#it's been slowly percolating in the back of my head

[sk1fanfiction]

guess who finally got her act together and started writing sorting swap au properly

[threepandas]

hi, please feel free to ignore this, however I have been reading your stories and they fill me with complete an utter joy.

but I do have an idea just percolating in my head.

I love, love, love the of an MC who KNOWS what their family is capable of, and so they set up someone else to take the fall. another for the rest of the family to obsesse over and slowly begin to cut ties and make themselves disappear.

and they make it work, it works well even. they got out they have a job and a life, everything that they've seen about their family indicates that they aren't interested in them, then thing start going missing in their home, things have shifted, have been moved out of place. the few friends that they have managed to make start to distance themselve from them. and then THEY show back up.

and honey they just wanted to see how you were doing? they insist.

but it's wrong, because where is your sacrifice? aren't they suppose to be the Beloved one? what happened?

then your back in your ancestral family home and there they sit. like a deity on their thone.

"There you are, Sweet One," they sigh cuping your face with a smile, "the familys not compete without you."

I could see it? But it's just a touch too Real™ for it to vibe with me? But! And this is important! That's just my taste. Wanted to share it cause it IS a good idea and others probably would enjoy it.

My way of doing such a set up would be a Survival At All Costs Reader. Like the coyote that chews its own leg off to escape. Cause hoooooohoholy shit, is she in a bad situation. And she KNOWS it.

So she's gotta GO.

It's literally not paranoid, if they ARE out to get you.

That cup not where she left it? Literally ANYTHING gone from her home? Grab her go bag and GO. Take her lockbox of funds, shove it in. Escape through the fucking sewers. Run and run and never stop running.

How the FUCK do they keep finding her? WHY do they keep finding her? Like smiling demons. Living up to humanity's legacy of persistence predators. To them? She's being SILLY. Having her youthful "go and be independent, find yourself" thing that all young adults do. But really... isn't this going a bit far? Some of these places aren't SAFE dear!

And you forgot to TELL us that you moved!

So forgetful~

Just? Think a pack of wolves hunting a gazelle. The horror that "nowhere is safe". Not even the ends of the earth. Can you kill them? Your own family? It's the only way to truely escape. You're outnumbered. They "love you" and it feels like burning slowly. Aren't you TIRED? Don't you want to STOP? Go home?

You could rest.

This all could end.

Just let them love you.

They're Family.

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Halloween prompt: “You’re a scaredy cat.” / “I am not!”

Pairing: RosieLemmons

[Warning for a spider that does not do anything scary, but it's there.]

Ken wakes up as he does most mornings: curled into Robert's spot in the bed as the shower starts in the bathroom. He sits up and stretches, then grabs his robe to keep himself warm as he walks  to the kitchen. The coffee pot is percolating thanks to Robert  starting it during his morning routine, and so Ken completes the first step in his own: Pouring them each a cup of coffee and carrying them to the bathroom to leave Robert's on the counter.

"Morning," Ken calls as he walks into the steamed up bathroom. He puts down Robert's mug and pauses when there's no answer. The water's still going. Robert's definitely in there. "Robert?" he calls, raising his voice in case Robert's under the spray. 

"Spider," Robert says, voice flat. "Ceiling spider."

Ken bites back the urge to laugh. Robert's fear of spiders is something that surprised Ken when he found out. Someone as brave and fiercely determined as Robert getting thrown off by any spider that crosses his path. But Ken also knows that his experiences with spiders on a farm is worlds away from Robert's experiences in the city, so he puts down his coffee and strips down, then steps into the shower. 

Robert glances at him very quickly, then his eyes go back to the ceiling. 

Ken follows his gaze, and this time, he does laugh. "Oh, that's just a Daddy Long Legs! They're harmless!"

"That's a harvestman," Robert answers.

"Oh, sure, we call 'em that, too," Ken says, looking at the Daddy Long Legs. "They pop up at harvest time at the farm. Must do it up here, too. Daddy's always said they're lucky."

Robert stares at Ken full-on, clearly  shocked. "Lucky?! That thing?!" He points upwards, then yanks his hand down like he's been chided for being rude.

"Sure!" Ken reaches up, finger splayed. Robert grabs his wrist and yanks, causing Ken to knock into him, but Robert manages to hold his footing. Ken laughs again and grabs Robert by the waist. "You scaredy cat!" He says. 

"I am not!" Robert yelps. "They're creepy!"

Ken tilts his head back to look at the spider again. "He's thirsty. That's all. That's why they come into showers. They just want some water." Ken feels Robert look up again. "Look at him," He says. "He's just trying to get his day going same as us."

Robert huffs. "He couldn't do it in someone else's shower?"

Ken grins and kisses Robert's cheek. "They're lucky," he says. "Look, I'm in the shower with you right now thanks to him."

Robert gives Ken a pained look, but it breaks into a smile. "I'm not flirting with you with that thing watching."

Ken nuzzles Robert's neck and slowly rotates them so he's under the spray. "Fair enough," he says. "But at least you can wash my back."

Robert grins and reaches for the soap. "Suppose I could," he says.

[amethystina]

If you had to put Yohan and Gaon in a parallel universe, what would it be? Bcs I've been thinking about how would they be in a zombie apocalypse scenario (it's definitely very angst)

I can think of several and my brain tends to let the ideas percolate at the back of my mind whether I want them to or not x'D So, at random, it'll present me with fully formed stories complete with a complex plot and everything that's been slowly pieced together while I wasn't looking.

Admittedly, I haven't thought of a Zombie AU, though, probably because I don't like the doom and gloom of it (she says while having written a 100k Zombie AU for another fandom where one of the main characters is a literal zombie x'D ).

ANYWAY. Here are some ideas that have been living in my brain rent-free for a while:

Soulmate AU:

While everybody believes in soulmates, not everyone is lucky enough to dream of their fated other half. Yo Han does, however. They start during his teenage years, as is customary, and he can't say he's surprised when it's Isaac's familiar face he sees. He's quite relieved, in all honesty, since he'd much rather have a platonic soulmate than a romantic one. It's less messy that way.

Fate proves him wrong the day Isaac dies in that godforsaken fire and Yo Han devotes the rest of his life to avenging his soulmate's death. That seems to be the only way to fill the void inside of him.

But then, just as Yo Han is getting ready to set his ten-year plan in motion, everything gets thrown on its head.

He meets Kim Ga On.

Suddenly, Yo Han isn't sure who he's seeing in his dreams. Is it Isaac or this young, idealistic judge — who Yo Han soon realises has been sent to spy on him? And, even if it is Kim Ga On he's dreaming about, does that truly change anything? Everything has already been set in motion and, soulmate or not, Yo Han wants revenge for what happened to his brother.

And what's to say that Kim Ga On — so brilliant and righteous — would even want Yo Han as his soulmate? His despise for Yo Han is evident so, clearly, fate must have made a mistake this time.

Someone that pure could never love a monster like him.

(Ga On dreams, too, and they're always the same. He never sees his soulmate's face, only roaring flames and a crumbling building. Ga On assumes that means his soulmate is dead. Why else would he find himself trapped inside that burning inferno every time he dreams? Surely he would have seen something else by then if the person was still alive?

Not once does it cross his mind that, maybe, his soulmate just needs to find a reason to start living again...)

___

Black Knight AU:

Joining a group of rebel refugees wasn't so much a choice for Ga On as a necessity. He hates to see the suffering around him, people dying from lack of oxygen and food, their numbers dwindling by the day.

Ga On wants a better future for all of them and he'll fight tooth and nail to get it — even if that means tearing down the old world order and demanding a new one.

Fortunately for the rebels, they have someone on the inside helping them. Ga On has never met this person — known only as the Benefactor — but it's clear that he must be from the core district. Only someone at the very top would have the kind of power and influence that the Benefactor does, providing the rebels with information and supplies through the network of deliverymen and military personnel at his disposal. Ga On doesn't know why someone at the core district would want to bring down the very system that keeps him rich, but Ga On will take whatever help he can get.

And then — as if Ga On doesn't already have enough to deal with — things get complicated the day the rebels intercept what they think is a supply delivery but turns out to be a travel convoy. And the man at its centre is clearly from the core district judging by his pristine suit and flawless appearance. Usually, that would make him a valuable hostage, but there's something different about this man.

Not only does he not seem the least bit afraid to find himself in the midst of a group of armed refugee rebels, but he also fixates on Ga On in a way that's downright unsettling. Ga On doesn't understand why.

Nor does he understand why he keeps feeling an inexplicable and wholly inappropriate pull towards the man. Ga On knows absolutely nothing about him aside from the fact that he's clearly very rich, unnervingly intelligent and, as it soon turns out, incredibly dangerous. How can Ga On be attracted to someone so ruthless and selfish?

The only core district dweller Ga On feels even the slightest bit of respect for is the Benefactor and this Kang Yo Han is the polar opposite. Ga On shouldn't feel drawn to him.

And yet, against better knowledge, he does.

And it feels more like a question of when he'll succumb, rather than if.

(This story has everything! Rebels! Eating of the rich! Delicious identity porn! Explosions! Elijah calling Ga On literal trash that Yo Han dragged in from the gutter!

... it would probably also be pretty long so let's hope I don't succumb to the urge to write it)

___

Historical Vampire AU:

After Ga On's parents die, he fully expects to end up on the streets and starve to death. Fortunately for him, a local scholar takes him on as an apprentice instead, teaching him how to read and write.

He feels incredibly indebted to Scholar Min and so, many years later, when Ga On is asked to accept a position as assistant to a rich but mysterious lord just outside the city, he of course does so. The position is a mere cover, however. In actuality, Ga On will be spying on Kang Yo Han in hopes of finding out if he's secretly supporting the uprising that's brewing in their region.

More than once, Scholar Min tells Ga On that he must be careful — that the mission is incredibly dangerous. But it's not until he actually arrives at Lord Kang's estate that Ga On understands why Scholar Min kept repeating all those dire warnings.

Not only is Kang Yo Han aloof and deeply unsettling — his gaze filled with something that could only be described as hunger whenever he looks at Ga On — but he doesn't seem to eat, rarely sleeps, and never ventures outside during the day. Only once darkness falls does he leave the estate and, sometimes, he doesn't return until just before dawn.

Before long, Ga On begins to wonder if Kang Yo Han isn't just involved in the uprising, but might also be the cause for the dead bodies that have been found strewn around the city the past couple of months.

And, somehow, Ga On has to find proof to support his theory — preferably without becoming a target himself.

(A.k.a. if you thought Ga On's neck kink in Who Holds the Devil was bad? Think again, bitches)

___

Aside from these, there are also the two parallel universe stories I have already started: Gravitational Pull which is basically meant to be a series of one-shots that divert from the original canon by changing one small detail in each installment. And then The Devil's Due which is a Different First Meeting AU where they meet when Ga On is still a teenager and that throws everything out of order (because Yo Han accidentally kickstarts Ga On's gay awakening a lot sooner than usual and, after that, all bets are off)

So yeah. I could probably think of several more but let's stop here for now xD

(And don't ask me why I chose to write these ideas as if they're fanfic summaries because they definitely aren't fanfics yet)

[cheshire-castle-library]

Joining Snippet Sunday!

Everyone thank @tracle0 for the brilliant idea! (And reblog their post while you're at it!!)

But it was also that 72 hours that made ignoring things I didn't want to deal with sound like a normal idea, instead of questioning whether the station was about to cave in, or - more relevantly - if I had company.

I turned down the last corridor to the "surface access lift".  Caught something in the corner of my eye, glanced half-heartedly and shrugged.  More rattling, but really what didn't in Earth Central.  The "up" button was already lit on the lift panel, which was less the gravlift it should have been, and more so an elevator system some extremely driven agents managed to "procure" the night before a local hotel demolition, sometime in the 80's.  My head slowly started questioning, through the murk of exhaustion, as the elevator made its sharp, echoing 'ding'.  The sound set my sluggish nervous system on fire, hair on end, banishing any thoughts that tried to form as the florescent light poured out of the elevator into the dark hallway, illuminating me and the flood of dust and lint in the air as I stood somewhat dumbly before it.  The dawning anxiety you get when you realize you're dreaming washed over me as I squinted into the light.  Slow thoughts percolating poorly through exhausted synapses and pseudo-cells, as I tried to either decide I'd already passed out and was dreaming, or if what I'd seen was real.

The elevator door shut without anything leaving the car, my eyes still locked on where the 4-or-so foot tall figure stood behind the door.  Was it even a figure?  A street sign?  A diamond-shaped head on a stick-like body with a single eye seated off-center of the face that managed to blink at me once before the door shut between us.

Another moment passed with me squinting at the elevator door.  "Autex, proximity bio scan."  My voice echoed back to me metallically off the deck plating of the dark, empty hallway.

["Attention: Insufficient Host Intracellular Energy."]

"Shit."

The interface voice of the Autex slurred in my head as it read off a litany of diagnostics and repairs it was initiating on my body, as my consciousness fell out of my grasps, and my body fell to the ground.  Half-thought questions about the blinking street sign, the Autex, and my impending concussion floated lazily in the dimming murk between my eyes.

"Belvedere Thurston, you are Summoned by the Triumvirate of Founders," a voice like tar and leather echoed in the hallways, and the last thing I saw, squinting through fading vision, was a "Road Work Ahead" sign with a mustache and one, off-center, eye leaning over me.

[legendary-pink-dot]

WIP Wednesday

Look at me, finally posting something! 🙌

Here's a snippet of a WIP that's been percolating for longer than usual because I haven't been in any sort of proper writing headspace for awhile. It'll come back eventually. 🤷‍♀️

Featuring Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia x female reader, with Frankie directing the action. In this snippet they're just warming up to each other, there's no hardcore action yet.

This snippet is dedicated to my brain twin and Partner in Frankie/Santi Delusions @for-a-longlongtime . Much love to you 💜

Last weekend in this room, Frankie had been reserved; not shy, but respectful. Waiting for you and Santi to tell him, show him, help him figure out how he should fit between you.

Not this time. Frankie pauses in the doorway, folds his arms, and fixes you both with his firmest stare.

“Get on the bed. Take each other’s clothes off. All of ‘em and go slow so I can watch.” That’s the crisp, gruff Francisco Morales poetry you love to hear. You can't help but grab Santi’s hand and squeeze it excitedly, biting your lip to keep in a squeal. Santi says nothing, but you can feel his body heat radiating out in waves beside you, his anticipation clearly building too.

Frankie watches in something bordering amusement as you and Santiago follow his orders and start to put on a coy couple’s strip show for him.

You slide behind Santi, grasp the hem of his shirt, and make eye contact with Frankie as you pull Santi's T-shirt up and off, but Frankie's eyes leave yours within a heartbeat to take in Santi's naked chest. A sight he's seen hundreds of times during their years as friends and comrades without any meaning attached to it, but you know that tonight, it's different: it's on display purely for Frankie's enjoyment, and you can tell it's having an effect on him, his fingers twitching like they ache to stretch out and touch.

You grab Santi's earlobe between your teeth as you snake a hand up his chest and capture a nipple between the web of your fingers, sliding and clutching around the nub, rustling against the hairs on his chest, his moans vibrating all the way up from his throat and into your teeth on his ear.

"Mmmm. He likes that," you whisper, locking eyes with Frankie. It's a hint, an order, a helpful tip. You can see the gears moving in Frankie's head as he files away this useful information.

"Yeah. Nice. Okay." He shifts in the doorway, not giving anything away yet, but you can see his cock is already fully hard and straining against the zipper of his jeans. "Keep going. I said everything off."

"Yes sir." Santi finally speaks and it's got a sarcastic edge, but he obeys all the same. He slowly unzips his jeans and rises to his knees, letting you slide your hands down and up those thighs you love so much, the right quad the most perfectly raised ridge of muscle to ride your clit against. In fact, you'd done just that a few hours before he asked if you wanted to invite Frankie over tonight.

[loversandantiheroes]

"Goddamn, you got a mouth on you, Honeybee."

Gorgeous art by @nobodys-baby-now

I so rarely have the chance to get commissions for myself, so I made myself a promise that I'd splurge this year for my birthday and finally nab a commission from Vee of my favorite yeehonk asshole Whiskey all hickied up from an as-yet unwritten scene for my fic Hotel Hobbies, which has been percolating very very slowly at the back of my head for months. And, might I say, she did fucking beautifully, and I can't wait until I can afford to commission her again.😍🥰💕

[missamyrisa2]

I hope you're having a lovely day! I'm usually the one doing the writing for others, so I'm excited to give someone a prompt of my own. 😊

I am a curvy switch, and I'd love a scenario of revenge tickles between the two of us. I don't mind who goes first, but I'd like it to be focused on breasts and armpits if you don't mind.

Thank you for all your amazing words!

Sooo first of all, I am sorry this one has been ~percolating~ for a little while. I'm a fan of yours so you'll have to excuse how long it took for my giddiness to settle~<3 Thank you sooo much for your kind words and I hope you enjoy~<3

I've left you a card by the door ~ on opening it, a tiny fluffy feather falls out. Coochie cooo I'm coming for youuu is in elegant looping romantic letters, with a little sketch of a feather parade, all marching to a diagram of your underarms~ You'll try to prepare for it, try to trick your body into thinking it has some sort of resistance. Ooh, your arms will stay clamped down as much as they can thinking that chamber of secrets is firmly sealed. But then the texts start. Little buzzies appearing on your phone. Does it tickle more if someone laughs with you? Asking for a friend. The feather emojis buzz in and interrupt your afternoon. Fun fact: you're ticklish. I smirk from across the room, and let you watch as I take a snap of my wiggling fingers ~ and send it to you.

You expect me to sneak up, expect maybe an attack from the front. Instead I try a new game. "Come on, tickle me. You know you wanna. Look, my belly is all exposed right now. I have a croooop top onnn!" I gesture to my long sleeved purple top with a generous crop over my tummy. I strike a sassy pose with a leg out, totally exposed coming out my tiny shorts. "Look at this knee~ you can squeeze it. It's highly squeezable. Or maybe you're a hips girl today~ I think oooh, yes, look at those hips just peeking out of my beltline!" I throw my arms up behind my head and slyly look down to each side. "Tickle check on two underarms?" You know it's bait, you know exactly what I'm doing. But you can't help yourself. Those fingers are twitching, itchy, poised to push back to the taunts. I grin and nod at you, snickering through a completely terrible impression. "Go ahead, I am defenseless. Strike me down with all your tickles, and your journey to the feathery side will be complete!"

Oooh but bait it is, because while your fingers score a few giggles on my exposed underarms, I am totally warmed up and ready to dance. We wiggle in each others' armpits for a moment, exchanging tickles and giggles mutually, but very quickly the tide starts to turn. I came to win it ~ My secret weapon fires, I lean in and start kissing at your neck as my fingers massage your underarms earnestly. We're starting to tumble ~ the fall will determine the winner and I may have completely planned it all ~ I'm on top now, smiling down pinning your arms up as my legs scoot forward to assist. "Looks like you lost again~" The punishment for your fall is swift and endless ~ my fingers take their time, tracing the outward rims of your armpits, exploring slowly inward, digging for the best giggle zones. I taunt you with my hair, leaning in to let that curtain of silky softness caress your blushing neck and face. "Tickle tickle sweet Lady ~ oooh you're such a tough tough cookie huh? I bet you can just push me off and escape these tickles can't ya? No? Oooh so closee ~ sooo close ~ but nooope~"

Once I have your arms nice and uselessly weak, I scoot back and start stripping away your top. "Now, now, don't try to fight it. If you would juuust cooperate with me~ ahh, there we are~" I toss your upper garment over my shoulder, pin you back down and survey the tickly giggly twitchy lands. "Mmmmhm. Just as I thought. Tickle spots." I trace upwards, testing your sides and each rib with little wigglies. Reaching to one side for conveniently placed feathers, I start testing your sideboobs, fanning them with the broad side of each quill. "Riiight along here too. Tickle? Tickle tickle tickle? Don't try to fight it. That's just gonna make it worse~"

I feather your bouncy chest, working on the sides and tracing in and downwards to explore all the delightful curves. "Mmmhm. Ticklish sideboobs. And ooh, ticklish underboobs too~" The quills work upwards and start encircling your areolas. "And ticklish...I guess this is just boob huh?" The tips trace the nippular areas carefully, my tongue poked out in concentration as I study every reaction. "Boobie boobie boobie~ are you my ticklish boobie girl? Mmm? Yeahhh. Just shake me off already. Look! My tummy is so twitchy ~ and my buttons are so easy to get." I lean in and dart my tongue along your chest, lightly swirling it in circles over each soft mound. "But oooh, you seem to be occupied at the moment huh?"

As my lips brush on each swelling cookie my thumbs glide upwards, tracing from sideboob to underarms and start rubbing earnestly. I don't even have you pinned now, just keeping you pressed down with tickles and teases alone~ I occasionally switch, moving up to kiss from breast to ribs to underarms, nuzzling and loving on your armpits while my fingers rapidly stroke the nipples ~ and then kiss back along your collar down to lightly lightly graze my lips on each button while my fingers walk upwards and dance in those sensitive crevices again ~ before they all join together so your sideboobs can be vigorously tickled with index fingers while the bouncing nipples are followed by tickly kisses~ "Coochie coochie coooo~" I taunt through all your growing giggles~

And so the dance goes until I have you completely melted. Which means it's time to bring you back from the fuzzies with a little vibratory stimulation ~ the bullet massager clicks on and I smirk wickedly, grasping a breast with one hand and taking the buzzing toy down to go visit allll those hot spots I discovered. "Buzzy buzzy booooo my boooobie girl~" Each breast gets a thorough treatment, that vibey tool going along every bit of skin before taking a little vacay up to the tickly caves, encircling around the armpit and diving into the middle while I kiss and kiss and licky licky on your taunted nipply~

"Awwwe did it tickle just so bad? Sooo good? Yeahh?" I taunt, sitting over your belly, hands on my hips. "I'll make it sporting for you now, I'll only use this one ~ tiny ~ solitary ~ finger~ and we'll see if you can get away~ or maybe you won't want to~" My index finger wiggles slowly, and descends on a path to your nipple ~ there it circles and wriggles and strokes under my snickers and grins ~ and we'll just see how you do~~<3

[cali-forlorn-yeah]

Christmas Eve

{My original work, hastily typed just now. My original MC with 7th year HL characters and locations. Happy Christmas Eve!}

“Ominis!”

It was late September. The metal gate of the Undercroft rattled and squeaked its way open ahead of the voice that boomed through the corridor leading to it. Inside the space he usually thought of as as his sanctuary, Ominis was working on homework. The booming voice in question, the one damaging the calm Ominis had been enjoying, belonged to his best friend Sebastian.

Ominis grimaced and looked toward the doorway, waiting for whatever crazy idea was about to be expressed with conviction. “Yes, Sebastian,” he called, confirming his presence.

Entering the spacious room, Sebastian smiled broadly, seeing his friend. “Ominis… good. I was hoping to find you.” Sebastian unceremoniously climbed onto the over-stuffed sofa, sitting on the arm rest at the opposite end from Ominis. “Is there anyone else here?”

Ominis slowly shook his head. “Just us and the mice.”

“I need your help,” Sebastian admitted with a growing smile.

“Usually,” Ominis replied in his dry humor.

“I want to get Maggie a Christmas present,” Sebastian said, ignoring Ominis’ quip.

“You’re a little early,” Ominis observed.

“I know. I want to get her something really good. I need ideas.”

“Well, you could get her something she enjoys,” Ominis started, leaning back some on the sofa. “She really likes the swan feather quills. You could get one etched with silver. It would be elegant and unique. She would know you put some thought into it.”

“Eh, I got her a set of new nibs back on her birthday.”

“What did you get her last year?” Ominis asks, thinking.

“Quills.”

“And the year before?”

Sebastian grimaced almost painfully. “I… kind of… called her ignorant.”

Ominis turned his sightless eyes to his friend, an incredulous expression obvious on his face. “You are an idiot.”

Sebastian’s grimace deepened. “We were both going through so much, and all the stress, and I was frustrated, and… .” He hung his head in shame. “I was an idiot. But that’s why this year, I want to really wow her. She means a lot to me, and I want her to know how much I care about her. Om… I need your help.” Sebastian melted into a seat on the sofa where his feet had just been.

“You could put together a basket of her favourite indulgences, like sweets from Honeydukes and teas from Steepley & Sons.”

A hum percolated through Sebastian’s throat.

“What about a special item from Gladrags? Something that compliments her eyes, or will keep her warm through the winter? Or maybe it could be something that you both enjoy or have in common.”

“Something about both of us? That’s brilliant.” Sebastian abruptly stood. “I know just what... Thanks Om. I got to go talk to Sirona about earning some money.”

Every weekend after that, Sebastian had to either work a little earlier or a little later at the Three Broomsticks. Sometimes it interrupted the spontaneity that Maggie attempted with him. She would suggest going for a flight on Caligo and Highwing, or swimming in the hot spring they’d found on one of their adventures, or visiting the wild thestral den. But every weekend, he had something that cut their adventures short or out entirely.

Maggie tried to be understanding. Sebastian didn’t give her much to be understanding about, though. He only told her that Sirona had him doing extra work.

Sebastian didn’t enjoy keeping information from Maggie. He wasn’t lying or being deceptive. But, how else does one go about trying to plan a surprise if the recipient knew anything about it? He tried to diffuse Maggie’s disappointment, though, promising scheduled adventures around the extra work.

As the weeks rolled on, Maggie suggested adventures less and less. It felt more like Sebastian was too busy, and maybe he was only humoring her and didn’t really want to spend so much time together, anymore… .

The week before Christmas, Maggie and Ominis hung out in the music room. Sebastian was off working, and the weather was a little too bleak for doing anything outside. Ominis played the piano, no particular tune, just whatever came to mind. He started to play a Christmas tune, but abruptly stopped when he heard a distinct sound a few feet away.

“Magdalena, are you alright?” he asked gently.  “You sound… like you’re crying.”

Maggie sniffled, approaching her friend and sat next to him on the piano bench. “I wrote a song, and I wanted to perform it for Sebastian for Christmas.”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” Ominis replied happily.

“I don’t think I’ll get to do it, though.”

“Why not?”

“He’s too busy. He doesn’t even hang out with you, Ominis. It’s like he’s trying to avoid us.”

Ominis frowns. “I spend far too much time with him whether I want to or not. We share a dorm room. We always have. He’s in almost all of my classes, and he insists on conferring with me on our notes the night before we have tests.” He takes a breath, sensing the weight of Maggie’s words. “It’s just temporary,” Ominis offers gently. “You’ll see. He’ll be back to annoying you at every turn before you know it.”

Maggie tried to stay patient, but when the last day of classes ends and she sought Sebastian out to suggest doing something fun before Christmas, he’s nowhere to be found. Frustrated, she sent him an owl.

“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I thought maybe we could spend it together, since we’ll both be staying at school. Ice skating, sledding, snowball fights, hot cocoa? I miss you.”

Maggie was pleasantly surprised when she received Sebastian’s signature origami paper owl, charmed to fly until it landed in her hand. Inside was his reply: “Love to! Meet me at 3B’s in the morning. … PS: Miss you, too.”

The next morning, Maggie dressed warmly and headed to Hogsmeade. The town was beautiful, festive, and waking with excitement on Christmas Eve. Shop owners and townsfolk greeted everyone cheerfully. It put Maggie in such a festive mood by the time she reached the Three Broomsticks. Before she reached the door, though, Sebastian came out, carrying an old wooden box. He smiled widely, seeing Maggie approach, and gave her a one-armed hug.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Sebastian,” she greeted.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Mags,” he returned.

“What have you got?” she asked about the box.

Sebastian grimaced. “A very important delivery.”

“What? I thought you would be done working.”

Sebastian looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. It’s the last one. It’s really important.”

“Where do you need to deliver it to?” Maggie asked.

“A little town south of here, about an hour away.”

“Really? Sirona’s got you running all over the highlands on Christmas Eve, now?” She started to step past Sebastian, to go give Sirona a piece of her mind. But Sebastian stopped her.

“Nah, it’s for an old guy that needed a favor. I just couldn’t say no to him. Go with me, we can still spend the time together. I’ll fly us there so it won’t take that long.”

Reluctantly, Maggie agreed. Holding on tightly behind him, they fly off on Sebastian’s broom.

Maggie is so glad that Sebastian is always so warm. Even with her layers, she thought she might freeze if not for his warmth. “It’s really beautiful from up here,” she mused, though, watching the snow-covered countryside roll along beneath them.

Sebastian smiled. He pulled her a little closer, tucking her arms under his and her hands into his coat pocket. “Certainly not something you could see any old day of the year,” he agrees. “Oh, uh… I forgot to mention that the town we’re heading to is a muggle town, so we have to land and walk to the destination. But I have the address, and it’s supposed to be easy to find.”

After awhile of flying, that’s exactly what they did. Maggie’s eyes were bright as stars and her cheeks as red as cherries when they landed. “I haven’t been among only muggles since before I started at school,” she confessed to him. “Look at how prettily they’ve decorated their town!”

Sebastian held her close as they walk along, trying to keep her warm enough in one arm while he carried the wooden box in the other. He smiled down at Maggie as she delightedly pointed out mundanities in shop windows and along the main street. The far end of town was less shiny, with older buildings and less-to-no decorations in the streets.

“Are we still going the right way?” Maggie asked curiously. Despite Sebastian’s attempt to keep her warm, she’s cold. She can’t wait to head back to Hogsmeade and have something warm.

“This is the street,” Sebastian confirmed.

A few more blocks down, though, he stopped walking, looking at the numbers on the buildings with a very perplexed expression on his face.

“Holy crickets, are we lost?” Maggie asked. She’s not sure whether to laugh or cry.

A very plain-looking brick building lined the next block on one side. There was a plain white wooden door that looked like a main entrance, and a boy’s face watched them from a window near the door. Sebastian waved to the boy and pointed to the box. “Looking for Mary Graham’s house,” he said. “I’ve a delivery.”

The boy rolled his eyes and disappeared from the window.

“What’s the address?” Maggie asked quietly. “Maybe this Mary Graham is a tenant.”

Sebastian removed a crumpled paper from his pocket. The address matched their location, and it simply said ‘Mary Grahams house’.

The white wooden door slowly opened and the boy peaked out. “Mary Grahams, here,” he said. “Come in. I’ll show ya.” The boy turned into the dark depths of the building and Sebastian smiled at Maggie.

“Do me a favor, and just go along with me on this.” Wordless and wandless, he changed the look of their outfits by the time they stepped into the light inside.

Maggie shot him a look. Under their coats, they both now had red & green Christmas elf outfits on. Additionally, the wooden box Sebastian had been carrying transformed into a large and bulging velvet sack.

“You don’t look anything like a Santa Claus,” the boy that opened the door said dryly.

“You don’t look anything like Mary Grahams,” Sebastian retorted.

The boy stared for just a second, then turned toward a side room where the din of many young voices was buzzing.

Maggie grabbed Sebastian’s arm before he started to follow the boy into the side room. A strange feeling tickled along her spine. “What is this? What are you doing?”

Sebastian’s smile was a mix of excitement and nerves. “A favor.”

“Welcome to Mary Grahams House,” a middle-aged woman greeted, smiling widely. “We were sad to hear that Father Christmas had to take one of the reindeer to the vet,” she said with a subtle backward nod of her head. “But we are so grateful to have two of his helpers come visit the children, anyway. This way. The children are all in the great room.”

Maggie’s hands were shaking. She forced Sebastian to look at her. Her voice choked in her throat. She could barely whisper the words. “An orphanage, Seb?”

The look on his face was… indescribable. “It’s Christmas Eve, Mags. We both know what this is like without parents. Let’s just make some innocent magic for these kids.”

She was about to cry when the woman announced their arrival to the children, and the room before them erupted with cheers. Sebastian pulled her along into the room and they both were greeted with little voices wishing them Happy Christmas.

The afternoon kept them busy entertaining the children. They decorated cookies, told stories, and handed out presents. Maggie was surprised at how excited each child was to receive a gift. Before she knew it, it was time for them to go.

The boy that led them into the building now led them out. He stopped in the doorway, hanging on the knob. He looked at both Maggie and Sebastian. “You both did better than the old guy they had last year. He never had good gifts for the kids. Guess you got your community service sticker for this, huh?”

“You know, Robby,” Sebastian said with a frown. “We still have a gift for you.”

“How’d you know my name?” the boy asked.

Sebastian half turned to Maggie with a wink. “We’re magic elves.”

Maggie smiled at them both. But then she watched as Sebastian reached into his pocket and pulled out one of his charmed paper origami owls. He blew on it, and it took flight, circling the boy’s head.

“Catch it quick,” Sebastian whispered excitedly.

Not believing his eyes, Robby jumped up and caught the paper bird between his hands. When he looked back, Sebastian and Maggie had disappeared.

Concealed under the Disillusionment Charm just a few feet away, the two teens watched the boy’s eyes widen, and then his mouth, and then he opened his hands to find not the origami owl but a pocket-sized RC race car. The boy was stunned. But he took a deep breath and yelled into the chilling evening air “Thank you!” and rushed inside.

Maggie said nothing. She was cold. She was tired. She was overwhelmed. She silently clung to Sebastian the whole ride back to Hogwarts. They took the school’s floo flame network to the DADA tower and then made their way down the Undercroft.

Sebastian had hoped Maggie would have said something. He was cold and tired and overwhelmed, too. But it felt so good to give the kids some fun for a couple of hours, even if it somehow bothered Maggie. He didn’t know why she was quiet, but he hoped it wan’t because he’d been an idiot, again.

There was a decorated tree with wrapped presents under it in the Undercroft, and Ominis’ piano off to one side. The table they frequently studied at had lit candles and dishes ready for a meal. But Sebastian walked past all that as if it wasn’t there. He built a wonderful fire in the hearth and made them some hot cocoa while Maggie sat on the over-stuffed sofa to warm up.

“That was amazing, Sebastian,” Maggie finally spoke. “I wanted to tell you that before, but every time I started to, I ... I started to cry.” Her voice cracked and she sniffled.

Sebastian sat next to her on the sofa and gently reached up to brush his thumb across her cheek. He smiled softly. “I wanted to give you something really special,” he said lowly.  “Ominis suggested something that would be special to us both. The first thing that crossed my mind was how we’re both orphans. Then I got to thinking about all that, and… well….”

She stopped his words with a kiss. Above them, a soft tiny bell twinkled as mistletoe magically appeared. Maggie laughed softly, followed by Sebastian.

“Happy Christmas Eve, Mags.”

“Happy Christmas Eve, Sebastian.”

[maeday1551]

Fic snippet

Already posted on twitter but sharing here too as motivation for me to finish it. The haladriel brainrot is real. I am resorting to writing to work on my emotions about it all. :D

This is a snippet from a Five Things fic I have had percolating in my brain for years now. Five Times They Met at the Door and One Time They Didn't. This is from a middle chapter.

+ + + + +

"How goes the quest for peace?"

For a moment, he could mistake it for the echo of a memory but the sound was oddly distorted— heard as if he were underwater and the speaker just above the surface. The voice mocked him, even more than it had when she'd first spoken the words.

"Galadriel."

He could not help the smirk that lifted his expression. He could not hold back his enjoyment of her, even in this low moment.

He could sense her at the periphery of his vision, disappearing if he looked too close. He let his vision unfocus and could then pick out the shape of her. Dainty steps, her elegance effortless, as she slowly set about circling him for once. Her figure was clothed in a plain white dress, her hair bound, plaited in a crown around her head. The Commander, going into battle. He could not see her face and it chaffed.

She spoke no more but he knew she was still there, waiting. She came no closer, but he could feel the edges of her pressing against his mind. A strange sensation, for once, normally she was pulling from his grasp. He had missed her.

"Did you find yourself reminiscing over your better days?" He asked, gesturing at the Numenorean jail cell. It could have been the same cell she had been led to, all those years ago, but some things had changed. Torn down, the statues of his brethren. Torn down, simple comforts extended even to prisoners. There would be no mercy given here, the walls said. Only retribution and the taste of despair.

She still did not speak. He let his thoughts rake against her mind, brought close to his by her own will. It felt like touching a reflection in the water, his expectation diverted. She had gotten better at this, it seemed. Who had taught her, he wondered?

"I will tell them to keep a cell ready for you. They are so easily agitated, you know. Fearful of all, but especially of their betters. The Valar. The elves. Who knows where their ships may sail, in their quest to test their own mettle."

Again, her voice echoed to him, the sound of distant waves crashing and her tones tumbling as if flung from a tempest. "Are you threatening me from a jail cell, Sauron?"

He couldn't help it, perhaps he was tired. He flinched at the name and knew she could see it. Perhaps he'd let his guard down too far, especially around her. She had a way of making him desire that. The moniker was vexing at the best of times but worse somehow for the way she spit out the word. He could feel her satisfaction at seeing his distaste but he was starting to see her more clearly now. He did not turn his face towards her, lest she pull away again.

He willed his voice to be even. Mild. "I have never threatened you."

"Lies." She hissed, and at last she was in front of him, her voice clear of the sea and her eyes ablaze and piercing him to his depths. For a moment, she resembled the drowned maiden, highlighted by lightning and hair drenched and tussled by wind and sea—but after a moment her figure resolved back to only Galadriel, angry and scowling at him. The only thing missing was a dagger.

He merely smiled at her.

"There you are."

+ + + + +

[smurphyse]

The Avocado I Didn't Have | Eddie Munson

Smurph's Masterlist | Zero to Hero Masterlist

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, depictions of gore, monster fights, descriptions of blood, overuse of 80s song lyrics

Summary: Because your friends won't let you have just one day to yourself, you venture out into the Darkness only to find Edward Munson bleeding out

Sunlight filters in through the windows, a soft breeze billowing the curtains, making them dance along with the wind. The chimes on the porch tinkle while the suncatchers spread colors along the walls. Warmth from the morning sun washes over my legs as I swing them off the bed and stretch out the stiffness in my shoulders.

Reaching high and rolling my neck, I intertwine my fingers and let out a little groan. Recently I've been sleeping like shit, and last night wasn’t any better. Dreams of the Darkness and the lab haunted me through fitful tossing and turning along the sheets. They used to happen every night, sometimes during the day, but they had become fewer and further between. This uptick in nightmares rocks me to the core every time they decide to rear their ugly head. 

I let my arms down slowly, feeling a bit better and loose. The hardwood is warm from the sun streams under my bare feet as I make my way to the kitchen. I mutter my usual hellos to my army of houseplants I have scattered around the cabin, and I'm rewarded with their bright happy flora and leaves trailing about. The pothos enjoy their spots up on the bookshelves I’ve got lining the walls while the succulents bask in the warmth on the windowsill.

It’s just one big room -open kitchen with a window facing the front yard that hides my cabin with its array of trees in the dense forest, rugs along the hardwood and crappy armchairs I’ve found over the years sit in front of the fireplace- but it’s home. I found this cabin in the secluded off-the-trails area of Hawkins some years ago and fixed it up the best I could. It took a lot of learning and reading, but luckily I have a little telekinesis that comes in handy when it comes to lifting heavy things and turning tight bolts into wood.

I push aside a few errant vines I keep forgetting to trail along the nails I’ve put in the beams, but once again decide I’m not going to worry about it today. Pulling the coffee pot from the carafe, I slide it between the greenery and fill it with water. Where I am, the water is infected where it’s not dried out, so I bring in water jugs and fill it in the reservoir I’ve set up out back behind the cabin. Another reminder I’ve made my life harder than it needs to be.

But this is safer. There’s safety in seclusion.

"Hey… Hey… What’s the matter with your head, yeah," Redbone croons through the speakers as I putter around in an old flannel and underwear. “Hey… hey… what's the matter with your mind and your sign and oh.”

My sleeve rolls up as I pour the water into the coffee maker, and even all these years later my eyes go straight for the tattoo on my wrist. 000 stands out like a brand. I suppose that’s exactly what it is. I’ve thought about covering it almost every day since escaping Papa and his military goons, but I’ve never been able to make myself get new ink. One, it would require going to a more populated area and showing an ID that I don’t have to prove I’m above the age of eighteen. Two, it’s a part of me.

A painful soul wrenching part that will never leave. Covering the ink won’t fix me no matter how much I wish it would. 

You have to know, daughter, Papa’s voice echoes from those deep caverns of memory, always at the worst times. I do these things because I love you. You’re capable of greatness, and we need to bring it to the light. Do you understand?

“Do you understand?” I mock to the empty room, making a face and scoffing. I slap the carafe into the pot and let it percolate, then head outside to check my garden.

In the mood for something yummy after such a shit night, I wander through the thick grass and enjoy the sun on my skin as I make my way over. The garden’s expansive, full of more food than I’ll ever realistically eat on my own, but it doesn’t matter. What I don’t use I take down to Stoney Hightower at the Farmer’s Market in Greencastle, the next town over from Hawkins, and he gives me enough for my troubles and my out-of-season fresh strawberries.

I have everything, from tomatoes to potatoes, from bananas to avocados. The half acre of vegetation is spattered with high stalks and fruit trees, plumed with green bean sprouts and cabbages. My powers had been honed long ago, the initial telekinesis I showed as an infant growing until it included element manipulation.

When I finally learned it was all chemistry, simple mathematics and formulas taught by my father, it all made more sense. Papa wanted to turn me into a weapon. All I’d ever wanted to do was create. He wanted me to destroy, and when I refused I was punished.

Eleven years after escaping him and Hawkins’ lab, I hadn’t gone far. I retreated to the Darkness and inside created my safe space. At twenty six I’ve been alone almost half my life, and I like it that way… but it gets lonely here sometimes.

I pluck a few avocados from a tree, eyeing the Darkness at the edge of my property. The red and purple clouds seem to breathe on their own as they wage their constant war to entreat on my home, only giving way to the sunshine dome around me. I’ve kept myself hidden in this little enclave, masking the area so only I can enter. It’s hard some days to keep up the shield around it, to make sure Henry can’t enter, but so far he hasn’t stepped foot inside.

I can see the creatures circling in the distant crackling sky, and I cock my head as I wonder what food they’ve found in the desolate Dark. Deciding I don’t want to know, I turn on my heel only to come face to face with one of the creatures themselves.

Shrieking like a scared rabbit, I fall hard on my ass and scramble away until my back hits the avocado tree. My precious fruits bounce away and my fucked up brain grieves the avocado I didn’t have before dying. Chest heaving, I blink through the harsh sunlight as its shadow covers me and it’s twitching head cocks to the side.

The head is a giant bird skull with no visible eyes and thin skin, with leathery wings and sharp claws. It’s the size of two grown vultures, massive and imposing. It lets out a little brrup and hops toward me, so I reach out to pet its beak.

“Screech! You scared the shit outta me!” I huff, letting out a relieved chuckle. Screech pats his foot in bliss as my heart rate slows to normal, humming happily and nuzzling his bony chin further into my hand.

I push him away and get to my feet, ignoring Screech’s little groan of disappointment and the insistent fluttering of his wings. He’s always so needy. I put my hands on my hips and cock a brow at him, “Where’s Clem?”

The creature shrugs and looks away, not wanting to give his cuddles to his sister. I hook one finger under his beak and pull at him until he faces me. Though he’s at least twice my height, he knows I’m in charge and after a few tugs he relents.

“Where’s Clem, Screech?”

A small gurgling bark from behind makes my eyes go wide, and I turn just in time for Clem herself to barrel into my chest. I hit the ground harder than the first time, sliding through the grass as she nuzzles into me and licks every inch of skin she can reach. Laughing madly, I pat her leathery skin, the tickling feeling of her flower-bud mouth tingling all over.

I finally manage to roll out from under her and get to my feet, holding out my hands playfully. She wags her tail, her bulky body coiled to pounce on me once more. The size of a small horse, Clem acts like a dog. Just like Screech, she has no eyes, just that flower-shaped mouth that spreads wide when she opens it.

“What are you two up to today?” I ask suspiciously. “Dinner isn’t until six. You guys know that.”

They exchange a look as well as they can with no eyeballs, but it’s clear enough. Just as I’m about to demand an answer, Screech hangs his head and points one bony wing to where the creatures circle the sky.

Something is out there.

“Well, shit.”

I kick aside the avocado I didn’t have before dying, resenting it more than grieving it now. Stomping back to the cabin, I wave my hands as Screech and Clem follow me closely up the hill.

“I fully intended to have a me day, y’know? I was gonna have a bath, a glass of wine,” I call to them as I bang around in my room. I pull on a pair of jeans and heavy boots for the coolness, snag a jacket off the back of the door. “And you two show up and now I have to go into the Dark.”

Clambering into the kitchen, I glare at them through the porch window. I pour fresh coffee into a thermos as they watch me, letting out little chirrups of embarrassment while they wait patiently. I huff and squint at them, “This isn’t something you can handle by yourselves?”

Clem and Screech shake their heads, so I let out a dramatic groan and head for the gun closet. I’ve collected a handful of useful weapons over the years, made a few myself, but I instinctively reach for the pistol holster and their respective pieces. I grab the shotgun and loop the strap over my shoulders before closing it and snatching my thermos off the counter. 

Kicking the door open, I step onto the porch. It creaks with my weight, slight as it is. I’ve been meaning to replace the slats but that would mean going into the real world and I haven’t been up for it lately with all the nightmares. I frown at my two little monsters as I pull my long curls into a ponytail.

“This better be good, guys.”

I head off the porch to the side of the cabin, hopping into the ‘84 robin’s egg blue Jeep that lay nestled between the trees. I’d… procured it some years ago and brought it through a gate I’ve since closed. I keep it in tiptop condition, proud of my car that nobody gets to see with its registration that once belonged to someone named Haley Goddard. Poor Haley. I’m certainly never going to give it back. 

I’ve found myself capable of a lot of things since leaving the lab when at first I was like a scared puppy in the rain, unsure and terrified. I find books in bargain bins and when I have enough money I buy better ones on everything from mechanics to architecture to horticulture. Learning’s in my DNA thanks to Papa, so I enjoy it even though the thought of him makes my skin crawl.

Clem and Screech lead me through the trail of trees to the edges of my property, which I affectionately call The Haven. We venture into the Darkness, the sunshiney dome of the Haven shifting quickly to the deep purple storms. While I have reception in the Haven, it’s spotty at best in the Darkness, so I pop in a mix-tape I found at the record store to let some semblance of my morning routine happen while I sip my coffee from the thermos.

“If you're all alone when the pretty birds have flown. Honey, I'm still free, take a chance on me,” ABBA comes through on the speakers, a little crackly, but I don’t mind. I pull a face and decide to roll with it, swaying in time with the music as I enter a storm.

The rolling clouds surround us as we drive around the vines, creatures swarming the Jeep but they know to leave us be. I’ve killed enough of them that they avoid me and my bright blue car. I only really have to deal with them now if I get in their way.

I drive through the Dark Hawkins, following Screech and Clem through winding roads in the boonies until we reach the trailer park. Once, before the Darkness took over this place, the buildings were pristine, beautiful. Better looking than they were in the real world. Now, the vines and monsters have taken over and encircle everything with a flurry of dust and violence.

It’s a shame. This world was my safe place once. The entirety of it mimicked the Haven, not just my little property. Henry and I spent hours exploring and mapping all of it, playing with the creatures before they all turned to blood and death. Before Henry’s own demons followed and destroyed everything.

“'Cause you know I've got so much that I wanna do. When I dream I'm alone with you,” I sing along as we go deeper into the Darkness. Clem and Screech lead me through the haze of those flying ratbat fuckers that Henry created, about five miles from the Haven. “It’s magic.”

A group of them were crouched around something, pulling and biting as I hop out of the Jeep. Deciding it might be best to make a quick getaway, I leave the door open as my feet hit the ground, careful to avoid the vines. I don’t want Henry to know I’m here.

The music plays as I approach, tiptoeing around the tendrils embedded in the dirt as Huey Lewis & The News echoes around the Dark, “I was walkin’ down a one-way street, just a-lookin’ for someone to meet…”

I swat away the swarm, poking at them with the butt of the shotgun. One of them turns and hisses at me, swinging out a clawed hand. I smash the gun on its head and kick another, and soon enough they back off, skirring as they slink away.

“Now I'm hopin' (hopin') that the feeling is right, and I'm wonderin' (wonderin') if you'll stay for the night…”

Clem and Screech push them further away as I inspect their prey. My lip curls into a disgusted snarl as I approach, eyeing the splattered blood and hardly recognizable jeans. An electric guitar hangs limply in one of the person’s hands, the strings snapped and the body cracked.

They must have made their way through to the real world and dragged some poor bastard inside.

Skin and bone sticks up from leather and cotton fabric, shredded and glistening far too brightly in this dimmed and darkened place. While Clem and Screech keep the creatures at bay, I kneel beside the body and reach to the blood-covered face of this person. I press the back of my hand to their cheek. It’s sticky with drying blood but still warm.

I let my fingers trail down the mess of broken bones and snagged skin, wrapping my hand around the wrist and feeling for a pulse.

"If you believe it, take my hand, and I'll take your heart…”

I can faintly feel something, but it’s hard to tell like this. I set the gnarled hand down and press my fingers to the throat. Matted hair and sweat lines the person’s skin, and I have to peel some thick curling strands away. It’s fading…. But I can feel it.

This person is alive.

Making sure Clem and Screech are holding their own, shrieking and clawing at the flying ratbats, I push away some hair from their head to get a better look at them. I inspect them as I cup their face gently in my hands. Taking a deep breath, I let myself relax for what I’m about to do.

Any medical combat situation starts with this question, Zero, Colonel Sullivan’s voice comes from the back of my mind, How do I stop the bleeding?

I suck in air through my nose as I focus, letting my friends protect me while I help this person. Platelets stick together around wounds to stop the bleeding. They need help though. Protein binds with platelets to form a fibrin clot. 

I need to form a fibrin clot. 

I’ve done this enough times on myself but this person is bleeding badly. Barely able to fathom how they’re still alive, I hope they were at least unconscious for the creatures eating into their belly.

Picturing the blood vessels shrinking to slow the blood flow, the energy in the body kickstarts to healing with my help. As they constrict, I hum to focus. The platelets move to cover the injuries, the brain activating to begin coagulation. Sticky blood pools beneath my knees as I work, and my nose begins to drip with the effort. 

Guiding protein to the platelets, I let the body begin the process and let go, doing my best to ignore the copper scent of blood as I wipe it away from my upper lip. There will be a lot of work for me to do on them, but for now this will last until we get back to the Haven. Pulling a handkerchief from my back pocket, I spit on one corner and begin to wipe away the blood and dirt.

For a moment I think they might be a woman, they’re so pretty. Soft rounded cheekbones give way to full lips, but the Adam’s apple on his throat tells me he’s a man. He’s young, probably my age, and much too gentle looking to be in a place like this.

Patting him down as the creatures hiss around me for taking their food, I feel until I find the thin lining of a wallet in his back pocket. I dig it out and flip it open, reading the name on the license in the little window.

Edward Wayne Munson, DOB 10/31/1965.

There’s a few other interesting things in his pockets, such as one of those twenty-sided dice nerds like to use in their games. I’d read about D&D, but seeing as I have no friends I’ve never played. A slip of paper folded up in one reads, Corroded Coffin, tonight only! with a picture of a curly-haired guitarist on stage with his band. I also find a joint in his jacket pocket, pre-rolled and in good condition, and I chuckle as I stuff it into my jacket along with his other things for safe keeping.

“Do you believe in love? Do you believe it's true?” Huey Lewis sings from the car as I zip his jacket to keep his organs inside during the drive. The last thing I need is to clean guts from the upholstery.

I loop the shotgun and guitar over my back with the straps, then lean over and grab Edward Munson under the armpits and drag him back to the car. I try to avoid the vines, but as I pull him along, Edward gasps and jerks one of his arms from my grasp.

“Fuck,” I hiss as I scramble to hold onto him. “Stay still!”

He struggles anyways, panic and pain likely taking over despite his weakness and the damage to his body. I grip his hair tightly at the crown, pull his head back to look at me. I find myself gazing into bright brown eyes that are full of terror and glistening with tears.

“I’m going to help you,” I say sternly. “Let me help you.”

Edward lets out a breath of relief, and I let his head drop back down. But then he spots Screech, Clem, and the ratbats. His legs kick out in a panic. Right into one of the vines.

“Well… shit.”

Lightning flashes across the sky with a thunderous crack! The clouds turn red, pulsing in the dark and rolling straight toward us, and I drop him in my fear. He hits the ground hard, but I pull him up again in a flash, a mad dash of panic to get the hell back to safety.

Screech jumps back from the swarm, snapping his beak at the ratbats. He snarls as Clem takes pleasure in biting the heads off any that she can reach. I drag Edward to the Jeep, yelling and cursing even though I’m sure he’s unconscious again.

“You stupid fuck!” I scream as I pull him under the open door. More of the swarm appears, and one tugs at my ponytail, dragging me back until I fall on my ass on the cold ground.

My hand flashes back to grip it at the base. Tears spring to my eyes as it jerks my head back and forth. The wings flap loudly, only the roaring of the rising wind audible over it. Letting out a screech, I manage to pull one of the pistols from my holster and point it behind my head.

The pop is deafening, a dull ringing bursting across my eardrum as the wind howls in my other. The creature yelps as the bullet hits meat, releasing me and flopping across the ground in pain. I scramble to my feet, holding my hand out as I force the ground to raise Edward to the level of the Jeep seats. Quickly rounding the car, I jump into the passenger side and pull him in, then lean the seat back as far as it will go and shove him down on it.

Pulling the passenger door closed, I climb over him to the driver’s side, slamming it shut. Throwing the car in reverse, I back up enough to give Clem and Screech room to defend us, then slap it in drive and tear off toward the Haven.

The sky booms with lights and electricity. The storms burst from the area of town where the old Creel house is, where Henry hides, and my jaw drops as it heads straight toward my little car. Fear bursts through my veins at the thought of him catching me. I stomp down on the gas, the Jeep rattling and bouncing over each bump and vine I’d taken care to avoid on the way here.

Edward groans, struggling to sit up with every bounce of the shocks on the crappy road. His voice slurs, deep and husky as he asks, “What the fuck it going on?”

“Shut up, dipshit!”

He looks my way with bleary eyes. Still bleeding, still damaged, likely beyond repair. I’m not sure I’ll be able to save him, and all I can think about is that damned avocado I should have had before venturing out into a waking nightmare. He nods and goes limp, and I curse to nobody, “Great! Just great! I just wanted to have one nice day!”

I spot Clem and Screech in the rearview mirror, just as fast as the ratbats though they are much bigger. The speedometer hits 80 mph before I reach the borders of the Haven, winding through trees and the trails. I don’t slow until I see Clem and Screech follow me inside.

The creatures hiss outside as they approach the sunlit patch of land, coming up short and snarling at me from a distance. Even though I know they won’t, I sigh a breath of relief that they don’t follow us inside.

By the time I park next to the cabin, my body turns to jelly. My fingers and hands shake as I peel them from the steering wheel. Looking over to the man slumped over in my passenger seat, I shake my head.

“You better be worth it, Munson.”

Smurph's Masterlist | Zero to Hero Masterlist

Notes: Okay, I've been working on this for a while... I need to know what you think of Zero and if you like her/the story so far. I'm really excited for this story and I want you guys to like it! &lt;3

Also, the faceclaim for Zero is Adria Arjona because I think she looks similar to me even though I'm Siksika and she's Latina. We share very similar features ngl Zero is a projection of parts of myself

Stranger Things Taglist: @tlclick73 @theloser007 @sadbitchfangirl @chaoticcancer  @harrys-tittie @assassinsasha23

[blackjackkent]

I may be away camping right now but the BG3 feels do not stop. Quick drabble-y fic-y thing that mostly percolated during the long drive out here. :D Set immediately after the fight in Grymforge in my current (first) playthrough.

----

"C'mon, Soldier. Wake up," Karlach says gently. Her hands fall to her side as the Revivify scroll, its incantation spent, drifts to dust in the stinking, boiling air of Grymforge. "We're not done yet. You've got to come back."

Hector's battered body lies unmoving on the blood-spattered stone floor. A little ways away, Shadowheart crouches next to Gale's equally still form, struggling to work her way through the words of another scroll as the necrotic aura of his death swirls around her. 

"I can feel them," the dark cleric gasps out as she completes the spell and staggers backwards out of the choking cloud. "The absence of them, I mean."

Karlach nods absently. "Yeah. Me too." 

Normally, she is only vaguely aware of the strange bond the tadpoles have forged between the minds of their little group. But it's always there, and there is a ragged hole in the tapestry of their mixed thoughts where the monk and the wizard have been ripped from it. Gale's ever-meandering, ever-preoccupied ramble of ponderings and observations is silent. And even more distinctly, the sturdy pillar of Hector's determination and fear, intertwined in equal measure, has vanished. 

It's surprising, unsettling, how empty she feels without it. Hector stood between her and Wyll's blade; he saw the good in her at once and spoke up for it. He is always afraid but he masters it and fights forward anyway. He is the common thread holding them all together, determined to draw them to do right even through all the misery and confusion. 

She watches the pale gold of the Revivify spell slowly drifting over his body, working its way across burned and broken skin. "Wake up, Hec," she mutters again. "Don't make us do this without you."

For a long, strained moment, it seems as if the spell has halted, has failed - and then Hector's body convulses around a ragged breath inward. His gray eyes flicker halfway open, squinting up at Karlach in blank confusion. 

She feels herself relax, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and a grin flashes onto her face, bright with relief. "There he is. Morning, Soldier."

Most of the time, deaths in Zariel's army were left where they fell. As the general's pet, however, Karlach has been subject to a few revivifications; she knows what he is going through. 

To be revived is a process almost as traumatic as the death that preceded it. It is like being wrapped in a thick blanket, buried in the deepest, most soothing slumber… and then having it ripped away, the hammer blow of reality striking into your chest and demanding, breathe! And with the breath comes pain, and fear, and everything you were feeling when you died multiplied by tenfold, along with the creeping bitter sense of mortality like some beast's teeth wrapped around your throat. 

Death, in truth, is much simpler than life. Death is silence and peace. Life… is everything else. Perhaps she does him no favors in reviving him. 

Perhaps she does it more for herself. 

She can see him flinch away for a moment, a panicked roll of the head, staring blindly around and seeking instinctively to struggle back into the darkness. But the spell is implacable. There is no going back, not yet. 

"You're all right," she said softly. "Take a moment." 

She wishes she could help him, take one of his hands or touch his shoulder, ground him back in himself. But the engine in her chest is burning hot as all the hells, mixing with the humid oven of the air around them. To touch him in his current state might very well kill him again. 

So she just watches as he struggles back to consciousness. Slowly the panic fades, replaced by numb recognition, then miserable exhaustion. His eyes find hers and stay fixed there for a long moment. 

Then he draws another breath, steadier this time. Seeing her smile, he struggles to muster one in response, but it looks more like a grimace as it twists the burn along his cheek, the rip in the skin of his jaw. 

"You must feel right at home here," he groans out hoarsely. "So… bloody hot."

"Too at home, really," she answers dryly. "Sooner we're out of here, the better, if you ask me."

The breath catches in his throat in a hacking cough. "Did we… did we do it? Is it over?" 

"It's over." She nods. "Nere is dead. All the dwarves too. The gnomes are safe." Her grin twitches, a flash of the gallows humor of the battlefield. "Thought we lost you and Gale too for a moment, but all's well, as they say, yeah?" 

She's trying to elicit another attempt at a smile, to help bring him back and push the dead haunted look out of his eyes. Instead, she realizes that he has started to tremble violently, his eyes squeezing shut and head turning away from her. His breath starts to come faster, his chest jolting with each struggling inhale. Tears squeeze out from under his eyelids, mixing with the sweat and dirt and blood caking his skin. 

"Damn it…" he whispers brokenly. "So many dead. I keep thinking, perhaps this time we will find allies, perhaps this time there will be no violence, perhaps this time I will do it right, mend the rifts, find the right words to say…" 

Karlach frowns with some alarm. Hector has often seemed worried, troubled, but this is altogether uncharacteristic. 

"They were slavers," she says uncertainly. "Cruel bastards. We didn't want to be their allies."

He struggles around another shaky breath. His fingers flex, looking for some purchase and stability that isn't there. "But I didn't want to kill them," he whispers. "I didn't want to kill anyone. Right from the start…" A pause, then even more softly, almost ashamed, "There must have been a way to convince them to leave. To stop the slaughter, the cruelty…" 

Karlach shakes her head slightly. "Some people're just monsters, I think, Soldier," she says quietly. "No way round it."

He's silent a long time, the ragged breaths beginning to slow again as the panic and grief expend themselves. "You call me that," he finally mutters, not looking at her. "But I don't think I much live up to it. I don't want to fight. I don't want to kill, I don't want to die. I don't want to be here at all." He opens his eyes and looks up at her with a pathos that makes her heart twist unexpectedly in her chest. "I just want to go home…but there's so much blood in the way…" 

She is struck once again by the sudden urge to touch him, squeeze his hand in reassurance, in solidarity. She can see his fingers twitching as if to reach out to her, too - but he knows as well as she does the danger of that. 

All she has to comfort him are words. "If you think no soldier's ever felt that way… you're far wrong," she says gently, after considering in silence for a moment. "I know I never fought 'cos I liked it. Only 'cos it seemed like sometime it might be over. And I wanted to be alive to come out the other side."

As she speaks, she can see him start to further calm, the soft slow rhythm of her voice giving his breathing and heartbeat something to measure themselves by. His eyes have opened again, his gaze holding onto her like a lifeline in a storm. 

"I can't remember anything," he mutters after a while. "Of the… of death, I mean. Selune…surely she was waiting for me. But why can't I remember…"

She shifts from her kneeling posture to sit next to him. In lieu of being able to pat his shoulder, her fingers brush repetitively over the grooves of the stone floor. "You'd know more about that than I would," she says. "But… 'f you ask me, there's things we en't… meant to hold onto and still be alive. Doesn't mean it en't there, yeah? Still waiting. She'll still be there. When you're ready."

He hesitates, then nods. Some of the tension goes out of him and he sags against the floor bonelessly. "We should… make camp," he mumbles. "Rest. Where are the others? You said Gale--" 

"Gale's fine," she says soothingly. Out of the corner of her eye she can see the wizard has sat up and is holding forth to a weary-looking Shadowheart while gesticulating with his ribbon-wrapped pouch in one hand. "And we'll make camp. You rest here, all right?" 

As she starts to pull away, he reaches out a hand towards her hesitantly. His fingertips stop just shy of brushing her wrist. Both of them freeze and she finds herself unable to look away from him, from the gesture not quite completed. 

"Thank you," he whispers. "For being here. For bringing me back."

The engine in her chest gives an unsettling whir, and the temperature between them abruptly climbs by several degrees. She swallows, tries to grin carelessly again and finds the expression harder to muster this time. 

"More of us the merrier, right?" she says, deliberately light. "Wouldn't be the same without you." Before he can respond, before she can let herself think too much about this oddly charged moment, she turns away with a snap and stands up. "Just rest, Soldier. I'll see to camp."

[genderfluidloki]

The Artist’s Way, wk 1

The Artist’s Way. It was really important to my aunt, Sandy. She was a writer and a big reason why I wanted… why I want to be one, too. She was important to me.

Last year I did start The Artist’s Way. It’s a book, a guide, a class, on how to heal your inner artist, basically. Written by Julia Cameron.

I made it through about 10 out of 12 weeks, albeit very slowly and not at the pace intended, I skipped a lot of the tasks I was meant to do. That attempt did get me journaling regularly! For the most part, I’ve been journalling ever since then, with some gaps. Though I didn’t do it “right” and I want to, I still benefited from it.

Cue me doomscrolling recently through Facebook (yeah… I’m on Facebook more than I’d like to admit), I saw a call for participation in a group of artists going through the book together, and without even thinking, I immediately signed up.

I’ve wanted to go back and do it again from scratch quite badly. I always struggle with discipline, with motivating myself on my own without feedback and community. I have very high hopes.

As I write this, the second weekly meeting is tonight. I didn’t make it to the first one, I prioritized going to my cousin’s (said aunt’s daughter) birthday potluck. I’m very glad I made that decision.

 In one week, without even meeting the other participants, I can already see the impact it’s making on me.

I crammed yesterday a bit. I went on my Artist’s Date, and I also finished up the tasks I had left, one of which ended up with me writing a letter to my aunt. I didn’t mention before, but my aunt died in 2019. While she was in hospice, I promised her on her death bed that I would write again.

I’ll go into it another time, but I have a lot of baggage with writing.

I wrote her, and I didn’t really end up going along with the assignment, but it was necessary. I have in the past years, gotten very good at being happy that she was here, at the expense of letting myself be sad that she’s gone. It was nice to let myself be sad. I miss her, I want to talk to her.

Desperately, I want to talk to her about my writing. Bounce ideas off of, talk to her about how fucking hard it is. I feel very alone, in that writing feels like an identity to me but I haven’t really written in a decade. I feel damaged, I can’t access that part of me anymore. I know she went through something similar.

I fundamentally need someone to care about my writing, in order for me to write it. I don’t really have that right now, and I want it to be her. I wish it could be her. I want her praise. I want her to tell me what a cool book it is that’s percolating in my head, and I want that to be the thing that makes me write again.

I told her I’d write. I told her while she was dying. It shouldn’t be this hard of a promise to keep, and yet it is. I will keep it though. It’s a promise for me as much, if not more, than it is for her. I am so desperate to tell my stories. I’m going to tell them.

I had some breakthroughs during my artist date. I went to the library and read things that gave me inspiration and then I came home and I wrote!

I’m letting myself be sad and be mad that she isn’t here to read it. I have to make peace with it, though. I’m writing for her, for myself, whatever I’m writing for, she won’t read it and I can’t talk to her about it. But I will write it for me.

I’ve written a little bit today, but I had to get some feelings out. I think I’m going to regularly blog this journey, even if no one reads it. It will cathartic, anyway.

That said, if you did read all this, know that it means a lot to me. At the end of the day, what I want more than anything is to be heard and seen. Thank you.

[duskwoodgirl4life]

Chapter 6

Jake stayed the night in my bed. It was like he had never left. We felt so familiar with each other we just lay next to each other and talked for a while before we both fell asleep. I woke up before Jake so I went and made some coffee for the both of us. While the coffee was percolating I got into the shower letting the bot water wash over me. Just as I wrapped the towel around me Jake knocked on the bathroom door. "It's okay Jake you can come in" the door slowly opened and in came Jake he had a slightly swollen nose and some bruising under his eyes. "Morning MC have you got any painkillers? My head's banging" I smiled at him and went towards the bathroom cabinet and grabbed the painkillers for him. "Here you go take two of these and your head will soon stop hurting. I'm making some coffee. Do you want some?"

Jake took the painkillers with a glass of water he walked over to me and kissed me lightly on the cheek. "Thank you MC, I'd love some coffee" I go make some coffee Jake is quick to follow me I can't help but smile. But then a thought hits me: what am I doing? Are Jake and I just falling back into our old habits? Can this ever work again? Should we even try again? I don't know if I can just be friends with him. Lost in my own thoughts Jake comes up behind me and knocks me out of my thoughts. "You okay MC? You look a little lost" I turn around and face Jake. "MC, what are we doing? Are we getting back together! Do you want to give us another go?" I was completely taken back by what he said, the shock was written all over my face.

"I don't know Jake I thought about it I really have but I don't know I love you that hasn't changed. Is going back to how we were really the best way" I saw all the emotion drain from Jake's face. I didn't want to hurt him, I really didn't but is it a good idea to give things another go? Or should I just let him be with Emma. Maybe he could learn to love her. "Jake I really do care for you my feelings towards you haven't changed. I just don't know if getting back together is the right thing to do" Jake comes closer towards me pressing his forehead against mine. "One last goodbye kiss" before I could respond his lips had crashed down onto mine. His hands roaming all over my body I felt everything inside me crumble. All the walls I'd put up to try and stay strong just came tumbling down.

I watch as Jake leaves my apartment tears start to roll down my cheek. My heart felt like it had been broken into a million pieces. I had to try and stay strong letting Jake go was the right thing to do.

Jake's POV

As I walk back home I can still taste MC in my lips. I can smell her scent all over me, I know the reason why she's done what she's done. Is it a choice I'm happy with? No, I wanted to give us another go. I understand why she has done it. Maybe getting back together would have opened up old wounds. Wounds that need to stay closed. My future with Emma is still unclear. I do like her but I don't love her not in the way she loves me. My heart belongs to MC I think deep down it always will do.

As I'm walking back home my phone buzzes my heart skips a beat at the thought of it being MC. But disappointment soon hits when I see that it's Emma that's texting me.

Emma: Hey babe do you wanna meet up tonight you could come round to mine and I can cook us dinner xx

Jake: Hey, I can't tonight I've got plans with my sisters

Emma: please babe, I really want to see you

Jake: I can't I'm sorry but I can come round on Friday night and spend the night if you want ❤️

Emma: I can't be mad at you I can't wait for Friday babe I love you xx

Jake: I love you to xx

I put the phone back in my pocket and I got a feeling of absolute dread wash over me. Why did I just tell her I love her? Sure I like her but not like that. I guess it's the only way I can move on from MC. I have to at least give whatever this is with Emma a chance. At least by Friday the bruising on my face will be gone. I can't risk having her find out plus I can't stand it when she starts fussing around me.

It had been a full week since I last saw or spoke to Jake. My heart still ached for him so badly. I was starting to think if I had done the right thing but tonight I am going out with Jessy. We are going to the aurora for drinks. She's on a mission to help me move on from Jake. I must admit I have been looking forward to going out tonight. I haven't been out in a while. I notice the time and I go to take a shower. I let the hot water hit me. My thoughts soon drift back to Jake and the time they both showered together. It was very hot and steamy between us. He had me bent in ways I never thought possible.

I snap myself back to reality and finish my shower, once I finish I grab a towel and wrap it around me and go into the bedroom. I picked out my sexiest outfit and my killer heels. I go for a smokey eye look with winged eyeliner. I put on my darkest red lipstick and get ready to go. I get to the aurora a few minutes before Jessy is due to arrive. I spot Phil at the bar changing over a bottle of Jack Daniels. "Hey Mr aurora, long time no see" I watch Phil look up and his face lights up as he watches me walk towards him. "Hey beautiful, where have you been hiding that sexy body of yours" I know people say flattery doesn't get you anywhere but tonight I'm going to allow that.

"I've been getting over an ex but I'm all good now" I knew Phil knew who I was talking about and his smile could only get bigger. Phil is attractive. I know he's a major player with women but tonight I just want to have a good time flirting with Phil and just forget about my past. As I watch Phil pour be a double jack Daniels I feel a hand touch my shoulder a spin around and see Jessy standing behind me with a big smile on her face. "Hey MC, it's so good to see you, you look hot as hell tonight girl" Jessy's words make me smile and a warm feeling spreads throughout my body. "Jessy! It's so good to see you I've missed you" are arms wrap around each other and we hug each other tight. Phil hands us both a shot on the house that we both down in one quickly followed by many more.

We decide to hit the dance floor dancing to nearly every song that comes on, we are both having such an awesome time we dance and flirt with men. As the night starts to come to an end Jessy goes home with a very cute guy and I stay behind. I can't take my eyes off Phil. We have been flirting with each other most of the night. I know everyone keeps warning me about Phil but right now in this moment I don't care what the others say or think. "Hey need a hand clearing up" Phil turns around and smiles at me Incan see him looking at me up and down. "Tell you what, why don't you come up to the apartment and we can have a drink together?"

I watch as Phil walks over to me and kisses me softly on the lips, his lips taste like cigarettes and mint chewing gum. We part our lips ever so slightly I see a glint in Phil's eyes, a look I've never seen before. "Take me up stairs Phil" are the only words spoken between us that night. Our clothes come flying off as we get up to his apartment, our lips only parting to take Phil's t-shirt off. The next morning I woke up to the smell of coffee. I can't help but smile. I get up out of Phil's bed and put on his t-shirt letting it cover my panties. "Hey beautiful, I've just made some coffee. Would you like a cup?" I walk over to where Phil is standing and stand on my tip toes and wrap my arms around him and kiss him. I feel his hands grab hold of my arse and squeeze it.

"I'd love a cup of coffee babe it smells amazing" I watch Phil pour me a cup of coffee and hand it to me. "I know you're probably not looking for anything serious but I was hoping we could have some fun" at first I was taken back by what Phil said but it's something I've been wanting to say. "I am very much up for having some fun" I pull Phil closer towards me and kiss him this time he tastes like cigarettes and coffee. I end up spending the whole day with Phil until he has to go open up the bar. I tell him I will see him later once I've been home and gotten changed.

[astrabear]

I've been tagged by @flawlessassholes and @raedear to share the first lines of my WIPs. I have three that I think of as "actually in progress" and one that I haven't added to in over a year but that's still percolating in my head and will absolutely be returned to one day.

Unlike the others, who adapted to developments slowly, Quỳnh had been hit with modern amenities all at once: electricity, indoor plumbing, recorded music, moving pictures, cars and airplanes. The internet. Chocolate. [This is from my huge epic 5+1 wip. I'm pretty sure I've shared the actual first line before, so this is the first line of the chapter currently being edited.]

Nicolò and Yusuf looked at the piles of fabric in front of them, looked at each other, and looked back at the fabric, with expressions of deep trepidation. [one of my Fandom Trumps Hate fics]

Copley offered to find them accommodations, both comfortable and safe, where they could rest and Andy could heal. [my other Fandom Trumps Hate fic]

The package was small, heavy for its size, and addressed to “Sebastian the Book” in unfamiliar handwriting. [a sequel/second chapter for Finders Keepers, because I really want to dig more into Booker's rectocraniotomy process]

I'm tagging @werebearbearbar (because I know at least one of the things you're working on and I'm impatient), @beepbeepsan (because there is life outside of Sad Italian), and @isabellehemlock (because you're active in multiple fandoms and I want to know what you're up to).

[neostriatum]

Vanishing Point

[AO3] [Dreamwidth]

-

The king is dead. Long live the king - by nearly-forgotten, dusty clause.

-

“I beg your pardon.”

Eggsy’s voice was stiff, back even more so. His face was rumbling with the beginnings of thunder, held back by the thin lashings of disbelief.

Merlin sighed, clicking off the screen of his tablet and vainly wishing for a moment to have hair to run his hand through. “This is what happens when you commit a coup, lad.”

“D’état!” Eggsy protested, tossing away the thin façade of his commoner’s reputation. The man threw an expansive arm to underscore his point, “I was a failed recruit! By all rights, you should have wiped my brain and dumped me in a gutter!”

He would have stressed for Eggsy to lower his voice, but by the steady beeping of the complex machinery keeping their erstwhile Galahad alive, the point was moot. “Be that as it may,” Merlin replied, interrupting the emotional storm simmering across the other’s body language, “You do have the right.”

“I- what,” Eggsy made an earnest face, bewildered and desperate as he waved a hand in front of him in gesticulation, “How? ”

The pressure behind his eyes was drying, and he made the executive decision to prop his glasses atop his head to rub a tired hand over them, waking up his tablet and keying in the password to hand it to Eggsy. He watched as the man - their newest Arthur - scrolled through the damning text, face alit in the faint purple wash of light as each line was meticulously scanned for important phrases.

Eggsy frowned, and Merlin could suck in a breath at how different it was in tone from the usual pouts, smirks, and thin tendrils of fearful tension that had accompanied the recruit training and subsequent, haphazard mission to save the world. By god, he thought, I can see it.

And he could, truly, envision the sight of Eggsy at the helm of their enterprise, commanding their missions and guiding them along their core principles. The seriousness that was curving the former recruit’s brow was unlikely to buckle from the strain of their tasks, and the sight made his heart swell in unfathomable affection, the sort that would cause him to bend in service. It had been such a long time since he felt such stirrings, and his eyes ticked almost unconsciously to the other man lying across from them.

Galahad , Merlin thought, observing the determination coalescing across Eggsy’s face, The sights you’ll be seein’ soon.

There was a tapping upon his tablet, Eggsy looking up at him thoughtfully, a conclusion already forming in the man’s eyes. “Why has nobody ever brought this bylaw up before?”

What brought his attention more than the arresting gaze was the slip of humor hiding underneath the grave, subtle accusation. “Why indeed,” Merlin replied, scoffing. Not everyone is like you, lad , he thought, We’ve become too bred to accept authority , “And leave a string of assassinations? It’s a good thing you’re young then, Eggsy, you’ll be withstanding your own barrage of… suitors.”

And wasn’t that a perverse idea. He wet his lips, watching the gleam in Eggsy’s eye as he was studied. Something unspoken went laid to rest, and he exhaled as their new king bent his attentions to the document once more, frown softly highlighted violet.

“Wha’s there to be sayin’ about protection, then?” He was asked, and Merlin watched as particular sections of the text were highlighted. Struggling to remember the precise words by overhead glance at the shape of the paragraphs, Eggsy ran over his thoughts with a contemplative sound, “That kind of clause warrants some kind of bodyguard, a’ least.”

Merlin nodded slowly, percolating the idea. Between the crumbling of the world and its partial, private section of resurrection, he had not memorized all the ins-and-outs of this particular law and all its related remarks lost in the dusty archives of the estate. Sticking his hands in his pockets, feeling a little awkward without his so-called magic wand at his immediate disposal, he stepped closer to read the text over Eggsy’s shoulder.

“I imagine there were some sort of failsafes involved,” He mused absently, watching as Eggsy’s finger upon the tablet slowed in its scrolling trawl, “Given that it would be an easy one to abuse.”

They paused for a beat, Merlin feeling the fatigue inch closer over their toes in a warning wave. He stifled the urge to lean into the heat so near to him, grumbling. If Eggsy was the one to sway minutely in him, well, he could hardly fault the lad for his exhaustion, running around the past few days as he had been.

Silence passed comfortably for a few beats, nothing but the pause of Eggsy’s inspection of Kingsman’s foundations and Harry’s monitors giving indication that a world of greater attendance awaited them.

He almost let his eyes blink lazily when Eggsy’s sharp inhale stiffened both their postures. A question was at the tip of his tongue when it sank back down at Eggsy’s whispered proclamation.

“Guinevere.”

“What?”

It was his turn to be baffled, Eggsy rounding to face him, nearly bouncing onto the tips of his toes with the energy of whatever revelation it is that he just discovered, “ Guinevere, Merlin,” He exclaimed, “Do we have one?”

Merlin blinked. The roster of agents was slower in being recollected, decimated as their ranks recently were. He pushed away a grimace at yet more rounds of candidates - that was going to be a royal pain in his arse - and came up with a blank, “Er. No, not t’ my knowledge.”

Eggy’s eyes sparkled excitedly, and he looked back down at the tablet, moving the document to the section the man apparently already had in mind, “Merlin, exactly ,” The statement was breathed out, excited, reflected in his gaze when he returned Merlin’s perplexed attention, holding up the tablet, “There isn’t one.”

Peering at the displayed text, a section detailing the extraneous duties of agents under such a clause enactment, he frowned, “... Aye, lad.”

He rolled his eyes at Eggsy rolling his eyes, accepting the tablet being shoved back at him with a huff.

“Merlin,” Eggsy said seriously, lips twitching up into a smirk, “We’re going to create a Guinevere.”

-

As it turns out - if’n the case anyone was asking for his opinion, which they weren’t - creating an agent was damned near impossible. Not by edit, no. Oh no, that was the first official thing out of their new Arthur’s mouth, and the old urge to strangle Eggsy reared its head, long-buried he thought that impulse was from the early days of the Lancelot training gauntlet.

No, the difficulty of this was configuring the systems to create new agents in the first place. Nominating a candidate to fulfill a previously-named role was one thing - easy enough to do, just adjust the permissions and move some data around.

But making an entirely new profile?

“Cannae be done, Arthur,” Merlin commented tartly, “It won’t take to the systems. Absolutely bollocked, it won’t accept even a workabout profile.”

Eggsy arched a brow, the challenging, teasing tilt making him scowl, “Come now, dearest Merlin,” Said Merlin snorted at the carefully-applied arch tone, “Yer a wizard, can’t you wave a wand at it?”

“ No ,” He retorted, uncommentative of the hand rested upon his shoulder. It was a new development of Arthur, and he supposed it was a branding, divorcing himself from the image of the old Arthur. Merlin was loathe to divulge exactly how comforting the commiserative gesture was, nor how supportive.

Sighing, he set the mug of tea down, all robust Scottish tea that did not work the miracles he was needing it to this past week, “The problem is that I don’t have high enough clearance to do so.”

Blinking, Eggsy looked at him in bewilderment, “You’ve got the highest clearance in the agency, Merlin, how do you not have access to this?”

Warmed by the blatant and simultaneously earnest praise, he shrugged his unadorned shoulder, leaning back in his chair, “I shouldnae be restricted anywhere in the system, given that all of this was created by the first Merlin as soon as we had the technology available. We’re sysadmins, nothing ought to be restricted t’ us.”

We built the damn thing went unsaid, but not unheard. Eggsy sighed, leaning against the desk to peer more closely at the monitor. He was content to lean back and let the lad have the space to work, even if he was uncertain how much could be actually accomplished; miracles had been accomplished in the past several months with less, and Merlin was willing to believe in probabilities.

Eventually his mouse was commandeered, as well as his keyboard, despite the skip in his pulse at having anyone other than his team touch Kingsman’s code - it only settled with a forcible, stern reminder to himself that Eggsy’s skills at technology had skyrocketed after the first preliminary exam for candidates. If anyone could parse one of the hearts of their agency from his tutelage, it would be the young man yet to be coronated as their newest Arthur.

Still. He sucked in a silent breath, watching as Eggsy hunkered down into the meticulous sprawl of code with a frown of concentration chiseled onto his brow. It seemed almost like monotonous work, watching the man learn as he worked, a steady rhythm that had Merlin settling more comfortably into his chair.

A blink later and he found new text being written on the screen, a command window opened up and what looked like their mainframe being updated. There was a jolt of adrenaline that had him shooting forward, poised to retake control. Eggsy had a gleam in his eyes as he stared at the monitor, typing not quite with Merlin’s speed but with appreciable velocity, “Shh,” The man dismissed his alarmed demeanour easily, not halting in his typing, “I think- almost got it.”

Merlin adjusted his glasses, loathe to attempt recording the code onscreen but wanting badly to have this event saved for prosperity. He twisted his attention to the monitor instead of their Arthur instead, wanting to catch up to whatever the hell was going on in the two seconds he wasn’t paying attention. Now’s not the time for debating trust.

Chester had broken what Eggsy was taping back together, with a solid determination and a burgeoning eye for strategy. Swiveling his chair closer, Merlin muttered to himself what he could read on the rapidly-shifting screen. “‘Last known location’- why are you editing his profile?”

The “he” in question went understood, a side monitor lighting up with the grim bastard’s face that Merlin had known as a comforting fixture of the agency until quite recently. Eggsy was making a considering noise, absorbed in his task, and one that he could now see was guided by the computer itself. Prompts were flying across the main screen, answered nearly as quickly as they were brought up.

Arthur was being re-written, and Merlin was confounded as to why it was necessary.

Ostensibly a mind-reader now, Eggsy tapped the ‘enter’ key with a pointed amount of force, “Arthur’s the only one able to create new profiles.”

Merlin supposed, after a moment to privately gape, that it was a sensible conclusion. He leaned back in his chair, processing the development, “How in th’ bloody hell did you figure that?”

Eggsy cut him a glance, “I asked.”

Who was what he wanted to ask, but then the spare puzzle pieces managed to click together and Merlin deeply wanted to swear in a creatively filthy manner. “What’s the name of the program?” He demanded, fingers itching to snatch the keyboard from under, apparently, the properly-reigning Arthur’s control. Impudent as that would be, “What backdoor is this?”

Silence was his answer, Eggsy leaning back in satisfaction as the monitor at last flashed to a more familiar scene.

Agent created, codename: Morded. Position filled by: Gary Unwin.

The profile itself was nearly blank, absent of images and dates that would have otherwise provided the contextual framework to illustrate the ongoing history of their organization. Notably, it was a profile bereft of other, previous agents in the position. As was proving a trend, Eggsy was a ground-breaker in this aspect of Kingsman as well.

Beside him, Eggsy was watching him absorb the shift in perspective. Something must have shown on his face, for the man nodded slowly, hip cocked against the edge of the desk and arms crossed. “Guess the name of the program,” He asked - commanded - Merlin quietly, nodding at the monitor in front of them, “How do you think I did this?”

It made him feel unaccountably young again, being thrown into a test and ideally discovering the answers after he failed miserably. He swallowed, knowing Eggsy was simultaneously too kind to humiliate someone but also too intuitive to avoid the hard lessons. The information was sparse, but there must be something-

“This allows the coronation, doesn’t it,” Merlin replied, frowning thoughtfully at- at Arthur, who was somehow also Mordred. A connection was wriggling around in his mind, and he wasn’t sure how to catch it. Literature was never his strong suit.

Eggsy’s lips ticked into a brief smile, mused and encouraging, “‘The king is dead, long live the king.’”

“How-” Merlin pursed his lips. Kingsman was illustrious, in many sense of the word; they didn’t pick the name they used on a mere whim, and while the mythology was built up post facto , they did maintain some sense of consistency to their theme, subtle as it was, “... Excalibur?”

He received a mild shrug and tilted head, “Close,” Eggsy said, smile stretching into a grin, “I suppose you could say a sword was involved.”

That atrocious pun aside, Merlin shaking his head and huffing a laugh - pen is mightier than the sword, indeed, he turned his attention back to the screen. Wracking his brains for something outside his immediate forte was a difficult task, but he was intent to succeed, “So not a sword, but a sword nevertheless,” He mused quietly to himself, grabbing the mouse and clicking on the command box to scroll upwards for clues. Interestingly, most of the information automatically erased itself, which was irritating but bolstered a swelling of pride that this circumvention of one of their silently-beating hearts was not totally compromised, “Something… to do with a sword? With corruption.”

Beside him, Eggsy hummed encouragingly, spurring him on into thinking that he was taking the correct tack. He mumbled to himself, wheeling his chair closer to the desk and sinking into the familiar rhythm of cracking a puzzle in front of him. Dragging various windows across the field of screens, Merlin widened his vision, comparing multiple scenes in the progression of Mordred’s existence.

An agent like Mordred could not simply spring forth into existence - even languidly, there was little conceivable way for Eggsy to create an entire profile from scratch, format and all. Mordred sprung from the grave, unburied with the stroke of a key and wielding that which could fell even a king.

It was… it was impossible that Mordred was new. And that left precious little explanation, the realization impelling him to whirl his chair around to face Eggsy directly.

“Merlin did make this,” Eggsy said quietly, looking at him intently, “But the original Merlin needed someone to kill Arthur, just in case.”

Just in case. And wasn’t that a harrowing thought, that even the most insidious of plots was accounted for. “And only Merlin can crown an Arthur,” He murmured back, stunned, “‘The king is dead, long live the king.’”

And here Eggsy nodded, a slow dip of his head in recognition. It aged the man’s face, the blue of the monitor casting shadows that would otherwise have been caused by experience. Perhaps it did , Merlin thought, casting his gaze over his Arthur’s visage, Perhaps we finally have someone who understands it.

He turned back to his computer, drawing up the profile of Arthur under the guise of the late Chester King. There, in the footnote, laid the evidence he needed to see.

Mode of death: Assassination (Agent Mordred) (edited)

Rarely did he feel the urge to heave a deep sigh, but at this Merlin did so, feeling drained. The data wasn’t hyperlinked to other documents within their system, no, but he knew as someone who held the keys to the proverbial castle that there were still means available to him to discern the truth.

He needn’t, given that he had watched the edit performed in real time, but the confirmation still rang uncomfortably. Eggsy stood beside him, tall and unyielding. The expression on the other man’s face was familiar to many of the facets of determination he had worn during the course of his candidacy, but the new dimension to it was yet-uncrossed territory.

Merlin swallowed, throat dry with the answer, “The Lady of the Lake.”

Eggsy nodded, looking as solemn as Merlin felt.

Turning to the keyboard, Eggsy brought up the command window, typing in a fluent set of words that he must have recently memorized in the haystack he had been rifling through. Login codes, they were, and what he now knew were for Mordred.

Bringing up his own profile, their new Arthur keyed in the changes to one “Gary Unwin, Candidate: Lancelot (failed)”, and they both watched as the screen blinked and updated with the new coordinates.

User: Gary Unwin. Agent: Candidate (Lancelot, previous), Mordred (previous), Arthur (reigning).

A flicker of the monitors, blue awash and fading out to a new screen, their breaths holding fast as they watched the mainframe process the update.

New Agent, Arthur, instated. Coronation may proceed. Press Enter to continue.

Sliding a sideways glance at him, Eggsy passed the keyboard toward his hands, where they had been pressed into the desk in wary anticipation. The central monitor showed nothing more than the standard screen for inducting a new agent into the fold, username pre-filled and pop-up open to change the password from the system default to whatever the agent decided their new one to be.

It felt more monumental than it was, despite having gone through this process more than once - had done so quite recently with Roxy for her formalization as the ultimate successor to Lancelot. Still, he couldn’t help but look back at Eggsy, waiting for the man’s nod before laying his hands upon the keys.

Change password?

// Yes.

Enter current password.

Merlin watched the cursor blink for the span of a few heartbeats, inhaling as he typed in the one he had been ordered to memorize as soon as the previous Merlin had instructed him on the information surrounding their Arthur. Upon Chester’s death, the password had automatically reverted to the default only a Merlin would know.

The clacking of the keyboard was the only singular, brief noise between the two of them, Merlin’s heart too well-trained to thump unsteadily despite the unknown.

Password accepted. Enter new password.

He breathed out, lungs feeling rattled with the solution Eggsy had managed to shake forth. Silently, he passed the keyboard back, into Arthur’s waiting grasp. Despite the keys being pressed, he knew he would never be able to truly guess what the new password was - no Merlin would allow even the smallest of whispers to betray them in their domain.

Waiting out the changing of hands, Merlin stared dutifully into the middle distance, gaze affixed onto the monitors rather than the modernized coronation happening a scant breath away from him. Only the sound of the enter key, noticeably only for its age shown through frequent use, surrendered the damning finality.

The central monitor flickered to a new message.

Password accepted. Welcome, Arthur.

Beside him, Eggsy exhaled, in tune with the nerves he himself was wrestling with. It was one thing to merely pronounce Eggsy their new Arthur - it was quite another for the mainframe to officially recognize the young man as Kingsman’s newest ruler of the roost. For a moment neither of them did more than absorb the changes.

“Well,” He breathed out, leaning back in his chair, turning to look at the man standing beside him, “Welcome, Arthur.”

Eggsy tilted a smile in his direction, fond and warm, “Thank you, Merlin. It’s good to be here.”

-

The only - or rather, next - thing left to do was the second edict in their new Arthur’s queue. Guinevere, now that Merlin knew how to better dig around the castle, was an equally derelict agent name that was waiting to be unburied just like Mordred. There were few conditions to instating someone as Guinevere, but those were weighty conditions, indeed.

The Lady of the Keep was the only agent that Merlin couldn’t assign. After a bit of swearing and some ruminating by Harry’s bedside, where the man was now only sleeping deeply rather than deeply recuperating, Merlin could accept the fairness that was a hidden Mordred for a hidden Guinevere. Arthur needed some defense against assassination, and Merlin needed a sporting chance to topple a king.

Just in case.

It was a phrase nearly forbidden among Kingsmen agents, well used to being the ‘just in case’ measure for world peace, and this sort of stipulation made his ears ring the further down he dug into the dusty corners of the mainframe. It was certainly an educational experience, finding out precisely how much of the organization the previous Merlin had deliberately made hidden.

But then, after all, that was its own security measure. Chester had been a good warning - trust no agent, especially the ones you had no choice but to trust.

He was still turning the matter over in his mind as Lancelot squirreled her way into Merlin’s office after her most recent debriefing. The lass was doing well, spearheading the restructuring of their organization and taking Eggsy’s coronation rather well. Merlin supposed that saving the world in an appropriately dramatic fashion straight after one’s final exam would function as a rather good bonding activity.

Even if it was highly unusual for failed candidates to stick around. If Valentine hadn’t been on the docket as a current mission that had already felled two agents and taken advantage of the corruption of more, Eggsy’s best hopes would have been an ordinary, actual tailoring job, completely upon the mercy of Chester and what leverage Merlin could have used.

They nodded to each other, Lancelot revealing a small box with a flourish upon a side table. He appreciated the attention to detail, knowing how many agents needed reminding that no food was allowed on Merlin’s working desk.

“I take it New York went well?” Merlin asked her, standing from his chair to the coffee maker tucked into a dedicated corner.

She nodded, leaning against one of the decorative tables, “It had been fun posing as a research assistant,” Lancelot replied, accepting the freshly-made drink with a nod, “It’s going to take some time for the academic circuits to recover themselves. So much damage was done to their credibility, they’re going to be even stricter with how many people they take in.”

Merlin nodded to her sigh, adding a splash of cream to his own coffee in acknowledgement of one of their best agents back in the roost. He could never bring himself to do so during active missions, well aware of how they could go tit’s up at a critical juncture; Harry certainly added a polish to the reputation of Galahad, in that respect, despite how absolutely capable the man was at stringent professionalism when the situation called for it.

Shaking his head, he returned his thoughts to his waiting guest, “Aye, though maybe they’ll think twice before accepting students based on recommendation,” He replied, settling down in one of the leisure chairs with a gesture toward the spare. Lancelot took a seat with a hum of agreement, “That whole fiasco with the American testing system didna do them any favours.”

“At least it’s over,” Lancelot murmured, stretching her legs out with a pleased noise.

Both of them knew full well that such work would likely never be done, but Merlin agreed with the sentiment that encompassed the shadow of Valentine, “At least it’s over.”

They sat in relative silence, Merlin with one eye toward the message board his team used to keep him updated. While there were still some agents out in the field, they were mostly reconnaissance. Even months down the road, the world was still reestablishing trust with itself - on multiple levels. Too many had died, and while it resolved some long-standing issues that had been weighing their corner of the market down, it brought up new ones that Merlin felt everyone was struggling to see the light in.

“We have another one on the continent for you after your leave,” Merlin informed her, taking a sip of his coffee and watching some updates scroll in to his glasses. Nothing of the unusual sort, but the signs of liveliness were relaxing, “Some hospitals need bolstering, and we need to connect some research on tax documentation to the right parties.”

Lancelot rolled her neck, propping her head up on an upturned palm. Her posture spoke of weariness, but he could tell from the relaxed sparkle of her eyes that she saw the pattern of milk runs he tried to evenly distribute throughout the agency. He smiled into his cup, knowing the well-wishing he was sending had been received.

“You’ll need to see Arthur about the finer details,” He continued, setting his cup down with a light clink, “But I feel your alias of Sofia Torres would be apt for the mission.”

It was an older profile, as old as one could get with half their members being recruited within the past year. But the façade of Ms Torres, an aspiring medical technician that was well-situated to hang about the shadows of more well-known doctors and hospital personnel, was one they had opportunity to leverage frequently in the nascent hours after Valentine’s mop-up. It was a perfect position for Lancelot to slip in and out of hastily-constructed field hospitals dotting the planet, the various associated charities that shipped medics to an fro more than happy for an extra pair of hands.

Roxy’s training in field first aid prior to her candidacy made her maneuvering of Lancelot whilst searching for any surviving agents exceptional, and Merlin appreciated that they were able to save even more people due to her quick eyes and steady hands. It was her who had helped he and Eggsy argue their case for Harry’s return from Statesman, a reliable presence when it came to dissecting the finer social points neither he nor Eggsy could discern.

Politely draining the rest of the coffee, Lancelot nodded, rising to her feet, “I’ll let him know you said hello.”

Merlin smiled into his cup, “Be sure you do, Lancelot.”

-

It was rare that he spent a day without slipping into the meeting chambers where Arthur held court, even moreso now that the world had fallen in to shambles. Valentine and his team might have worked hard, but Kingsman worked harder.

Such a sentiment was even more apparent as he entered this morning, sun still in the process of dawning and Arthur neck-deep in manually signing off on various updates to Kingsman missions and policy reforms. Ace up their respective sleeves regardless, they were both still sloughing off the morass of corruption that had built up over the pragmatic bones of their organization.

And speaking of such ‘aces’, Merlin began his day with the daily report of Galahad’s status, knowing it was a linchpin to their moods and setting the stage for the coming routing of responsibilities. He presented the medical report first, setting the tablet down in front of Arthur’s work and waiting for the man’s pen to pause for long enough to broach the subject.

“Good morning, Arthur,” He said, “Only minor changes today. Doctor Lenore mentions that Galahad’s neurotransmitters are reaching stable levels, and that the surgeries are healing nicely.”

There was a more thorough description in the walls of jargon on the document, which Arthur immediately started scrolling through, reading glasses perched on his nose to reduce the strain of such fine text. While Merlin could commend himself for a mediocre understanding of everything their medical teams got up to while regularly performing miracles of reviving their agents and stealing them from death’s door, he nevertheless found himself routinely impressed with how Arthur had committed himself to the unenviable task of nearly memorizing the reams of information necessary to interpret Galahad’s shifting condition.

It was time that built itself up, and he made himself comfortable in the guest chair, well-learned in Arthur’s unofficial policy to not make others wait - sometimes literally on hand and foot - while he digested the nuances of his duties to the agency. Minutes passed in inviting silence, letting Merlin take in his other daily routine: watching Arthur read.

Such a habit was a miniscule indulgence, but he savoured the time to watch the man’s face mould itself in reaction to whatever he was reading. With Galahad, it was always with the same level of concentration that beheld the agent in… Merlin refused to think ‘in life’, especially now, but perhaps ‘in person.’ The attentiveness that could likely be transmitted through pixels alone to Harry himself in the spirit of well-wishing was as warming as a bonfire merrily burning away - heartening, and restoring even if he wasn’t the direct recipient.

Galahad would live, and vivaciously, if only because Eggsy wanted it.

He watched as the document was eventually finished in its considering review, the tablet with the official slating of events waiting in reserve once the matter of their most infamous agent was handled. After a few more moments spent in companionable silence, hazel eyes flicked up to his own, contemplation etched into the creases of Arthur’s face.

Abruptly, Merlin is certain that their docket of other items will wait a moment longer, and he leans forward in anticipation.

There’s a smile on Arthur’s face, one hand on the latest news of their fallen agent. It’s a delicately-posed tranquility, one that beckons to him. “Merlin,” His king says, “See about waking Harry. I need to have a chat with him.”

-

It was, of course, now possible to wake Harry. Not that he wouldn’t have done so even if they didn’t have a chance in buggering hell of accomplishing it - there was one thing Merlin was learning, and that was that he would bend the world to Eggsy’s will, the same as he would for Harry.

One of these days it would scare him. Not today, though, he was too busy with assisting the doctors in reviving their agent by standing watchfully out of the way.

The various monitors beeping their signs to the room were a symphony folding over a new page. He could vaguely understanding what the changing noises meant, but the physicians were moving as a well-oiled team to its beat, lines being changed out and instructions being ordered as the flow of Galahad’s consciousness was roused into proper wakefulness.

Were it not for the fact that the man had already woken on his own and drowsed vaguely into consciousness enough times to soothe the medical reports constantly recorded of every microcosm of Galahad’s health, this process would have been painful to experience and also to witness. As it were, things were much more orderly, the lights dimmed out of respect for the patient’s comfort and voices at a murmur - or nearly so - to encourage a softer awakening.

It was worth it, so, so incredibly worth it, to watch those doe eyes bat open with the familiar spark of awareness. Merlin clutched his tablet to his chest, heart tripping over itself in relief. He watched in silence as Galahad responded with halting exhaustion to the diagnostic questions, only able to chance lip-reading when the other wasn’t being swarmed by doctors reading his vitals and verifying them with their own eyes.

Eventually, Doctor Lenore peeled away, content to let those she was directing to handle the minutiae. She smiled up at him, reassuring, “Agent Galahad is in fine health. Be gentle on him, he’ll likely fall asleep soon.”

He nodded, laying a genteel hand on her elbow in acknowledgement, “Thank you, Doctor.”

“I’ll send a tray up,” Their CMO responded, smile tilting fondly, reciprocating the gesture.

They exchanged appreciative looks, and the good doctor was followed out by her own retinue in piecemeal, leaving Merlin alone with a weary Galahad. For a moment they did nothing more than look at each other.

“You’re awake,” Merlin says, feeling perhaps a little stupid but unable to contain the urge to point out the obvious.

“I’m alive,” Galahad said quietly, looking vaguely surprised about the fact.

The words were their own instrument, and Merlin found himself by the man’s bedside, fingers ghosting over Harry’s wrist in a manner too gentle to be strictly called professional. It turned the man’s eyes toward him, gaze soft and wondering. They were quiet, the steady heartbeat enough between them.

It was a familiar sound for Merlin, used to having it in his ears as a consequence to harrowing and otherwise intensive missions. That the sensation was relegated to his fingertips was reassuring but also disappointing, to have such a world narrowed down to a comparative pinprick.

Nevertheless, he pronounced with a dry voice, briefly squeezing his fingers over the sleep-frail wrist, “Alive. You idiot.”

Galahad’s smile was wry, voice rough from disuse, “I found this near-death experience rather… unsatisfactory.”

“It should,” Merlin retorted, throat thick, “It was supposed to have been permanent.”

That news brought a complicated look to Harry’s face, confusion twisting the man’s features. He refused to relinquish his grip, missing the barometer he had taken for granted for too many years. The heartbeat beneath his fingertips was steady still, guiding his own heart into forced, practiced placitude.

“I-” Harry said, voice cracking. His eyes left Merlin’s, staring toward a place Merlin remembered like the back of his own eyelids, “I am sorry. Truly.”

“Tell that to the both of us,” Merlin rasped, squeezing the hand below his.

It made the monitors warble, the one he had long ago memorized as the blood pressure briefly pinging higher, an accompaniment to the stress response he knew his words introduced. Bloody bastard, he thought, bereaved and glad all at once that such a conversation was even possible, Too many close calls. I shan’t have it.

He waited until he received an answer, the hand in his weakly squeezing back. The acknowledgement was enough, and he listened to the quickened breathing as Galahad dragged his injured mind upwards into the newest conundrum presented to him. Such a thing was always a marvel to see, even if half the time it terrified the wits out of him to know that it had sometimes been a Hail Mary of its own.

“I’ll bring him up,” He promised, smiling in the face of Galahad’s wild look sharply directed at him, “If y’ think you can stay awake long enough for that.”

“Yes.”

Merlin smiled at the gasped, determined reply, “That’s what I thought.”

-

There must have been a hell o’ a quarrel between them, if the hiccuping breath Arthur let out at the sight of Galahad sitting upright and awake under assisted steam was anything to judge them by. Bewildered as Galahad might be, the man didn’t resist when enveloped in a tight hug, cradled with a fierceness that had the monitors protesting.

He felt his heart aching with softness when Galahad was released only long enough to have a kiss pressed onto the other's forehead, watching as the two of them melted into the reciprocation of relief. This was a moment long in the waiting, and whatever blood must have bled between them, he could see the scraps of those wounds beginning to heal as they murmured to each other.

It was a sight that told him the universe was righting itself, at least his little corner of it. The stabilization it evoked loosened a knot that had been twisting in its repose for over a year, coaxing Merlin to breathe a sigh of consolation.

When the tablet in his hand beeped a reminder, the flow of messages never actually ceasing, Arthur and Galahad’s attention was drawn back to him. Biting back a sigh, Merlin turned the screen back on, swiftly keying in the password. Nothing out of the usual, and for once it was mostly updates, “Nothing to worry about, gentlemen,” He assured them, “Though we will be pressed for time shortly.”

Galahad shifted back into his bed, weariness still dropping his own shoulders, chased by their king’s hand on his shoulder. He shifted closer, casting a significant look across the both of them.

“Oh, what’s this eyebrow for now,” chided Galahad on a sigh, letting himself be settled in with murmured affections and gentle gestures.

Merlin was loathe to let their time wheedle away too soon, and looked on with amusement at the fussing. Finally, when they both looked to be settled, he turned his tablet ‘round, angling the screen away from Galahad with a crisp, “Arthur.”

It was worth it, to see the way Galahad’s eyebrows shot up, heart monitor making a brief, irritated blip at the deviation from the norm. “Arthur?” He demanded, “What about him?”

Scrolling through the scanned documentation, with its hastily, helpfully-added highlights and commentary, their resting agent was received of a raised brow, “Arthur is quite fine,” Eggsy replied, one hand idly patting the man’s, brow furrowed, “Let me just- ahah, there we are.”

“ Merlin -” Galahad said, frowning at the both of them. He tilted his head toward the younger man, instead, ignoring his friend’s stern demand with the benefit of years of serene practice.

“Galahad,” He replied, smiling, knowing it irritated the hell out of him and relishing that he had the opportunity to parry such scandalized vocalizations in person, “I’d suggest listening.”

We’re not done here , was the glare leveled his way, even as they were politely interrupted with the tap of Merlin’s tablet upon the bedrail, “If you would,” Arthur said genially, a grin tugging on his face and drawing a smile out of both of them, “ gentlemen .”

“Of course,” Merlin said, pressing his lips together in what he knew was a badly-concealed attempt to hid his smugness, “Sir.”

“Sir?” Galahad muttered to himself, incredulous, “Eggsy, what-”

Another pat of his hand, comforting and not even an ounce vaguely condescending, even if Harry quite indulged in puffing up like a peacock. Woe to his ego that the man didn’t realize he was already the center of attention. He caught Arthur’s eye, winking. The laugh he received was warm, in on the joke and that Galahad wasn’t - not just yet.

Bloody bastard, he thought fondly, The sights you’ll be seein’.

“This,” Arthur said, sliding right through the non-verbal conversation he and Galahad had slipped back into with ease, presenting the tablet to Galahad, “Is a job offer.”

For a moment, Galahad seemed to brace himself, brow furrowing even as he tried to shuffle himself around so that his hand wasn’t far away from Arthur’s. “I… thought I already had a job.”

“You do,” Arthur assured him, firm. He nodded at the tablet and its vows of information, “But there’s another for you, if you like, Harry.”

That seemed to take the wind out of the man’s sails, even as it visibly made his thoughts veer toward scyllan confusion with the dichotomy. He watched Galahad’s eyes flick toward him, and Merlin nodded in reassurance. Between the two of them, that seemed to be enough consideration, and they both watched as his attention turned fully to the information presented textually before him.

He could see the line of tension in Arthur’s shoulders, knowing that they were balanced on a knifepoint of Galahad’s opinion right now, and wished he could take that unfathomably large step to rest a weighty hand on the man’s shoulder. Such comforts might be relegated to later, privacy yet to be dictated. Merlin inhaled, instead, wetting his lips as he briefly locked gazes with Arthur.

“This is…” Galahad murmured, the quality of his frown changing to something softer, a confusion that bordered the bewildered their Arthur had only months prior, back when the subject was first broached about the update in organizational effects, “This is monumental. How is this possible?”

Although the question was directed toward him, Merlin nodded toward Arthur sitting between them, “That’s a question better put to him.”

“... Eggsy?” It was no less baffled in tone, but more personal, a plea to make sense of things. It was such a change from what Arthur had quietly confessed to them of his and Galahad’s last, actual conversation, and he witnessed the toll it took on the man as he inhaled, grasping Galahad’s hand in an unwavering grip. There was no question, he noticed, of how Eggsy would know anything, only the unwavering faith that events would occur in such an orderly way that the world could be made sensible with a simple inquiry.

Arthur’s inhale, steady and voluminous with the weights of his shouldered grief, was yet another insight that this man was indeed the true heir to Chester. He found himself nodding, softening the lines of his posture, “Go ahead.”

There was a nod in reply, a steady exhale, “Galahad,” Arthur said, steadfast, “I pulled the sword from the stone.”

Galahad gaped at both of them in silence, and they let the words sink in, Merlin feeling like they were both recalling the warnings of the medical staff that it might take some time for genuinely more complex conversations to be possible with Galahad. He bit back a prayer that they had leveled that particular hurdle.

“Chester was…” Arthur swallowed, his face momentarily contorting to a fraction of his remembered anger, “unfit. He was killed.”

“By who?” Whispered Galahad, looking wan.

Here, Arthur’s face looked up toward Merlin’s own, gaze searching. Do they tell the truth, or merely the nicely formatted version of it? He found himself leaning against Galahad’s bed, tightening the sphere of conversation tighter around them. “I think it would be wise,” Merlin said slowly, looking pensively at the nearly-forgotten tablet resting in Galahad’s off hand, “To tell the whole truth.”

“And nothing but the truth?” Arthur said wryly, lips ticking up in a ghosted smirk. The man sighed, “Very well.”

Squeezing Galahad’s hand, Arthur resumed, “Agent Mordred was written in, and the assassinator of the previous Arthur, Chester King.”

Looking like he didn’t know which question to voice first, Galahad looked between them, attempting to digest the mountain dropped onto his lap, “And what,” He said quietly, at unease, “Does this have to do with me.”

Arthur brushed an invisible hair off his leg, not meeting any of their eyes, “It happened shortly after your death, Galahad,” He said, nearly prim, “It was discovered that your death was considered… acceptable.”

The look in Galahad’s eyes were of a depth of tolerated sadness that made Merlin immediately wish to never see it again. With how Arthur was looking at a distant spot on the floor, he could guess that this was an unrevealed facet to their argument after the candidacy final exam. It was a realization that struck at his heart, impelling him forward toward Arthur and clasping a tremulous hand over the man’s shoulder.

He decided it would be best to pick up the thread, “Agent Mordred was… a temporary creation,” Merlin said, directing his gaze toward Galahad, wishing to take away some measure of the lost look on the man’s face, “It was necessary in order to coronate the new Arthur.”

“And we have one?” Galahad asked, “We have an Arthur?”

“Aye,” He replied, nodding down to where their king was sitting in the middle of their huddle, “There is, however, a complication.”

Pale as he thought his friend could become, Galahad became paler still, a fearful tremble in his hand despite how Arthur clutched it even tighter, “And what would that complication be?”

“The creation of Mordred requires the creation of another agent,” Arthur said, “For as Mordred is the death of Arthur, only a Guinevere can be Arthur’s salvation.”

Looking appropriately overwhelmed, Galahad faithfully took back up the tablet, reading it with a closer study. The three of them were silent in the intervening time as their agent caught up to the conundrum of the hour. Merlin could only discern the minutiae of time passing by the expression of Arthur shifting as Galahad’s grip waxed and waned, how the set of Arthur’s shoulders changed in tandem and radiated up to Merlin’s grip.

“Only a current agent can be Guinevere,” Galahad eventually responded, looking exhausted, “The requirements are quite particular.”

“It must be someone I trust,” Arthur said, not batting a lash to how Galahad startled, looking the agent in the eyes, “With my life.”

“I-” Struggling to sit further upright, Galahad was enlivened into reaction, “Eggsy. Arthur.”

Merlin nodded, sombre, “Aye. He is our king.”

A gasp from Galahad resounded forth, rousing Arthur in his seat as he looked back upon the man with a shuddering sigh as Galahad ignored the tablet clattering from his lap, “He tried to kill you? ”

The anger was something Merlin didn’t realize he had missed, how protective of a rage it could be, enveloping anyone it was aimed at. Resurrection from death or not, Arthur was likely the safest person in the room - he amended that quickly to the entire estate with how the monitors beeped and warbled, a healthy flush across Galahad’s features.

For his part, Arthur nodded, sinking into the umbrella Galahad was casting about him. “I’m alive,” The man said quietly, bereaved, “But I didn’t want to be, not if- not-”

Inhaling, Merlin cut in, “The world went to hell in a handbasket, Galahad,” He said, unable to completely hide his own devastation, “Kingsman was nearly mobilized under Chester’s orders - he had sold himself out to Valentine. If it weren’t for the… subsequent events, we wouldn’t have a new Arthur at all.”

“Come here,” Galahad gasped impulsively, grabbing Arthur and by extension Merlin within his reach, “He would have killed both of you. Oh, he almost got away with it.”

They all huddled either together in the bed or over it, pressing into each other. It was warm, reassuring in how Merlin could feel with his own two hands that both of them were as alive as Galahad was only now realizing. He would have apologized for how rude of a wake-up it was, but the words crumbled behind his lips at the sheer relief in the way Galahad and Arthur were turned into each other, himself half bent over them and feeling rather glad at his own broadness that shielded them from view.

“Harry, please,” He murmured above their heads, “Be Guinevere.”

“Yes,” Harry replied, grip firm on the both of them, “Yes. I shall be anything you need. Anything at all.”

Arthur shuddered between them, a buried-deep distress shaking out of him, a hand twisting tightly over each of their own. Merlin found himself resting his head upon Arthur’s shoulder, sinking into the feeling of a recuperatively-chilled hand cupped over his cheek. We’ll be alright. Everything will be alright.

“Oh, my dears,” Harry murmured, hands calloused and voice rough, “I’m here. Never again shall your backs be left unprotected."

-

The sunlight was golden, filtering in between the brocaded curtains tugged aside to let the springtime sights filter through. A pot of tea was steaming on the desk, the periodic glint of a gilded pen as it danced across numerous pages the only interruption to the calm.

Merlin was seated in his usual chair, comfortable and lived-in, redecorated with a blue brocade that held knights prancing upon horses as a coy joke as a memento to some occasion he scarcely remembered. His tablet lay in his lap, undisturbed and screen having long since gone to sleep, his attention instead fixed to the expansive gesturing of Guinevere as a riveting piece of gossip was retold.

He was sure the numerous illustrations to the story were for their benefit, and he slipped a smile to Arthur, watching as the man didn’t bother to hide his own, eyes warm behind the windows of his glasses. The crinkling of wrinkles at the edges of his eyes were as deep as the smile of Guinevere’s face, drawing up a similar depth from his own self.

It would be waxing into summer, soon. They were still drawing up the roster of candidates for the latest round of recruitments, and expansion into Merlin’s branch for scouting activities. Parameters were changing, accommodating the needs that Arthur was seeking to assuage the neglect of.

Kingsman was running smoothly under Arthur’s hand, and Merlin smiled, leaning forward to refill their cups. Though some ships had set sail, theirs was currently safe in port, weathering whatever storm they had faced Kingsman toward.

He had a good feeling about it.

-

Author's Notes

The point in a perspective drawing at which parallel lines receding from an observer seem to converge. The situation in which, place where, or point in time when some object or phenomenon is no longer observable or notable.

- Wiktionary

“If people reach perfection they vanish, you know.” - The Once and Future King (1958) by T.H. White