safe in Ealdor because we were so far from the capital, but they came when I was seven. If I fought back or tried to escape, they threatened to burn the village down, so I just... did what I was told. The lessons were... we were trained against each other, except every match was to the death. Hundreds of children... killing other children, until only the best remained. Gods there was always so much blood.-”

Everyone bar Gaius had to make a concerted effort to hold in their tears and gasps of rage. Arthur took a deep breath and put his hand on the floor next to Merlin, not touching him, but an obvious offer of comfort if Merlin wanted to take it. Gwen grips her brother’s hand tightly, and Leon has to stop Gwaine from drawing blood from his palms with his own nails.

Merlin takes a deep, shaking breath, and puts his hand on the floor next to Arthur’s; not taking it, but just about brushing thumbs:

“-Children were... we were tactically useful. We were dressed in civilian clothing so we could slip in and out of places, killing people and stealing things and setting traps and fires, without being noticed. And if we were noticed, people would hesitate. They would hesitate just long enough for us to... to kill them.-”

Tears were falling freely from at least half the room’s occupants now, everyone else not far off.

Merlin moves his hand further towards Arthur’s, and he takes it without hesitation, running his thumb over Merlin’s knuckles softly.

The servant lifts his gaze falteringly, and Arthur gives him a weak smile, and nods as he prepares to continue:

“-I was good. I mean I was really good. I was given all the most difficult jobs; I had a higher body-count before I hit twelve summers than you do now. All the army generals, and the particularly rich Lords, and even... even Cenred when I got older, took an interest in me. They thought I was the best thing since the start of civilisation, because I was small and weak-looking, and I had a sad face and big blue eyes. My... targets, never wanted to defend themselves against me. They... they all died for their hesitation.-”

Tears overflow from Merlin and Arthur’s eyes at the same time, and The King can hear Gwen’s quiet crying behind him. He knew without a doubt that the knights would be crying too, he didn’t even need to look. All of them normally had such strong stomachs for violence but this... this was so much worse, and it was Merlin.

Merlin gulps, and his grip on Arthur’s hand tightens:

“-I escaped when I was fourteen. I don’t know why it took me that long, I guess I was just... lost. Lost in the orders and the missions and all the... all the death and blood. I was sent to burn a few buildings down and I just... set the flame and ran. There was nothing but ash left at the end and no one could find me so it was assumed I had gotten trapped inside and died. I wondered around in the wilderness for a while. I was pretty self sufficient by then but I didn’t want to go home, in case they went looking for me there. To be honest... I barely remembered where my home was,-”

His voice drops to almost a whisper, and the others have to strain to hear him:

“-I... I couldn’t even remember what my mum looked like.-”

His voice rose again as he glanced quickly at Gaius, and at the older man’s reassuring, though mournful, smile, he looked back at Arthur:

“-But I found my way home after about ten months. I figured out pretty quickly who my mum was, she barely let me go for weeks.-”

At this, Merlin thankfully lets out a weak chuckle, but the tears still fall, and he squeezes Arthur’s hand once more.

His faces falls back into despair as he continues, and everyone knows that there’s still bad to come:

“-It was... difficult. I didn’t trust anyone, I didn’t know how village life worked, how normal human interaction worked. I knew how to speak and read and write but... I had barely said a word in eight years so I stayed pretty much silent. It was... odd, to be allowed to speak freely, move freely. It was... terrifying. More so than what I had before, in some ways, because... I had nothing. There was nothing to me. Could you imagine how hard it was? To be fifteen and to have no personality? No likes or dislikes... no understanding of how the world outside of war works? Understanding nothing but how to be a good soldier?-”

Arthur shakes his head, lifting his other hand to rest gently on Merlin’s knee, and only dropping it there when the tearful man nodded slightly.

The crying from behind The King had slowed, but not stopped, and Merlin continued:

“-I suddenly had to find out who I was as a person, minus all the blood and death and missions. I had to figure out what was... socially acceptable. What to smile at and what to frown at. I was... a completely blank slate. I was barely even a person. Just killer’s hands with a body attached.-”

At that, Arthur gently took Merlin’s other hand as well, and made a point of stroking them softly.

“-Just after I turned sixteen, I was sent to Camelot. I’d just about figured out the basics of interacting with people, I could fake it pretty well at least, but being in Ealdor... I couldn’t relax. I just expected them to come for me again, that any day an Essetirian patrol would show up and drag me back and burn the village down. Officially, I was sent here to learn to be a Physician, to learn to heal instead of kill. Unofficially... no one said it, but everyone knew, I was sent away because I wasn’t coping. I needed a change of scenery, being in Ealdor was making things worse, and with Gaius here, I would at least have a little support.”

Arthur gives him a smile, but before he can say anything, Percival takes just a small step forward. He speaks in such a soft tone; strangers would think a man of his stature incapable of expressing:

“And now you have all of us, Merlin. No matter what.”

The others nod, and even Gwen wipes away her tears to give him the widest smile she’s currently capable of. Merlin looks at her and frowns slightly, tilting his head as if confused.

After a moment’s hesitation, Merlin gives her a weak smile in return. When he looks over to Gaius, the Physician nods approvingly, and his smile widens, just slightly.

With that, the whole group seems to come to the same conclusion, at the same time: that Merlin had essentially just asked if smiling was the right thing to do.

Gwen was crying, and clearly upset, and Merlin understood that. But then she smiled. He’s been away from his... military roots for long enough now that he knew the right response, genuinely felt the right response, but with everything being uprooted and old wounds being exposed, he needed the reassurance that his reaction had been socially correct.

Arthur clenches his jaw tightly, thinking back on the ten years worth of interactions he’d had with Merlin. How he’d always kept his cards close to his chest; was rarely outwardly angry, and got happy over the simplest things: flowers and books and fluffy animals. 

He thinks about how terrifying it must have been. To have to learn to be... well... human. To have to learn how to perfectly imitate human behaviour until he developed his behaviour.

Merlin takes another sip of his water before taking a deep breath. He looks to Gaius, determination in his face, and at the Physician’s hesitant smile, but firm nod, Merlin takes a deep breath and looks back to Arthur:

“There’s more.”

Arthur frowns, and tilts his head. What else could there possibly be? He hears one of the others take in a sharp breath, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Gaius look to the offending knight, and give another firm nod.

Arthur gulps, and nods at Merlin, encouraging the man to continue:

“I had to do all of that whilst... whilst hiding the magic I was born with,-”

A chorus of gasps go up around the room, and Arthur tenses slightly, sitting up straight, but not letting go of Merlin’s hand. The King sees the fear in Merlin’s eyes, and the way the goblet shakes in his hand, and gives him an uncertain smile. Arthur isn’t as surprised as he thinks he should be.

“-because if they found out, things would get worse. Cenred had enslaved sorcerers as well as children in his army. If he’d found out how... how powerful I was, even as a child, I never would’ve escaped.”

Arthur nods his head absent-mindedly, once again thinking on his ten years of friendship with Merlin. It... made sense. 

Gods how terrifying.... 

To have all of that happen as a child, to finally find your way home just to find that you aren’t safe there either. And THEN to be sent to Camelot of all places. How terrifying, to have the safest place for you to be, be the city where the violent persecution of your people originated.

Arthur clenched his jaw before looking back at Merlin. He still looks scared, and Arthur squeezes his hand, firmly saying:

“I swear to you Merlin, in the name of Camelot, that you will never have to be afraid again.”

Merlin’s eyes widen, and tears begin to fall again as he tilts his head. Arthur gives him a smile:

“Come on, Merls. How could I possibly believe magic to be evil when you were born with it? There’s not an evil bone in your body.”

Merlin’s face falls, and he looks as though he’s going to argue, but Arthur beats him to it, speaking before he can even open his mouth:

“And we all know it.”

Merlin looks up again, speechless and teary, as Leon steps forward:

“The laws will change, Merlin, and you’ll be safe and free. And if the council have a problem with that... well...-”

Leon looks back at the other knights, all looking as determined as he is. He grins, and wipes the remaining tears from his eyes as he looks back to the bewildered servant, grinning Physician, and fondly smiling King:

“-I’m sure we can persuade them.”

Merlin returns his grin, and Arthur is more than relieved to see that Merlin doesn’t have to double-check his reaction this time.

~

THE END!!

Wowie that was a ride. I honestly wasn’t even planning on writing a magic reveal in this but it just sorta... happened... oops

Same as always lads, you wanna write it all proper? Go for it, credit and tag me :)

[dancingamongstdust]

Old Habits (Warren Worthington x Reader)

So I was digging around in my old files and I found this from a few years ago. I’m sure I published it somewhere once but I have no idea where. Either way, the writing isn’t too bad so I thought some readers here may enjoy it. 

Before, when you originally met Warren, you had never had an issue with reaching out and grabbing his wings if he tried to march away from you. It had become a habit.

There would be an argument over something inconsequential and both of you would scream and shout like children. Warren would realise that his temper was getting out of control and try to stalk away from the fight before it got out of control. You would snatch a fistful of his feathers or the edge of a wing; anything that was within range was ample gain. It never hurt him but he stopped moving due to the sensation. Then he would turn around and kiss you until your lips were bruised and you couldn’t breathe properly.

This time…

You had been eternally grateful to Charles Xavier for bringing Warren back despite all his previous actions and your heart belonged to whoever had saved his life. When you had seen him walking through that portal, you had sold yourself on the notion that you would never be seeing him again. A bitter reality without the white angel wings that you had spent hours wrapped in.

The fight had been inconsequential really. Something about his sulking and yelling at anybody who tried to get close to him.

But now you withdrew your hand as quickly as you reached out.

Warren still spun around to look, the metal feathers screeching against the walls as he did so. Instead of kissing you, his eyes fell on your bloody hand and he reached for it with tentative hands. “I…” his words died in his throat.

You met his eyes with a clouded expression and sighed. “Sorry,” you said. “I forgot…” Your eyes fell on the huge metal wings and you sighed. “I didn’t think that through. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Warren said. “No, you shouldn’t have had to think about it in first place.” Unlike the feathered version, these wings made a horrendous noise when they bristled and even he winced at the sound. “Just go and get somebody to look at that.” And he stormed back into his temporary room, slamming the door far too loudly behind him.

You sighed, shoulders slumping. Charles had approached you to see if you could possibly fix the situation and maybe convince Warren to relax a little more in the mansion. His end goal obviously being to offer the angelic mutant a permanent place to stay.

Stomach churning, you hurried down the stairs to the nearest mutant that could heal your hand or at least somebody who knew basic medical skills.

Two stitches and a little bit of healing later, you were sitting in your own room and staring down at your bandages. While you had been standing up there, it hadn’t hurt at all but now it was burning like fire. You rubbed it gently and sighed. Warren had always been self-sabotaging. At this point, shutting you out could almost be classified as a hobby of his.

So eventually – at an hour that any reasonable person would be asleep at – you climbed out of bed and marched over to the room to quiet your wailing mind. If you didn’t know Warren’s self-destructive tendencies you would have presumed it was too late.

But you had lived with the man before.

You didn’t bother knocking. You knew that Warren would have pretended he didn’t hear you. So you counted on him forgetting – or purposefully – not locking the door.

“I’m tired of this,” you said when Warren finally noticed you and removed the headphones that were blaring rock music so loudly that you could hear them from across the room. You walked over and sat on an untouched desk, watching the winged mutant carefully. “Every day, you make me sit and watch you turn all that anger and hatred inwardly and I can’t do anything about it. I feel useless when it comes to you. Like there’s nothing I can do to help.”

“Help?” he scoffed. “Help what?”

“You.”

He rolled his eyes and sat up on the bed, those metal feathers screaming a symphony as they were dragged across the wall. “I don’t need your help,” he said. He glanced at your bandaged hand. “Look what happens when you try. I’m fine. They said that my feathered wings will grow back soon and then I’ll be able to get as far away from this fucking place as possible.”

“I want to stay.”

“Then stay.”

You gave a forced laugh. “And here I thought you knew me well enough to know that there isn’t a chance that you would leave without me following.”

Warren crossed his arms and his wings puffed up as he attempted to become more intimidating. It would work on most people. Not you. “Nobody likes codependent twits,” he grumbled. “But then again, it’s not my problem if you want to chase me around the country like some lost poodle. If you get killed, I don’t want anybody blaming it for me.”

“It’s not… alright, no, I’m not rising to that,” you said firmly. “No matter how often you insult me, I’m not going to leave and you know that by now. Warren, won’t you at least consider staying here? There are others who –“

“Joined forces with an ancient evil and attempted to bring about the end of the world because they were offered shiny wings then almost died and had to be saved by their enemy out of pity. Just so many of those assholes running around that I can barely even walk without seeing one.” His hair was falling into his face now but he didn’t seem interested in doing anything about it. “But they don’t count if they switched sides during the actual battle.”

“You were unconscious the majority of the battle.”

“Thank you for reminding me. I wasn’t aware.”

You sighed and reached out to move his hair away from his eyes. It said something that he didn’t move away despite the glare he was sending in your direction. “Wouldn’t you prefer to be able to rest for a little while until you got back onto your feet?” you asked. “I’ve been talking to some of the people here and they’re all friendly if you give them a chance.”

“I don’t see any weapons attached to your back that are constantly hurting people you actually care about,” he noted.

“My hand was my own fault,” you repeated. You stood up and moved closer, reaching the uninjured hand past his head and resting it gently on the metal of his feathers. “See? I’m being careful now and it’s not getting me hurt. If I had taken a few more seconds to think it through, I wouldn’t have grabbed your wing out of habit. But you said they’ll go back to being normal soon.”

“Apparently,” he said. “Some of them have fallen off but they’re meant to do that. What would you do if they stayed metal? You’d have to start finding your own beds instead of curling up next to me constantly. Something tells me you won’t find these wings ‘comforting’.”

A phrase you had always used when speaking about his wings and it hurt to hear him spit it with such bitterness in his tone. It had always been something genuine to you. “They probably won’t keep me as warm as the normal feathers,” you admitted. “But I don’t doubt that I could grow used to them and love them as much as I adored the originals.”

He scoffed. “Always a fucking optimist. Even when I have tattoos that probably will never fade etched into my face.”

“I’m not always an optimist,” you said. “When you disappeared into that cage fighting thing for months without telling me and then came back with your wing fried to a crisp, I was so worried that I thought I would vomit. I lost countless hours due to nightmares about waking up and finding you dead or missing again.”

“And then you did.”

“I was too late,” you said. “No matter what you said, I knew that your wings were making you distressed and I wanted to help but I didn’t know how. If I had figured out how to fix things sooner then there wouldn’t have been a reason for you to go with that asshole.”

Warren just glared at you and then flicked his bedside lamp off and lay down on his side. It used to hurt his wings when he slept like that but you were unsure that the metal felt anything. Either way, you lay your hand on his shoulder temporarily and then took the hint to leave the room. There was nothing else for you to say or do.

Almost a week passed where you only opened the door to throw random food and drink items at Warren where he was pretending to be asleep. Sometimes he would mumble something and other times he would continue to ignore you. You took the bandage off a few days later. It was something Warren undoubtedly noticed but he didn’t say anything until the day you opened the door to find everything strewn across the floor in such a state of disarray that you flinched.

“What’s the problem?” you asked.

Warren glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and muttered something about not having any shirts that weren’t torn to shreds by his new wings. Which later led to you going shopping and returning with a bunch of new shirts with cuts in the back for the new wings. It took you a while and he grumbled under his breath when you dumped them on the floor but you didn’t say anything.

The charade continued day in and day out but you weren’t deterred. You waited patiently for Warren with a well-learned routine. This had happened many times before. A waiting game that you had perfected over many years of worrying about the angelic mutant who held so much of your attention and your heart.

You walked through the door with a milkshake in hand when he was busy plucking the metal feathers off his wings. Silently, you placed it down and settled cross-legged behind him on the bed to help him peel off the shedding metal over the unreachable areas.

It came off easily and you happily spotted some of the soft, white feathers peeking out from beneath the metal. You ran your fingers happily over it and smiled. They would be returning soon.

“You’re going to need to preen these daily while they’re growing out,” you said. You didn’t expect an answer but you said it with the knowledge that you would be the one to do it. “Otherwise they’re going to be crooked and then you won’t be able to fly properly.”

Warren’s feathers fluttered slightly as he turned around to face you. They didn’t sound quite as horrible when they brushed against the wall now and there were fewer grooves than before. Deep scratch marks already tore up the bedframe and one of the bedside lamps had disappeared a week ago. “Just leave.”

“Alright. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Why do you bother?”

Your fingers brushed the doorknob and you shrugged. “It’s just force of habit now.”

[bestruction]

Getting high with them for the first time

N/A: If you do drugs do it safely

My masterlist

- Eren Jaeger

He's not the type of guy who pressured you to use, let alone say you're immature or coward for it. When you decide to try it, it's genuinely your idea, and who better than your boyfriend to teach?

That's how you end up in his room, with the door and windows lock to make sure the smell doesn't catch his parent's attention. You sat on the carpet while he carefully rolls the joint so that the cigarette holder doesn't fall.

“Tighten your lips like this and take a deep breath through your mouth” He took a short drag before releasing the smoke “But not too long since this is your first time your throat is not used to the smoke”

You nod and accept the cigarette doing as he said. You feel the smoke warm your mouth, watch it hoover before your eyes after blowing and wait for...Nothing. No different sensation, no tingling, literally nothing.

"I don't think it worked"

“It is not like a switch. Wait a minute, babe ”

You talk a little about the day-to-day of the two and then go to play something new that he had bought. After a few games and a few more huffs, you still don't feel any difference or anything. You even try to hold the smoke in your mouth for a longer time, which results in you coughing incessantly and Eren laughing in your face. Hearing him laugh has always been one of your favorite things. The way he bends his body and laughs out loud without shame until he blushes always makes you laugh together with him, like now.

You laugh, laugh until your body asks for air and needs to alternate between laughter and breathing. You feel calm, relax as if you had lifted a weight off your shoulders. You lay on the carpet feeling the softness of the fabric against your skin ... Was it always that soft? So silky? So comfortable? You close your eyes and rub your hand over the texture, and then the smell of Eren's citric perfume invades your nose. When you opened your eyes, jade eyes were watching you closely.

"I think it has taken effect now, huh?" He says stroking your hair. "Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?" He asks, getting on top of you.

"A few times"

“Then I’m going to tell you again: you’re beautiful” he kisses your lips “So damn beautiful” He kisses your chin “Every single part of you” And now your jaw.

You two spent the afternoon making out on the floor and praising each other. Not because you were high, I mean, not only, but because being so sensitive brought it even more evident how much you wanted each other.

- Levi Ackerman

You had a horrible week. It seemed that everything that could go wrong over the course of seven days had made a point of happening even worse than you imagined. When you got home even after taking a long hot shower and lying in bed, you're unable to relax.

"If you keep turning from side to side, I won't sleep either" Murmured Levi.

"I know. Sorry"

"I'm not complaining. Come here" He pulls you to lie on his chest "Better?"

"A little bit"

"Just a little bit?" He smiles softly "You can try what I do when I get like this"

"Do you mean the mushrooms?"

"If you want to"

You two get out of bed and go to the kitchen. He takes a clear plastic bag from the fridge and places it in front of you. Levi is not the type of guy who gets high all the time. It's more like an escape for when his stress is too high, like yours. He already used it when you met him, and even if you didn't, you never saw a problem with it.

"Just it?"

"I can make tea if you prefer"

"Why don't you use weed like everyone else?"

"Too much work. To roll, check for purity. With mushrooms, I just need to buy and chew them ”

"Well, bon appetit"

You two eat the frozen mushrooms. The taste is not so bad, but it is not a good thing and the smell reminds you of something that had been removed from the forest, which makes sense. Levi suggests that you lie down on the sofa in the living room to watch a movie. There was no need to worry about tomorrow as it would be a day off for both of you.

Lying on Levi's lap and watching the TV, the colors start to shine before your eyes. You didn't remember the white wall looking so vivid, or the pixels on the TV seeming to slow down when you focused on a specific point. It was your house, but it didn't look real. You felt inside a peaceful dream, and inside that dream, you fell asleep forgetting about your nightmare week.

- Armin Arlert

It's your idea. It's Mikasa's birthday party, and Connie had taken some ecstasy pills from whoever wants to use them. So you take two, drag your boyfriend to the bathroom and lock the door.

"You don't have to do it with me if you don't want to, Armin"

"I'm curious too," He says, staring at the little pink pills on your hand.

Armin swallows one, and you do the same after him.

Armin swallows one, and you do the same after him. You want the experience to be as safe as possible. Then both sit in the bathtub and wait for the effect while talking. About half an hour later, you notice how dilated are the pupils of the blond in front of you. Your hearing is a little muffled, and you feel happy and light for no apparent reason. A slight tingle comes and goes through your body, like a wave spreading that sensation across your skin.

You go over to Armin and sit on his lap. He smiles at you, and more than ever, you want to kiss him until you're out of breath, and he's not different from you.

Armin takes your hand between his and brings it to his mouth. He spreads small, short kisses on your hand. You focus on the feeling of his lips running over your skin. You are so damn sensitive even his breathing makes you shiver.

As if a magnetic force pulls you both, you two kiss, letting that soft cloud of pleasure envelop you both. When Armin presses you against his body, deepening the kiss and tasting your mouth, you want to break the laws of physics and be able to occupy the same place as him. You want to become one with him.

And the two of you may not be able to do it, but you certainly tried A LOT in that bathroom.

- Jean Kirstein

Jean is handsome, tall, friendly, and intelligent. So when he starts to be invited to every possible party in college, you’re not surprised. You two have been dating since high school, and you don't feel jealous if he goes to parties alone but he always finds a way to convince you to accompany him with some excuse. Like,  that it would be a lot more fun if you're next to him.

Today, this is one of those times when he convinces you. It's not that you don't like parties kind of, but a party full of strangers doesn't seem like the most attractive thing to you. Then after dancing and talking to people for a long time, he drags you to one of the rooms in the house to give you a well-deserved break.

"Thank you for coming with me," He said, hugging you from behind after closing the door.

"I'm going to want some compensation for that, Kirstein," You said, sitting down in an armchair that was there.

"How about ... That" Jean takes a bag with two white pills out of his pocket and tosses it towards you.

"What is it?"

"LSD"

"What kind of people have you been involved with?" You joke “If your mom knew what you've been up to, Jeanboo”

"Shut up" He sat next to her "If you want to try, I try"

It wouldn't be his first time getting high, he used to smoke weed with Eren in the basement since high school, but it would be yours. As I said, Jean is smart. You knew he had been wanting to try acid for some time. So of course, he had researched on.

Honestly? You are curious but afraid after so many speeches “don’t do drugs, kids”. Jean would never propose anything that could endanger the two of you, which is exactly why he only suggested it when you were alone, and if you said "no" it would be like it never happened.

"Is it just swallowing?"

"Put it under your tongue and let it dissolve"

You lie down on the floor and take it at the same time. It tastes bitter, but unlike any medicine, you've taken in your life.

It takes some time for it to start taking effect, but when it finally did you know. The sound of loud music, muffled by the walls of the room seems to be inside your head now. The colors tremble in front of you, mixing, moving, becoming more intense. You raise your hand towards the ceiling, and you don't feel like that's your hand. Everything seems surreal. You feel calm but active. It's like being very drunk, but the other way around.

Jean pulls you into his chest, and you can hear his heart pumping blood at full speed, like yours. You feel your throat dry, your body sweat, and your hands get cold.

If I could define that feeling with a word, it would definitely be intense.

You spent the night like that. Watching the furniture move and change shape, lying on the floor and without detaching from each other. At some point, you ended up sleeping, and after having the weirdest dream of your life, you woke up with Jean calling you carefully. The sun had already risen, and the house was silent, indicating that the party was over a long time ago.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, helping you to stand.

“Hungry and hungover”

He mumbles something about also being, and you go out to eat at the nearest cafeteria.

[abundanceofnots]

a little (just under 2k) playground scene with Lip and Ian as dads, as per @pink--and--white's request. i apologize to all actual parents in advance.

“How the fuck did we get here?” Lip asks through a huff of incredulous laughter.

Ian shades his eyes from the sun, turning to his older brother with a look of mock concern. “Your memory that bad already, old man? We drove here.”

It earns him a stinging smack on his thigh.

“Asshole,” Lip retorts back. “You know what I mean.”

Ian’s eyes flit back to the scene before them. “Yeah, I do,” he confirms a beat later, his voice more earnest this time.

This, by far, isn’t a new feeling. Lip’s had the exact same thought pass through his mind countless times in recent years, always in a momentary flash of warmth that filled up his whole chest. It happens all the more often now over the most mundane shit, though.

The first time was, probably, when Freddie was born. Then Ian got married, and Al came along, and Liam got to a good school—and after that followed every other quiet (not literally) evening when the whole family gathered up in the kitchen.

In those instants, Lip would stall himself for just a second, getting lost in the overwhelming sounds and visuals, and think, what the fuck.

He’s getting soft. That’s it, most likely. He’s getting soft and sentimental, going on with his extremely unexceptional life, wondering how in the hell did a piece of shit like himself get so lucky, and slowly becomes someone he’d gladly punch in the face not too long ago.

It hits him hard again, this strange sense of pride and wonder, as he sits next to his baby brother on a bench overlooking a kids’ playground.

This one’s the real deal. Everything here is child-proof and clean, with no syringe or dogshit in sight. Frank or some random homeless guy aren’t lying in a drunken coma by the swing sets. There’s not even one bullet hole in the slide. And maybe it’s not so hard to admit that this is actually pretty nice. That this is them now.

Still, the whole thing is, without a doubt, totally ridiculous. Here they are, Lip and Ian—the college dropout and the ex-con, the true sons of the South Side—sneakily munching on their kids’ packed afternoon snacks.

“Dumb luck, I guess,” Ian answers Lip’s question after some musing and takes a sip from Toe’s pink-colored juice box.

Lip hmms before he bites into a baby carrot. “For us, or them?”

“For us. Definitely.”

They’re just two regular dads who carry around lunchboxes and always have a wet wipe or a pack of tissues at hand, ready to blow noses and wipe off residue chocolate from chins and hands. There aren’t enough words in the English language that would describe how incredibly ridiculous this is, because once upon a time, not too long ago, still, Ian wore a jumpsuit with Dav on the nametag and believed this was it for him, and Lip thought the only way to get through life was by drinking himself through the ordeal.

How the fuck did they get here?

“Freddie! Hey, Freddie!” Lip calls out to his oldest, who hangs upside down from the monkey bars, effectively ignoring him. “Fred!” he tries again with an annoyed sigh, and the boy finally remembers how his ears work. “Can you help your cousin on the slide?”

“Okay!”

With a swift motion, Freddie pulls himself up again to grab hold of a bar, unhooking his knees in the process, and jumps down into the sand with practiced ease. He then immediately gets into a run, coming behind the red-headed girl in black overalls who’s been trying to climb the gentle ramp on her own.

“What was that about?” Ian inquires amusedly.

“Early puberty, I think. He doesn’t want us to call him Freddie anymore. It’s Fred. No Fredster, no Fredtastic, definitely no Fredosaurus. Just Fred. Apparently, I went to bed, and my son turned into a middle-aged man overnight.”

“Oof. That’s rough.”

“Yeah. The next thing I know, he’s gonna get a neck tattoo and his first STI. Al, buddy!” His younger son Alvin, at least, seems to have no trouble with hearing. “You need help? Want me to push you?”

“No, I’m good!” the blond kid shouts back from the swing, and to prove his point, he pushes himself harder off the ground to gain momentum.

Lip scratches his forehead. “They don’t need me anymore,” he comments darkly. “I am officially a bother.”

“You’ve always been a bother,” Ian notes before he stuffs his mouth full of grapes. “Come on, Lip. Freddie’s eight. He’s not exactly packing his bags to leave home. He’s still very much a daddy’s boy.”

“I don’t know, man. When I remember what I was already doing when I was his age….”

“Yeah, but that’s different. They’re not like us. They don’t need to be, and that’s a good thing.”

Ian’s right, but the concept of normal as something desirable, something he doesn’t necessarily need to rebel against, is something Lip may never fully come to grasps with. And neither does Ian, even if he says otherwise.

“We might be getting a dog,” Lip says after a while, pausing before he sinks his teeth into a cheese stick.

“No way!” Ian smirks at him. “Look at you, perfect American family and shit.”

Lip snorts at that. He and Tami are pretty damn far from perfect. “You not thinking about getting a pet? A friendly rottweiler for Mickey, perhaps?”

“No. First, I gotta talk him into having another kid.”

That takes Lip by surprise. He knows Ian absolutely adores his little girl, his mini ginger twin that everyone got to call Toe, short for Tomato, but he also knows the whole story behind how she came to be.

“Oh, yeah? You’d like another?”

“Yeah,” Ian admits, and as his eyes drop to his lap where his fingers fiddle with a paper straw, Lip realizes he sounds ashamed about it.

“Not as easy as poking holes in condoms with you guys, huh?” he jokes to release the sudden tension.

“Hah. No.”

“You told Mickey yet?”

Meeting his brother’s eyes again, Ian gives a noncommittal shrug. “I hinted.”

From experience, Lip knows that hinting in Ian’s case almost exclusively means Mickey is fully aware of his intentions and just chooses to ignore them before Ian confronts him head-on.

“Hopefully, you’ll have another girl,” he tells Ian after a quiet moment filled with children’s high-pitched screams and the steady screeching of a swing set. “It’s a lot more physical with boys. These two are already fighting like we used to.”

“Doesn’t really matter when you’re raising a Milkovich,” Ian remarks before yelling: “Hey, Toe? You wanna have a sip of your juice for me?”

The girl waves at them eagerly as she slides down the bendy chute. Getting to a run right as her feet touch the ground, she comes to a jolty halt in front of them, taking a good, hard look at the juice box as if only now realizing what’s expected of her.

“No, thank you,” Toe then peeps and skips off again.

“Polite,” Lip appraises.

Ian gives a low chuckle. “Fuckin’ weird, huh?”

“With Mickey as her dad? A little.”

They watch the kids play for a few minutes. Ian offers to exchange a cheese stick for three grapes, and Lip negotiates it up to five before agreeing.

“You think he’d be against it? Having another kid?” he asks Ian mid-chew.

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame him, after all the shit with Terry. Maybe with a second kid, he’d think there’d be twice the damage he could do. Dunno,” Ian surmises uncertainly. “I know how hard it was for him to even want a kid, and I get why he was scared. Don’t get me wrong, I’m shitting myself every day when I think of the ways I could fuck this up. But he’s a great dad. You saw him with Toe. She’s obsessed with him. The way she laughs at everything he says makes you think he invented comedy or something.”

Lip’s aware that their conversation turned sort of serious once again, but he can’t help not breaking into a smile. “Sounds like you’re kinda jealous of your husband there, Ian.”

“Oh, I hate his guts,” his brother confirms, only partially kidding. “I’m a fun dad, too, you know.” As if on cue, a figure coming their way catches his attention, and Ian nods to where his daughter’s playing, telling Lip: “Okay, watch this.”

Mickey gestures at Freddie with a finger to his lips, coming around the slide just in time to catch his daughter in his arms with a victorious roar.

“Daddy!” Toe announces the good news to everyone around with a loud squeal.

Ian gives his brother a pointed look.

“Fuck, man,” Lip huffs with mock seriousness. “You tellin’ me she loves her dad? What a nightmare.”

“Yo, lunch ladies.” Mickey suddenly approaches them with Toe at his hip. “How ’bout less chit-chatting and more kid-watching? Think I’d remember if I left my kid with a giant fuckin’ bruise on her forehead this morning.”

“Yeah. She’s had a bit of a scuffle with Alvin earlier,” Ian says, reaching out to soothingly rub Toe’s calf as if said scuffle and the tears it brought weren’t already long forgotten.

“The hell’s he doin’ fightin’ someone half his size?!”

“She started it!” Lip counters weakly.

“Okay.” Mickey’s mouth hangs open for a minute before he finds his figurative footing again. “I guess she had her reasons for that. And you should teach your kids to not fight dirty.”

“I go play now,” Toe informs him then, putting a stop to his rant and his bad mood in one go.

“Yeah! You do that!” Mickey replies as he puts her down, matching her level of enthusiasm. She heads for the extensive pirate-ship-like construction this time, watchful cousin Freddie already on her heels, and Mickey drops heavily next to his husband, letting out a prolonged groan into his hands.

“Tough day?” Ian asks needlessly.

“Igor’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

“Told you he was.”

“And I agree, so drop it, a’ight? Hey, by the way.”

“Hey,” Ian echoes before they exchange a quick kiss.

Mickey notices the juice in his hands then and perks up. “That raspberry?” he checks after he’s already snagged the box for himself, taking loud slurps from it to get every last drop. He finishes off with a belch. “Fuckin’ love raspberry.”

Lip finds that anything he’d say at that moment would only spoil the natural fucking beauty of it, so he just appreciates with a private snicker.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Toe yells from the top of one of the pirate ship’s smaller slides. “Come play!”

Mickey pats at Ian’s thigh. “That’s on you, man. I’m beat.”

Putting his fun-dad face on, Ian heaves himself up without a complaint. “Hey, jellybean! Do you think your dad can fit on the slide, too?”

Toe shakes her head vehemently, giggling as she watches Ian jog toward her. “No, daddy! No! No!”

“What, you don’t think I can?” Ian asks again, halfway through his climb up on the board. “Well, take off your socks now because they might get blown off! I’mma fit!”

“Daddy!” Toe howls with laughter as he bumps his head on one of the low railings.

Beside Lip, Mickey imitates the reaction, both his hand and the phone he’s holding with it to record a video visibly shaking. When he notices Lip staring, his grin falters a little.

“These two jokers,” Mickey complains after he ends the recording. “She always laughs at everything he does like he invented comedy or some shit.”

Lip answers with a knowing smile, his chest feeling full of warmth.

Seriously, how the fuck did they get here?

[fantasy2739]

Jamie Prompt: Nightmares during an overnight trip so one of the teammates or multiple hear and help him. OR they find old bruises/scars from his dad's abuse. Just want to see the effects of the abuse and the team seeing those effects/helping him.

Hahahaha angst my favourite.

Gonna be honest not sure I nailed this.

Enjoy!

They just won a match against Nottingham Forest. It was a brutal match. City Ground was filled with jeers and cheers from both sides. Probably inspired by the horrific loss at Wembley. Richard nearly got taken out by one of the Nottingham players, Dani had received a dubious yellow, Sam was covered in more scrapes and bruises than should be possible, and Jamie had gone full prick without even waiting for a signal. It was a shit match. Roy grumbled the whole way back to the hotel how they were probably going to have to flee in the dead of night. Jamie just feels like shit. They should be happy. They won. Jamie thinks it’s because maybe some of the insults got a bit too personal. Maybe because at half time after one of the players had shoved Jamie and called him a pussy, the whole team had shot him looks of concern. Jamie had ignored the looks, the pounding of his heart and tried to listen to Ted. Maybe because it was just a shit match. The point is Jamie feels like shit.

“Movie night?” Ted asks, lightly, like he wouldn’t mind if they said no. There were nods, murmurs of agreement, because none of them wanted to go out really. They all cram into a big room and settle in for a movie. The choice is given to Ted, who always seems to nail the film choice. He puts on My Neighbour Totoro, probably because it’s all cute and shit. Jamie’s got to admit, it’s pretty hard to stay angry watching some fluffy thing be stupidly cuddly and friendly. It’s just a nice movie. He’s a bit apart from everyone else, half curled onto a pillow he nabbed from his room. He’s dead sleepy. If he closes his eyes just a little, it’ll be fine.

It fucking isn’t.

Jamie’s had nightmares for years. They’re pretty fucking consistent actually. His fears haven’t really changed from childhood. The same man appears. The same insults. Injuries. Pain and memories swirl into one.

Years of experience have ingrained it in his mind and body to not be loud. The vulnerability that comes with sleep keeps his mind in a state of stress. He’s never been a heavy sleeper. Too wary of footsteps in the night. If he wakes the sleeping horror in his house he knows he’s in for worse. Apparently though, he moves, a lot. And whimpers. It’s pathetic really. He’s an adult. He shouldn’t be fucking like this. He’s always in motion anyway, so it occurring in his sleep doesn’t seem like a big deal. The odd twitch is probably ignored. The violent twisting, whimpers, and arms raised in defence are not.

He’s not sure how long he’s out but there’s hands on his shoulders as he almost bolts upright. He nearly takes Isaac out. Jamie’s breathing heavily. He wrenches himself from Isaac’s grip, hands on him too much to bare.

“You alright bruv?” Isaac asks, almost gentle. Jamie just nods, not trusting his voice to come out strong.

“The fuck you are.” Roy growls. Jamie can’t help the way his body tenses. Can’t stop the way his eyes flit around in panic.

“Jamie.” Someone says hesitantly. It’s Sam, crouching down next to him. “Are you sure you are alright?” Jamie’s eyes slowly make their way to Sam.

“Yeah, fine mate.” Jamie manages, glad he sounds tired rather than scared. “Just tired yeah.” That’s enough for some of the team who drift away slightly. But Sam stays crouching next to him. Isaac barely moves from his spot almost directly above Jamie. Roy slumps in a chair slightly away, most likely because of his knee. Dani has a frown marring his face, Zoreaux appears to be debating the benefits of crowding Jamie with the others, Richard cocking his head at him almost thoughtfully. Jan is fixing Jamie with a look reminiscent of an x-ray, while Bumbercatch is chewing on his lip in apprehension. Colin is sitting right behind Jamie, face almost carefully blank.

“You were making strange noises.” Jan says bluntly. There’s lots of way Jamie could reply. He could crack a sex joke, ease the awful tension. Brush it off as not important. Instead he shrugs.

“So?” He asks. He’s not a fan of the looks exchanged between his teammates.

“You sounded like you were… having a nightmare.” Sam says cautiously. Jamie scoffs like that’s complete bullshit. Like he didn’t just have exactly that. It’s stupid to act like this. But that childhood fear of pissing someone off remains forever present.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Colin asks softly. Jamie hates it. They’re treating him like one wrong word will make him shatter. He’s not fucking soft.

“I’m fine.” He insists. He’s getting really tired of the looks.

“It’s okay to have nightmares man.” Bumbercatch interjects. “It’s not like embarrassing.” Fuck no it is. It’s shitty, embarrassing, frustrating, and probably many other words.

“Talking about these things usually helps.” Sam offers quietly.

“Don’t worry amigo, we won’t judge you.” Dani says, Jamie just wishes he’d smile. Dani not smiling feels like a sign of the apocalypse.

“We’re here bruv.” Isaac adds.

“Was it the dickbag?” Roy asks with a low growl. It doesn’t exactly narrow it down. The Nottingham fans? The Nottingham players? His dad? Jamie shrugs again.

“I’m just gonna go to bed yeah.” He tells them, twisting away slightly. He almost trips getting to his feet, Zoreaux reaches to steady him. He flinches, hating himself slightly. He grabs his pillow and tries to leave again. Roy stands up to block him.

“Was it James?” He asks, voice lowering. Like it’s just him and Jamie in the room. “Look Jamie if you need to talk about what that dick did to you-.”

“I don’t.” Jamie says quickly. “I don’t need to talk about him.” There’s a tension in the room that you could cut with a knife.

“We didn’t talk after Wembley.” Roy says, clearly remembering how Jamie had just shut everyone off when anyone asked. “Let us fucking help you.”

“Is your father always terrible to you?” Jan asks bluntly. Jamie’s eyes shoot daggers at him.

“None of your fucking business.” He snarls. Internally he cringes, thinking it sounds too much like James. Jan merely raises an eyebrow.

“Jamie if he hurt you when you were younger then maybe you should talk about it.” Sam offers. Like bringing up the past is going to make things better. Like talking ever fucking helps. Jamie wants to scream.

“So he beat the shit out of me when I was a kid. So he was a useless fucking parent. ” Jamie snaps, tears prickling at his eyes. The open looks of horror on some of his teammates faces makes him cringe. He can’t stop though, can’t just leave it as is. “He’s my fucking problem.”

“Fucking hell Jamie, he shouldn’t have done that.” Roy growls. Richard grumbles something in French that Zoreaux nods in agreement with. It’s sounds angry and Jamie’s pretty sure he hears the name James muttered.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jamie insists.

“Of course it matters.” Sam replies. “You matter.” He probably shouldn’t scoff but Jamie can’t help it.

“Jamie, do we need to talk?” Roy asks, voice low. Jamie drops his pillow and flings his arms up.

“Fuck sake can’t we just drop it yeah? My dads a dick. We all know that.” He snaps. If the conversation continues he knows he’s going to cry. He’s going to sob like a little kid, fucking embarrassing. Roy steps closer, making Jamie shrink back. He wants to disappear into the ground. There’s nervous eyes all around.

“Let us help you amigo.” Dani says. “We are a team yes?” He offers Jamie a small smile. Jamie wishes he was yelling. Or that someone was angry, mad. Any fucking negative emotion. He knows how to deal with those. Instead everyone insists on huddling round him, offering support, caring about him.

His dad isn’t here but he can hear him calling him soft.

“It’s not… I don’t…” Jamie struggles to find the words. The ones that won’t make him cry and get everyone to leave him alone. “I just want to go to bed.”

“No way bruv.” Isaac shakes his head. “Not until you talk to us.”

“It’ll just be quicker if you do.” Colin says with a shrug, his face soft as he looks at Jamie. Jamie shoves his hands into his hoodie and blinks hard. “Otherwise we’ll just hound you til you break and tell us anyway.” Jamie stares at his team, that are standing round him like they’re worried he’s going to break if they get too far away.

“We won’t judge you.” Zoreaux says. “We just want to help.” Jamie is weak. He’s weak to them caring, with sad eyes, horrid glances. He doesn’t deserve a team ready to catch him when he falls but he’s lucky. He takes a deep breath.

“I’ve had nightmares for years.” He mumbles. “Bout him. I don’t… I’m not gonna talk about what they’re like about.” The team is nodding in understanding. “I just get so scared. And it’s stupid. I fucking hate it. I hate it so much.” Jamie sniffles, Sam and Dani move closer, both offering comfort. Jamie moves slightly out of reach, dropping onto his pillow and pulling his legs to his chest. “I don’t wanna talk about him.” It’s said into his legs but he knows they hear him. He hears a horrible cracking sound as Roy sits next to him. An arm snakes it’s way around his shoulders, he can’t help but tense. He feels someone else sit on his other side.

“Puppy pile.” He hears Bumbercatch say and suddenly there’s nine grown men leaning on him as he’s pushed close to the floor. Jamie’s pretty sure Isaac is behind him playing pillow, Colin’s on his left shoulder. Sam is on his left leg and so is Dani. Bumbercatch is somehow across both legs. Roy is looming by his right shoulder. Zoreaux is half resting on Jamie, half on Roy. Richard has managed to curl up practically on Jamie’s stomach. Jan is somewhere around his knee.

“Fuck Richard, ease up a bit.” Jamie grumbles. “I can’t breathe.”

“No.” Richard says sweetly even as he adjusts a bit so that Jamie’s lungs can actually work.

“Bro you have really bony ankles.” Bumbercatch says.

“Fuck off.” Jamie mumbles. He twists slightly, leaning into the collar of Roy’s jacket. He feels safe in the pile of people. Jan complains that he is too much person to be forced into such a cramped position. Colin cracks a joke about being too much person to handle. They’re giggling a little, letting Jamie feel at ease.

The nightmares stay away for once.

[membranes-strange-creation]

Alter the Florpus || Closed RP @ the-nightmare-is-smol

Almost a year ago, Dib Membrane’s life had collided with that of Invader Zim, an alien soldier sent by the planet Irk to prepare Earth for galactic conquest. Dib, who’d harbored a lifelong obsession with the paranormal, would have been fascinated by this development in any situation...but when Zim had arrived, it had felt deeply personal, because Dib was half-Irken himself. He had offered up his assistance to Zim at once, all too eager to take down the species that had made his life miserable for eleven years, not to mention his Irken father who had apparently only created him as an experiment in vanity. Zim had been resistant at first...but Dib had managed to convince him that refusing would be more trouble than it was worth.

Over the months, the two of them had become...friends? Sort of friends, anyway. Dib had eventually had to accept that Zim was not very good at showing friendliness, since Irkens were a species raised for war and destruction, but he thought that they really did have some kind of connection. A...a friendly connection. Definitely not more than friends. Nope, Dib absolutely did not have a crush on an egotistical space cockroach.

Being friends, there were some things that he really needed to tell Zim — some things that were increasingly difficult to tell Zim. Like, for instance, how Zim wasn’t really an Invader. How his beloved Tallest had lied to get rid of him, sending him on a sham mission to Earth because he wouldn’t take a hint. If Dib could only get some kind of proof, something that would shake Zim’s stubborn beliefs, he’d tell him right away! Or...there was the fact that Dib had been getting increasingly disillusioned with the coming invasion of Earth. True, the only one he really wanted to save was his little sister, Gaz, but...Irkens weren’t as great as their propaganda made them out to be. After months of getting history lessons from the Irken point of view, he’d seen some of their glorious conquests, which looked a whole lot like the Earth that they were supposedly superior to — just with a lot more technology and a little more genocide. Dib had increasingly begun to feel that he was trapped between two worlds. He belonged neither to Earth nor to Irk, and felt that he couldn’t fully support either place...but did that mean that he didn’t belong anywhere at all?

Other humans accepted Zim’s flimsy disguise without question, but Professor Membrane wasn’t like other humans. He was, in fact, actually fully Irken. And after trying to keep his son away from anything having to do with the Irken Empire, the discovery that Dib’s one and only friend was an Invader and that Dib had been assisting him all along had resulted in this: the mother of all groundings.

Feeling lost, frustrated, worried, and angry all at once, now confined to his room for several days, Dib sat on his bed with his forehead resting against his bent-up knees. He had no BAKPAK, no computer, and no way to contact Zim...and increasingly, he had no hope, as well.

[martianbugsbunny]

OUAT Thoughts Pt.13--Episodes 6-7.

I have watched through S2E7; spoilers, DNI. Also, spoiler warning for anyone further behind than I am.

—That nightmare room is super creepy. During episode 6, I expected it to be a situation where there’s a sleep demon that could use the room to get into real life. It’s still creepy as of episode 7, but at least it’s useful creepy and sleep demon-free. Maybe Snow and Emma can use Aurora as a go-between with Henry....Or maybe Snow can talk to him herself. I’m not entirely convinced she doesn’t have that nightmare anymore.

—Turning the giants narrative on its head was clever. It was also very depressing. I would like to stomp on Jack the Giant Killer’s dusty old bones.

—Of course only two people could climb up the beanstalk. How else would there be *tension*?

—Snow full-body tackled Mulan. I have to respect that. Although, I think while OG!Mulan could annihilate OG!Snow White (unless Snow called down a torrent of bloodthirsty critters), I think OUAT Snow is both older and more experienced than OUAT Mulan. She technically has the advantage. Still, Mulan has a sword.

—I love how Snow is the mom friend. To Aurora, and Emma, and basically anybody who looks like they need it.

—Belle also being a bestie to any girl who looks forlorn is great. (i.e., Red.) I stan a supportive princess.

—There’s a lot of people who want to be besties with Red. Not that I blame them; being besties with Red would be awesome.

—Although, there’s also an odd number of people in town who are apparently willing to kill her with *lol* TORCHES AND PITCHFORKS. Seriously, why are there so many people in Storybrooke who think murder is an acceptable option?

—I’m really pleased with the way episode 7 turned out. I was worried for a hot minute that Red would stick around with the wolf group, but it ended well. The wolfs were the opposite variety of oppressive that humans are, and I would’ve hated it if the show hadn’t addressed that.

—I’m not actually sure I believe that woman was Red’s mom. It’s just a little too convenient; also, she had a strong icky vibe.

—Emma’s backstory is interesting. I wouldn’t’ve pegged her for a criminal, which I guess is the point.

—Pinocchio was looking out for her. Good.

—It’s more interesting to have had her guy leave because of *extenuating circumstances* than just because he was a jerk.

—What was in the box? In Storybrooke, it was a typewriter, but it can’t have been the same thing.

—Why did Emma’s guy believe what Pinocchio told him? That’s wildly s u s.

—I can’t believe I have to put up with King George. He’s easily in the top two worst human beings of this show (the other being Regina). Maybe Charming could stick him in jail for a while—after all, he did kill a man—and then I won’t have to look at his stupid face or hear his stupid voice.

—Granny’s crossbow is iconic. I love how it’s a distinct weapon that can still exist in both worlds. Also, giving old ladies hefty weaponry will never cease to amuse me.

—Hook is gonna show up looking for revenge at some point. That can’t possibly end well for Emma.

—Snow said that there’s no option other than her and Emma getting home together. That means Snow isn’t going home.

—I haven’t yet seen Belle and Rumplestiltskin go out for burgers. I’m going to have to start counting episodes until it happens. I am now at 3. Do I believe it will happen? No. Will I accept Belle and Rump going out for any kind of date/friendly hangout at all? ABSOLUTELY. I crave Rumbelle content.

[manonblaqkbeak]

Fire and Ice

hello, hope you’re all doing well. i’m doing a double feature today since its the 20th here in aus. so todays fic is for day 19 and 20 (like, if u squint lol).

its a lil bit more angsty then i planned for it to be in the beginning, but its got some fluff at the end. (also, again, i borrowed the 10 month pregnancy plot from acotar)

1.9k words

enjoy!

The bathroom tiles were cool against Aelin's clammy skin as she slowed her breathing. As she willed herself to stop feeling so dizzy.

Four months into her first pregnancy and Aelin soon came to realise what the worst part of pregnancy; the morning sickness.

Or, as Aelin liked to call it, 'whenever it rutting happened' sickness. Morning, midnight, dawn, she often found herself running towards a bathroom, emptying her stomach loudly for the whole damned kingdom to hear.

She was aware of the rumours flying around, that there were friendly bets going throughout the city as to whether or not Terrasen was going to have a prince or princess (apparently, the majority were betting for a boy, but Aelin didn't care what she had, as long as they were healthy), but neither her or Rowan confirmed the pregnancy, and so the rumours stayed as gossip, until she and Rowan were comfortable enough to officially announce it.

Aelin wanted to wait because of how hard it was to conceive—it had taken her and Rowan over three years to be successful, and while she knew that three years wasn't that long, it was still hard when nothing happened—and was scared that if she said it out loud, then something horrible would happen. She hadn't even told her friends, although she knew that they knew; the rumours would have reached them. She appreciated that they hadn't asked either of them. Other than Rowan, the only other person that knew of her pregnancy was her personal healer, Magnolia. Other than Yrene, the demi-Fae was a healer than Aelin felt comfortable around, because even after a decade later, she still had nightmares about her time in Maeve and Cairn's cruel hands, the never ending chain of healers coming to fix her so she could be tortured again and again.

Rowan wanted to wait because of everything that happened to Lyria and their child. There were many nights when Aelin would wake up and find Rowan just watching her, his hand against her slowly growing stomach, and not only could she see the pain in his eyes as he thought back on what happened all those centuries ago, she could also feel it, like a living thing. Aelin knew that Rowan did his best to stop her from sensing his dread, but she wasn't a fool, and she would have known how he was feeling even if they didn't have the bond between them, even if she was miles away, she would know.

The bathroom door opened and Rowan was helping her up, his hands warm and gentle against her clammy skin.

Aelin was far too tired to ask if one of her handmaids called for Rowan after Aelin ran from their shared closest and into the bathroom, or if he felt her distress through the bond.

It was probably both. She would ask once her head stopped spinning.

Resting her head against her mate's chest, Aelin breathed in his scent, letting the pine-and-snow of him calm her senses. His strong arms wrapped around her, his tattooed hand running up and down the length of her spine as his right hand was a steady presence against her lower back.

How long they stayed like that, Aelin wasn't sure, but once her head stopped spinning, she rinsed her mouth out to get rid of the pungent vomit taste that was lingering. Once satisfied that the taste was gone, Aelin let Rowan lead her to bed—not the closest.

“Rowan—” she started to say, but her husband cut her off.

“That was a strong one, and Magnolia said that it's best to rest afterwards.” So he felt it through the bond, then. “I'll take over, and you can stay in and read that book you've been eyeing all week.”

She should say no, that she was fine, but a day of rest did sound nice and probably something she desperately needed without knowing it—and she really had been wanting to read the book that Dorian had sent her the other week (which she had to write a detailed review of when she sent it back. It was one of her favourite past times, especially if it was a book that Dorian loved, but she didn't particularly like, because his response to her review was always the most dramatic thing that always made her laugh).

“Fine,” Aelin said, “I'll rest and you can go deal with Head Teacher of the Academy.”

Rowan groaned at the mention. The Fae male that ruled the magic school was nice, but just so damned pedantic that he had a say about everything. And everything was falling apart, according to him, despite the fact that the school was built only five years ago. “I swear,” Rowan grumbled, “that if he complains to me that the school halls aren't the right shade of brown, I'll throw him out the window.”

Aelin laughed, because she had said the same thing when the male had come around complaining that the roof tiles were crooked last month and she had sent Rowan to check on said tiles (and what a surprise to absolutely no one that the tiles weren't at all crooked), but that wasn't enough for the Head Teacher, when he came back the next week, he wanted the tiles replaced.

If he wasn't so damned talented and good with children and running the school, she would have had him fired for being a nuisance. But unfortunately, neither she or Rowan couldn't just get rid of him because he was annoying.

“Make sure that your shirt is tucked in neatly, or you'll get the same speech about cleanliness like last time.”

Rowan flared his nostrils at that, but said nothing as he got up and changed his crumpled tunic for a fresh one—not at all tucked in—and began his fussing.

Truthfully, she was surprised that he lasted that long.

He left her a glass of water, and a pitcher full of the liquid on her nightstand, and the bowl of seasonal fruit next to it. Next was opening the balcony doors to let in the fresh air, and then the fluffing of pillows and straightening of the quilt and bed sheets—Aelin may have teased him a little by saying that the sheets were too tight, and then too loose, having to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing as he huffed at her ever-changing mind, until she decided that the sheets were just right after five minutes of readjusting.

Aelin watched it all with a small smile on her face, even as she grumbled about his fussing tendencies—but she knew he did it from a place of love, and that he wanted her and the baby to be comfortable.

He even went as far as to check her forehead, and gave her a wash cloth to freshen her up from her earlier sweating. At least she was already in a cotton nightgown and didn't have to get changed—although she knew that if she had too, Rowan would have brought the clothes over himself.

Once he was satisfied that Aelin was comfortable, he left with a kiss on the lips and a promise that he would see her once he was free, Aelin cracked open the book, but fell asleep thirty minutes later with an unexpected headache, a hand on her stomach.

X X X X X X

It was a rare day when Rowan had an empty afternoon, there was always someone to see, something to do, someone to write back to, that when Rowan finished his meeting with the Lords and Ladies of Terrasen and there was no one waiting for him in the audience chamber, Rowan was the first to leave the meeting, needing to check on Aelin. He hated how pale she looked when he left, but when he spoke to Magnolia quickly, the skilled healer told him that it was perfectly normal, but she would check in on Aelin to make sure that everything was okay—and since he wasn't called for during any of his meetings, he took that as a sign that things were fine.

The fact that the bond was quiet also assured him. He had tugged on it during at some point when one of the Lords was rambling, and he got a tired tug back, effectively telling him that Aelin was sleeping. So he let her be, and he sat in his worried state alone.

Rowan was excited for the baby, to take this step with Aelin, but Gods, he'd also hadn't been this tense, this paranoid that something was going to happen in so long. Rowan didn't think he'd feel like himself until he held their child in his arms, but Aelin still had six months to go.

And sometimes...sometimes he found himself wondering about the child he lost with Lyria. What they would have looked liked, if they would have been tall and broad like him, or slim like her. He also wondered how long their child would have been safe before Maeve claimed the child, having them trained to be a warrior like Rowan, or if Maeve would have cast them aside like she had done to Lyria, who Maeve saw as nothing but a pawn to use and toss aside.

His thoughts kept spiralling, his mind going from one thing and another, but stopped when he heard the sloshing of water and a relived sigh once he got closer to his rooms. He made his way through the space and soon came to the bathroom where Aelin was resting against the porcelain tub. Her skin was a light pink from the hot water, but otherwise looked healthy.

Rowan just stood and watched her for a moment and let the contentment from the bond wash over him. The steam danced through the air, carrying Aelin's scent with it, and the indescribable scent of their child within her.

“Are you going to stand there all afternoon?” Aelin asked, her eyes still closed, “or are you going to join me?”

Rowan decided to join her, managing to hold back his wince as he made contact with the boiling water—how Aelin found the hot as hell water relaxing he would never know.

When he was comfortably behind her, Aelin leaned against his chest, and took his hands and placed them against her growing belly.

“Magnolia visited me a few hours ago,” she said. “She says that soon the nausea will pass.”

“Good,” he said, letting the words settle in him.

Rowan was about to lean back against the bath when Aelin's fire filled the air in thin ribbons, moving as smoothly as water as it flew past him. His own magic moved in response, and soon his ice and wind joined her fire, going around the room, filling it up with the differences in temperature. And from the tub, a water butterfly the size of Aelin's palm lifted into the air, its movements delicate but strong as it came towards him. Aelin turned to look at him, her brows furrowed lightly in concentration.

The butterfly came to rest on his nose, and then exploded in his face.

Aelin laughed at his incredulous expression. Rowan shot forward and flicked water in her face, and soon almost all of the bath water was on the floor as they splashed at each other back and forth.

Rowan's troubles melted away with his ice and Aelin forgot about all of her nausea and stress temporarily.

Aelin couldn't wait to meet her baby, and she knew that Rowan was the same.

Six months couldn't come soon enough.