#its okay. we all make mistakes in moments of terror. especially in the face of change

[cocksley-and-catapult]

which one'd be the one eating and the one being eaten.

i am sorry ive never seen vore before but i am scared of change and seeing the vore anons leave makes me quiver and cry it feels wrong to be voreless in such a world and if you want something you do it yourself

-the penis slayer

[watchmegetobsessed]

The Hottest Avenger - Bucky Barnes

a/n: im warning you, i will probably not stop for a while with the bucky fics so... brace yourselves lol! also i wrote this before ep 5 came out so its placed in that time

pairing: Bucky X Reader

warnings: TFATWS spoiler, some violence? nothing extreme

word count: 1.8k

summary: Being locked together with Sam and Bucky brings the worst out of you, picking on each other constantly. Following an arguement Bucky accidentally calls you his girlfriend in front of Sam when your relationship was supposed to be a secret.

masterlist

“Did you fucking eat the last dumpling?” you accuse Sam, holding up the empty takeout box where you thought were one more dumpling, one you’ve saved for yourself, but now it’s gone as Sam is eyeing you with his mouth full.

“Thought it was mine,” he mumbles, his words barely understandable from all the food in his mouth.

Taking a deep breath you’re trying not to jump at his throat right then and there. You’ve been locked up together all damn day in the trashy apartment across the street from the building where’s Zemo supposed to be hiding. Sharon had a tip about a possible place where he might be found, but you’ve been waiting to no avail for now. You’ve been growing stressed and impatient. You lost track of Karli and her people and now you can’t seem to find Zemo either. If it wasn’t for the Dora Milaje, you wouldn’t bother to be so after the asshole, but Bucky said if Ayo finds him first, he is dead and every useful information he holds goes to the grave with him so now you are forced to look for him. One failed mission has been following the other these days, that incompetent dickhead John is on the loose too after murdering that man in front of civilians and you feel like control has slipped out of your grip a long time ago. Now you’re stuck with Sam and Bucky in this crappy place, waiting by the window, watching out for Zemo and on top of everything… Sam ate your last dumpling.

Just when you’re about to snap at him, you feel a strong grip on your shoulder. You don’t have to look up to know it’s Bucky right behind you, but not just because he is the only other person in the room beside you and Sam, but also because you know his touch probably more than anyone. Only that most of the times it’s not your shoulder he is gripping…

It’s been going on for a long time between the two of you. Started with just some innocent flirting and you never thought it would grow into something more significant, but it did. And now you are officially in a relationship with none other than the Winter Soldier, only that no one else knows about it and you plan to keep it that way. You don’t need the teasing and jokes and the Avengers are known to be dicks sometimes, especially Sam.

Glancing up your eyes meet Bucky’s blue irises and he sends you a look that says “just let it go”, and though every fiber in you wants to whoop Sam’s ass, you let it slip.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna get mad about a dumpling,” Sam chuckles as he chews on the food that you should be enjoying right now.

“I can get mad about whatever I want to,” you growl back, growing quite irritated of him at this point.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” he huffs under his breath, clearly not as bothered as he should be. Before you could do any harm in him, you leave your spot by the window, needing a breather from… well, from him.

“Hey, it’s still your turn!” he calls after you.

“I need a break,” you growl back.

“Get your ass back here, we agreed to switch every two hours!”

“Sam! I’m walking out because I’m way too tempted to punch you in the face right now!” you snap at him, losing your patience. He rises from his seat with a hard expression, not quite a fan of the way you just talked to him, but you couldn’t care less.

“You think you could actually throw one? Because last time we fought you couldn’t really get a hold of me,” he narrows his eyes at you, coming to stand tall in front of you, trying to intimidate you with how much taller and stronger he might be, but you both know you’re a better fighter.

“It’s easy to talk with your fancy tech stuff. Why don’t we see who wins in a simple battle?” you challenge him with faked boredom.

“Guys, stop. We should be looking out for Zemo, not tearing each other apart,” Bucky tries to end the staring contest, sticking his metal arm between the two of you in case any of you decides to launch at the other one.

“Then tell her to stop bitching!” Sam nods in your way.

“I’m not bitching, I’m just fed up with your bullshit!” you spat back at him, leaning closer, your chest coming in contact with Bucky’s extended arm.

“Don’t talk to her like that, Sam,” Bucky warns him, but Sam snorts dryly.

“Don’t tell me you are taking her side, she is throwing a fit for a fucking dumpling!”

“I’m not taking sides, just trying to settle this stupid disagreement here,” he defends himself and you roll your eyes.

“You can’t tell me she is not overreacting it, Buck!” Sam laughs in disbelief, taking a step back, dropping the act that he wants to fight you. He probably knows he would come out as a ridiculous loser. “This is fucking insane, I’m not in the mood to deal with your shit, Y/N,” he shakes his head.

“Hey!” Bucky snaps at him. “Don’t talk to my girlfriend like that, okay?!”

“I’m just—wait, what?!” Sam’s eyes widen and you freeze too.

Your dumbass boyfriend didn’t just out the two of you, did he? What else is about to come?! Sam’s shock turns into a cocky grin as his eyes shift between you and Bucky.

“You guys… you guys are fucking?” he asks with a delightful laugh and you close your eyes sighing, already tired of his shit.

“That’s not—We’re not fucking, I mean… It’s not like that,” Bucky stutters, but it’s just making it worse. He looks at you with terror in his eyes, but you are way too drained to deal with it the right way.

“Yes, we are fucking! And we are in a mature adult relationship! Get yourself over it!” you bark at Sam before turning around and walking out.

You faintly hear the two men talk inside, but you don’t make out the words. You don’t go too far, sitting on the steps leading up to the third floor. Soon enough you hear the door of the apartment open with a creak and a moment later Bucky shows up in your sight. He sits beside you, remaining silent for a little before speaking up.

“Sorry for running my mouth,” he mumbles, his head hanging low.

“It’s… fine,” you breathe out. Bucky fidgets with his fingers and you know he wants to touch you in any kind of way as a reassurance that it really is fine. You don’t want to hold a grudge, it was an accident, you’re just a little bummed it’s not gonna be just the two of you anymore. Reaching out you take his hand, the real one that’s flesh and meat and you lace your fingers together as he peeks at you, still reserved and hesitant.

“Is it really fine or are you just bottling it up?”

“It really is fine,” you chuckle softly and leaning closer you kiss his scruffy cheek. “The only reason I wanted to keep it a secret is because you know how vickery the guys can get. I just didn’t want them to pick on us.”

“They do it because they are just jealous,” he smirks playfully, his shoulder bumping against yours.

“Yeah? Of what?” A soft chuckle slips through your lips.

“That I scored the hottest Avenger,” he replies smugly and you can’t help but laugh with your head snapping back.

“I didn’t know you were fucking Thor!” you retort and immediately see his smirk vanish from his lips as he stares back at you, not enjoying your joke as much as you are.

“Thor? Really? Not this shit again, Y/N,” he narrows his eyes at you. Back when you were just skirting around each other, you loved pulling his leg, joking about how much you are into the hottest Avenger, aka Thor. He never appreciated it, usually earned you a tight-lipped smile before he mumbled “Tarzan’s got nothing on me” before walking away, leaving you laughing like a hyena.

“Come on, you know I’m more into super soldiers,” you grin, leaning closer as he pepper his sharp jawline with more small kisses.

“You know, it’s not the best thing to say to your boyfriend when there are now about eight more super soldiers running around,” he huffs.

“But none of them has a metal arm,” you point out, finally making him laugh.

“So that’s your kink? A vibranium arm?” he asks with faked shock and you curl your arms around his bicep, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“How haven’t you realized yet?” you chuckle. Bucky turns his head until his lips can capture yours in a sweet, lighthearted kiss that makes you forget about everything that’s been clouding over your mind these past days. All the failures, the mistakes and chaos fades into nothing, because you have him and he has you.

Walking back into the apartment Sam stares back at you, neither of you entirely sure how to act after what just happened. He then grabs his phone from the dusty table before holding it up.

“I could order some extra dumplings,” he offers and you crack a smile shaking your head. This was his peace offering, both of you knows he won’t straight up apologize for the way he talked, but this is already more than what you were expecting from him. Bucky must have had a few words with him before joining you outside.

“It’s all good.”

The three of you get back to work, taking your previous spots, returning to the task on hand as silence falls on the room once again. You catch Sam glancing at you and the Bucky and you can tell he is about to make a snarky comment on your relationship. And just as he is about to open his big mouth, Bucky moves to silence him, but you’re faster. With a simple move you throw Sam to the ground, keeping him down with your hand wrapped around his neck.

“Don’t even think about teasing, understood?” you hiss at him as he gasps for air, his hands wrapping around your wrist as he tries to fight you off, but you hold him a second longer to emphasize the importance of your words. Then you finally let go of him and he coughs for air, fixing him up from the floor as you simply walk back to your spot by the window.

“Hottest Avenger, huh?” he breathes out, revealing that he heard what you talked about out on the stairs. “More like the Avenger with the most anger issues…”

You just grin, glancing over at your boyfriend who is now standing with his arms crossed over his chest, not even bothered by his friend’s struggles on the floor as he smirks back at you, nodding proudly as if he was saying: “That’s my girl.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[whump-a-la-mode]

A hero is in a coma. Villain visits them every single day, loosing sleep, not eating, their life is now completely focused around the empty hospital room.

Until hero wakes up and notices how sick villain has become due to anxiety and not taking care of themselves. Caretaking?

This is such a cute ask!! There’s only a little caretaking, but as always I’d be happy to write some more ^^

To all non-Americans out there, I am so sorry for using our weird 12 hour clock in this piece

CW//Comas, medical settings, just some horrible self care, mentions of explosions, bad hygiene, sleep deprivation, low self esteem, blaming self, strong language

“How are they doing?”

The voice alone was enough to make Doctor jump, spinning on their heels with such quickness that their shoes squealed on the tiled hospital floor.

Oh. It was just Villain.

Just Villain. It was a ridiculous thought to have, and they were well aware of that fact. Only a few short weeks ago, the name would have been enough to make any well-minded civilian tremble. It was bad enough, to hear it spoken on the news. Worse, to hear it not coming from a television-- in some cases, that name was all the warning one was given, before a terrible fate befell them. A nameless causality in the never-ending battle of good and evil.

But, now, there was no terror associated with it.

Most hospitals, Doctor was well aware, were fortunate enough that villains did not often pass through their doors. When they did, in the best cases, it was to seek treatment. In the worst cases, they had far more destructive intentions.

Their hospital, however, was an exception. There is a saying, that one can get used to anything, and with their experience, they now believed it to be more than true.

Doctor sighed, letting their shoulders fall.

“Visiting hours are over, Villain. You need to go home.”

The villain’s eyes widened, flickering momentarily to the nearest clock. In fact, it was past the end of visiting hours. Well past. Night rounds were about to begin, even.

It was simply so easy to forget Villain, hunched over in their little plastic chair.

Especially with those big, pathetic eyes with which they regarded Doctor.

“I can’t leave.” They pleaded. “Not yet. Can’t I stay just another hour?”

“No, Villain. We’ve been over this. You can come back tomorrow, bright and early, right at seven.”

“But it’s eleven, now! That’s eight hours. Eight hours they’ll be alone.”

“Not alone.” Doctor bit their lower lip. They knew full well that the person before them could render them to a charred corpse in mere seconds, if they so wished. Their tense, skipping heartbeat wouldn’t let them forget it. But, there was no malice in their eyes. Not an ounce. Only that terrible, pitiful sorrow. The sorrow that never seemed to leave them. “There’s people here, all night. A whole medical staff. If anything happens, they won’t be alone. I promise.”

Villain’s lip quivered. Weren’t they supposed to be dangerous?

“You’re sure I can’t stay? Just another hour?”

“I’m sure.”

“O-Okay.” The villain reached into their shoulder bag, and, for a moment, Doctor nearly pressed the nearest panic alarm. Yet, they withdrew no weapon. Instead, Villain took a small, spiral-bound notebook in hand, offering it. “Here are my notes. Um, just so you know. What they did today.”

Doctor’s gaze downcast to the paper. They already had three of these, piled on their desk. Filled to the brim. This one had only recently been started.

The page the notebook was turned to displayed the same thing as all the rest: Impeccably neat handwriting, dividing the page into half hour blocks. In each, letters of equal quality described the patient’s condition, down to the most minute detail.

3:30 - Minor twitching of the eyelids accompanied by singular irregular heartbeat.

4:00 - No abnormalities.

4:30 - Twitching of left index finger.

5:00 - Abnormal breath at around 5:12.

It was the best-kept record of a comatose patient’s condition that Doctor had ever seen. Even if it wasn’t exactly helpful, with how repetitive the patient’s movements tended to be, it was downright impressive.

“Thank you, Villain. I’ll tell the receptionist to expect you at seven?”

“Is there any chance I could come in earlier than that?”

“No. I’m sorry. Visiting hours start at seven.”

“I’m quiet. You know I’m quiet. I won’t be a bother to anybody.”

“I know, Villain. If...” They knew they needed to say something, or this argument would continue all night long. “If anything happens, we have your number on file. I’ll call you myself.”

“Really?” Their eyes widened. “You promise?”

“I promise. Now, you need to go home.”

“Okay.”

“You won’t hide in the bathroom and try to stay late this time?”

“You saw?”

“Everyone saw, Villain. Now, you’ve gotta skedaddle.”

The villain nodded hesitantly, looking to their shoes as they turned, moving down the hallway. As they left, Doctor could not help but mutter in their wake:

“And get some rest.”

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Six weeks.

Those two words echoed hollowly in Villain’s mind as they plodded along the damp sidewalk, lit only by the dewy echoes of streetlights overhead. The hour was late enough, and the city tired enough, that the streets were nearly deserted-- a state they were in so very rarely.

Their henchmen had spoken to them so many times, lecturing them that moving through the city’s depths, alone and unprotected, was terribly dangerous. Any hero, or any vigilante too cocky for their own good, could try their luck in an ambush.

But, Villain could hardly bring themself to care.

Six weeks.

That was all they cared about.

Six weeks since Hero had moved. Six weeks since they’d spoken, since they’d awoken. Exactly six, now.

Exactly six weeks since...

Villain’s hands clenched to fists at their sides, overgrown nails digging into the meat of their palms.

Since they’d made the biggest mistake of their life. Since the two sworn nemeses, Hero and Villain, light and dark, good and evil, had had their final battle. An industrial sabotage gone wrong.

They should have known better! Better than to use their pyrokenisis in an oil refinery.

But, that hadn’t. They hadn’t been thinking. They never thought! They were so stupid, so reckless, so careless...

Villain’s ears still rung from the explosion.

Their injuries meant nothing, even as they still throbbed. No. Because, for the last six weeks, they had been awake. Moving. Talking.

Hero hadn’t been so lucky.

When they at last arrived at their HQ, the halls were silent. Life existed only in the form of a scattering of guards, nodding their respects, but making no other gestures.

It was with weary legs that Villain ascended to their bedroom. They hardly noticed its state-- they’d grown used to the scatterings of clothes and papers. Instead, upon opening the door, their eyes snapped to the bed.

More specifically, the item upon it. They rushed to it, yanking it off the mussed blankets.

A book. A note, upon its cover.

“Went to bed before I could give this to you. It’s that book you wanted - Henchman”

Villain removed the note, far more interested in the cover it hid.

A Neurologist’s Guide to Chronic Vegetative States

There were more than enough pages within to last them until sunrise; until visiting hours at last recommenced.

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At 5:40, the sun began its ascent, bathing the sky in a dull hue of blue.

When six o’ clock came, the first rays of light could be seen, flashing over the horizon.

With the strike of 6:10, Villain placed down their book. They were only around halfway through-- wandering eyes and brief minutes of dozing lowering the speed at which their foggy mind could process the medical textbook.

They would have more than enough time to read, the next night. The book didn’t matter. What mattered was that visiting hours would commence in 50 minutes, exactly.

Twenty minutes to walk to the hospital. Meaning that, to get there early, they needed to leave in fifteen.

Rubbing sleep from their eyes, Villain rose from their chair, knees popping and cracking all the way to the bedroom door. Quickly, they changed into the cleanest clothes they could find, if only for the sake of appearances, before heading out.

Showering could wait. Showers took time, time that could be spend watching. Reading. Taking notes.

Helping. Doing anything, anything they could to help.

Emerging into the hallway, they startled a moment. The lights had already been turned on, despite the fact that their henchmen never awoke this early. Perhaps they had simply forgotten to turn them off the night prior.

Yet, there were noises, from downstairs.

There was no fear left in their body to feel. Justifications were quickly made, and they ran down the stairs.

Entering the kitchen, a scent hit Villain, forceful as a gust of wind. The scent of food-- warm and fresh and garnished with garlic.

Before the stove, Henchman stood. Out of all those Villain employed, Henchman was the least likely to be awake at such an hour. Often, they dragged themself from bed well after ten.

Yet, here they stood, flipping a pancake in a skillet.

“Hey, boss.” Their henchman turned, a grin glimmering upon their face. “I’m almost done here. Get yourself something to drink.”

Villain blinked.

“What... are you doing?”

“Making breakfast? I thought that’d be pretty obvious.”

“Yeah, I can see that. But... Why? You never eat breakfast.”

“Yeah. It’s not for me. ‘s for you, boss.”

They shook their head, glancing at the clock. 6:17.

“I’m not hungry. Besides, I really need to get going.”

“Boss.” There was an endeared, yet frustrated, tone to the voice. “When was the last time you ate?”

“You made me eat a granola bar yesterday.”

“And the day before that, you didn’t eat anything. So, you’re eating breakfast, if I have to shove it down your throat.”

They clenched their hands to fists.

“I don’t have time for this! Visiting hours are going to start soon. I need to be there.”

“No. You need to eat. Then you can go to the hospital.”

“You don’t get to decide that. I need to go. I’m sorry.”

“Boss.” Henchman slid the pancake onto a plate before deftly stepping between their boss and the front door. “I don’t mean to be blunt, but you look like hell. I know you haven’t been sleeping. Everyone knows it. If you keep acting like this, you’re going to be the one in a hospital bed.”

Villain gritted their teeth.

“Maybe that’s what I deserve. Now, fuck off. Get someone else to eat your damn pancakes.”

With those words, and furious footsteps, they emerged onto the sidewalk outside.

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When Receptionist arrived at their desk, there was already a patron, sitting in their waiting room.

A few short weeks ago, such would have been unusual. While other parts of the hospital were occupied day and night, the appointments handled by this room did not begin until the hospital actually opened-- right at seven.

Now, though, there was nothing strange about it.

Before they could so much as sit down, Villain was already moving towards them.

Receptionist could not help but note their appearance.

Working in a hospital, they had long since grown used to seeing the sick and injured. And yet, there was something particularly distressing about this case.

They supposed, it was because they had seen it happen. Usually, when patients arrived at the hospital, it was because they could no longer manage their own conditions. Their bodies were in shambles. They showed up in their damaged states.

Villain, on the other hand, had first appeared to the waiting room is relatively good health.

Then, they had begun to appear tired.

And thin.

Now, their appearance matched that of the comatose patient that they were here to see. Skin clung taught about their cheekbones, their flesh pale and eyes glazed over. Most semblances of hygiene had been abandoned entirely; some parts of their hair had even begun to mat, and dirt clung to them like caked and cracked makeup.

But, there was something else in their eyes. The sheer essence of undying compassion.

It was that alone that prevented Receptionist from sending them away.

Villain had no need to speak. As soon as they had time to sit, the hospital employee had paged the proper floor-- a sequence of buttons that had quickly become muscle memory.

“You can go up, now.” They spoke. With a wearied nod, Villain moved to begin their ceaseless watch.

Neither of them could have guessed that, an hour later, the unthinkable would come true.

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When Hero awoke, it was to the sound of a pencil, scratching at paper.

The world filled in with a terrible, exhaustion tedium. Above them, blurs of white and grey turned to a sterile, white tile, while the world about solidified to four pale, beige walls.

A hospital. They’d been in enough to recognize as such, with just how clumsy their teammates tended to be.

But why were they here, now...? Who had gotten hurt, this time? They couldn’t quite remember.

Rolling onto their side, the question was quickly answered.

Villain appeared to be on death’s doorstep, about to press the doorbell. Matted hair clung to their neck, eyes drooping and skin appearing as though there was no blood beneath it at all.

At the very least, they had made it to the hospital before suffering any serious damage.

Wait.

It was only then that Hero realized who exactly was in the room’s hospital bed.

[katsukikitten]

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, mentions of animal harm, sexual themes, god/fantasy au for BNHAREM this badboi is 8k so enjoy~

The sound of a wind chime echoes across the small field just outside your home. The breeze carries the smell of summer bloomed blossoms and with it the threat of rain as it comes from down the mountain. 

A soft brown creature catches your eye as your mother picks flowers and berries for the festival. 

“Bunbun!” You exclaim, pointing as you tug on your mother’s tattered kimono, she responds with a soft hmm. Her eyes still focused on the wide range of flowers although her vision blurs. 

But at least you weren’t picked for this festival, no it would be many years before you would be in the running. Your mother’s only wish was for you to be unfavorable. Mother is so engrossed that she does not see you slip away, slowly following the bunny into the forest. 

Soon the soft brown creature begins to hop, faster and faster as you giggle running full speed ahead. Not noticing how the trees thicken or how dark eyes seem to peer through the trees, their mawls salivating with unsated hunger. With gnashing teeth they stalk ever closer all the while you rush to catch the creature just for it to jump high into the air. Nose diving straight for the ground, you copy its actions but the bunny is faster than you. Slipping into the burrow with ease as you fall face first into dirt and rocks. 

“O..ow. Momma!” You sniffle, turning around for some much needed motherly love, but instead of your mother hunched over collecting boring things in her basket you are met with a dense forest. The setting sun washes over the trees giving the thick pines and maples a ghoulish red hue.  Suddenly you are hyper aware of the sounds around you, a stick snaps in the brush. Your head turns as if you were a startled deer, eyes wide, heart racing as you strain to hear over the rushing blood in your ears. Dark figures move in the long shadows and haunting laughs echo around you. Beady eyes shine in the darkness causing a small whimper to leave your lips. Acting on instinct you rush to your feet, running through the woods. Briers snatch at your small ankles, leaving angry red lines in their wake, wanting nothing more than to make you a child of the forest.

“MOOOM!” You shout, panting as they force you further into the mountain, you take a quick left when one jumps from the right causing you to trip over a branch falling into a small clearing, faintly you hear the rush of a spring.

Scuffling rouses a sleepy garnet haired man who lounges in a steaming hot spring, that’s sprinkled with fallen petals of mountain flowers. He thinks to dismiss it until a scream cuts through the serenity of the pines. Whatever animal it is, it sounds small and this stirs something in the mountainous man. Sadly this was the circle of life, he reminds himself as he sinks deeper into the burning hot spring. 

“MOMMA HELP PWEESE!!” You scream, trying to get up but this time you are entangled in a briar patch, thorn and vine twisting around your tender skin. It seems the wicked green plant will have its wish. 

All the while the shadows stalk closer, their bright beady eyes blown wide as their jaws unhinge for their meal. They get on their haunches to launch themselves at you until something causes them to freeze. The trees shake around you while the Earth rumbles as if there were a thunder storm beneath the rich dirt. 

“Hello little flower. Are you lost?” You whip your head towards the sound. Lip quivering as you stare up at a tall, built man. But it was his eyes that stood out the most. 

His glistening rubies glow as fading sunlight catches his hair, emphasizing that the strands are a red so deep one could mistake it as black. Your eyes play tricks on you as the air seems charged and yet calm, giving him a surreal aura. He stands tall, half relaxed as one arm is lazily hanging from his dark rose kimono while the rest of his sculpted body is exposed to the slowly cooling air. You weigh your options as best you can before you scramble to your savior. Clinging to his leg as your tears begin to stain his kimono. 

He breathes in deeply and before he can speak the dark figures vanish, melting into the shadows that stretch in the last winking light of the Sun. He crouches down to you, pushing hair past your face. 

“Don’t cry little flower. Here.” A beautiful flower crown appears in his hands. The  white petals with contrasting amethyst stripes down the center seem to have their own shimmering bio-luminescence making it feel other worldly as he places it atop your head. He chooses the dietes flower for its symbolism and rarity, unknowingly sealing your fate. 

“Is that better, little one?” You nod in response, sniffling softly as he scoops you up walking you until he can just see what must be your home through the thick trees. He watches what he assumes your mother to panic, as the village shouts what must be your name. 

“You’ll have to walk the rest of the way okay little flower?” He sets you down gently before you give a big nod. Cold bare feet crunching the leaves against the forest floor. 

You come into the clearing of your home, the sea of yellows, pinks and reds winking in the stark light of the moon. 

“Momma…” You call softly, the world stops turning on its axis before she rushes to you, pulling you into her arms before her eyes are filled with overflowing fear. Fat droplets leave her long lashes as she snatches the crown away, but it is too late. It has been seen by all. 

“Oh she is favored by the Gods.” Someone comments. 

“If she grows into anything like her mother she will be the best choice to appease the Mountain God!" 

"Let us mark this day and the family name so we may remember 16 years from now." 

They continue to gossip as your mother squeezes you tight enough that it hurts. Her mind racing as she carries you inside, she tucks you in without a word of a scolding. Coaxing you to drink some lavender tea that pulls you into a deep sleep beneath the symphony of crickets and the like.

You do not hear your mother return and if you do, you guess she is doing her nightly routine. Fluffing your blankets and making sure your futon is warm enough but what you weren’t expecting was the cold bite of a blade pressing into the flesh above your left eyebrow.  

"Mom…Momma’s sorry baby.” She chokes on her sobs as she pulls the cool metal hard and deep, crying so loud she can barely hear your scream.  

But that was how long ago? Almost two decades? You toss a rock into your reflection, distorting your marred face as your childhood flashes before your eyes. 

You remember there was shouting, lots of shouting of how you are now “unfavorable” “dishonorable” “an abomination” the next day and from then it’s a blur of insults and isolation. Nothing but the wind in your hair, the creaking of the trees and a dream of glistening rubies kept you alive, desperate to return to the last time you were happy. Although you were unsure of who you saw in the mountain that fated night, a part of you could guess. It had to be the Spirit of the Mountain, Kirishima. Because who else actually looked like the painted scrolls that littered the village and shrines? In your opinion they had his image all wrong. 

He does not scowl or wear a grimace, no his smile is sharp toothed and bright. You sigh, wondering if you will ever bump into him again. 

An inhuman scream tears through the serenity of the babbling brook causing a chill to run through your spine. If you had to guess it was most likely a fox or wolf finally catching up to its meal. 

“They must eat too…” You murmur to yourself, drawing your knees to your chest. The wind rustles the leaves overhead giving you sharp visions of beady black eyes from the past. 

“Don’t let it get away!” A shout from your left before the animal comes scurrying through the brush, running smack into your lap. It is a small fox, its tail missing and in its wake a crude weeping cut. Your vision blurs red as you take off your top layer of kimono, wrapping the poor thing in the brown fabric. 

The culprits come into view, the village elder’s son holds the tail while his favorite goon holds the knife. Red falls to the Earth in nauseating droplets. 

“Well well well, looks like we found something else we can carve up huh?” The goon asks with a smile, “Just keep quiet freak." 

The elder’s son is hesitant, something odd grows in his eyes and chest. Suddenly the tail feels a lot heavier than what it was moments ago, especially so under the weight of your single gaze. Your left eye although clouded over seems to stare straight into his soul. Can you see the desperation he has? Worst yet can you see how tainted he is? 

"Oi Kenji” The goon nudges him, clearly only hanging around the future heir for his influence and with it a hope of immunity to terrorize as he pleases. 

The motion brings him back to the present while a plan begins to form in his head. Would anyone believe the dishonorable, disowned freak over him? Could he do things to you that no matter how loud you screamed the truth it would fall on deaf ears? 

His cruel smile is an answer in of itself as he takes a step towards you, it wouldn’t be hard to make you his. You take a step back, mindful of the sun’s position and your surroundings. They both creep nearer as you hold the shaking animal to you, you turn on your heel rushing through the woods. They were fast and well trained however no one knew these woods like you did. 

It was as if you knew of every fallen leaf or broken branch as you rushed through the deep green leaves. Dodging low branches that they hit face first, holes they tripped in and even a dead deer carcass that you bound in a single leap. You hear a crash and one of them gag as your feet urge you forward, looking over your shoulder. 

That is until your run into something so solid you fall right onto your ass, the small animal gives a whimper on your lap. 

“I could have sworn…” The sound of rushing water swallows up the rest of your thought as you look up to what you’ve run into. Wholly expecting a tree stood a man, with deep garnet hair and a sharp toothed smile. Immediately your blood turns cold, the air about him seeming other worldly as the forest quiets and slows in his presence. 

“Ah, are you alright?” He asks, extending his hand to you, gingerly you take it. His calloused hand is warm and strong as he lifts you to your feet, ruby eyes staring at the bundle in your hand.

“May I?” Hesitantly you pass the bundle, he frowns at its contents before setting the small fox on the ground, waving his fingers to heal its wound. The fox looks at the healer, seemingly giving him a small bow before rushing back into the safety of the brush. 

“The fox told me what you did. Thank you.” His smile is blinding and dazzling. He offers you a single white flower, the amethyst stripe up the middle causes your stomach to tighten.

“Do you always give out good fortune?” You ask quietly, turning the wild iris over in your hand. He laughs, if he recognizes you he does not show it but you are sure this is the man who gave you an abundance of “good fortune” years ago. Your scar burns from the thought. Your mother did tell you stories of the Gods playing cruel jokes. 

But was Kirishima truly a maleficent God? 

You bit your lower lip. A warm hand cups your chin, a soft smile on his face as he turns your left side to you. 

“Do I know you dear heart?” His voice is soft, eyes half mast almost lazily gazing upon your features. You tuck the iris in your ear and it seems to jog his memory. 

“Little flower!” His voice becomes larger, sharper, as his thumb swipes over the deep fissure on your cheek “What happened?!" 

His touch is comforting but not enough you wish to relive the trauma again. 

"I wish not to speak about it.” Your eyes catch the position of the sun. Gently you step from his soft grip.

“I must return home for dinner before I cause my mother to worry.” You bow formally, presenting the flower “Thank you Kamisama but I cannot accept your blessing." 

You stand like that long enough your back begins to hurt causing a deep fear to flow through your veins.

Was he angry that you dared to reject him? 

Your feet burn with the urge to run but you dismiss it, finally his large fingers grasps at the small stem holding the rarity in his hands. Eyes roving over you, you peek up to check his gaze and while he looks level headed to you, you decide to leave before you find out if he isn’t. 

He stares after you, eyes curious and yet not surprised as to how he could have forgotten about someone as remarkable as you. 

But how could he remember? 

You are nothing more than a mere mortal and you were a child at that. A blip, a hazy day dream even, in his infinite lifetime. 

So what interest would he have in a life so fleeting that should he rouse from a nap he would be meeting your great grandchildren who could remember nothing more about you than your name? 

And yet when he looked at you now, as a full grown woman, something bloomed in his chest. Your scar adding to your mystic beauty, especially after what the fox had told him.  

His ruby eyes return to the flower as he ponders over your question in his head. 

A week or so passes, as you’re sure to avoid the Mountain God. Still fearing he may be angered by your rejection. 

But you cannot stay from the depths of the forest long. Staring down at your reflection in the water you sigh, running your hand through the cool water debating if you will bathe in one of the many hot springs tonight. A scurrying in the bush pulls your attention to the here and now. Muscles rigid as you worry it will be an encounter with the heir and his goon, shimmering orange rushes from the brush easing your mind. 

"Ah hello friend!” You call and the fox stops in its tracks, task or hunt at hand long forgotten, “Did His healing power work?" 

You cannot help the glee in your voice as you see your friendly fox sit near your feet, it swishes its tail and just like that another seems to appear. Wagging like an opposing pendulum beside the other. 

"You have two tails now, oh” You give a sly smile, “Are you here to steal my liver?" 

The kitsune chuckles at your joke, his little laugh echoing in the clearing. The haunting sound brings an odd comfort to you as he tilts his head as if someone is whispering to him. He gives a small nod before approaching, setting something in your lap that his black lips were not holding before. 

A note of sorts and the flower he attempted to offer you earlier. The note reads in glowing golden red hue,

"Let’s start over again. Tea by the blue moon wild flowers at midnight.”

You sigh deeply, placing the card and flower deep in your tattered kimono with the thought of not showing up.  Why would a God want tea with you? You who wears a scarred face and milky white eye. You give the kitsune a soft pat before standing, brushing the dirt from your deep brown kimono. 

You spend the rest of the day as you told your mother you would, picking flowers to both practice arranging and drying for the upcoming festival. There were only a few weeks left and you had done zero practicing as you has promised. Your mother claimed this would help earn your keep with the village but you were sure that was more for her peace of mind than the truth. 

With your basket heavy with the finest of flowers you head towards home, careful to avoid the path you last saw the God on.

And anytime you had thought you caught wind of his intoxicating smell of soft musk, pine and the biting threat of snow you turned on your heel as quickly and quietly as humanly possible, ignoring the gemstone gaze that bore into your back. 

After a small dinner with your mother and hours of twisting flower streams to make crowns of, you finally get the chance to lie down to sleep. 

But sleep doesn’t come, instead you’re wide awake as the moon leaks in the through the small cracks in the walls. Dust dancing on the low light as you sigh as if you were in love. 

Deep, unsatisfied and often. 

The invitation burns in the folds of your kimono and suddenly you are filled with action. Gently you rise, fumbling with your hair as best you can before you mumble curses to yourself. Placing a practice crown on your head and rouging your lips with the remnants of berries before you set out into the darkness. 

Your feet seem to guide you on your own as you weave through the trees. Fireflies lazily floating in the air as crickets scream their symphonies at your feet. Finally you come across the mostly hidden spot.

Hesitantly you step into the clearing, blue moon flowers glitter in the light of the quarter moon as if sprinkled with stardust. Their silver sheen invites you in further as a wind sweeps through the patch. Your eyes rove over as you look for the Mountain God. When your search comes up empty you feel your heart free fall into your stomach. Heated foolishness creeps into your throat and cheeks. 

Why would a God invite a mortal? 

Blinking away hurt tears you turn briskly, stopping yourself from running from the clearing incase he is watching for the sake of his cruel joke. 

That is until a deep voice rings out, vibrating the very bones in your body with a comforting hum.

“Little flower, Are we not having tea?” His tone is innocent and when you turn around with half a mind to fuss you see it. A beautiful hand woven rug that holds a low tea table, atop the dark wood sits finary. Foods, desserts and tea ware that would make the emperor jade green with envy. 

“This is…” You whisper but he reaches his hand towards you, gently guiding you to a plush cushion, his strong hand wrapped steadfast around yours. He waits until you are seated comfortably before he sits close to you. 

Almost too close, his shoulder could easily brush against yours in movement and it does as it takes you an eon to realize what exactly he is doing. 

Preparing the tea. Immediately your stomach flips as shaking hands fumble to stop him, grabbing onto his large hands with a fervor unmatched. A quizzical look before a sly smirk paints his handsome features. 

“A..a..a God should not be serving a m..mortal tea.” You trip over your words feeling self conscious as your palms feel is if they are sweating. Shame radiates through your chest as if a hot rod were shoved through your heart. 

“Then let us not be a God and a mortal.” He smiles, lips curving upward gently as his shining teeth glint in the low light. You should be scared, frightened that you may have insulted him or worse yet earned the infamous Wrath of the Mountain God. 

But you aren’t, if anything you’re on the complete opposite of the spectrum as the breeze shifts his scent closer to you. The forest alive at night, the sharp smell of snow mingling with the gentle fragrance of bloomed flowers. 

Suddenly you feel dizzy and his next words do not help. 

“Let us be more.” Again you feel the comforting hum in your chest, you decide now is a good time to let go of his hands. 

He sets the tea before you, again you are faced with a pitiful reflection. You blow on the green liquid disrupting the steam and with it your image. It is quiet save the sounds of late night summer although it is not uncomfortable silence that passes over the hours between the two of you. It is easy as the two of you sip your tea and for a moment you think you’ve forgotten the sin you’re committing by forgetting who he really is. Occasionally the two of you would share a laugh, his shoulder brushing against yours before he comes closer, close enough your forearms touch as they rest against the table. His skin feels warm and smooth like a rock baking in the sun, his smile dazzling as his face seems to get closer. His finger hooks into your palm, lazily tracing the lines as if they were an old and familiar map. 

“Why do you love the mountain forest so much?” His voice is so close you feel breath fan your cheek. Butterflies take rapid flight in your stomach. 

Was it that obvious? I guess it would be with how much of your life you spent within these thick trees. 

“There is so much to love in this place of solace. Every new clearing brings something of wonder. A waterfall, a field of flowers, a hot spring to soak your aching bones. Even just a small fawn grazing on the seeds the trees and flowers offer is more beauty than I can imagine." 

His fingers stop, leaving an odd tingling sensation causing your nerves to stand on edge. Attempting to reach towards the soft touch once more. Kirishima looks to the moon and how it begins to set. 

"Another day little flower.” He whispers, voice honeyed yet sharp as you find yourself standing on the edge of the woods, staring at your small home. You turn in a full circle and see no sign of the God causing your heart to grow heavy. Gripping at your chest as you make your way back towards your home, you thought maybe he didn’t like your answer. Maybe he read your honesty as a poor attempt of flattery. 

What you don’t know is that he liked your answer a little too much.  

It isn’t long before you find yourself in the same patch of flowers at a questionable hour sitting beside Kamisama himself. You swallow thickly, nails biting into your palm as again he pours your tea. 

Is this right? Would your mother approve?

You were sure she wouldn’t, and not from your lack of manners but seeing the very man she so feared and having tea with him nonetheless.

“Something troubling you my blossom?” Flustered over his familiarity you stammer out a response.

“Just…just thinking.” You offer a shy smile as he returns a wolfish grin, you do not know that he can hear just how fast your heart is beating. 

“Hmmm.” The hum rumbles in your own chest and large bottle flies take flight in your stomach. He brushes some hair out of your face so he can better see it. He smiles softly. 

“I’ve been curious about why you are collecting so many flowers lately.” Rigid beneath his touch you fear you have angered him but it won’t be long before you realize just how infatuated he is with you. 

“A festival for you Kirishima, Kamisama of the Mountain.” He lets his fingers play and twist in your hair. You try not to look away. 

“You’ll be the guest of honor then?” His fingers brush down your heated cheeks. 

Despite the intimacy of both his touch and proximity you give a loud laugh. Eyes looking at a blurred green version of yourself in your cup. 

“No, I’m sure I could never be favored.” At least not by the villagers. 

But you seemed to be favored by the Gods. You swallow thickly, of all the talk and importance of the festivals your mother never let you attend, so you are unsure what happens. 

While you’re left home alone you could hear the loud beats of the drum, their feet hitting against the stone of the square and their joyous singing. 

Sometimes you think you hear a scream. 

But you cannot reflect on it long as a pair of soft lips press against your cheek. Then when you do not move they graze along your jawline before finding their way to your pulse. You give a small gasp and when he gives a small suck you a raspy moan.  He growls against your throat, a sudden heat grows between your legs and you swallow desire whole. 

He feels how tense you have become and eases up from your throat. Guiding you by your chin so you may face him before he steals away your first kiss. 

Not that you would have given it to anyone else. 

The next month is a game of cat and mouse. Both of you eagerly seeking the other out, yet making it seem as if it were a mere accidently. All the while a now three tailed fox smiles knowingly.  It’s a blur of tea, mountain top views over valleys, and deep passionate kissing. 

But this last encounter truly was by pure chance for both parties. 

The pungent smell of sulfur tickles your nose, although this is the least offending spring. Its water a lovely milky blue that you’ve decorated with a few left over flowers heads. You sigh as you sink deeper into the borderline scalding water being sure to soak your aching hands and feet. 

You’re thankful that the rushing water settles here in this cluster of rocks despite the small current that carries it away just a few feet down. A sigh leaves your body, eyes lingering to the light of the full moon before they flutter close. Your guard completely down as you know no one is going to be wandering around these woods. 

It is the night of the festival after all. 

And no one was sure as hell gonna be out looking for you.  

Not even Kamisama as you were sure he would oversee the festival, it was held in his name was it not? 

Sleep threatens to pull you beneath its veil so much so you do not hear the footsteps that approach.  

He steps closer to the spot of his favorite spring and when he sees your head titling back onto the rocks, a fine blush blooms on his cheeks. 

“My little hana?” His voice is soft yet concerned, startling you. The water splashes around as you turn to face him. 

If you were flustered before you’re beyond that now. He has his back to you as he gives your privacy, face slightly turned but his eyes are not overlooking his shoulder. Your eyes widen as they take in His beauty. His hair tied up in a messy bun, winking blacks and deep reds beneath the moonlight. His broad shoulders exposed, eyes trailing down his sculpted back to see his bare buttocks. Strong, thick legs holding up this God of a man.  

Well he was a God wasn’t he? 

“Are you alright, lovely blossom? I didn’t know you’d be here I can come ba…" 

"No. No no!” You interrupt, “I…" 

It’s silent for a moment, lust moves your lips. 

"I wouldn’t mind the company.” Your voice is barely heard over the swirling, rushing water. 

But the smirk on his soft lips tells you that he had heard you.  And he will never forget the invitation. 

He turns to join you, your eyes following down the trail of his abs to his pointed V, you do not allow your eyes to travel further south and force them to his face. His glowing eyes bright, two shining rubies lighting up the night. He sinks into the water across from you, letting his arms spread and rest on the rocks. 

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Sinking into the water as you realize just how exposed you are.  The weight of his gaze is doing something to you. 

He keeps his eyes locked on yours, the heat of the spring makes you a bit dizzy and you’re beginning to wonder if it is his merlot eyes that have you on cloud nine. 

That have you so bold. Bold enough you float yourself beside him, right into the crook of his arm. He gently slides it around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest. 

“How was your day my sweet?” His voice is soothing but you’d rather not recount your day or the number of flowers you set just right. 

“Boring. Yours Kirishima?” He smiles as you use his name.

“Same.” He places a chaste kiss to your damp hair line. It leaves you wanting more. 

“A..again please?” He goes to kiss your forehead again but you tilt your face upward. He smiles, putting his hand at the nape of your neck. Leaning in impossibly slow holding your gaze. His look makes you impossibly higher and then his kisses your lips.

It is soft, it is slow, but each movement of his lips become more feverish, more bold. Like a cracked dam after a rain far too heavy, it is going to burst. 

And it does. 

Your mouth openes to him and he slides his tongue between your teeth, swirling and tasting your earthly, mortal form. You moan into the kiss, giving him more entrance, your hands clawing at his hair, his back while his hands follow your curves. Running up and down your sides, pinching at your nipples turning you into putty in his hands.  You do not resist, you would never deny him and you’re sure he would never take. 

He does nothing more than light exploring, commiting your skin to memory. You let out another moan, this one louder than before enticing his primal needs. As his tongue slides over yours his hand snakes to your lower back, pulling you into his lap.  

You feel his harden asset resting close to your throbbing sex. 

Would…would it be okay to bed a God? For a mortal to be touched by hands that can create and destroy in a matter of nanoseconds? 

Suddenly you feel too hot, too flustered, too high as the world spins rapidly on its axis. You push back, gasping for air and immediately his lust is replaced with concern. He sees tears forming in your eyes, signs of some internal battle. 

It reminds him of when he pours you a cup of tea but tenfold. He looks up at you, one hand traces down your spine before his other wipes away your tears. 

“Blossom for me when you’re ready not when I want you, my little flower.” His voice is soft, reassuring, causing you to cry more. His fingers gently trace your scar, follow your spine, and continue to wipe away your tears when needed. 

You nod helplessly, removing yourself from his irresistible lap, he pulls you to cuddle. A soft kiss to your hairline. The moon begins to climb higher in the sky and although your mother will not be home for some time, you still need to beat her home. Maybe he can read minds as he says. 

“Let’s meet later tonight? Our usual time after your mother has returned home?” You nod against his chest, slowly stand. He supports your weight as he holds onto your hand as you ease out of the comforting water. 

You look for your brown kimono but with every second you cannot find it panic seizes your bones. 

“M…my kimono. I…I can’t find it!” You realize you may have misplaced it or worse yet placed it too close to the water. 

Oh Kami did it get washed away? 

“Flower, love. It is fine. I can help.” He snaps his fingers and you’re adorning the most stunning kimono you’ve ever seen. More so than what any painting of any God and Goddess meeting you’ve ever seen.  You twirl in the ombre kimono. It starts out black, like a moonless night at the top before lightening until it is put glowing starlight at your ankles. 

“Its gorgeous. But it is too much." 

"Nothing is too much for you.” He stands, a kimono appears on his body as well, ombre again, black at his shoulders until it is blood red at his ankles. The bottom reminds you of the first time you had seen him when you were little. When he saved your life, a halo of setting sun emphasizing his status. 

“We will meet again?"  You nod and he cannot bring himself to say he is going to the annual meeting of the Gods because if he did, with you wearing this star woven kimono, he would whisk you away with him. 

"Until we meet again." 

With the sound of the window fluttering through the trees you find yourself on the fringes of the woods, just outside your home. 

Gingerly you step into the field of flowers, slowly walking towards your house as you relive the time you most felt alive. 

His lips, his hands, his body pressed against yours.

So caught up in your daydream, in your promise of later tonight, you do not see the eyes lying in wait. 

Those prying eyes take note of your kimono and how it shimmers and shines with an otherworldly glow as you slip into your home. 

It isn’t long before you hear a string of screaming and see a set of lights coming your way, close enough you can make out silhouettes and what the woman is screaming.

"SHE IS UNFAVORED! LOOK AT HER SCAR SHE IS TAINTED BEAUTY!” You realize quickly that is the wails of your mother. 

Frantically you try to strip yourself of your kimono but a large hand strips away the door. Your faces are illuminated from the soft glow by your ankles making it clear to see a set of hard steely eyes with hurt but never regret as they should. 

“Just like I said. A blessed kimono.” Kenji’s voice is as hard as his eyes as his father peers in, he smiles with delight.

“We are surely saved from the drought now. Kenji bring her to the festival." 

"No.” Your voice is small, a foreboding dread feeds your panic as your mother cries, restrained by Kenji’s goons. You step back but he lunges for you, squeezing you so tightly you cannot breath. 

The walk to the center seems like ages as you kick and scream, crying out for Kirishima. 

“Yes call for our God. He will be happy to receive his gift, time is running out.” The elder speaks. You elbow Kenji square in the face, everyone panics as you begin to run. Kenji catches you again.  The moon hands high over head, perfectly in the middle of the sky. 

“There is no time left. Let’s do it now!” Kenji’s goon from before shouts, sending the crowd into a boisterous agreement. 

Kenji withdraws his knife, both of your struggling for power. He leans in close, nose touching yours as the smell of copper and ash cling to his skin. 

“You should have just stayed in your place ugly. Should’ve let me have my way.” He slices at you and for a second time a blade marrs your skin. 

He is supposed to make this quick for you, one quick motion against your throat. Instead he lets the blade sink deeper, carve harder until his is splatter in your life’s nectar. Only you and your mother cry out. The rest of them pray and sing. 

Kenji picks you up and tosses you into the brush of the woods. 

“Have her now Kamisama and bless us with rain!” He speaks as if he is the current elder. Grey eyes cold as they look down at you.  They retreat to their usual planned activities, dragging your lost mother with them to drink to their heart’s content. To make her watch what an honor it was for her child to have been chosen. 

It hurts, Kami it hurts as you drag yourself through the woods. Briars tangle around your quickly growing limp limbs as you pull yourself deeper. 

“Kiri…Kirishima!” Your once loud screams turn into hardly more than whispers. But that shouldn’t matter. He should still hear you shouldn’t he? 

Was this not his domain? He can hear every rustling leaf, every snap of a twig, surely he could hear the pained cries of his lover.

No, no you shouldn’t call yourself that, you were not his lover, you were just favored by him. 

And isn’t that always what you wanted? To be desired? Loved? 

This was a festival for Kirishima himself so why did you think any different? 

And why do you still call out his name? 

Your vision blurs in purplish blues and blacks as you fade in and out, a soft sweet scent is tainted with stinging copper. You cough and more dark liquid sputters from your lips. 

It reminds you of his eyes. 

Kitsune comes into the clearing helping frantically. But you smile as you notice his fourth tail. 

“At least I will not die alone…” You breathe as the fox attempts to lick at your wounds, “Why, why is he so cruel?" 

Fat tears fall down your cheeks and the fox panics further. He opens his mouth, his voice comes out gravely and close to a growl without the animosity.

"Master does not know of this, master would never allow this!” He laps at your blood in a desperate attempt to heal you with what little grace he has been bestowed. 

But it doesn’t matter as your world fades to black. 

Kirishima steps through the portal near the top of the mountain to be met with a horrid sight, not realizing it could be worse than that. Kitsune’s normal Auburn fur is tainted a sticky black substance, Kirishima gets a closer look causing his blood to run cold. 

He appears in the field of flowers, following the trail you left as a wispy form of you stands through your drained body. 

“No.” Quiet before deafening loud, birds and animals flee away from him, “NO!" 

The shades circle the clearing, too afraid to enter but too hungry to leave. 

Kirishima shakily grabs onto your glowing hands, tears fall down your cheeks. 

"I…I…” Tears prick his eyes, rage washes over his features, “Who?" 

Your spirit cannot speak as you are still tethered to your fast cooling body. He follows the direction of your eyes, music and laughing become louder further angering him. A thought occurs to him, he reaches for the small golden chain that is at your spiritual ankle connecting you to your real body, he could keep you here, he could….but before he can break your life’s chain a mist of black appears. 

"You know you cannot do that.” From within the mist comes a man with the head of a raven or a tengu, Kirishima is not sure. All he knows is that he loathes to see Death come too close to the things he loves. 

“But.." 

"Look around you Kirishima-kun. You’ve tried countless times to keep mortals before and what becomes of them? Shades, unwavering, thoughtless hungry shades as I’ve told you. Their spirits are so far corrupted they could never return to the cycle.” Death speaks the truth but it does not stop the anguish that sweeps through his body. 

He cannot allow it just yet. He watches as your golden chain is unhooked, you walk backwards, keeping your eyes on your God as Death guides you. 

“Until we meet again.” It is a whisper on the wind, a rustle in the leaves, a huff of a nearby fawn and babbling of the hot spring. He nods, eyes glued to you as you fade away into the black mist. 

He breathes deeply as he picks you up, cradling your cold body to his hard chest. He walks gingerly with you as if he feared he would wake you, he only had on destination in mind. It does not take long before he is walking towards the center of the small town, houses darkened as the square is full of life. The smell of wine and food waft the cool air. 

This only fuels his intentions. 

He stands on the fringe of the crowd and it only takes a blink or two before the roaring party dies to deafening silence. People falling to their knees, their foreheads pressed into the bloodied bricks. 

“K..Kamisama Kirishima, had we known you would grace…" 

"SILENCE!” His voice shakes the very foundations of the homes, the shingles clinking in the wind. The trees quiver in his presence as the Earth seems to roar beneath his feet. His eyes are hard and dark like raw diamonds as he looks over their merriment shredding them with his gaze alone. The moon above suddenly glows red as if washed over with your blood, illuminating him in an ominous tone. The hue paints the village in eerie light as it fully bares witness to the wrath of the mountain God.  

“Is this how you honor me?” A rhetorical question as he wonders how long this had been going on, the shades most likely and happily, eating the remains before Kirishima could have ever found out. He shakes, unable to reign in his rage. 

“Look at her.” Three words, three words has well over fifty people shivering. Eyes barely coming up to look at the limp woman in his hands, skin already graying. Both eyes now clouded over and lips stained a peculiar red. Their eyes shift to the God they worship, the one they had been giving their most beautiful women too. 

He holds eye contact with each and every one of them for a moment, staring into their black souls with a malice that could maim. He spies your mother, his lip snarls as he thinks of your scar. 

He begins to wonder if this is why she had done it. He finds the elder, the one who wears the fine kimono. One of the few garments that is not tattered, dirtied or sullied red. He grinds his teeth. 

“May you never forget this moment in all of your reincarnations. May you never forget her face and may you always feel an inkling of what I’ve felt.” The people weep, not for their own lives but from the feeling of the God’s heart overflowing in them despite him never shedding a tear. They do not ask forgiveness. 

They cannot ask for forgiveness. Just as he sealed your fate all those years ago, he is sealing theirs now. With a stomp of his foot the Earth rumbles, slowly opening up into a jagged mawl. People scream as they reach for one another, grasping onto nothing. Only your mother waits for death silently. Her own tears streaming down her face as she etches into her last moments the sight of her failure. Of you taken from the world too soon. 

The village is swallowed whole and now that it is over, he is still unhappy. The void in his cheat is far deeper than the Earthy chasm before him. He cries out in anguish pulling you impossibly closer. A fissure runs through the ground, deep and fast through the next village and the one after that.

In a loud puff of smoke a man appears beside the mountain God, he pulls down his black hood and his hair shines gold in the moonlight. His eyes like molten lava gleam with destructive glee. The Earth threatens to crumble beneath the new God’s feet, the dark chasm glows a bright hot red in his presence. 

“No one ever strikes your ire.” His voice is dark yet excited, “And never enough to summon me. Need some pointers from the God of Destruction himself shitty hair?”

“Bakugou, I…” The mountainous man’s voice cracks, causing his friend’s brow to furrow. Bakugou takes in the sight of you withered in hands through ghastly means. Of the decimation and the level of it. Reaching over to another village and possibly the next two. This level of destruction would get the Mountain God into a lot of trouble but it was evident he did not care. Bakugou gives his back to the sight and finally speaks, lying a warm hand on his friend’s broad shoulder.

“If anyone asks, I destroyed the villages.” Molten eyes watch tears fall onto you and the ground beneath his friend’s feet. The golden haired man sighs, gently taking you from the arms of his friend who tries to desperately hold on to what is left of you. 

“It’s alright, it’s okay.” A rare comfort from his companion, he takes your small frame and turns. He is going to gently lie you in the cooling Earth. A destruction God destroys in order for something new to be created. He plans to give his only friend a blessed grave for you so he can visit until, what Bakugou hopes but heavily doubts, Kirishima forgets. 

“W..wait. wait. She needs…” His voice shatters as with shaking fingers he creates the very thing he had intended for you to have. Good fortune in the shape of deities or wild irises, circling one another to be a stunning crown. Instead of white they glow gold as he sets it atop your crown. Kirishima squeezes your limp hand a final time before letting you go. Bakugou breathes deeply as he works, pulling the ground back together with sheer force as the lava recedes. He does so until the two shelves barely meet, a rich bed of soil lies before his feet. Gently he lies you in the bed of dirt. 

“Ashes to ashes.” Your body ignites from within, glowing in a golden flame until there is nothing left but dust on the wind and the golden flower crown. Bakugou pulls the dirt over your remains.

Kirishima falls to his knees, pressing his hand into the Earth, fearful he will forget a mortal like you, a mere blip in his infinite lifetime. The ground beneath him bursts and blooms in great color. All deep reds, golden yellows and blinding whites for miles. 

“I will always love you my little flower." 

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The summer breeze feels warm as it rouses the scent of rain and the sound of chimes. You close your eyes and day dream of something long forgotten, of stories retold from an old book of legend you never read. Nervousness thrums through your veins as you stand beside your ash blonde friend, patiently waiting for the third party to arrive. The impatient man growls beside you as he spots someone he recognizes behind you. 

"Oi shitty hair hurry up! Iris and I have been waiting here all damn morning!” Bakugou shouts, using your hero name. You turn to see your new patrol partner for future missions. The sun illuminates behind him, almost giving him a heavenly glow and you realize that there is something odd about the man who approaches you. His long flowing garnet hair is unruly in the wind, shining a red so deep in hue you first mistake it for black. His smile is sharp toothed and easy, causing a swarm of butterflies to take flight in your stomach. With your heart hammering out of your chest you cannot shake the feeling that something seems off about him. It is both other worldly and familiar, you feel as if his name sits on the tip of your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as his glowing ruby eyes drink you in.  He sees a faint mark traveling through your left eye as if it were a fading scar, maybe it was something you could not shake from a past long forgotten. His heart hammers in his chest as he speaks, your reaction to his next words will tell him what he needs to know. 

“Hello my little flower, it seems we meet again.”

[redriotdynamite]

I Wanna Feel You

TRIGGER WARNING:

NSFW

CUSSING

TOXIC RELATIONSHIP

DOM & SUB PLAY

DEGRADATION PLAY

PRAISE PLAY

BDSM

THREESOME

KNIFE PLAY

BONDAGE PLAY

EDGE PLAY

ORAL SEX (GIVING AND RECIEVING)

ASS PLAY

ANAL SEX

VAGINAL SEX

NIPPLE PLAY

CUM PLAY

So guys this is a pretty long short story that I’ve been working on for a while. This is part one. Hope you enjoy.

The rain felt amazing. It was cold, just what I needed on my hot sweaty body. The bar was packed but I had been persuaded by my best friend. A night out of drinking and dancing would do the trick, the perfect end to a shit week, as she had explained it. Looking back through the windows I could barely make out my best friends' silhouette, leaning against the bar, throwing back another shot of tequila and laughing out loud. Her uber was coming in about thirty minutes but as for me, I had to get back home asap. I pulled my phone from my small shoulder bag and groaned when the screen lit up. Thirty-seven missed calls...about fifty texts and to top it off one voicemail. A shiver ran up my spine and I wasn’t sure if it was the cold rain or the realization that I had made a big mistake. I pulled down the notification bar and there laced with questions and demands about where I was, was one name. The name that had haunted me for nights, the name that filled me with an everlasting fear and excitement.... Dabi. I closed my eyes as I locked my phone and shoved it back in my bag. I looked up at the sky and breathed a big sigh. “Fuck”. I knew what the voicemail would say without even having to listen to it. Dabi had told me not to leave the house tonight. He had some official villain business to take care of. Something to do with Shigaraki's master plan. Not that I would have any idea what he meant as all villain matters where kept from me. I gritted my teeth in frustration.

Dabi never wanted me to leave the house. He was daring and scary and to be frank hot as fuck, but he was protective above all. It was sweet... at first. But now I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t really decide if it was him being protective or just controlling. The rain came down in small splashes, taking some of the frustration off me. Better get home before it’s too late. I looked both ways before crossing the street and made my way towards home. It was just a little bit of water and besides I liked the rain. Home was just a small ten-minute walk away. As I walked, I could feel my phone vibrating. What was another few minutes of peace before the storm came? I knew he was worried; he always was. His past wasn’t something that he liked to talk about, and I could see the worry lines in his brows from time to time but if I was completely honest, I loved disobeying him. It was thrilling. But more than that, it was like nothing I had ever felt before. The thrill that came with it, filling my stomach with butterflies. It wasn’t like I was unsafe. I was surrounded in a bar, a bar that was ten minutes from home. No big deal. But the further away from the bar I got the less that seemed to be true. Maybe it was the thinking that distracted me, or maybe the shots I had taken but looking around I realized that I didn’t recognize anything. I had been walking for about 5 minutes now and knew I should be close. But the cute coffee shop and bookstore I often visited while Dabi was gone were nowhere to be found.

I started to panic but pushed it down agreeing that if I didn’t see anything familiar within a few minutes I would call him. He needed to know that I was capable of being on my own. I had to prove that to him. So, without hesitation I quickened my pace and rounded the corner. I knew it was late by the darkened windows of empty shops that I was passing. Hmm. It couldn’t be that late, could it? I paused and pulled my phone out for the second time. Forty-five missed calls now, sixty-five texts, all full of fucks and shits. There was even a god damnit thrown in there. Looking at the clock I realized that it was already 1am. “Shit.” If me leaving without permission wasn’t bad enough this was. I knew that the streets were dangerous, especially at this time of night.

I stared at his name, trying to buy myself some time. But I knew that it was hopeless. I had to face him sometime. I pressed the call button and waited for the ring. It only rang once before the other line erupted into a roar. “WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!” Just as I was about to respond a noise pulled your attention to the alley close by. At first glance I didn’t see anything. Thinking that my mind was playing tricks on me, I turned my attention back to the phone and answered. “Before you say anything else just know that I'm okay. I know you told me not to go out, but I just went to the bar to drink with my friend. I’m on my way home now. I’m sorry it’s so late. I know your mad, but I promise I'm okay.” I took a deep breath after my confession. Of course, he knew that I was gone. At this point I knew that he had been looking for me all over.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I TOLD YOU NOT TO LEAVE. WHY CAN’T YOU EVER DO WHAT YOU’RE FUCKING TOLD. JUST YOU

WAIT UNTIL I GET MY HANDS ON YOU. TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE RIGHT FUCKING NOW!”

Nothing could have prepared me for the deathly scream that came from the earpiece. God, I knew he was angry, but this was a new level for him. I glanced over to the intersection and read him the street name.

“YOU BETTER NOT MOVE A FUCKING MUSCLE UNTIL I GET THERE.” He yelled. I was just about to answer when another noise pulled my attention away again. This time it sounded like an empty glass bottle rolling on the ground. My eyes were pulled to the alley and there in the darkness staring back at me were big gold eyes. The shock was evident in my breath. It was a strangled sucking in noise. I couldn’t help it. It took me by surprise. I could feel the terror rising in my stomach. It took all I could do but I managed to get three words out.

“There’s someone here.” That was all it took for the anger in Dabi’s voice to disappear. His voice was husky and hoarse, but the worry was there. I could hear it. “What do you mean?”

Before I could answer the gold eyes moved forward and gave way to a tall handsome man. His gold eyes were mesmerizing. They shined and matched his hair perfectly. He stood clad in a black jacket, a simple white tee shirt, black jeans and converse. He had exquisite black eye liner, a metal barbel through his right eyebrow and a metal ring through his bottom lip. His eyes looked up and down, taking me in. The right side of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. He took a few steps towards me and out of the darkness two huge red wings followed him. They looked ginormous and beautiful. I was mesmerized, I wanted to feel how soft they were on my skin. I was a bit taken aback by this as I had never thought of anyone in that way but Dabi. We had a connection that was unexplainable from the moment we met. This feeling was new and scary but it washed over me, pulling me in.

I guess Dabi wasn’t happy with the silence on my end and he erupted again. “I’M COMING!” That was all I heard before the line went dead. It was odd for him to be concerned. Normally I would have been annoyed by Dabi for hanging up but I was distracted. Sure, this man in front of me was one of the hottest men I had ever seen before, but I didn’t know him. I was scared. I knew the kind of villains that Dabi was around on a daily basis. So, I knew how terrible people could be. I took a step back my eyes not leaving his. His smirk covered his whole face and he took two strides towards me.

“Well, Hey there baby bird.” He spoke. I couldn’t help but like the way the pet name sounded. His blonde hair was a mess and he ran his fingers through it, making it look messier, not that it was a bad thing. His wings followed behind him and they fanned out majestically. They were so beautiful. Have I seen this man before? I couldn’t have, could I? I mean honestly, I would have remembered. Regardless of how handsome he was or how charming he seemed; I was still on guard. I quickly turned around and started walking fast, back the way I came. I heard his footsteps behind me which caused me to panic a tiny bit.

“Oh, come on baby bird. There’s no reason to be scared.”

It seemed genuine; but I was remembering what Dabi had always told me. Don’t trust anyone. It was something I had lived by; something that had kept me safe. Being in the league, Dabi was always dealing with pretty crazy people; people who had held grudges against him. He was always protective but when it came to other villains, he was super protective. I had made my way to the corner, about to pass by an alley and cross the street, when I felt a hand on my wrist.

“Hey there kid, where are you going?” He asked. I spun around as fast as I could, my hand raised to slap him as hard as I could. My hand had almost connected with his face but was stopped before it could. He had caught my wrist in his hand. His smirk grew on his face and he tightened his grip on my wrist.

“Now now, let’s play fair, shall we?” He said with a light expression; walking me backwards until my back connected with the brick wall of the building to my slight right. The building was cold, causing goosebumps to raise on my arms and legs. In once swift movement both my hands were pinned above my head, against the brick, captured in one of his hands. A small breath forced its way out of my mouth. It was surprising. When I refocused on him, I realized how close his body was to mine. His face was inches from mine

and his body was just as close. His cologne washed over me; a mixture of Mediterranean waters, cliffside geranium and amber wood. It surrounded me, consuming my thoughts to the point of feeling drunk. I could feel myself slipping. I couldn’t control my thoughts. His free hand came up and caressed my cheek. As soon as he touched me a shock went through my body, all the way to my toes. I shivered. Apparently, he noticed because his smirk grew.

“So soft, are we cold song bird?”

I couldn’t speak. His fingers traveled down my cheek to my lips. He ran his thumb over my bottom lip tugging at it.

“Mmmm so fucking pretty.” The way his voice dropped a few octaves, made my body heat up. His fingers left my lips and moved down my chin to my neck. He massaged the skin there causing me to shift from foot to foot. He suddenly wrapped his hand around my neck, securely.

“You have to learn to be still baby.”

I could feel his rings digging into my skin. I couldn’t think of anything else at that moment other than his hands on me. I felt his breath fan out over my face, him coming closer. It was cool mint. It mixed with his deep cologne; the mixture heavenly. I bit my bottom lip. My breathing was hard and fast. The thrill in my tummy was out of control; the butterflies tingling. I guess he liked what he saw because he squeezed my neck tightly.

“Fuckkk, baby bird. You look so fucking tasty.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes darting from mine to my lips; before he leaned in and kissed me.

Sparks erupted in my lips and spread all over me. His lips were so soft and warm but I could feel the cold metal of his lip ring on mine and it drove me crazy. I moaned in his mouth before I realized what I was doing. I pushed my body forward, trying to get closer to him. I could feel his smirk against my lips before he pulled away slightly and chuckled.

“So eager aren’t we kid?”

With his hand still around my throat his thumb moved to caress my chin.

“I was right. You taste so fucking good.”

Normally I was a rational person.... okay maybe not 100% sane. I mean I was dating a villain. I normally would have never done anything like this. Maybe it was the alcohol that coarsed through my veins giving me a high or maybe it was just this man. I wasn’t sure and that thought terrified me.

His hand traveled down to the neckline on my shirt. He ran his long index finger along the line of the dark fabric; causing more goosebumps to pop up. His finger left a hot trail in his wake along my cleavage. Once he was satisfied, he moved his hand lower, rubbing my side. His hand then came to bottom of my shirt. He lifted the fabric slightly; exposing my skin. The air was so cold but his fingers like fire; heating up every part of my body. He rubbed the skin there; sweet praises slipping out under his breath. My breath was coming out in fast pants. It was somewhat shameful to say that I was already turned on. He moved his hand lower coming to the bottom of my skirt. He took his bottom lip between his teeth. His hand moved under the fabric and started moving up. He was trailing his fingers along my thighs and hips. He ran his fingers along the bottom hem of my panties. The butterflies erupted in my stomach, causing me to feel dizzy. I wanted more; I needed more. It was like I was starving; he was a four-course meal and I wanted to indulge. His hand moved along the hem for a moment before moving to the top of my panties. He was so close to where I wanted him to be. His fingers lightly played with the hem; not giving me what I wanted; what he knew I wanted. He inched lower and lower, his lip still in between his teeth.

It was driving me crazy, in a way that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Of course, Dabi and I had always had a great sex life. But Dabi had been busy with the league lately. I knew he was stressed and that it wasn’t his fault; but our relationship had taken the worst of it. No longer did we spend nights awake in each other's arms, riding out highs, just to chase another. And if I was completely honest, I missed it; I missed it a lot. My thoughts were interrupted when the man dipped his finger below the hem; taking me by surprise. A sharp breath slipped out of my mouth and I moaned. He finally let his lip go and smirked.

“Tell me what you want baby bird.”

I internally whined.

“Please, more.” I said breathless.

He came closer and kissed me again, this time running his lips down my chin to my neck. He nipped at the skin.

“More what?” I could practically hear his smirk against my skin. He was literally going to make me beg. I sighed; annoyed. It was embarrassing to say it.

“Just more. Please” I said, hoping that was good enough.

He chuckled.

“Come on kid, It’s not that hard. All you have to do is tell me what you want.” He was teasing me at this point. I rolled my eyes causing him to chuckle more.

“I want you to touch me.”

“Ahh, you want me to touch you were?” he questioned as if he didn’t know. I huffed. Of course, he was going to make me say it.

“I want you to touch me there. Please.” I batted my eyelashes at him and bit my lip again. Maybe the puppy dog eyes would work.

“There? Are you sure? I could stop.” he teased; moving his hand away. I spoke immediately.

“No please, I want you to touch...my.... pussy.” I said shyly.

“Ohhhh.” he said faking realization.

I huffed again, annoyed.

“Please don’t make me say it again. Please, just make me feel good.” I said sweetly, trying to win him over.

“That’s its kid. I love to hear you fucking beg. You want me to touch your pretty pussy? I bet you’re so wet just thinking about it aren’t you?”

He then moved his hand into my panties. His fingers rubbed their way down to my folds, stopping there; teasing me more. I gave him a “are you kidding me look”. He smirked and raised his eyebrow at me.

“Beg. If you want me to touch your pretty pussy and make you cum you’re going to beg for it, do you hear me?” His dominance only made me wetter and before I knew it, I was begging.

“Please, please, please touch my pussy. Make me feel good. I want to feel good, please.”

He smiled and finally pushed through my folds. It was unlike anything I had felt before. It felt so fucking good. He moved his fingers around my clit, in circles, causing pleasure to spread everywhere. His fingers Moved expertly against my core, taking me higher and higher. I was just to the point of wanting more when he slipped two fingers inside me; kissing me as he did. I moaned in his mouth. God it was incredible, so fucking incredible. The sensation, it was like I hadn’t felt this kind of pleasure in forever. I wasn’t thinking about him, about Dabi, about anything but the pleasure. I wanted to feel good, so fucking good. I didn’t even know this man's name but I knew how good his fingers felt and I wanted more. I pushed my hips forward trying to get his fingers to go deeper. He obliged and I could feel myself nearing my peak when his rings hit right at my entrance. I was a moaning mess.

“Yes please, oh my fucking god, yes.” I rocked my hips back and forth looking for the release. I wanted this so bad.

“That’s it. You feel that? It’s so good isn’t it. Be a good girl and cum for me.”

That was it for me. I could feel it coming. I was there on the edge about to let go, when I heard tires screeching and an engine roaring. My stomach fell into my feet. I froze. The man tried to continue but I pushed him away. His fingers ripped from my core and I suddenly felt the loss. I pushed my skirt down trying to make myself look decent. HA! Make myself look decent after what I had just done; yeah right.

My high had been ruined and it was all because of Dabi. I wasn’t upset that I was interrupted, I was upset because I was beginning to realize the impact of what I had just done. The betrayal that I knew would crush Dabi. To say he had a temper was an understatement. I looked to the right, out to the street and there, one wheel on the sidewalk was his black Audi R8. The blue lights underneath the car that I got him for his last birthday glowed in the dark. The engine roared again. I couldn’t see inside due to the blacked-out windows. Not that I would want to. I couldn’t believe what I had just done and I didn’t know how he would react. Before I could prepare myself, the driver door opened and Dabi stepped out. He was dressed in black skinny jeans, a black v neck t shirt, his scars poking out of the neck line, and black boots. His spikey black hair was a mess, no doubt from running his hands through it, something he always did when he was mad or frustrated. As soon as I saw his blazing eyes, not only was I scared but I was also saddened. I couldn’t believe that I had done this to him. Sure, we had our issues but this man, this hurt scarred man had loved me the best way he knew how. He protected me against any and everything. And for me to just do something like this was unforgiveable.

He stormed towards us.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” he demanded.

Part 2 is up now!!!

https://redriotdynamite.tumblr.com/post/656431365597822976/i-wanna-feel-you-part-2

[daringyounggrayson]

Could you do 25 or 30 for Bruce and Dick? I’d really like for you to make Bruce say those words to his son!

I think we would all like to see that! oh, and for this one, I’m mixing things up: Bruce took Dick in as his ward but never went on to adopt him. 

25: “You know I love you, right?”

30: “I love you, okay? I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”

AO3

"Mr. Wayne!” a photographer calls, waving his arm toward their small group as they try to make their way inside. “A picture of you and your sons, if you wouldn’t mind?” 

“Sure!” 

On cue, the four of them turn toward the camera with easy smiles. 

“Oh, sorry sir.” The photographer directs this at Dick. “Could I just get his sons for this shot?”

Dick doesn’t blame the reporter, honestly. He was probably assigned to get pictures of the Waynes, and when you google the Waynes, Dick’s name doesn’t pop-up��at least, not under family. And it makes sense; he was never adopted, so he’s legally not part of the Wayne family. Dick’s relation is just a small, unimportant detail. And to outsiders, especially people outside of Gotham or people who simply don’t keep up with Wayne Family News, Dick looks like more of a family friend, if anything. 

It’s an honest mistake, and Dick doesn’t take it personally. Unfortunately, that doesn't make it any less awkward. 

Dick glances at Bruce, trying to decide what to do. This evening will be long enough as it is, and if Bruce would rather let it go and get through the photos as quickly as possible, Dick wouldn't blame him. And it’s not like Dick needs his face on another magazine. 

Bruce tightens his hold on Dick’s shoulder, decision made.

“If you don’t mind,” Bruce pipes up with a charming voice, “I would like Richard to be in the photo. I did raise him for a decade, after all.” Bruce laughs to ease the tension, and Dick joins him to tell the photographer it’s okay.

The photographer’s eyes go wide, face going slightly pink. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize. I, er, here—” he holds the camera up “—smile!” The camera flashes twice. “Perfect. Have a nice evening!” And then the photographer is gone.

“I think I’m going to run ahead,” Dick says. “Find me when you can.”

“Dick, you don't—”

“It’s fine, B. Seriously.” Dick grins.

Bruce frowns. 

Dick shrugs and ducks away from his group, heading toward the building. He ignores the flashing of cameras and calls from the various photographers, and he ignores the three pairs of eyes that dig into his back as he goes.

oOo

All in all, the party was uneventful and the four of them excused themselves early after receiving an alert that Scarecrow had been spotted on the other side of town. If Scarecrow hadn’t been spotted terrorizing civilians with fear gas, Dick might’ve been able to enjoy the free ticket out of the gala.

“Shit,” Tim mutters.

“What?” Dick asks, not taking his eyes off of Scarecrow.

“Forgot to grab a new rebreather. I still have the busted one from the other night.”

Dick pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a breath before grabbing his own rebreather. “Here.”

Tim pushes it back toward him, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I messed up; I can deal with the consequences.”

“I’m offering you the solution,” Dick insists, pushing back. “We don’t have time to argue. Take the rebreather so we can move in.”

“I’m not a kid anymore, I don’t need you to protect me like I’m,” Tim looks away, down, “like I’m Robin. Besides, I think we both know that I’ll be able to handle fear gas better than you.”

Dick clenches his jaw, then relaxes it. Not the time. “Maybe, but I’m in charge right now. So: take the rebreather or you’re playing look-out for the rest of the night.”

Tim’s head shoots up, eyes scanning Dick to see how serious he is. Tim takes the rebreather, shoving it into his belt. “Happy?”

“Thrilled. Let’s go.”

oOo

If anyone had to get gassed, Dick’s glad it was him. Even though he has an objectively bad reaction and treatment isn’t always effective, he has more experience and can deal with it better than his siblings. During and after. On top of that, Tim was and continues to be his responsibility; his top priority was getting Tim home safe. From those perspectives, it was logical for Dick to take the lungful of fear toxin.

Then there’s the selfish, probably more powerful perspective: Dick can’t stand seeing Tim on fear gas. The screaming, the tears, the things he says, the inability to comfort him and take the pain away. It’s awful to see once, and Dick’s seen it countless times, in real life and in nightmares. He’d do anything to avoid it—for Tim’s sake and, when Dick’s being honest, his own. He knows his family probably feels the same way about him, but that just means they’d act out of selfishness too. 

Tonight, Dick had more say, so Tim got the rebreather and Dick got more than a lungful of gas.

“Sorry again,” Tim mumbles, passing Dick a fresh ice pack. “About the rebreather.”

Dick takes the ice pack and presses it against his right shoulder, which he agitated at some point during their fight with Scarecrow. “’S fine. Knowing you, you’ll triple check next time to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“No kidding,” Tim mumbles, running a hand through his hair. He stifles a yawn. “Need anything else?”

“Nah.” Dick starts reciting pi in his head, trying to drown out the voices he knows aren’t real. “Get some sleep. And good work tonight.”

Even with the gassing, he and Tim were able to take down Scarecrow fairly easily. It’s nice to know that the two of them can still work well together, even when the circumstances aren’t entirely ideal.

“Thanks, you too.” Tim bounces on the balls of his feet and fails to stifle another yawn. This time, Dick yawns too. “You don’t want company or anything?”

“I’m good. Besides, I’ll probably just try to sleep until Alfred is happy with the blood work.”

Tim shrugs and takes a few steps backward. “If you change your mind.”

“Night, Timmers.”

“Night.” Tim turns around and makes his exit.

Dick throws his good arm over his eyes and tries to sleep.

oOo

Unconsciousness comes in waves, broken by adrenaline spikes and Alfred or Bruce checking on him. But no matter his consciousness status, Dick’s reality is shadowed and manipulated by voices and figures, hallucinations and lies that feel like absolute truths. It’s hard to tell the difference between sleep and wakefulness, but the shaking is a good tell. He doesn’t usually shake in his nightmares.

He's in his room, lying in his bed and shaking. He doesn’t remember coming here, but that doesn’t say much. He’d been having a dream, something that felt real, but wrong. Something adjacent to reality.

A camera kept flashing in his face, the photographer morphing into something less and less human. And Bruce, Bruce had been there. Yelling at him, telling him to—

No. That hadn’t happened, and now that he’s awake, Dick can barely remember the lies.

Dick kicks at his sheets, trying to reach the cool air above them. At first it’s a relief, but soon it’s not enough because he’s hot and sweaty and something keeps telling him to run. He glances out the window, trying to figure out if he could survive the fall—

No. He’s fine. He’s fine.

Dick pushes himself upright, takes some deep breaths, tries to recite pi. 

He jumps at the knock on his door.

“Dick?” the door creaks open to reveal Bruce, who enters the room before Dick can answer. “What are you still doing here?”

“I—” Dick feels hot, his palms are sweating again and he can feel his heart pounding against his chest, trying to escape. He blinks, twists the skin on his forearm until it hurts.

Bruce is in front of him, sitting down on the bed. “I trained you to be a detective. Can’t you piece together the clues? You’re not wanted. Get out of my house and stay away from my family.”

Dick shakes his head, fists his hair. The room feels like it’s getting smaller, twisted and darker. Louder. Wrong. This is a sign, but Dick can’t remember for what. “But you—no. You trusted me with Damian, you said—” 

What had Bruce said? He’s a master manipulator when he wants to be, needs to be. He might’ve trusted him with Damian, or maybe, just maybe, he was only trying to protect Alfred in case Damian had been given orders to assassinate them. He’d already attacked Tim, after all, and keeping that fact in mind, Bruce would have needed to consider safety and who he’d be willing to lose in order to protect someone else. Dick’s death and its repercussions would have felt minuscule if it meant Alfred would be saved.

Hands tug at his wrists. It’s three fourteen. The voice is lying.

“Shh. Take a breath.” Dick tries, but it’s like his chest has stalled. “Tell me how many posters are in your room.”

“There’s—”

“Take them and go. I don’t want any trace of you left in this house.”

“Dick, you’re alright. Take a breath.” Hands are on Dick’s shoulders, trying to restrain him. He brushes them off, tries to get to the window. “I’m out of patience. I won’t be subtle any longer—I’ve regretted taking you in from the moment you moved in. Go!”  

His fingers barely brush against the window’s lock before he’s slammed into the ground. His shoulder pops, making him grunt.

“You’re not thinking clearly. Focus. Wait it out.”

Dick struggles against the weight on top of him, but it doesn’t give, not even when he resorts to biting. The hands simply shift from his chest to his stomach, and his attacker doesn’t even make a sound.

The voices in his head build up. There are millions, all shouting conspiracies at him, all of them sounding too true. His heart pounds so hard that it must be bruising his chest, and he’s so hot that his brain must be about to melt. And, and—he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He’s going to die. This is it—he’s going to die.

A hand forces his head down, and it’s not until then that he realizes he’s been slamming it against the ground in an attempt to silence the voices.

“Shh, shh. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

“Leave! Jump out the window, you’d be doing everyone a favor!”

Dick tries to lift his head again, but the hold is firm. There’s not enough room to hit it against the ground, there’s not enough room to shut the voices out.

“No one will miss you!”

The familiar feeling of a needle slides into his arm.

“Shh.”

Something happens. The room shifts, he shifts, and he realizes that he’s no longer shaking. It’s a sign.

The hallucinations shift into a nightmare that feels too real.

oOo

Dick wakes up to nausea and a headache. He tries to move his hand to rub at his head only to find that he’s been restrained. Bad night then.

He opens his eyes and turns his head. There’s an empty chair by his bed and the bedroom door is cracked open. 

“Bruce,” he calls. 

Damian steps into view, pushing the door open a little wider. The quick response tells Dick that Damian has been listening from the hallway. “Father is answering a call from Kent. Would you like me to collect him?”

"It can wait.” 

Damian still hasn’t entered the room, and it makes Dick wonder how much he’d heard last night, how much last night has to do with the distance, the hesitance. He doesn’t remember seeing Damian at all, but he probably came back when Dick was still in the Cave. And even if they hadn’t seen each other, it’s not like Dick’s bedroom is soundproof.

“Everything okay, kiddo?” He can remember Bruce having a handful of especially bad reactions to fear gas from when Dick was a kid—they’d been terrifying, seeing Bruce like that had made them terrifying.

“Of course. You are the one who was incapacitated.” Damian tugs on the sleeve of his sweatshirt, pulling it halfway down his hand. “But you are alright now?”

Dick quirks his lips into a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Good. I imagine last night was quite difficult,” Damian begins. “Titus woke up several times.” Damian tugs on his sleeve again, he looks like he wants to ask something.

Damian’s head turns abruptly, and whatever he sees causes him to take a step back. Into the hallway, he says, “Richard is awake.”

Now that he’s paying attention, Dick can hear Bruce’s footsteps. Bruce pauses outside of Dick’s bedroom, and he and Damian exchange words in quiet voices that Dick can’t understand. Then Bruce steps inside and closes the door behind him. 

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks.

“Lucid,” Dick starts. Bruce tilts his head, expectant. “Not great overall, and I still feel a little on edge, but I think the worst of it is over.”

“Hnn.” Bruce looks him over for a moment, trying to confirm Dick’s self-evaluation. He must pass because soon Bruce is taking off the restraints. 

“Did I . . .” Dick tries to think back to last night and work out what was nightmare and what was hallucination and what was reality. “Did I try to jump out a window last night?”

“Yes. I had to hold you down until a sedative was administered. After that, we decided it would be safer to use restraints until the toxin wore off.”

Dick sits up as the last of the restraints are removed. He stretches his ankles and wrists. “Did the antidote not work or something?”

“It either wore off early or the toxin was stronger than usual. Possibly both, considering how you reacted to additional doses,” Bruce explains. 

Dick frowns. “How many doses did you give me?”  

“Three. You probably won’t need a fourth, but we’ll check your blood in a few hours to make sure that the traces still in your system are gone, or at least decreasing.”

Dick groans and slides back down against his pillow, draping his arms over his face. The fear toxin antidote, while helpful, isn’t without side-effects. With three doses, those effects will stick around for days.

Bruce, the bastard, has the audacity to chuckle at him. Dick blindly throws a pillow at him, smiling when he hears it meet its target.

Then, “Are you hungry?”

“Not even a little.”

Bruce runs a hand through Dick’s hair. “Sleep.”

He doesn’t have to be told twice. 

oOo

Dick wakes up alone again, but this time the chair is gone and the door is completely shut. It’s a good sign, and since Dick isn’t currently disoriented, very much preferred. 

It’s much later in the day now, a little past noon, but he knows he could very easily close his eyes and sleep for another few hours. Possibly until the next morning. But to his misfortune, his stomach growls in protest.

With a dramatic sigh that no one can hear, he gets out of bed, quickly showers and dresses, and goes downstairs to find something to eat.

"I was just about to check on you," Alfred says when he spots him entering the kitchen. "How are you feeling?"

Dick shrugs. “Tired.” It’s a side-effect of the antidote, but the nightmares probably hadn’t helped. “Did you guys have lunch already?”

“It would seem that everyone has gotten a rather late start to the day. We were just about to settle in for a brunch of sorts.”

“Do you need help?” Dick asks.

Alfred points toward a tray of what looks like buckwheat pancakes. “If you could bring that tray into the dining room, please.”

Dick hums and grabs the tray, carrying it into the dining room with Alfred behind him. He’s just setting the tray down when Titus storms in, running into his legs with a force that threatens to knock him over.

He takes a step back with a small laugh, reaching down to pet Titus. His tail thumps against the ground as he takes a seat on top of Dick’s feet.

“Master Damian!” Alfred shouts, setting a bowl of fruit down on the table.

“What’s up with you, buddy?” Dick asks the dog as he bends down to pet him better. Titus doesn’t usually tackle him, especially not when they just saw each other the day before. “What’s goin’ on?”

Alfred tsks to the room at large.

“Yes, Pennyworth?” Damian asks when he eventually reaches the room.

“What have I told you about animals in the dining room, especially during meal times?”

Damian rolls his eyes, prompting another “Master Damian!” from Alfred. Dick almost laughs, but the adult in him tells him to stand up and keep his mouth shut.

“Titus, come,” Damian says.

Titus whines.

“Titus, come,” Damian repeats.

Titus obeys, tail low as Damian leads him out of the room.

“And please gather the others before returning.”

Damian mumbles something under his breath that Alfred claims to have heard. Despite the resistance, Tim comes into the room a minute later, so Damian must’ve done as Alfred asked.

“Morning,” Tim says. He juts his thumb toward the hall. “What’s Damian mad about?”

“Oh.” Dick huffs a small laugh. “Titus ran in here and Alfred kind of went off on him.”

“Ugh, and I missed it? Bummer.” Tim takes a seat next to him and steals a piece of fruit from the bowl. “Feeling any better? Bruce said you had a rough night.”

Sometimes a little fear toxin exposure can be so mundane and minuscule that it isn’t mentioned the following morning. Dick wishes this was one of those times.

“Yup.” Dick taps his fingers on the table. “What happened to your ankle? You didn’t report it last night.”

Tim looks down at the ACE bandage wrapped around his left foot. “Oh. Just an old injury that started acting up this morning. I can still kick your ass at sparring later, though.”

Dick snorts and grabs one of the buckwheat pancakes, deciding he can’t wait any longer. “You wish.”

oOo

Breakfast is uneventful, aside from Dick literally falling asleep on the table. Bruce shakes him awake after everyone’s finished eating and then drags Dick down to the Cave to check his blood levels. Titus joins them, pressing himself against Dick’s legs and nearly tripping him as they make their way down the Cave’s stairs.

One blood test later and they learn that the toxin levels haven’t budged. Bruce decides to give him another dose of the antidote.

“Fourth time’s the charm, right?” Dick says.

“Hnn.”

Bruce sets a timer on his phone, just like he used to do in the early days. Draw blood, antidote, set a timer, draw more blood. That had been the routine for so much of his life.

Although, Dick supposes, they hadn’t really had antidotes back then; they’d had attempts at treatments. Desperate attempts to manage symptoms. There was no testing to guarantee their effectiveness or safety, and their chemical makeup had been based purely on theory and desperation. It was better than nothing, but it was risky, so they took precautions: monitoring each other not only for effectiveness but also for the inevitable side effects.

Dick will never forget the time an “antidote” caused his throat to swell up and chest to stall. The timer had only had a minute left, too—they’d increased the time after that, and Dick hadn’t complained about having to wait the whole time for almost a year.

These days, monitoring isn’t always part of the routine, and when it is, it’s mostly to check for effectiveness. But since this is Dick’s fourth dose in a relatively short timeframe, his risk for adverse effects is higher and he needs to be monitored to make sure he doesn’t keel over. Bruce will probably force him to stay at the manor until all side effects of the treatment subside, longer if new side effects arise.

“Have you been able to get any restful sleep?”

Dick jerks as he’s pulled from his thoughts. “Uh,” he starts, needing a second to process what Bruce just said. “No. Not really, no.”

“Someone can patrol in Bludhaven while you recover.”

It’s an offer, Bruce trying to be helpful. Dick knows that, but something makes it feel like an order, proof that Bruce thinks he’s incompetent.

“I’m fine on my own.”

Funny how Dick’s still trying to prove that, after all these years. He remembers when he was eight and first moved in with Bruce, how he’d been adamant about not needing a parent, not needing Bruce, but he became attached anyway. He’d told himself Bruce was a want, not a need, but that hadn’t been true, not in the early days.

Then things shifted. He grew up and no longer needed Bruce, but he’d wanted him. Dick had lied to himself again, telling himself that Bruce was the last person he wanted. The lie was easier to believe on some days than on others, but it had been even harder to convince himself that Bruce felt the same way. That even if Bruce didn’t need Dick, he wanted him.

That feeling of uncertainty, insecurity, had been with Dick since he was a kid, and it had persisted and worsened as he’d gotten older. It had been exacerbated after Two-Face nearly killed him and Bruce promptly fired him from being Robin. He was twelve and lost back then, and in what he now knows was just his twisted, hurt kid-brain, he’d convinced himself that Bruce didn’t need nor want him, as Robin or anything else.

Back then, he’d been certain that pity and guilt were the only things stopping Bruce from tossing Dick out onto the streets. He’d felt like a burden, and he’d hated everything about his life in those moments. So, he’d done the only thing he could think of—he ran.

And Bruce—Bruce didn’t chase him.

That was—maybe is—the important bit, the part that Dick still thinks about. Not the initial rejection, not being fired—that Bruce didn’t come after him.

After all, that’s what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? For Bruce to prove him wrong, for Bruce to chase after him, fight for him. To want him.

Bruce fought for Jason, then for Tim and, eventually, Damian. It’s clear that they are and always will be wanted, and Dick knows it’s stupid, but he doesn’t always know if that’s true for himself. At the end of the day, his brothers all have Bruce’s name, and all Dick has is a man who stopped being his legal guardian when he turned eighteen.

Dick is useful, even needed on the rare occasion, but he’s not always sure that he’s wanted. And he desperately needs to be wanted.

“Something’s . . . bothering you.” Bruce’s brows are furrowed, searching Dick’s face and trying to find the clues that will tell him what went wrong and where.

Dick scratches behind Titus’s ears, looking at him instead of Bruce. “Just the toxin.”

“Hnn.” Bruce sits down next to Dick, grunting slightly as he settles. “I imagine that the photographer’s comments last night didn’t help.”

Sometimes Dick hates how well Bruce knows him.

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Maybe. But fear toxin twists things, and it’s been known to draw on recent events, especially the latest versions.”

Dick says nothing, just nods in acknowledgment as he attends to Titus.

“Dick, you are my family, in every sense of the word. And I . . . I was bothered by the comment last night that implied otherwise.”

Bruce reaches over and squeezes Dick’s knee, and Dick wonders how much he’d said last night when the fear toxin was in control.

“You know I love you, right?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just—” Dick sighs, leans his head against Bruce’s shoulder, squeezes his eyes shut. “Sometimes I don’t.”

Bruce shifts. He cups the back of Dick’s head and pulls him toward his chest, pressing a kiss into his hair. “I love you, okay? And you are wanted here. So, so wanted.” Bruce holds him in a tight hug and traces circles into his hair. “I’ll say it as many times as you need to hear it.”

Dick hugs him back and nods into his chest. It doesn’t fix everything, but it makes it better. And sometimes that’s all anyone needs.

[cruecifymesixx]

Love and Leather /part eighty seven/

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: enjoy!

Warnings: light smut, death?, language

Taglist: @miserablecunt​ , @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol ,  @a-simple-salmon ,  @hi-my-name-is-riley​ , @extremesadnerding​ , @thatbandchick39​ , @awkwrdcait​ , @countrygirlswonderland​, @awesomealmostdopestudent​, , @tashy-bear​, @krazykatkay456​, @terror-triplet, @shouttatthedevill​ @beachystars​, @rodriguez025​, @kickstart-myheart-sixx​, @s-outhie​, @anxious-diabetic, @awkwardblackgirls​, @vintagebox​ @shamelessobsessions​, @jerseytaint​@criminalyetminimal​, @trapt-in-a-dream​,  @broke-n-bitchy,  @lovesick-heart0​, @keepcalm-and-beyou​, @miriampraez​, @teenwolflover28​, @lilyhw1​, @herbertweeest​, @random-internet-user-4471, @falcon-arrows, @talranocchia2001​,  @waywardprincess666​, @iluvmesomemarvelndc​, @zoenicoles​, @vamprlestat, @supersoldierballerina, @electradestiny, @marshbev, @n0-sh0rtage-0f-faults, @cruebaby, @ggorehorror, @valentines-in-london​, @nassauartist  @cmft-jr-winchester, @bokkie92, @notworthyofyou1120 @xrosegoldwolfx, @mgkobsessed, @chaoticvybe,  @kellysimagines @thoughtsoftheantagonist , @sleepyjunhong  @meetthesixxter @sparxx27 @gingerspicetalks @kaitieskidmore1 @unknownoblivion @nevergoodenuffbutokaaayyy @sublimeprincesswasteland @kylieinwonderland @haileynicoleseavey17 @lavendersoundbarrier  @xxisxxisxxis, @dogmom2014, @cruesixxlover1991, @xpoisonousrosesx,  @m0rnlngstar, @love-struck-aries, @youretheonlyonewhomakesme,  @i-want-to-shoot-myself, @arianareirg, @fentitrbl, @patheticgay69 @rocknroll--baby @redlipscrystalskies14, @samanthadegaro @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @thechangingme, @idkmanhereisshitilike, @makaelahdelvalle

"Maybe...maybe I can send them flowers? Everyone likes flowers right? Or send a muffin basket. People like to eat when someone dies." I rambled on and on as Nikki followed me through the house.

"I should just call right? It shows I care more than sending flowers or sweet treats. That's what I would like. Should I do that? What do you think I should do?" I took a deep breath in, trying to keep the tears from coming as I picked up scattered toys from both Arianna and Anarchy.

"Vanity.." Nikki spoke softly as he put his hand on my shoulder. I exhaled deeply before covering my face.

"How do I say I'm sorry for the lost of your child?"  I croak, sobbing into my hands as he pulled me flush against his chest, wrapping his arms around my waist and leaning his chin on my shoulder

Mick had called just a little while ago explaining to us that Sharise called to let him know Skylar had passed away due to complications from her cancer diagnosis. Mick mentioned Vince was a mess and couldn't pick up the phone.

Nikki kisses the back of my head. I hear him sniffling too, "Y-you should call him.." I turn in his embrace to face him, "He's your brother. You should reach out, he's probably in so much pain right now."

Nikki disagreed as he shook his head which caused me to cry harder, "I-I can't do that. He barely answered my calls months ago. He wouldn't answer them now. Especially not right now. He has his friends and family, Vanity."

I take a few deep breaths in through my nose as I try to relax, "Do you still have his number? I'll call him. It's-it's out of respect Nikki. Imagine if it was-if it was Ari.." I get worked up again, tears pouring out as I wipe at them to the point that it hurt.

"I don't want to think of that." He looks at me, rubbing his hand over his face before it rests over his mouth as he's thinking, "Just say whatever you need to say to feel better." He tells me as he reaches for the phone, punching in numbers before he's holding it out for me.

I take the phone stepping over to him and giving him a kiss on the cheek, he breathes in deeply before giving my hip a squeeze and goes out to the backyard with the dog.

I sit down on the couch, hearing the phone ring before a grumbled voice answers, "H-hey Vinny...it's Vanity. Vanity Blackwood.." I hear Vince's sigh of annoyance, "Mick just called...I am so sorry for your loss. I couldn't even begin to imagine what you're going through.."

Vince laughs a bit, "Yeah. Right. Look, I don't need to hear a pity party especially from you."

I frown a bit at his harsh tone seeping through the phone, "It's not like that at all Vince. We're still friends even if you and Nikki aren't...at least I think we are?"

"You and Nikki and your happy little family can just fuck the hell off! Don't call me again, Vanity."

My eyes water as I try to blink back tears, seeing Nikki standing at the glass door smoking a cigarette and looking at me, "Vince, it's not like that at all, I swear to you. I am sorry for your guys's fallout but I am just coming to you as a parent, that's all. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am and if you or Sharise need anything at all just let me know."

"I don't need shit from you."

"Vince-" I put the phone down when I hear the dial tone on the other line. I run my fingers through my hair, tugging on the ends as I sink into the couch. I should have just chose the nice flower bouquet and an apology note.

I close my eyes, hearing the sliding door open and shut before Nikki sits on the couch next to me. I raise his arm and curl up into his side, "He just said for me and my happy family to fuck off."

"He's upset and mourning doll...he doesn't mean it." I nod as I breathe in the scent of cigarette smoke and old spice deodorant.

"I know. Maybe I'll try Sharise."

Nikki sighed before reaching with his other hand to grasp my chin, pointing my head upwards to look at him, "Not right now Van, let her be with her parents. I'm sure she'll be with Vince too and they have each other. I know you have nothing but good intentions but just let it be for now, okay?"

I look at Nikki, nodding slowly as my eyes burn and sting with tears, "Okay..."

*Tommy's POV*

I yawned following Nikki around the antique store as he checked out some tables and lamps. I fumbled with some clock before Nikki scolded me like a child to put it down before I broke it, "Dude this store is boring.." I groan as we go further into the shop.

"God, you're worse than Arianna. I can't find anything anyways. I probably have to go to the shop out in Santa Barbra." Nikki tells me as we start heading back to front of the store, we wave bye to the shop clerk before walking through the mall.

I tune Nikki out as he starts going on about how he wants to redo the decor for his office. My eyes wander to the bright fluorescent lights of the jewelry store as my feet take me into its direction, "Hold on man, I want to look at something real quick."

I've been thinking about proposing to Clementine as we've been together for a little over a year now. Clem and I have never really talked about marriage other than my last two failed ones, "How'd you know you wanted to propose to Van? And how did you know it was the right time?" I turn to Nikki as I open up the door and walk in.

He chuckles a bit, "Uh...I don't know man? I just knew. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. I know some people think we rushed into getting engaged and despite how everything is at the moment, I love her and I don't think I could ever imagine her being away from me. Why?"

"I don't know...with Clem being pregnant and everything I've just been thinking about asking her to marry me. I rushed with the other two and I just don't want to make the same mistake."

"Tommy, if you think you have to be married just because she's pregnant and society tells you it's the right thing to do then you're dumb. It's okay to not be tied up just in case it doesn't work out."

I shook my head looking at some rings in the glass case, "No, I don't want to marry her just because she's pregnant. I want to marry her because I love her. I just don't want her to feel pressured, I know you don't like her that much but I don't want her to freak out on me."

"Are you to gentleman looking for something in particular? I'd be happy to help." A busty redhead comes up to me and Nikki "Were having a sale today, our rings start at five thousand and it's 15% off for customizing."

I shake my head, "No thank you, I'm just looking for now.."

"Well, do you have anything that screams I'm sorry for being an asshole and I love you?" Nikki questioned as the woman laughed.

"Our diamond tennis bracelets are right over here. They're always a winner and they start at twenty five hundred."

"Thanks, I'll take a look around." Nikki tells her as I laugh a bit.

"In the dog house again?" I question as I bend down, finding a diamond on a simple gold band.

"When am I not in the fucking dog house?" I hear the eye roll in his voice, "I-I went on another date with Donna, but I didn't come home until the morning so Van thinks I'm sleeping with her now but I'm not. She'll barely say anything to me, but I'm not allowed to get mad when she's up late at night talking to whoever that guy is she's been seeing. All laughing and giggling and talking sweet. It makes me want to vomit."

"Well maybe you two shouldn't be seeing other people. That just sounds bad already, but sounds explosive for you two in particular. You really haven't slept with Donna? She's super hot."

We both smirks at each other like naughty school boys, "Yeah, she is isn't she? But no, I swear on Nonas grave I haven't slept with her. Just heavy make out sessions but nope, I've kept my dick in my pants. Would like it to go inside Van but she's being, well, she's being Van."

I laughed a bit as I glanced at some other rings, "Hate to break it to you man, but that's never gonna change. You think Clem would like that one?" I point to a silver band with an oval shaped diamond and a few smaller diamond wrapping around it.

I watched as Nikki shrugged, "I don't know man. It's simple but gets the point across. Clementine doesn't strike me as someone who would want a big fancy diamond that could be used as a paper weight."

I waved over that same redhead from earlier, "Uh...Maxine? Can I see that ring right there please?"

I wait and watch as Maxine unlocks the glass case, seeing Nikki wander off to go look at earrings. I smile when the ring is laid on a black velvet platform for me. I gently pick it up, seeing the jewels sparkle under the light. The inclusions of the diamonds created a rainbow affect as I tilted it back and forth between my finger tips.

"I think I'll take it. She needs a size 7."

"Oh that's wonderful! This is a very beautiful ring and any woman would be lucky to have it. Let me get it sized and wrapped up for you and I'll meet you at the cash register." Maxine tells me as she takes the ring and heads to the back.

I go over to Nikki seeing him holding up a gold tennis bracelet but every other stone was a ruby, or a garnet. I could never tell the difference.

"These dangler earrings would go absolutely perfect with the bracelet." The other woman tried selling it as Nikki shook his head.

"No, she doesn't like the dangler earrings. They get caught in her hair. But she has a pair of ruby studs that would go with them. It's her birthstone. But I for sure want the bracelet. Can you wrap it up nice for me? With the gold paper."

"Yes sir, of course."

We go up to the cash register as Maxine helps me first, she opens the box and shows me the ring before putting it in a red bag, "You made a very good selection. Are we going to be doing payments on the ring?"

I clear my throat hearing Nikki chuckle behind me, "No ma'am, I want to pay it in full." I grab my wallet from my back pocket and pull out my gold American Express credit card.

"Very well then, it will be a total of 23,700$." God, Clem's gonna kill me. I pay for the ring and thank her for helping. I step to the side for Nikki to come up.

"It's okay buddy, Vans ring was 85,000$ and we didn't even get married." He tells me as I rolled my eyes, "It's just collecting dust in my underwear drawer now."

"That will be 2,800$" I hear Nikki mumble something about a princess before he digs his wallet out and groans.

"She took my card the other day and didn't put it back." I watch as he then starts pulling out hundreds and fifties.

"Jesus Christ Nikki.." I shake my head "You really keep that much money in your wallet?"

"Sometimes..."

We both walk out of the store after, "I really hope Clemmy likes it...you think she will?"

Nikki glances at me, "Yeah man. She should at least. It's a nice ring and if she doesn't then it's not the end of the world you can always take it back for it to be customized or she can pick out her own ring. It will be fine T."

"I'm sure it will be too, but you know I get nervous sometimes." I confide in him as he nods, "Have you heard from Vince?"

Nikki takes a deep breath before exhaling, "No, Vanity tried calling him but he was not very welcoming about it. But we sent Sharise flowers the other day. Have you?"

I shook my head, "I sent him an email and expressed my condolences. I did get ahold of Sharise though...she was nice. Even said we can go to Skylar's service if we wanted too, but I don't know...I feel like Vince wouldn't be too happy about that. It fucking sucks man. I couldn't ever imagine what it's like to lose a kid."

"Yeah man, I know-" I wait until Nikki unlocks his car and we both get in, "Vanity cried for hours over it then we had to explain to Arianna why she was crying. That was hard to do, but I think she sorta grasped the concept of death. I just hope we don't have to tell her again for a long time. I can't stand seeing her little bottom lip quiver or her eyebrows pulling together in confusion like that."

"Do you think I'll be a good dad? I had a good dad and I turned out fine, no offense to you. But what if I'm not good enough or there for them enough?" I slump back into the seat as I roll down the window.

"Yeah thanks for that." He laughs a bit, "I think being a dad is easier than being a rockstar. Some days are harder than others. But you have a good head on your shoulders, plus you have Clementine and wasn't she a big help in New York?"

"I mean yeah she was, but it's different when it's your own kid I think. I should read some of those parenting books. You think that would help?"

"I don't know, Tommy? I've never read them, plus kinda missed out on the whole newborn baby thing, remember?"

"Well yeah, but aren't you two gonna have more? You'd read them then right?" I ask him as he just stays quiet and focused on the road, "You two have to have more kids. Arianna needs siblings."

"Tommy, you're asking a lot of hard questions. Van and I can barely get along at the moment. We haven't had sex since Valentine's Day, and when we did she made me wear a condom. I would like to have more kids with her, but right now is just not a good time for me and her." Nikki explains to me, but I can hear the pain in his voice. I always knew how much he loved her, how he would give his last dying breath to have her.

"I don't know why you two put yourselves through this. You two aren't in your twenties anymore, I mean shit Nikki, you're almost forty."

"Shut the fuck up." Nikki reaches over and punches my arm, "I know how old I am and I'm reminded every time Vanity points out a grey hair."

"Do you tell her she's the reason why you have grey hair? Because it's probably true."

*Nikki's POV*

I stand in front of Vanity, blocking the tv with the gift bag behind my back. Her eyes dart up to mine and she gives out a sigh of annoyance, "What Nikki?"

"What Nikki?" I mock her tone, laughing as she glares at me. I sit down on the chaise part of the sectional and hold out the gold bag by my index finger, "I got something, you want it?" I raise my eyebrows and a smirk plastered on my lips as she rolls her eyes and sits forward and reaches for it, "Ah, Ah, Ah...say please."

"You're annoying." Van says as she leans her head back against the couch, "May I please have it?"

"Why of course princess." I place the bag on her lap, chuckling a bit when she throws the tissue paper at me before pulling out a long velvet box. I see her look at me a moment before she opens it. She tries to downplay her smile as she clips the gold and ruby bracelet around her wrist, "Do you like it?"

Van nods as she looks at me, her cheeks warm and pink "Thank you, Nikki. It's really pretty."

"You're welcome doll. I figured it would help with an apology...I'm sorry I didn't tell you I would be staying the night with her. I'm sure I worried you when I didn't call. And I know Arianna was upset, believe me, she let me know. But I am sorry Van." I express softly as I move closer to her on the couch, taking her wrist in my hand as I look at the bracelet.

"I'm just mad that you spent the night with her and I'm stuck here overthinking about what you may or may not be doing. I don't like thinking of that stuff but I can't help it." She explains as I take her hand and press my lips to the top of her knuckles.

"I know princess. And I'm sorry for that. I know you overthink and get anxious sometimes, I shouldn't feed into it. But I promise you Van, I didn't do anything with her and I haven't done anything and I'm not gonna do anything. Okay?" I feel her intertwine our hands together as I look at her and repeat myself, "Okay?"

She stares at me a moment "Okay...but you better mean that Nikki or I swear to god, I'll move out if you even put the fucking tip in."

I grin as I lean over and kiss her cheek "What about a hand job? Will you still move out?" I laugh when she smacks my chest, "Have you slept with that guy you're seeing? What's his name?"

Van laughs turning her head to the side before looking at me, "His name is Jon, and no I haven't slept with him. I haven't even kissed him unlike you that comes home with a hickey." She points out before poking the fading bruise on the side of my neck.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. What does he look like?"

"Um...well, he's taller than me. Has short, shaggy brown hair with some highlights. His ears are pierced and he has a few tattoos." She shrugs, "He travels back and forth between Jersey and here.." I see her glance at me as I nod.

"Oh cool. Some business dude? And you aren't bored of him? I'm surprised."

"Well...not really business like you're thinking..."

"Are you gonna see him again?" I question, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before her neck, smirking against her skin when she tilts her head.

"Yeah..next weekend. He has something planned for us.." I hear the shaky breath as my teeth gently nip her.

"He calls a lot doesn't he? That's nice of him, to check up on you...does he know about me? About us?" I question, letting my hand slide up and down her bare thigh under the blanket she's wrapped up in, finger tips dipping under the bottom hem of her pajama shorts.

Van nodded, relaxing against the couch, "He was very surprised to know that I knew you and that we have a relationship."

A deep chuckle escapes my lips as I grip her jaw in my palm and turn her head to look at me, "I'm surprised that didn't scare him off. How could an average joe live up to a rockstar?" I question, seeing her glance at my lips before looking back at me, "He couldn't please you like I could. Someone that already knows all your wants and needs...someone that knows how to get you going so easily." My hand falls from her jaw to wrap around her throat, squeezing just slightly as a I hear her quiet whimper. My eyes close when Van presses her lips against mine, her hands entangling themselves in my hair.

I reach for her arms and pull her onto my lap, her thighs straddling mine as I deepen the kiss. I grab a hold of hair in my fist, tilting her head back as I lick a stripe from the bottom of her throat to the top. I feel her nails digging into my chest before her fingers grip my shirt. Van presses her body against mine as she wraps her arms around me, she breaks the kiss her eyes staying closed as she rests her forehead against mine.

We stay like that for a moment before she tells me she loves me. I smile and peck her lips softly, "I love you too." My hands slide down her shoulders, taking the flimsy strap of the tank top with me as she does the rest of the work and pulls her arms out. I kiss across her chest as she holds my head in place. My tongue swirls around her nipples before I tug on them. My eyes glancing up at her as she moans and her head tilts back.

Her ass grinds against the tent in my sweatpants as I bite back my own moans and grunts. I feel her hand go between us as she dips inside my pants and boxers and starts jerking me off.

"Fuck me.." I groan, closing my eyes as my head rolls  from side to side. She leans closer, her tongue darting out against my neck as she kisses and sucks a bruise onto me. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as I feel my cock leaking pre cum only for Vanity to gather it and use it while she strokes me. I start breathing heavier, feeling her speed up her ministrations as her thumb swipes over the tip repeatedly, "Fuck, Van...you're doing so good baby." I run my thumb over her bottom lip as she smiles, playfully biting it before taking it between her lips.

We both jump and she gives me a particularly hard squeeze when the house phone starts ringing. Annoyed, I reach for it on the the couch and say hello, tilting my head when Van kisses my neck.

"Is Vanity available?" I hear another mans voice as I roll my eyes.

"Yeah. Hold on." I take the phone away and hand it to her, "It's for you. I think it's your boyfriend." I smirk at her as she takes the phone from me.

I lean forward pressing my lips to her her neck and collar bone as she grips my hair and tries to pull me away, "No, no Jon I'm not busy. No, it's okay. I'm just watching TV." I look up at her as i move my head down, letting my tongue swirl around her nipple again before pinching the other one.

"Ye-yeah I'm okay!-" she gasps rather loudly when I bite down, "No, it's just the show I'm watching, um..just a soap opera. I'm a sucker for drama." She mouths 'stop' to me but I just shake my head.

"I'm doing okay, just been working and being a mom. Nothing to interesting going on over here. How about you? I miss you too Jon." I quirk an eyebrow towards her before shoving my hand into her shorts, feeling her panties and herself absolutely soaked. I slot a finger through her folds before rubbing soft circles against her clit. I laugh when she reaches for my hand to stop me.

"Is that Nikki? Um....yeah that's Nikki...soap operas are his guilty pleasure." Van grabs my shoulder when I slide two fingers in her, curling up against her immediately.

"Fuck...Jon I gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow afternoon?" I look up at Van with adoring eyes as I reach to press a kiss to her chin, twisting and pumping my fingers inside her faster as a small cry leaves her pretty lips.

I place soft and delicate kisses on her neck as I hear his muffled voice on the other line. Van stares at me with bright eyes, her bottom lip stuck between her teeth as I push another finger inside of her.

"Mhmm...yes that's-that's fine Jon! Just-I gotta go....oh fuck.." I watch as her body tenses, her eyes closing shut but her lips parting as I feel her nails claw at the back of my neck when she rides out her high.

I smirk at her when I take my hand out of her pants and bring my fingers to my lips, "N-no...I'm good..I just stubbed my toe really hard. I'll talk to you tomorrow Jon, okay? Goodnight." Vanity hangs up and throws the phone down, shoving on my chest as I laugh "It's not funny, Nikki! That's embarrassing!"

"Oh come on-" I roll my eyes, "You seemed to like it very much, maybe a little too much." I grin as she shoves me again.

"I can't fucking stand you." Vanity tells me as she pretends to put up a fight, but I see the playful smirk on her face before she's pressing her chest to mine and kissing me again.

[emachinescat]

The Day that Camelot Forgot

A Merlin Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat ​

@febuwhump​ day 24 - memory loss

Summary: A vengeful Morgana casts a powerful curse on Camelot on the day Merlin is named Court Sorcerer, making everyone in the citadel forget that Merlin – and his impact on their lives – exists. She can only maintain the spell for one day, but twenty-four hours is more than enough time for the warlock to get himself into some serious trouble.

Characters: Merlin, Arthur, the knights, Gaius, Morgana is mentioned

Words: 6,444

TW: anxiety attacks, burning at the stake, main character near-death

Note: This story is a bit late, as it was meant to be published on day 24 of Febuwhump, but I got sick, and missed a few days.  I did post the first half of it on Tumblr on the 24th, but this is the finished product. I am seriously considering writing a sequel, because there are definitely a lot of ramifications that I gloss over here, a lot of angsty, whumpy stuff that I could (and most likely will) expand upon in another story. But I'll let you read the story for yourself, and see if you're interested in a sequel! 

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, and re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

Merlin woke up to a broom head hitting him in the face, which was not how he expected his first day as Court Sorcerer to start.

An indignant squawk escaped him as he rolled off of his bed in an effort to escape the assault. He already had an insult for Arthur on his lips when his bleary eyes cleared and he realized that it had not been the king at all who had woken him in such a manner. It was Gaius, and he was poised to strike again.

"Gaius!" Merlin stammered, scrambling to his feet and dodging another blow from the broom. "What the hell are you doing that for?"

Gaius didn't answer. Instead, looking as mean and ornery as Merlin had ever seen him, the old physician demanded, "How did you get in here?"

Merlin cocked his head to one side, completely nonplussed. "I… live here? I remember turning Arthur's offer for new chambers down so I could stay and care for you – OW!"

Gaius had hit him again. "Who are you?" he all but growled.

Merlin blinked. "Gaius, you know me," he insisted, his heart hammering out his uncertainty at the pulse point in his neck. Something was wrong; Gaius might be cantankerous for his old age, and he might have enjoyed the odd joke at Merlin's expense, but never something like this.

Merlin tried again. "Gaius, it's me… Merlin." When Gaius only glared at him distrustfully from beneath two gnarled eyebrows, he added hopefully, "You know… Hunith's son?"

To his relief, recognition lit in his mentor's eyes at the mention of Merlin's mother, but distrust immediately replaced it. "I have known Hunith all of her life," Gaius said, voice low and measured, broom still held at the ready. "But she has no son."

Real fear exploded in Merlin's chest – fear for Gaius, not for himself. There was only so much Gaius could do with a broom, but if he was forgetting Merlin so suddenly and so completely…

"Ah, I'm sorry," Merlin said as calmly as possible, raising his hands in front of him to show he meant no harm. "My mistake. I'll … get out of your hair."

He darted out of his room, across the physician's main chamber, and out the door, leaving a confused and agitated Gaius in his wake. Merlin prayed that the old physician wouldn't get himself into too much trouble while he was gone, and then darted for Arthur's chambers.

***

He ran into Gwaine on the way – literally, he ran headfirst into the knight, so distracted by Gaius's sudden and dramatic loss of memory. At first he wasn't sure whose ridiculously muscular torso he'd bumped into, and despite his worry, he couldn't help but grin when he saw the bearded face glaring down at him in surprise.

Wait…

Glaring?

Merlin stumbled back.

"Watch where you're going, friend," Gwaine said in response. The way he spoke sent a wave of wrongness down Merlin's spine. He had called Merlin friend, but it was a vague, generalized term. When Gwaine normally called Merlin his friend, the word was saturated with warmth and shone with the light of a dozen charming grins. Now, it meant nothing. And when Merlin looked up into his friend's dark eyes, there was no recognition there. No smile that Merlin had come to understand as reserved especially for the knight's closest friends. Gwaine's eyes landed on him, flashed in brief annoyance, and then skirted off of him almost nearly as quickly.

"Gwaine?" Merlin asked, irritated at the uncertainty in his own voice.

Gwaine, who had already started sauntering away, turned back with a puzzled expression. For just a moment, Merlin was sure that kind, mischievous face was going to open up in an eyes-to-mouth smile like it always did upon seeing him, but then the brow furrowed, and Gwaine asked, "Do I know you?"

Merlin opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He stood there, gaping like a fool, his whole body coiled as if ready to spring into action, limbs numb, fingers trembling, fear wrapping its constricting tendrils around his chest.

Gwaine gave Merlin an odd look, then shrugged. "Maybe we drank together once."

Merlin nodded weakly, remembering not just once, but many times he and the man before him had gone to the tavern together, often with the rest of the knights, sometimes even the king, in tow. He thought of laughter, and promises of friendship and loyalty, and tavern songs and Gwaine standing on top of a table doing a clumsy jig. He thought of the first time they'd gone to the tavern after learning of Merlin's magic, how Gwaine had asked him a million questions that had gotten more idiotic with every drink. ("No, Gwaine, I have never tried to transplant my nose into the center of a rose to see if flowers can smell themselves.")

By the time he had resurfaced from the barrage of memories that Gwaine had forgotten and that Merlin now clung to with a new ferocity, the knight had gone.

Feeling distinctly sick, Merlin resumed his trek to Arthur's chambers, noticing with fresh terror that every person he passed either didn't acknowledge him at all, or gave him a second, bewildered glance like they'd never seen him before, like he had no right being where he was – being in his home.

***

Arthur didn't remember him, either.

Merlin was so near panic when he got to the king and queen's chambers that he almost forgot to knock. Knocking was never something Merlin had been particularly adept at remembering to do, especially when it came to his duties to Arthur, but since the king had married Gwen, Merlin had made sure to amend his habits. There were some things that Merlin absolutely did not want to walk in on, and besides, he respected Gwen too much to risk barging in on her unannounced.

It was Arthur who answered the door, and Merlin was so flustered that he didn't wait for an invitation to enter (when did he ever, though?), and he squeezed his way into the room past the king. Gwen was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank the gods you're here, Arthur," Merlin huffed as he bustled in. "Something very weird is going on. Gaius and Gwaine are acting like they don't know me, like they've never seen me in their lives!"

He turned around to face his friend. To his surprise, Arthur's hand was on the hilt of his sword at his hip, and suspicion rolled off of him in waves. "Who the hell are you?" he asked flatly, blue eyes flashing with an intensity reserved for those who wished to do him, his kingdom, or his loved ones harm.

Merlin had been expecting a joke like this. Arthur was never one to pass up an opportunity to tease his former servant, soon-to-be Court Sorcerer. The dry retort, "Very funny, Sire," died before it could escape his mouth, though, because when he looked at his king, his best friend, he saw no glimmer of recognition. No familiarity. No kindness or warmth or irritated indulgence. Arthur's face was that of a man who had just had a complete stranger barge into his room and started talking to him like they were old acquaintances – which, Merlin was beginning to realize, was exactly what had happened from the king's point of view.

Merlin swallowed heavily and entreated, "Arthur … King Arthur. Please tell me that you know me." Desperation clawed at his throat and infected his next plea. "Please."

Arthur didn't speak, didn't relax his grip on his sword hilt, but he didn't draw the weapon either, which Merlin thought had to be a good sign. Finally, after several long, tense moments, Arthur responded in a slow, cautious tone, "I'm sorry. I have never seen you before in my life. What business do you have with me?"

Merlin's world, everything he knew and understood and loved, crumbled around him in that moment. He staggered back, managed to stay upright by pure strength of will alone. What the hell was going on? The familiar sting of tears pressed against the back of his eyes, and he only managed to keep himself from crying by sheer stubbornness. He took a deep, steadying breath, made a conscious effort to look as non-threatening as possible, and tried very hard not to panic.

"Okay," he said, and his voice shook, so he tried again. "Okay." This time, his voice was steadier. Arthur's glare pounded into him from across the room, and knew that the king's already thin patience was running out. "Something very wrong is happening in Camelot," the sorcerer began.

Arthur interrupted him. "I agree," he said pedantically. "There's a strange man in my chambers."

"I'm not – I am, or I was, your servant."

"My servant's name is George."

Merlin couldn't help it. He groaned. "George? The one who makes jokes about brass? He's your servant in this hellish version of Camelot?"

Arthur sent Merlin a look that was almost pitying. "You are obviously very confused," he said in a surprisingly gentle tone. "But I am king of Camelot, and you have no right to be in my personal chambers. Go now, and I will think nothing more of this intrusion. If you do not, then I will have to treat you as a threat, and call the guards."

Merlin shook his head, unwilling to let this go. In the span of a single morning, his entire reality, the world he and Arthur had worked so hard to build and the future that they were about to step into, his new position as Court Sorcerer, his friendship with Arthur, everything, had been ripped away from him. He had to figure out what could have caused this to happen. He didn't have to think long – who was out there with enough power to make what seemed like the entire citadel forget he existed? Who was angry and envious and vindictive enough to take away everyone he loved on the very day that the culmination of his and Arthur's dreams were finally taking shape?

Even as Arthur stepped forward, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword, preparing to draw it, Merlin blurted, "It has to be Morgana!"

All the color drained out of Arthur's face in an instant. He stood there, frozen, a horrible expression of pain manifesting in his eyes. "How dare you speak of my sister," the king growled, and Merlin actually backed up a few steps, bumping into the end table that he'd polished more times than he could count.

"I know she's a difficult subject to talk about," Merlin managed, striving to keep his voice steady as the grief in Arthur's eyes turned to fury. "But it's the only explanation. Morgana must have cast a curse on the citadel – you have to let me go find her, please, and I can stop this, and the world can go back to normal."

Arthur drew his sword now, and Merlin had no more room to retreat. He stood before his king, his closest friend, his muscles aching from the tension gripping his body, his heart pumping so fast and hard he could feel the flutter in his chest. "Arthur, please–"

"I am your king!" the man who had Arthur's face but spoke like his father spat. "You will address me as such! And how dare you insinuate that the Lady Morgana was a sorceress! What vile game are you playing?"

Merlin's head spun; he had no idea what was going on, how Arthur was currently seeing the world, but he did know for certain now that Morgana was behind it. The reverence and love with which the king said his half-sister's name could only come from a delusion the sorceress in question had placed there. Then something Arthur had said hit home. "What do you mean 'was'?"

The expression on the king's face was faintly nauseated, as if he were being forced to remember something that he had hidden away deep inside, or as if he were actively fighting the urge to cut Merlin down on the spot. Either scenario felt entirely wrong and filled Merlin with a sense of dread. "My sister is dead," Arthur said flatly. "She who would have been queen – should have been queen." Oh, yes, Morgana was definitely behind this, Merlin thought wryly. It was bad enough she had these sick delusions in the first place, but to force everyone in Camelot to play a part in them was equally terrifying and sad. "Struck down by a sorcerer in cold blood."

Merlin flinched at the way Arthur spat the word sorcerer. It had been years since he had heard the title said with such hatred and derision, and never had he heard this level of malevolence for magic-users come from Arthur's mouth. After everything they had been through together, after the joy of watching their prophesied destiny unfold before his very eyes, after hearing Arthur accept his magic and plan to officially declare him Court Sorcerer, hearing the title that Arthur had so often spoken of with pride slide out of that same mouth slicked with hatred hurt. But Merlin reminded himself of the truth – this wasn't Arthur, not really; somehow he was being fed false memories – and he squared his shoulders and looked his king right in the eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said solemnly. Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Merlin hoped it was a good sign. "But Arthur – your highness – I need you to listen to me, please. I can explain everything. I can try, at least. But your memories aren't what you think they are. Morgana is alive and… very well, considering the power of this enchantment."

"My sister was murdered by magic, and yet you still insist that she is the evil enchantress!" Arthur fumed, and Merlin felt like he was talking to a stone wall, or even more deaf and unyielding, Uther Pendragon. He very seriously considered knocking Arthur out with magic and tucking him away safely in a wardrobe somewhere while he himself went to deal with the sorceress who had caused all this trouble. But Merlin could sense Arthur, the real Arthur, somewhere beneath the surface of those familiar-but-foreign eyes, and he was sure he could break the spell without having to go to the source. Merlin was Arthur's dearest friend, the king had said this himself (and yes, it still counted even if Arthur had been incredibly drunk after a night in the tavern with Gwaine when he said it). And Merlin knew Arthur better than anyone else, save the queen.

I can reach him, he reassured himself. Arthur is still in there, somewhere. I just have to find him. And once he's back to himself, I can deal with Morgana.

"Please, sire," Merlin said, putting every bit of sincerity he could muster into his words. "Just… let me tell you my side of the story. Let me remind you of who I am, and who you truly are. I am your friend, Arthur, and you have said yourself that I am the most stupidly loyal man you have ever had the displeasure to meet." A desperate chuckle lilted his last few words.

"You have two minutes."

"Um, there's a lot to cover, actually," Merlin responded. "Can I have a bit longer, because I don't think–"

"One and half minutes."

"Okay, okay, I'll stick to the basics!" And so Merlin gave Arthur the quickest and most condensed version of their friendship and history he could cobble together in less time than it usually took to exchange greetings with his king in the morning.

He ended with, "And so you see, it makes sense that Morgana would want to sabotage this occasion, because it marks the beginning of a new era that she desperately wants to be a part of but is too bitter and proud to humble herself and change for. She wants to tear us apart, wants you to do something that you'll later regret. But I know you're stronger than this, Arthur. I know that you remember me, deep down. The life you're living isn't yours. Your memories aren't yours. They belong to Morgana, but your mind does not." A strange, almost trance-like mask had descended over Arthur's face while Merlin spoke, and hope started budding in the warlock's chest – he was so close to breaking through, he could feel it.

"So," Merlin prompted, when Arthur did not immediately respond. "Do you remember? Have you realized the truth, sire?"

Slowly, Arthur nodded, and the dazed quality to his eyes cleared up in an instant. "Yes," he murmured. Merlin allowed his eyes to close momentarily in relief; his body sagged against the table at his back. Thank the gods, the nightmare was over. Now all that was left was to find Morgana and make sure nothing like this ever happened again.

But Arthur wasn't finished speaking, and the hardness had steeled his gaze once more, his lips set in a straight line and his jaw clenched and held high. "I have realized that I was a fool to think that you were a harmless vagrant with delusions of grandeur who wandered into the wrong part of the castle. I should never have opened the door for you."

"Arthur–"

"I am your KING!" Merlin snapped his mouth shut, tears once again prickling at the corner of his eyes. The injustice of the situation weighed as heavily on him as his destiny once had. "You are a sorcerer, an enemy of Camelot, here in an attempt to take down Camelot from the inside. But your spells and tricks and poisoned words will not work on me."

"But–"

"Guards!"

"You don't understand, I–"

"Guards!"

***

Elyan and Percival were the knights who dragged Merlin to the dungeons and threw him roughly into a cell. Then Percival clasped his wrists in shackles, which were chained to the floor. The door slammed shut with a metallic clang.

"Percival – Elyan!" Merlin called out as the knights that had only a week ago pledged their acceptance and loyalty to him as the soon-to-be Court Sorcerer and chief advisor to the king. "Please, you know me!"

"You'll die for your treachery, sorcerer," Elyan spat.

The left, and Merlin sank to the cold, damp stone floor, chains clinking. He drew his knees up to his chest, rested his aching head on them, and did his best to remember how to breathe.

***

Merlin wasn't sure how long he had been in the dungeon, but it had to have been a couple of hours at least. He hadn't eaten breakfast because the old man who usually prepared it for him had instead attacked him with a broom. Now, he was certain he had missed lunch too. His stomach growled at him in protest, but the hunger pangs meant nothing to Merlin. Even if the guards dropped off a meal fit for a king, he wouldn't be able to eat a bite. Everything had gone so wrong.

And now Merlin was at a loss of what to do. He could escape the dungeons easily, he knew, and go searching for Morgana. But there were so many uncertainties, a litany of what ifs that railed against him whenever he thought about breaking out of his chains and sending the cell door crashing into the guards holding a silent but hostile vigil on the other side. If indeed he could find Morgana and discover a way to reverse the curse, then it would, of course, be an easy fix. Merlin's failure to connect with Arthur and break the spell himself had planted a seed of self-doubt deeply within the soil of his mind, however, and now what he had been so sure of before he'd tried to fix things himself – that he would be able to hunt down Morgana and stop this madness with magic – seemed like a distant, unrealistic goal.

And if he did fail? If he could not find Morgana, or if she had managed to employ a magic far more powerful or strange than he currently knew how to counter? If he was unable to break the curse? Then Arthur would go on believing Merlin was the enemy, and Merlin would have forfeited any chance of reaching his friend by flouting the king's edict, attacking the guards, and breaking out of the castle.

Merlin had only been able to get through to Arthur in his other life, his real life, by showing the king over a period of years that magic was not something to be inherently feared, not something evil in and of itself. He had had to show the king through his own life and actions the truth about magic, so that when Arthur had at last learned of his secret, it was from Merlin's own lips and with nearly a decade of loyalty and friendship to back up Merlin's assurances that he had only ever used his gifts to protect Arthur and Camelot. Sure, Arthur had been angry at first, and hurt that Merlin hadn't trusted him, but he had come to an acceptance of Merlin's magic much more quickly than the warlock had imagined. King and servant had grown even closer in the wake of the truth, and soon after, Arthur had started drafting plans for making magic legal and had proposed the idea of Melin's being officially named Court Sorcerer.

But if Merlin was forced to start from scratch, to rebuild his relationship with the king – a possibility that pained him deeply but that he was more than willing to do, if it was the only way to get Arthur back and get their destiny on track – then it would not be wise to start that relationship off with a jailbreak. Then again, he argued against himself, neither was blurting out his secret to an Arthur who had already shown great disdain for magic and who held no memory of or loyalty toward Merlin at all. At this rate, maybe it was better to just take the risk and escape, because how in the name of the Triple Goddess was he supposed to convince Arthur of his loyalty if the king most likely planned to execute him for treason?

He almost made his escape then, but something stopped him. At first, he couldn't identity exactly what it was, just a feeling, an uncomfortable squirming in his gut that could have been the voice of destiny, or instinct, or, quite possibly, hunger. But either way, it bothered him enough that he held off on his plans to break out and examined the feeling more closely. Eventually, he realized – if he left Arthur now, especially in the state he was in, alone and unprotected and with Morgana out there somewhere with her eyes feasting hungrily on the citadel she so earnestly believed should be hers, he could be putting the king in more danger. If Merlin wasn't able to find Morgana in time, and she used his absence to ease her way into the citadel and onto the throne, which Arthur would readily give up to her in his current state.. With him under her influence, she could do whatever she wanted to him – kill him, imprison him, break his mind forever… and Merlin wouldn't be there to stop her.

With this thought, he decided to wait it out, and to see how events would unfold. He would not use his magic to defy Arthur or make his escape unless absolutely necessary. After all, he tried to assure himself, there was the very real possibility that Morgana would not be able to hold this powerful of a spell for long. She might be a priestess of the Old Religion, but even she had her limits. Perhaps her plan was to lure Merlin out to find her and then to use his absence to take Camelot for herself, but it was entirely possible that she only had a limited window of time to achieve her goal and that she was counting on Merlin to act on his emotions and search her out immediately.

Or maybe her plan was just to simply wreak havoc in Merlin's life for as long as she could. Either way, Merlin reasoned, her hold over the entirety of Camelot could not last forever. Sooner or later, her grip would weaken and Arthur and the rest of the citadel would wrest their way out of her control.

Merlin just had to survive until then.

***

He was unsure of how much time had passed when they came for him again. No one had brought him food, or water, and no one had come to visit him during his imprisonment, either. Merlin thought it was highly likely that Arthur had ordered any curious parties to stay away; the king had made it abundantly clear that he considered Merlin a dangerous threat. The fact that he had not been given even a hunk of stale bread or a flagon of water sent warning bells off in Merlin's mind – if this strange Arthur was anything like Uther had been, then he knew that he would be executed swiftly and without trial, and there was no need to feed a dead man.

Gwaine and Leon came to collect him. Leon unlocked the shackles and shoved him at Gwaine, who spat at his feet. "And to think I was kind to you this morning," he growled, and Merlin fought the urge to remind him that he hadn't exactly been kind, more indifferent. Gwaine roughly spun Merlin around, wrenched his hands behind his back so hard that pain sliced through his shoulder blades. Merlin felt his hands being bound tightly, expertly behind his back with course, thick rope. He reached into himself and felt his magic, alive, pulsing, ready to rise to his defense, and he took solace in it, but kept it at bay.

Not yet, he told himself.

But he was getting scared, and he was running out of options.

***

They shoved him to his knees before Arthur, who sat unyielding and terrible on his throne, a mirror image of his father. Merlin realized with a start that there was only one throne.

"Where's Gwen?" he asked. Now that he thought about it, the servant-turned-queen hadn't come up when Merlin had told his story to Arthur earlier, and the king had made no mention of his wife. In fact, he recalled with a start, none of Gwen's more domestic touches had been in Arthur's chamber.

Arthur stood, striding forward and looming over his prisoner. "You should have gagged him," he groused. "He doesn't know how to shut up." For a split second, Merlin thought that maybe the real Arthur was beginning to resurface – that was exactly something that he would say! Then he crossed his arms over his chest and asked irritably, "Who is Gwen? Your accomplice?"

"No, no," Merlin quickly assured him, not wanting to cause any trouble for Gwen, wherever she was. It was odd, he thought: Most elements of Camelot had stayed the same in Morgana's living nightmare, like the knights – even the non-noble ones, even Elyan, Gwen's brother, had remained as they were. But Arthur, in this version of reality, had never married Gwen. It made sense if he thought about it, though. Gwen had occupied the role that Morgana had believed was hers, had, in the witch's eyes, betrayed her trust and left her for the man that represented everything Morgana hated. Of course, Gwen wouldn't have her happy ending, her marriage to Arthur, with Morgana in charge. She was being punished as well. Merlin wondered if Gwen had been left with her memories of the real world like he had been, or if she was somewhere in Camelot, living and thinking as a maid when she really was a queen.

To Merlin's relief, Arthur didn't pursue the line of questioning any further. "I have talked this matter over with my council and advisors," he said in a measured voice. A burst of bitterness howled inside of Merlin – he had been named Arthur's chief advisor! He had been a part of the original council, the Knights of the Round Table, when Arthur had first brought them together! And now this illusion of Morgana's had stolen that away from him, too.

Not yet, he reminded his magic, as it raged and boiled and frothed inside of him. Be patient.

He might have been able to control his magic, but he could not keep his sarcasm completely in check: "And I am sure that in your discussion with the council, you all came to a completely fair and totally unbiased decision based on facts and not the unfounded prejudices of your father's rule."

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly was not Arthur's face flushing an angry red, nor the back of his hand smashing full-force into Merlin's cheek, snapping his head to the side violently. He felt one of the king's rings split the skin on his cheekbone, and thought for a breathless moment that the entire left side of his face had caved in.

He couldn't keep back the lone tear that crawled from the corner of his eye. It didn't come from pain or even shock – but a sense of gut-wrenching betrayal that he could not reason his way out of, even knowing that Arthur was not himself. Even in the state that Arthur was in, even knowing that the king would make plans to execute him, Merlin never anticipated Arthur himself becoming physically violent with him. Somehow, Arthur's hitting him was so much more of a betrayal than a death sentence.

Just. Wait. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to keep his magic from rising to his defense.

"You will learn your place, sorcerer," Arthur hissed. "When you burn. Take him; we light the pyre at first dawn."

***

Fear screamed through Merlin's body like a whirlwind, and coherent thought fled in the wake of his worst nightmares manifesting before him. He had been sure that Arthur would have chosen hanging or even the chopping block, but a pyre –

Merlin had grown up terrified of fires, horrified at the possibility of dying a brutal, torturous death, swallowed and ravaged by flames, all because he was born with magic. Because of who he was.

No one had been burnt at the stake in years in Camelot. Certainly not after Arthur became king. It was a barbaric practice, and even the worst war criminals and traitors were given a swift, merciful death. He had assumed that Arthur would continue that tradition.

But no, when he was dragged out into the courtyard – the sky was dark, but the air chilly and damp, heralding the approaching dawn – a great pyre had been constructed, and the rest of the knights – his friends – had gathered around, their faces lit eerily by the flickering flames of the torches they held at the ready. At least Gaius wasn't there.

You're not actually going to die, Merlin tried to remind himself, dragging desperately for air through his nose, his mouth blocked by his neckerchief that they'd dragged over his mouth in a bid to keep him from talking, or screaming, or just out of pure spite, Merlin didn't know. You can escape. You will escape, and find Morgana, and stop this. You can't delay any longer.

He drew himself up as tall as he could between Leon and Gwaine, calling his magic to his aid and –

He wasn't sure what happened, or how his friends-turned-enemies had guessed that he was about to try something – maybe he had given himself away somehow, maybe they had noticed the change in his stance or a shift in his energy, or maybe Morgana was interfering even now, ensuring that he would not escape his fate so easily. Whatever the reason, just as Merlin drew upon his magic, something blunt – a sword hilt? – crashed into the back of his skull, and everything was pain.

Agony ripped through his head, his neck, and crackled down his spine. Any grip Merlin had on his magic slipped through his fingers, and he fell forward, held semi-upright only by the knights escorting him to his death. He didn't lose consciousness, but he did lose all sense of control over his body and his magic, and the only thing that existed was pain. His stomach churned in time with the throbbing of his head, and his eyes were driven shut instinctively by the light of the torches before him.

The next few minutes passed in a state of distanced terror and pain. Merlin was acutely aware of the heaviness and agony of his head and the nausea in his gut. He also felt every spike of fear, every bit of helplessness, every scream that wanted to rise up from the most primal part of his being. And yet, at the same time, it was as if it was happening to someone else, and he could do nothing about it. Everything hurt and he was going to die and Arthur was going to burn him alive, his friends were going to light the pyre, and he would die in agony, and not even his magic could stop it, because he couldn't feel it, couldn't find it – he was magic itself, and yet it eluded his grasp, all that existed was pain and confusion and his head swam –

He felt, as if from a great distance, himself be hoisted onto the pyre. He felt the rough wood of the stake rub blisters into his tied hands as he was shoved against it, head lolling uselessly as if it belonged to someone else. He felt rope wrap around his torso, his legs, securing him to the pyre, and he tried to lift his head, which rested on his chest, tried to find his magic, but all he uncovered was fear and despair and pain.

He vaguely heard Arthur speaking from somewhere close by – or maybe it was from miles away. He did not understand the words but knew them to be a list of the supposed crimes Merlin had committed – being born with magic the chief of those. And then, far too soon, Arthur stopped talking, and Merlin sensed through his partially closed eyes the knights approaching with their torches, and he felt the warmth of the fire as those torches were lowered to the wood.

Merlin forced his eyes open, thrust his head up and looked at his friends, then beyond them, at Arthur. He maintained eye contact with his king, his brother, his best friend, even as the knights lit the pyre and he felt the heat begin to spread. Merlin didn't know if Arthur could hear him from this distance, if his words would be loud enough, strong enough, or if they would be caught up and consumed in the rising flames. It took every ounce of strength and concentration to push past the pain and call out, as loudly as he could, "I forgive you, Arthur."

And then, as the flames began licking at his feet, his boots, his clothes, something popped. I was as if the world itself had been out of joint, like a dislocated shoulder, and in that moment, the painful but satisfying second of release, it had snapped back into place. The air shifted, the world stopped spinning for the briefest of moments, and then, it clicked back into its rightful place.

The spell had been broken; Merlin could feel it in every fiber of his being – his magic cried out in relief, and it was only then that he realized that it hadn't been his head injury that had prevented him from fighting back, from escaping – it had been a last, desperate attempt by Morgana to get her revenge, to hide his magic away from him just long enough for him to die.

But she had failed. Her power, her hold and control, had finally given out on her, and Merlin felt his magic bubble back to the surface, and despite the pain and the fear, he summoned rain from a cloudless sky as the sun continued its golden ascent and put out the flames.

Around him, he heard yells, and cries, and his name was shouted from all directions, from the mouths of those he loved and trusted and who had very nearly killed him. But his head pounded, and he was so weak, and the fire was out. He slumped in his bonds, eyes fluttering shut, head dropping to his chest.

He didn't even feel the hands untie him. He didn't feel the knights gently lift his too-warm body from the pyre, didn't feel himself being carried into the castle and placed on a bed, didn't feel Arthur's tears of mingled guilt and relief splash onto his face.

He did, however, somehow, amidst the quiet and dark of unconsciousness, hear Arthur's voice cut through the silence, strong and familiar and real. "Gods, I – I'm so sorry, Merlin. My dearest friend, I–"

When he woke, Merlin would embrace his king, reassure him that no lasting harm had been done. He would smile at his friends, clasp hands with the knights and hug Gaius, find Gwen and make sure she hadn't suffered the same disorienting day that he had. He would answer all questions asked of him, and he would assure Arthur and the knights as many times as it took that he did not blame them, would explain Morgana's dark role in everything. He would find Morgana, and make sure that nothing like this would happen again.

When he woke, the world would be right. It wouldn't be normal – after everything that had been done to him, after all the betrayals, even though he didn't blame his friends, it would take a while for normal to come back around. But Merlin would persist, and he would have his friends – his real friends, with their real memories – to help him through it. As he would help them through the ramifications of their own pain, guilt, and regret.

And when he woke, he would be named the official Court Sorcerer of Camelot. He would be given a robe fine enough for a king, but he wouldn't care about that. All that would matter would be him, at Arthur's side, protecting him and fulfilling their destiny. That was how it had always been, and Merlin, when he woke, would look forward to a bright future of peace and hope.

But for now, he gratefully, peacefully slept, knowing that when he next opened his eyes, Camelot would remember.

[the-moon-prince]

The Last Of us~Kurapika x Reader ~Chapter XI

AN: Hi my lovely fellows!

I’m sorry for the delay! Thank you so much for your patience and support! I’m here with another chapter! I put some uncany descriptions and a tiny fight scene in this chapter. I hope it will dynamic and intresting enough. If you have any feedback, I would be more than glad to recive it! I have some work this week, however I’ll do my best to upload the next chapter as quickly as possible! Thank you, have a great day and I hope you will enjoy the new chapter!

I wish you a pleasant read, and I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter of my story.  (Chapter I) (Chapter II) (Chapter III) (Chapter IV ) (Chapter V) (Chapter VI) (Chapter VII)(Chapter VIII)(Chapter IX)(Chapter X) (Chapter XII coming soon!)

Paring: Kurapika Kurta x GN! Reader

Word count: 2 317

TW: Blood // Morbid Descriptions  // Violence (? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't bother. I want to make sure that I'm not selling one of my prized items to anyone."-The black-haired man dictated.

(Y/n) cleared their throat-"Understandable. Your collection is impeccable. I can clearly see the devotion put into it."-they agreed with their smile. sitting down on one of the bar benches. Kurapika mimicked the action.

Human and animal parts were too part of the person's collection.

Just another one of those sick scums for Kurapika. He loathed this guy. Referring to (Y/n)'s family as an article in his collection. Still making the reclaim difficult with an air of false supremacy and narcissism.

"I'm glad you recognize it."-the man seemed pleased with the adulation.-"Especially because I'm going to confer you one of my favorite pieces."

(Y/n) nodded-"If I were giving one of my pieces, I would as well be concerned about who was receiving it."-they added with their smile.

"Speaking of, tell me about your collection."-the man challenged. 

He pulled up a crystal bottle filled with a dark drink. At the moment of uncovering it, an intensive scent of alcohol came off. He proceeded to pour a generous amount of liquor in a spacious glass with ice

(Y/n) had no collection. Kurapika started to bug. What are they deemed to say to persuade him? 

"I have a peculiar appreciation for bodily oddities."-they tilted their head-"I own a hand with polydactyly, another one with syndactyly. A fetus with 15pp tetrasomy, a specimen of dipygus, a pair of lungs with tracheal agenesis, the list can go on."

The man lifted his chin at the answer. Kurapika relaxed. Using his medical knowledge to give examples of abnormalities was skillful. 

"That is in the human realm. My favorites are the animal eccentricities. Aren't beasts beautiful?"-they advertised, directing their gate to a taxidermized Golden Pheasant displayed on the shelf behind the man.

By this point, both (Y / n) and Kurapika were certain they had convinced the man sufficiently for him to finally sell them what they were seeking.

"Are they, right?"-the man bragged with his gruff voice-"Your interest shows, kid, that's good."-he nodded, drinking his liquor and refilling the glass-"But do you know what is special about my Fuse?"

Fuse? Didn't that mean beastman or dogman? Kurapika was perplexed. By what right did he refer to them like this...

"It would be the least! The Fuses, aren't they intriguing? Wonderful beasts."-(Y/n) praised, trying to widen their smile.  Kurapika could only imagine the pain they felt having to fake that excitement.

The man finished his drink in one gulp and served more.

"Even more for the few that remained. A true rarity! I had a good time studying them."-he shouted. It inflated his ego to be able to show off his collection.-"Imposing! Some tremble with fear when they see them. The demons robed, mated, and killed men, women, and children alike to eat their souls. Since they were disguising themselves as humans, they hid for a while. But they smelled like animals, you know? Beasts in body and soul."-he voiced and made motions of greatness with his hands. Letting out a pant that stank of alcohol.

All of this disgusted Kurapika. The man was putting on a deplorable show: spitting pest and bile out of his filthy mouth. All the collectors were rotten to the core. Would it also own scarlet eyes? What would the miserable bastard state about the Kurta? They were dull and reckless forms who were better off in vases on shelves? His blood was boiling.

(Y/n) didn't took their eyes off the dark-haired for a moment.

"It must be outstanding to hold one! I've been seeking a chance like this for a prolonged time now."-they exclaimed, putting their hands together in triumph. Kurapika felt sorry for them. 

"But beasts after all."-the man continued, finishing his drink and serving one plus anew. He was presumably drunk.-"Poor fools, they didn't stand a chance against us."-he started to laugh.-"But enough is enough, I'll go for what you want, kid."

The man finished his 3rth drink, got up, and left his bar counter to climb a wide staircase. Kurapika, who had stayed muted the whole exhibit and was staring at the glass of alcohol, let out a groan once he was assured the bastard was gone. Fuse, it even sounded awful. He turned to see (Y/n). They were looking at the things on the back furniture, their head resting on their hand. 

The man went back inside, and they both followed him with their eyes from the entry to his seat. He placed a head on the bar table on a polished wood plank. The head was of a dog. Its fur was light in color, and it had a longer, darker coat on the top of its head from which its ears poked out. His muzzle was somewhat elongated with a slightly recurved blackish nose A dog with human-like traits, resembling (Y/n). Only that he was a child and his grimace was a mixture of surprise and terror. His eyes had been replaced by doll-like ones, cold and lifeless. However, it wasn't him.

They degraded a child to wall decor.

"Look at it!"-the drunk man blurted, elevating the head by the ears to the level of his head.-"A real treasure! Even more, being from a predator, they were the most unusual among the Fuse!"

A twisted and degrading spectacle.

(Y/n) has a face of admiration, and started to clap.-"Wonderful!"

The man laid the head back on the table and sat.

"It is, it is. But it's a pity that it is dead. It would be even more impressive to have it as a pet."-He interjected with a grin, showing his open hand, waiting.

(Y/n) took an envelope out of their bag and handed it to him. The man took money out of it and began to count it. At that, Kurapika took the head and pulled it towards him. On its own, it was quite heavy, and the wooden base didn't help. The fur was soft and covered the moderately battered neck. When viewed up close it was worse. 

"Okay, take good care of my Fuse."-he teased displaying his hand to them. They watched it for a moment before pulling their own out and shaking it.

"I will. So you don't have to trouble about that."-they responded smiling.-"We will with-"

"Fuse."-The black-haired interrupted them.

(Y/n) inclined their head, and Kurapika looked up at him. How drunk was this bastard?

"You are a Fuse kid: you have claws. When you shook my hand I saw them, even if you put black nail polish. Your aura is not human either, although you mirror it well. But specialize in hunting beasts, you can't trick me."-the man condemned, with a severe look.

Kurapika felt his blood run cold for a second. (Y/n)'s smile got substituted by a sober expression.

"Why don't you kill me, kid?"-his face changed into an expression of repugnance.

Kurapika was already preparing to attack.

"There is no use in such an act. We will withdraw now."- they calmly declared standing up. They held the head with both hands, and the two directed to the exit. 

The man looked down at his now hollow glass, it did not seem that he was going to launch an attack. Nevertheless, Kurapika didn't let his guard down all the walk to the exit. The man didn't seem to move from his chair.

Still, the walk from the bar counter to the door felt heavy. Neither of them would show fear, they couldn't permit it. They would not indulge the wretch.

As soon as they were out the front door, they heard another scream from the man.

"Fuse!"-he shouted that name again. The smell of strong alcohol reached up to them.

 Kurapika and (Y/n) stopped, standing on the small path between the porch and the gate. Kurapika turned to see him. This man was nothing to him but a wretch. And he was already on the last nerve of him. 

(Y/n) continue to turn their back to the drunk.

"I'll tell you why you don't kill me!"-he shouted-"You don't kill me because you know it won't change anything. You will never get anything back. Because your kind never had anything."-he raged. He seemed almost offended.

(Y/n) tilted their head and remained silent for a couple of seconds. Kurapika was ready to deliver a punch to the man right into his face. At any circumstance, in his current shape, he wasn't going to be capable of much.

"No."-(Y/n) alleged, without turning to see him-"I already reclaimed what was robbed from us."-their tone was not the same as before. This one was more pressing. 

Kurapika hadn't heard that tone of theirs before. While they weren't screaming, it radiated indignity.

"They only robbed our bodies."-they maintained-"They will never be able to take away our pride, dignity, nor greatness. And that reality pains you."

The man rushed towards (Y/n), he was fast. In a fit of rage and giddy with alcohol, he concentrated his nen in his right fist and delivered a punch into their head. This action pushed (Y/n)'s head to the floor and their entire body hit the concrete, releasing the puppy's head from their grasp. Which fell to the ground, slightly staining its fur.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Kurapika's eyes glowed scarlet. It could be subtly perceived under the contacts he wore. The man had made the mistake of revealing his type of nen. He was an Enhancer, practicing hand-to-hand combat. That puts him at a disadvantage against Kurapika's ranged techniques. 

Kurapika conjured his chains. He dashed towards the man and unleashed his fury in a blow that struck the man in the side, targeting the kidney. The hit was potent enough not only to beat the man off but also to thrust him a few feet away from the two of them.

He was writhing in the grass, panting.

Seeing that (Y/n) didn't get up, Kurapika went to his side and helped him to their feet. Their legs were shaking. They had hit their noses on the pavement. It was bleeding heavily, and their eyes were watery. They also had their left cheek bruised. Neither of them noticed the blow coming. 

Once steady on their feet, (Y/n) stepped to the head and lifted it. Whipping the dust and dirt off the pup's face.

"Let me see your other form. Transform yourself."-the man whimpered between gasps, still in the ground.

"Sir, you are drunk."-(Y/n) finished. 

In other conditions, Kurapika would keep pounding the bastard. However, the blow (Y/n) received was considerably strong and had a great deal of concentrated aura. Above, they had little physical resistance against direct attacks; their physical fragility could not be ignored. His priority was to get them out of the place. The man did not move and did not say anything again.

Kurapika put a hand on (Y/n) 's back to help them advance to the car.

Getting to the safety of the truck, (Y/n) sat down after putting the puppy in the back. So far it had been a disastrous night. They had to put up with a drunken narcissistic idiot and (Y/n) got beaten, insulted, and denigrated.

When they put their weight on the seat, their frame inclined forward, still shaking. They put their trembling hands together and supported them on their legs meanwhile they puffed.

Kurapika was troubled for their well-being. He moved closer to them to get a better glimpse at the wound. They would have a mark on their cheek and their nose continued to bleed.

"(Y/n), how do you feel?"- he pleaded, a hand in their back.

They sniffed and pulled out a tissue to clean their face. 

"I feel better. It is not grave, I'll be fine. Thank you, my love"-they affirmed, turning to see him and offering him a smile.

Kurapika didn't understand. He knew how affable his darling was, except this was exceedingly much. A narcissistic and vulgar man had insulted, not only them but their entire deceased family. Not having respect for the gone is the limit of acceptable decency.

 He referred to them as demons, assassins, and other barbarities. He had even demoted them to pets. Yet with all that, he was the one who attacked. He was the one who was boiling in pure anger, not making the smallest attempt to be polite with the bastard. Not (Y/n).

They could have attacked at any time. However, they didn't even conjure their ribbons. They didn't shout at him, they didn't insult him. They remained terribly calm. Even now, when they were alone in the car. It seemed as if they had forgotten everything. They even smiled.

As someone dares to speak like that of the Kurta clan, Kurapika would grind them with his chains and fists.

But this was an enigma to him. Was (Y/n) even vexed? Whatever it is, they had enormous self-control, even excessive...

Kurapika would reflect on this entire experience several times in the future. Despite the fact, there were diverse imports one particular thing adhered with him like glue: the response (Y/n) gave the man screeched they would never recover what was lost. 

Kurapika embraced (Y/n) and drew circles on their back, attempting to comfort them. They rested their head on his chest, he could feel them quivering.

"(Y/n)."-he called softly-"It's over, dear, let's go home."

They shook their head.-"Not yet."

[red-jaebyrd]

Festering Wounds

Whumptober #16 - Hallucinations

He had finally made it back to the Cave, but something was off. Jason couldn’t quite place what was wrong, but something wasn’t right. All his senses were in high alert. He could feel his heart rate gradually start to increase and there was an odd pressure in his chest. His limbs also felt heavy and tingly.

The worst was the laughing, no cackling he could hear that no one else seemed bothered by. He scanned the Cave, but couldn’t find its source.

Jason tried to play it cool shaking off the symptoms as sleep deprivation. He just needed a cup of coffee, a few hours of sleep and he’d be right as rain. He stayed a few feet away from the group trying not to bring too much attention to himself, but the dog, Ace wouldn’t leave him alone. Ace kept following him and nosing Jason’s hands, so he obliged and kept his hand on the dog.

The family was chatting about the evening’s events, Tim was complaining about something Jason couldn’t be bothered to listen to and Dick kept asking him a question he could have sworn he had already answered.

Jason’s attention was pulled away from the group to a strange tall figure hiding in the shadows of the Cave. He could see the outline of green hair and a purple suit.

Fuck.

The figure stayed in the shadows, bringing a purple gloved hand to its mouth and it cackled. It walked into the light locking eyes with Jason. Jason gasped. Fear gripped his whole body he felt as if it had been plunged in ice.

“No, fuck no, you can’t be here.”

“What’d ya mean, Bird Boy? I never left.” Joker taunted, drumming the end of a crowbar against Jason’s temple to drive his point. “I live 24/7 in that moderately pretty screwed up head of yours.”

Joker was looming toward him patting the crowbar in his hands. Jason walked backwards and fell over his own feet. His heart pounded in his chest so hard it made it hard to breathe. He looked down to right himself and found that he was dressed in his old Robin uniform. This was so fucking wrong.

Fuck. He crab crawled away from Joker, but he wasn’t fast enough. Joker stopped him by putting a foot on chest and pressing down hard. It was a relatively easy hold Jason could get out of, but Joker was too strong. He couldn’t breathe. He was starting to lose consciousness.

It was the low chuckle that kept Jason from completely blacking out. Joker was standing over Jason twirling the crowbar in his hand like a psychotic cheerleader. Terror gripped Jason so tightly he couldn’t move.

“Batsy really scraped the bottom of the barrel when he picked you,” Joker insulted, holding the crowbar over his head ready to strike. “I guess he was hoping that street rat spunk counted for something.”

The hit across Jason’s chest sent a wave of pain throughout his body knocking the wind right out of him.

“You were ripe for the picking, my little angry bird.” Joker swung again, making contact with his stomach. “A pathetic charity case he could hand feed promises to, promises like becoming his Robin. And where did that get you?”

Joker drove his knee into Jason’s chest and leaned forward further invading his space.  

“Six feet under in a pine box…and when you died, what did he do? The Bat-stard replaced you. He didn’t really care that much about you if just replaced you with the next door neighbor. You were expendable. ANOTHER SOLDIER IN HIS CRUSADE!”

Jason tried to tune him out, ignore the taunts, and not rise to the bait. But he couldn’t fight how the words wedged their way back into his heart corrupting what little confidence he had gained in himself.

“…and when I took you away from him, he did nothing. He didn’t avenge his precious Robin, did he? No. He believed that you killing me would be far worse than letting me live. You sure showed him…oh wait.” Joker laughed, a high pitch sound that sent Jason into a wave of panic. “You didn’t. CUZ I’M STILL HERE!”

One final hit of the crowbar across Jason’s cheek made it feel like his eye might explode.

“Do you know what you are, my little angry bird? You’re nothing but a festering wound, open and slowly rotting away. And you know what happens to festering wounds if they’re not treated? They get cut off permanently.”

The frightening giggles continued to echo in his ears, but the sound was soon replaced by a loud ticking noise of the bomb.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, not again.

Jason tried to get up and head to the bomb to defuse it, but his body wouldn’t respond. His limbs felt like lead and his head was swimming. Tears streamed down his face and his breath hitched in panic. In his nightmares he had always been able to crawl and make his way to the door, but this time he couldn’t even get up. He just lay there on the floor hearing the sounds of the ticking bomb reverberating in his head.

Bruce, help me please. Please come find me. Please come. I promise I’ll be better.

The ticking finally stopped. Jason closed his eyes in relief, but when he opened them he was in total darkness, which only meant one thing. He was back in the coffin.

He could feel his surroundings pressing in on him and he couldn’t breathe. The air was thick and he was running out of oxygen. Jason had to get out, but his arms wouldn’t cooperate. There was no strength left in them break free.  Before he knew it dirt was crashing in on him crushing his chest and pressing hard on his face suffocating him. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He was going to die all over again.

“Jason.”

Someone was calling his name.

“Jason, listen.”

He knew that voice.  

“Whatever you’re seeing isn’t real.”

It sounded far away, but there was no mistaking it for anything else. It was Bruce. Bruce was here? He couldn’t see him, but he could hear him.

“You made it out, son. You’re safe.”

Jason blinked and when he opened his eyes everything was hazy. Once the fog in his brain cleared, he could see Bruce’s face.

Bruce came for him.

Jason relaxed at the familiar face in front of him. He was safe because his Dad came for him.

888

From the moment they had all gotten back to the Cave, Bruce knew something was wrong with Jason. He had been showing all the classic signs of Fear Toxin exposure. Jason had been unusually quiet. No snark or casual ribbing had been directed at Tim when he complained about one of Crane’s thugs getting a good hit in.  No name calling had been directed at Dick when he had called him ‘Little Wing’, especially when Dick repeatedly kept asking Jason if he was okay. Jason just stood away from the group, eyes scanning the Cave nervously.

Everyone had dispersed as usual to the showers, changing rooms, and then upstairs. Dick had stayed behind to talk to Alfred.

Ace had noticed something was off with Jason as well. He whined a little and hung by Jason’s side until the young man noticed him. He kept nosing Jason’s hands until Jason placed a hand on his head.

Bruce had watched as Jason wandered off to a corner staring at nothing in particular. It wasn’t until Jason gasped and collapsed onto the floor, that Bruce’s suspicions were confirmed.

“Jay,” Dick shouted, running to catch Jason’s head before it hit the floor. “Jason, can you hear me?” Dick held Jason’s head in his lap. “Bruce, he’s trembling like a leaf and he’s all clammy.”

“He’s been exposed to fear toxin,” Bruce answered.

“What? How? He had his helmet on the whole time.”

Jason’s eyes were open wide with fright, but he remained perfectly still. Ace lay on top of Jason’s chest resting his big front paws on Jason’s shoulders. Ace wouldn’t move so Alfred worked around the dog to get Jason’s vitals.

“His pulse is erratic, but not in danger, not yet. Master Dick, keep talking to him,” Alfred said.

Jason didn’t appear to be thrashing or fighting to get up, but his throat was making low keening sounds and tears were running down his cheeks. Dick was doing his best to calm Jason telling him he was okay. Meanwhile, Jason’s breathing was shallow as he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Breathe, Jason. You’re okay. You’re in the Cave. Breathe for me.” Dick said calmly. “I don’t think he can hear me.”

Bruce knelt by Jason’s side taking his hand in his. “Jason, can you squeeze my hand?” No response.

“I don’t know how this happened, Bruce. I swear we all took precautions,” Dick explained. “We all had rebreathers on. Jason wasn’t even around when I caught Crane. He was with Duke and Cass stopping the distribution.”

Bruce rushed to find Jason’s helmet. He searched all over scanning for any damage. The filtration system looked intact from the inside, but as he felt over the outside of the helmet he felt a crack on the side along the cheek.

“Shit,” Bruce cursed.

“Vitals are still slightly above his baseline, Sir, but not dangerous,” Alfred said. “I’m more concerned with this breathing. Perhaps an antidote is in order?”

Bruce quickly injected Jason with an antidote, took a blood sample, and gave it to Tim so he could analyze this new strain of the toxin. None of the past toxins had ever caused paralysis. Crane typically liked to see his victims physically react and interact with their fears.  If Bruce had to guess, it appeared this one was designed to mimic sleep paralysis.

A guttural sob escaped Jason’s lips as fresh tears streamed down his face.

Bruce’s heart shattered at hearing his son make such a sound. He carded his fingers through Jason’s sweaty fringe giving reassurances he wasn’t sure Jason could hear.

“Jaylad, it’s Bruce. You’re not there. You’re here with me, in the Cave.”

Jason’s whimpering echoed throughout the Cave. He was trying to say something, but the sounds weren’t making any sense. Bruce knew Jason was likely reliving his death all over again and worst of all waking up in his coffin. Jason never discussed what happened to him when he woke up in there, and Bruce regretted not giving Jason the opportunity to talk about it.

“You’re okay, Little Wing. Bruce and I got you,” Dick sniffed, wiping his eyes. “You’re with us in the Cave. You’re safe.”

Bruce held onto Jason’s hand rubbing his thumbs in circles along the back of it hoping the contact would help to calm his son down.

The words and touch were doing very little to help calm Jason. He showed no signs that he was even actually hearing Bruce and Dick or that he even knew where he was at present. Soon he started gasping for air, which quickly led to him hyperventilating.

Alfred promptly came by Bruce’s side with the portable oxygen tank and mask. He put the mask on Jason, but Jason started to panic at having something on his face.

“Jason. Jason, listen to me. Whatever you’re seeing, it isn’t real,” Bruce said thickly. “You made it out, son. You’re safe.”

For the first time since this whole ordeal started, Jason responded to Bruce’s words. His eyes moved and briefly made contact with Bruce. Jason’s whole body slowly relaxed as he breathed in the offered oxygen. Jason’s eyes began to droop and before long he fell asleep.  

888

Once Jason fell asleep, Bruce and Dick moved him upstairs to his room so he could wake up in familiar surroundings. Dick was reluctant to leave Jason’s side, but Bruce insisted and promised he’d get him as soon as Jason woke up.

Bruce stayed with Jason all night just watching him sleep. Watching the rise and fall of this son’s chest in what Bruce hoped was a dreamless sleep. It had been awhile since Bruce had stood watch over Jason all night. He had forgotten how young Jason looked when he slept. How the moonlight erased the harsh lines and scars of experiences and hardships making his son look twelve years old again.

Bruce drank in the peaceful moment and allowed his eyes to close in sleep.

He woke up a few hours later to a hand squeezing his wrist. Jason stared at him, blinking away the sleep as he tried to wake up.

“Morning, son.”

Jason kept his head on the pillow keeping his sleepy gaze on Bruce. “What happened?”

Bruce handed him a glass of water with a straw. “Fear toxin laced with a paralytic.”

“Son of bitch,” Jason hissed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asked, gently sweeping Jason’s bangs from his face.

Jason took a few sips of the water and handed the glass back to Bruce. “I’m fine.”

Bruce didn’t believe him. Jason had a habit of hiding things, especially how bad he was feeling. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree in that department. Still, if this was something Bruce could help change for the better, he would do it, starting with himself and Jason.

Bruce set the glass down on the nightstand.

“Don’t look at me like that, Old Man.”

“How am I looking at you?”

“You’re giving me your furrowed brow of judgment. I’m fine.”

Leave it to Jason to choose sarcasm and snark to deflect from the pain.

I’m not judging, you. Let’s just call it my “furrowed brow of concern”.

“Whatever.”

A familiar tension fell between them that Bruce knew all too well. It always boiled down to miscommunication between them. Bruce would say the wrong thing or nothing at all. Jason would respond defensively in anger at Bruce. It was a vicious cycle. One Bruce hoped to break, but he had to be careful. Emotions were still so raw from last night; he didn’t want to fight with Jason. Bruce knew he was skating on thin ice with what he was about to say next.

Looking at his son’s face on the verge of tears, and trying desperately to hide any show of emotion, Bruce could see that Jason was far from fine.

“It’s okay if you’re not fine, because everything that you saw and experienced last night was not fine –,”

“Bruce, please stop,” Jason pleaded, biting his bottom lip to keep it from trembling. ”I’m f-fine.”

Bruce wouldn’t stop. He had to keep going. He had to make Jason understand that it was safe to let his guard down; so he continued.

“Alright, but just know I’m here if you don’t want to be fine.”

Jason choked back sobs. He shook his head, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.

Bruce moved from the armchair to the bed and sat down. He reached over and embraced Jason in his arms rubbing small circles on his back. Jason leaned into the hug and held on tightly crying into Bruce’s shoulder.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m here to listen when you do want to talk.”

Jason nodded into his shoulder.

He didn’t need Jason to tell him what the fear toxin made him see. Bruce had a fairly good guess of the trauma the toxin had made Jason relive while under its influence. Bruce had enough experience with fear toxin throughout the years to know that its sole purpose was to unearth deep rooted fears and existing trauma the victim may have ignored or worse, repressed.

It wasn’t a surprise that Jason had buried much of his trauma from the warehouse and the events that had followed. He avoided opening up to anyone about what happened to him just as much as Bruce had avoided talking about his grief over his parents’ death. But by not acknowledging the trauma and keeping it buried, it had fueled the flame to anger and resentment.

Jason needed to talk with someone, and so did Bruce for that matter.

“It doesn’t have to be me that you talk to, but you…we need to talk to someone, okay?”

“But...”

“No buts, Jay. This is important. I don’t want you turning out like me, burying fears and pain so deep you end up cutting yourself off from those who love you and want to help you. I want things to be better for you.

“It doesn’t have to be tomorrow or next week, but it needs to be soon.”

Jason broke from the embrace, his eyes red rimmed and watery. “Will –will you come with me?”

Just like that, Jason sounded twelve years old again asking Bruce to hold his hand during a shot. Bruce melted at the simple request of his son still needing him. He placed a gentle kiss on Jason’s forehead.

“Of course, I love you, Jaylad.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

[poison--ivory]

Get back Up Chapter 4

The bits of his nightmare are still fresh in his thoughts and lingered on his mind. The black holes of what should be eyes strangled him without him even touching his body.

His mind started playing false scenarios of this nightmarish creature in different scenarios. He imagined going to sleep and being startled awake. Coming to the realization of not being able to move, paralyzed from head to toe. Trying to thrash himself around to get his body to react to any of his muscle spasms. The suspicion of an unknown entity within his room made him feel uneasy and if he could just flinch awake and scope the area out the feeling would simmer down and slowly go away.

His first mistake in this scenario was to blink. That's all it took was a quick closing of the eyes and a single second for that suspicion to grow into terror. A misty shadow from the corner of his eye darted across the room and disappeared into the darkness. Having anything in your room while you slept would cause anyone to feel restless. Next he closed his eyes again and the shadow rushed right beside his bedside. He made out features on its face and body, nonetheless the eyes and the mouth threw him off. Its mouth was too far stretched out causing skin to peel and the teeth didn’t make this any better. Sharp enough to cut wood without breaking or even cracking. But, it’s eyes are what tie it together. Beady, cloudy, white eyes peered through black sludged sockets. His mouth slowly shifts with each calm breath and the insufferable, rotten smell of his heated breath blowing down at his face. The stench of bad meat filled his airways and the contact of the creature's saliva slid down his forehead and slowly made contact with his ear. He knows it's just a dream, but it feels too real to be anything near it.Then soon after he’d arched his back up to and the creature seemed to be gone. Thereafter he had the troubles of trying to fall back asleep again. But, the feeling of someone still in the room with him staring daggers into the back of his head caused him to flip over to gaze at the wall. The little kid in him would come out at that point and would try to justify to itself that curling up underneath the thick, warm blankets would keep him safe.

This scenario was the most unsettling when he thinks about it. The others are subpar at best when compared.

Anthony couldn’t speak, it was like his mouth, his tongue to be more specific swelled in his throat and was expanding with each second passing. He took huge gulps of air in to make sure his esophagus was working. That hellish nightmare still had him drench in cold sweat, harsh chills rolled up and down his spine and he couldn’t fight that image from his night terror out of his thoughts. He can still feel the searing hot flesh of the beast’s gaping jaw swallowing half his body before snapping down on his waistline. He still hears the breaking of his spinal cord and the gushing noise of fresh blood hitting the cramp space walls and the warm feeling of liquid escaping his nostrils and mouth, overflowing and consuming his airway passages. He’d be lying right now if he didn’t feel a little bit of pain in his chest. The painkillers worked miracles on his body. But, they didn’t stop the constant panging of discomfort still in his chest cavity.

He officially loathes whatever creature (Y/n) married. Anthony really doesn’t want to admit to it, but this peculiar man petrified him. He could already feel the bile rising and burning his windpipe. The acidic fluid rose up and out of instinct he swallowed, his old man always hated it when he couldn’t make it to the toilet on time. That and it’s pretty disgusting cleaning up partially digested food out between the fibers of a carpet. The only thing that would come up at this point would probably be the tea he drank earlier.

The only thing stopping him from spilling his stomach acid on the tile floor was the fact (Y/n)’s children were staring at him, they had just shoveled food down their gullets and he didn’t want to start a puke fest. Even though it would be hilariously gross to freak out little kids. He still wanted to hang onto the last strain of dignity he had left and little kids came up with the worst nicknames that could shrivel his ego down into size.

“Are you. . . okay, Tony?” Her mellow aura consumed his disquiet appearance. She lightly held his hand and guided him over to the table situating him in her seat, taking her half finished plate with her as well. “Are you hungry, because we still have some eggs and bacon left. I can make you a small plate, if you want?” She was already reaching for a clean plate before he could even form a complete sentence. He ignored the stare of the beast’s harsh gaze.

While (Y/n) focused on piling his dish and the man sitting across from him stared him down. Anthony glanced over at the children. The two older kids sitting diagonal from him looked very similar and were talking in a language he really couldn’t describe. They both had pretty long hair and shockingly similar side profiles, eye shape and lip shape. The girl and boy took more after their mother in both features and energy.

The other kid was amazingly small to the other two. The tiny child peered up at him through bang covered eyes like he felt him staring at him. Now that he's thinking about it he recognized this kid as the child from the couch earlier. He was much smaller on closer inspection. He has a decent size beauty mark on the left side of his face underneath his chestnut brown eye. His hair style is nearly the same as his fathers, although he found it cute on this kid from the latter. This kid seemed to be very docile, hugging a small pastel green pillow, snuggling it up against his face and chest. On closer inspection of the petite child he noticed the really far away blank look in the boy’s eyes. Kind of like a dead goldfish.

His thoughts were interrupted by a high pitched voice.

“You're very weird looking, ya know.” The older boy spoke up a smirk pulling on the corners of his mouth.

If he could slap a kid and get away with it he would do that in this moment.

“That’s what Sage told me earlier when we snuck in to see you, he also said your legs look like chopsticks.” He shoved his face deeper in the soft material, still gazing directly at him. He hasn’t blinked yet the small bright red veins proved that.

“Well, I’ll have you know that many people find me attractive.” The two young boys raised inquisitive eyebrows at the older man then laughed. “What the hell are you two short stacks laughing at?”

“Your dialect it’s very funny.” The girl chimed in, gazing up from her pile of eggs she’s been picking at since he sat down. “You usually hear your type of voice on cartoon shows.”

“Excuse me for having such a great voice.”

“Yeah, a great voice to keel over to.” The older boy laughed harder. “Ya sound like a cartoon mob boss.”

“Mmh, really funny sounding.” The girl chimed in.

At this point he just really wanted to eat whatever (Y/n)’s puts in front of him and just go back to sleep, again. Her children were a prick on his dick and the total opposite of what he expected would come from between her legs. Well, they do have half of the demons genes in them and would explain why the youngest seems so weird and the other two to be. . . themselves.

(Y/n) strided back over her hips swayed from side to side and she sat a hot plate of eggs and sausage down next to him. She smiled at him before returning back to the sink, not before getting a harsh slap on the ass from the bastard, clashing dishes filled the kitchen’s already noisy room.

Anthony could feel the saliva build up in his mouth as he took in the savory smell of seasoned meat and eggs meeting his nostrils. He must have looked like a slob heaping large amounts of egg into his gaping jaw. It’s been awhile since he’s had a nice meal, he’s usually used to small snacks and the strict health regimen that Val put him on. Even when eating with Cherri it was usually something unhealthy or a quick to go item before he performed on stage.

He was so enamored with the food he didn’t even see the man sitting at the other side of the table rise until he heard giggling. He looked up for a split second before hurriedly turning his head back to the plate. Anthony really didn’t want to see two people kiss especially when he’s eating. Like those high school couples who makeout in the doorway of a classroom, well at least it’s in their home and not causing a problem. But, right now he didn’t want to up chuck what he just ate.

“See you after work my dear,” Another smooch could be heard then he sauntered over to the three kids. Lightly pecking his daughters cheek before ruffling his two sons heads. “Be good for your mom and be nice to our guest while he’s here. We don’t want anything unseemingly happening while he’s in our caring hands.”

They probably didn’t hear it or just ignored the way he phrased the word, but Anthony sure did. Like he planned to do other things to him while he stayed here. Before he could fully make eye contact with the beast itself the man already was walking out into the corridor leading to the front door.

A minute later he could hear the jingling of keys scraping against glass and a door opening and slamming shut. Silence took over the room and he noticed that the two older kids finally stopped laughing. Their breathing slowed down for a bit before they continued their onslaught of giggling.

The dead eyed child was staring at him again. It annoyed him more than it scared him. The young boy blinked a few times before he shoved his small face into his pillow not bringing his head back up.

Anthony mustered up a small chuckled and returned to his plate eating every last piece. He was sensible enough to actually walk his plate over to the sink that would be a lot more helpful, but he’s mostly doing it to squeeze more info from (Y/n).

How the hell did someone like her end up in a relationship with that monster. She has to know some weird secrets about this guy. Or at least tell him how she got stuck in this marriage.

Anthony set his plate off to the side of her, she smiled at him nodding her head before placing the next dish in the drying rack. “So. . . your face is telling me that your brain has a lot of questions for me.” A smirk graced her features, he hated that she could read him like a book. Her wet hands dried themselves on her sweatpants, “Can you guys go play upstairs, while mommy talks with Mr. Anthony.” The two older kids left without question like this were trained into their brains. But, the youngest seems to sit firmly in his chair not even budging an inch or showing any choice of leaving. His intense gaze focused in on (Y/n), she heaved a big sigh picking the small child up and sat down with him. The pillow was quickly forgotten by the small boy as he wrapped his thin arms around his mother.His short legs hung lifelessly on both sides while his arms latched on for dear life around her neck and shoulders. “I hope you don’t mind the extra passenger. We also have to make this quick. I have to edit some papers of mine before the due date.” She managed a meek smile.

“No, I don’t mind.” Anthony glanced back at the small child and the deadlock grip he had on her. “He’s a real mama’s boy, huh.” He smirked.

“He doesn’t like being left alone.” She pushed the boy up further to situate him in a better position, a loud roar of thunder broke the short silence. Making the small boy gasp in shock and burying his face deeper into her neck. “So, you have some questions you want me to answer, right?”

“Yeah, how the hell did you end up with him!” He exclaimed.

“Didn’t I already tell you this earlier or are the meds warping your brain.”

“No,I remember but, I want the full story this time. From beginning to end with no holes.”

(Y/n) paused, her facial expression going dead for a moment before coming back to life and she smiled sweetly at him.

“I’ll tell you the whole story, Toni. But, it’s pretty long and kind of weird now that I think about it.” The kid in her lap settled down on her lap nicely like a small cat or a non hyper dog. “So, buckle in because I’m going to tell you quite a story.”

Anthony situated his back further in the wooden chair, his gaze solely focused on her and only her. Strong yet such kind eyes stared back at him and he could see why someone would fall for her. A forced swallow of air down his windpipe left a weird aftertaste in his mouth.

Releasing a big sigh he nodded over at her to continue, “I’m ready.”

The little boy turned his head around address his presence,"Just tell the story, mama."

"I'm going to give me a minute I'm trying to think of good starting mark." Her eyes lit up with her smile as she stared me down. "Well if I had to start the story off at. I guess I have to start it at a small cafe over a order of venison."

[iturbide]

Brace Together

I had the honor of contributing a written piece for the @rallyspectrumzine earlier this year!  Thanks so much for having me, it was a delight to take part with you all. ❤ Now that the physical copies are all on their way out, I can share my contribution to the finished work -- I hope you enjoy!

/////

“Thanks again!” Lissa beamed, hefting the tray up and trying not to spill the marmalade Maribelle had magically produced alongside the full china tea service.  How the duchess kept it from breaking on the march, she had no idea, but she was grateful all the same for her friend’s dedication to teatime. 

“Think nothing of it, Darling,” Maribelle smiled, lifting the tent flap for the princess as she navigated her way outside.  “And you simply must tell me what you think of the tea cakes, I selected them especially to go with that citrus blend you like so much.”

“I promise, I will,” Lissa giggled.  The only thing that kept her from skipping was the very fragile, very heavy tea set in her hands -- but she still hummed her way through the rows of tents, dodging the occasional Shepherd and miraculously managing not to spill anything before she reached the pavilion on the far side of camp.  “Knock knock!” she called, rocking between her heels and the tips of her toes while she waited. 

It took a moment.  And she was getting tempted to call again by the time she finally heard movement inside and saw Robin poke his head out.  “Lissa?  ...since when do you knock?” he asked, taking one look at her prize and holding the canvas aside for her. 

“Hey, I’m a princess!  I have manners,” she huffed, sticking her tongue out in a distinctly un-princessly way. 

“Is that so?  Perhaps I keep sleeping through it, then,” he teased.

According to her brother, the tactician never slept at all.  “Oh, ha ha.” 

Pointedly ignoring the space he was trying to clear on his little writing table, she made her way over to the untouched bedroll in the corner, putting the tray down on the ground and looking expectantly at him until he relented and came over.  “So, was it Chrom or Sumia that asked you to look in on me?”

“My brother,” she replied, flopping down onto the blankets once he got them laid out.  “He said you were working when he turned in last night, and still at it when he woke up in the morning, so he promised me a bouillon’s worth of honey crystals if I managed to get you to take a break.”

Robin feigned affront, lifting a hand to his heart.  “You don’t like me enough to do it out of the goodness of your own heart?”

“Of course I do!” she protested.  “I was gonna come even before he asked, he just tried bribery instead of guilt like some people.”  He only laughed, though, lifting the teapot and pouring out a cup for each of them before settling in beside her.  

Taking the one he offered, Lissa snuggled up against him, smiling when he leaned back into her.  Robin had never been all that touchy, with very few exceptions: Chrom and Sumia, obviously, and Sully -- though usually he just went limp like a scruffed kitten when she manhandled him...and her.  And it was nice, even after all this time, knowing he could relax like that with her.  “So how are you doing?” she asked around the rim of her teacup. 

“Well enough, I suppose,” he murmured. 

She glowered up at him.  “Tell me the truth,” she demanded.  “How are you doing really?” 

He drew a breath to speak -- but when she preemptively held up one hand with just her pinky finger raised, he let it out in a low sigh.  “Curse that damnable oath,” he muttered, hooking his little finger with hers (and it took everything in her not to burst out laughing).  “Fine.”

She waited.  He didn’t say anything, though.  Not for a long time.  Long enough that she was just about to prompt him again when she realized his hand was shaking against hers.  “I never wanted to do this again.”

“Do what?” she asked, adjusting her grip to squeeze his fingers.

“Be a tactician.”  She could hear the china clattering in its saucer long before he put it down out of harm’s way.  “I thought it was over.  I thought...after everything, there wouldn’t be any need to do this anymore, but it just keeps happening -- it never ends, it always comes back, and...and some of the Shepherds have children now.  What happens if I miss something, and a parent never makes it home because of my mistake…?”

Hurriedly putting her cup aside, she folded both her hands around his.  “I’m nervous about going back into battle again, too, but I know we’re all gonna be okay--”

“You can’t promise that,” he whispered.  “I can’t promise that, even if I plan for everything I can think of before we ever arrive -- something can always go wrong, and what if I fail again…”

“It’s okay -- hey, no, no no no it’s okay…”  His tremors shook her even before she threw her arms around him in a frantic hug, and he clung back with the desperate terror of a man caught in an earthquake.  If it hadn’t been for her crinoline, she’d have crawled into his lap to brace him better -- and it didn’t stop her from trying, either, squirming as close as her skirts would allow.  

“It’s scary,” she mumbled into his coat.  “I know it is.  I get scared, too.  I didn’t want to do this again, either, I hate all the fighting and I’m...every time we have to go out there, I’m always so scared that I won’t get there in time, and I won’t be able to save somebody, but...but it’s gonna work out, it always works out, so I shouldn’t be scared, right?”

“Yes you should.”

“You’re terrible at pep talks,” she groaned. 

“Would you rather I lied to you?”

“...no.”  It was...actually kind of nice, hearing that she wasn’t silly for worrying. 

“You’re going to do your best, though, even if you’re afraid, aren’t you?” he asked. 

“Well, yeah!  Of course I am!”

“That’s all you can do,” he murmured, hugging her tight.  “Speaking from experience, when we all work together, our best is enough to do anything.”

She beamed, taking his face in her hands and squishing his cheeks.  “Well whatever happens, you’ll find a way to make it all work out.  I’m sure of it, ‘cause you’re the best tactician I know.”

“Aren’t I the only tactician you know?” he asked, his words a little garbled with his face squished. 

“Still the best!” she giggled.  “And if you wanna be your best when the battle starts, then you need to take breaks.  No more working all day and night.”

“...my reaction time does suffer from lack of sleep,” he admitted grudgingly. 

“Yeah, see?  Breaks.”  

She didn’t move, though, and he didn’t let her go; instead she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he tilted his forehead against hers.  “Thank you,” he murmured. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” she smiled.  “I’m happy to do it!  You know I love you, right?”

“You love everyone,” he chuckled. 

“Yeah, but I love you extra.  More than anybody else does.”  Even more than Chrom did -- not in the same way, maybe, but just as much and then some.

“I think your brother, at the very least, would argue that,” he teased.

“He can fight me, then!  I’ll show him who’s delicate…”

He was laughing now.  And so was she, feeling the warmth of it bubble up inside and drown out the fear.  “It’ll be okay.  We’re gonna do our best and I know it’ll work out.  But you’ve gotta take care of yourself, okay?”

“Alright,” he agreed. 

“Promise?” she asked, sitting back and holding out her pinky again. 

He hooked it with his own, his eyes crinkling as he tried to hide a smile.  “I promise.”

“Good.”  She slid down into the spot next to him again, grabbing her tea before snuggling into his side...and he leaned back against her, calm and steady and seeming more at ease than she’d seen him since before they set out.  And even though she was still scared, deep down, of what was still to come...she felt a little better knowing she wasn’t the only one.  And like they always did, she knew that they would make it through together. 

[i-just-love-spop]

At the end of the world

‘If you really want to protect me so badly, why don’t you protect me from her?’

But she wouldn’t do that even if she knew the truth about everything, would she? Because Adora loved the praise she was getting from that awful woman. She wouldn’t risk that just because Shadow Weaver was hurting her best friend, right?

Catra felt sick and disgusted at herself for thinking that way a few seconds later.

There it was again – the awful, dumb resentment that was eating away at her sometimes, that had shown its ugly face time and again over the last few years, its appearances becoming more and more frequent the older she grew.

It turned Adora’s kind words and gentle touches to poison in her head.

—

Written for the prompt “you hurt her, you die”, requested a total of three times by different people: @altheaudaku @whoufflewhovian200311 and @brenda4082

I contemplated using the prompt for something that takes place during the final season of the show or after the show, but I always ended up going back to the idea of it taking place when Catra and Adora are in their young teens.

Heads up, this got pretty long and also really, really angsty. There is some fluff later on, though, I promise.

[There is an additional line at the end that makes the angst even worse, it’s not in here in case anyone wants the story to end on a lighter note. I’m going to add said line in a reblog.]

I really need to write more fluff with these two instead of making everything even more angsty than it already was in the show.

TW: Child abuse, mental and physical.

If you are in a situation like this in real life, please don’t keep it to yourself. Tell someone so you can find a way out of the situation. You deserve better ❤️

I’ll probably rate this mature on Ao3, just to be safe.

—

Summary: In which Adora protecting Catra in training gets the latter in trouble, and Shadow Weaver’s words haunt Catra to a point that she doesn’t dare (or want) to talk to her best friend about what is really going on.

—

Catra had her back against the wall. The robot‘s deadly eye was pointed directly at her. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid.

She hadn’t been careful enough and the damn thing had laid a snare that she had fallen right into. Even worse, now that she’d lost her weapon she had no real way to fight the robot.

The teen covered her face protectively. She had merely seconds to think of a way out of this situation before-

“Hey princess!” That was Adora’s voice. Catra looked up to see that her best friend was now standing in between her and the bot, her staff raised. “That’s my best friend you’re targeting right there!” She hit the robot once, twice, three times, and growled. “You hurt her, you die!”

A moment later, she’d stabbed the robot right through the deadly eye and it sunk to the ground, crackling with electricity one more time before all light in its eye disappeared completely – and with it, so did the simulated princess.

Adora wiped sweat off her forehead.

“Whew, that was close.” She offered Catra a hand to help her up. “I think that was the last one.”

The brunette was about to take her best friend’s hand when a voice rang through the room, cold and menacing with a calm, terrifying angry undertone.

“Good work, cadets!”

Shadow Weaver’s voice made Catra’s blood run cold.

Her outstretched hand turned into a clenched fist as she got up herself, her knees weak.

Despite the fact that she was taller, stronger now, the woman that had less raised than barely tolerated her throughout her childhood still made her feel small and vulnerable just by being present.

“Especially you, Adora. You will truly make an exceptional leader one day.”

The blonde flinched a bit when the older woman touched her face in a gentle gesture. It wasn’t that she wasn’t proud of the praise she was getting... but despite everything, she was still scared of Shadow Weaver.

“I- thank you,” Adora replied, gulping a bit. “I was just doing my best. We all were.”

“Of course.” The blonde relaxed a bit when finally, the older woman let go of her face. “It just so happens to be that your best is a lot better than everyone else’s.”

Catra could practically feel the woman glaring at her. The brunette felt herself shrink smaller and smaller.

This wasn’t fair.

She had beaten almost as many robots as Adora had – and that was saying a lot, especially since this was one of the rare occasions that they were practicing with real lasers... but none of that seemed to matter in the wake of the mistake she had made in the last few minutes.

“Go now or you’ll be late for dinner. We’ll discuss your performances more in the morning.”

Catra got up immediately. She just wanted to get out of here before- but everyone else was closer to the door. Before she could reach it, her body froze in the air and the door slid close behind the last of the others as if by an invisible hand, and Catra was trapped inside... alone with the woman that she hated and feared more than anything in the entire word.

“Not you, Catra.” Her body was lifted into the air, surrounded by a chillingly familiar red glow as she was turned around by force to face Shadow Weaver. The woman’s voice was hateful, menacing, and Catra dreaded what would come next. “That was a poor performance, even for you.”

“T-that’s not true! I took down three robots! Adora just had one more! I was good today!”

The young girl’s voice was shaking. Shadow Weaver was looming over her, the older woman’s eyes narrowed to slits.

She was livid, and that Catra tried to defend her behavior made her even angrier.

“Don’t try to vindicate your shortcomings, your failures.” Catra felt her body tense when the grip the red glow had on her became stronger, more powerful, and started to hurt. “I would say that I‘m disappointed in you, but that would imply that I had actually expected anything else, anything better from you in the first place. I didn’t. We all know you’d be nothing without Adora here to save you.”

That hurt.

Shadow Weaver had years of practice. She knew which areas to target for it to hurt the most.

Adora was Catra’s best friend, and she was the only good thing in her life... but being reduced to the girl’s helpless, useless sidekick was degrading.

Shadow Weaver loved reminding Catra that Adora was like one of the moons that lit up the world, while Catra herself was barely a firefly in comparison that the older woman could crush between her fingertips at any given moment without it being a big loss to her or the Horde. That the brunette was practically worthless, and that her only worth was directly connected to Adora.

Catra felt sick.

“T-that’s not true! I don’t need her! I never needed her!”

For all the defiance in her words, her voice was squeaky and quiet.

She was terrified.

“Oh, but you do.” The shadows closed around her, separating her from the rest of the world, and Catra once again felt like a frightened little girl instead of the young skilled teen that she actually was. “The fact that she has taken a liking to you for a reason beyond my understanding is the only reason I keep you around here in the first place instead of throwing you back to the thrash that you crawled out of.”

Her voice was cold and monotone, and that just made everything worse.

Shadow Weaver made Catra feel small and helpless and useless.

She heard more than what was being said, and despite the fact that the words she did say were already hurtful enough, the threat that loomed behind them made it so much worse.

‘You’re not a person. You’re barely a broken toy that we don’t throw away because my favorite child still likes you for whatever reason. Should she ever cease liking you, that will be the end of your existence.’

Catra wanted to jump at Shadow Weaver, to hurt her the way she was hurting, to yell all of her cruel words back into her face, but instead, the teen just stood there, frozen in fear and terror, her words getting stuck in her throat.

She closed her eyes and braved herself for what she knew would come next.

One blow, then a second, then a third, accompanied by more demeaning, spiteful words.

The teen bit her lip so hard it drew blood, barely managing to keep herself from crying out in pain and desperation. She swallowed the tears that were forming in her eyes bravely. She would not give this woman the satisfaction of hearing her scream and seeing her cry anymore.

—

“Catra, are you okay?” They were sitting in the lunchroom now, Adora across from Catra. While the former was shoving the food into her mouth at an insane speed, the latter was just picking at the ration bars instead of eating them. The blonde glanced at her best friend worriedly and lowered her voice. “Did- did she hurt you again?”

Catra flinched.

So her best friend had realized what was going on, after all?

Did she know how bad it was?

What did she assume was happening?

...should Catra talk to her about it?

“I-” The brunette started, but she never finished the sentence.

She wanted to ask all of these questions, so badly. She wanted to ask Adora for help, to ask her to talk to Shadow Weaver and stand up to her and help Catra. ...but Shadow Weaver’s words kept repeating at the back of her mind.

‘We all know you’d be nothing without Adora here to save you.’

That wasn’t true. She didn’t need Adora to save her. She could do this on her own.

Catra didn’t need anyone to protect her when she could just become strong enough to protect herself.

Adora didn’t make Catra who she was.

Catra wasn’t worthless.

She’d prove that to everyone.

...so she just shook her head.

“I’m fine. And she isn’t hurting me. I just hurt my shoulder a little during training and then stayed behind to patch myself up. Her shadows just creep me out, that’s all.” The words came out surprisingly convincing. She sounded almost indifferent. Catra pushed her plate away. “I’m just not very hungry.”

That wasn’t true, exactly, but she was pretty sure that whatever she would eat she’d throw back up instantly anyway. She was pretty sure her stomach was currently in her chest instead of her belly after the blows it had taken.

Her entire body ached... but at least nothing was bleeding this time.

She’d just end up with a couple of bruises.

She’d live.

She always had.

Adora cocked her head to the side. She knew something was up, even if her best friend didn’t tell her what it was. The blonde girl was a bit ditzy, but she wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t blind. She’d known Catra long enough to be able to tell that much. If only Adora could get her best friend to open up to her somehow...

“Come on. You have to eat something.”

First things first. That was what was most important right now.

They didn’t get that much to eat around here. Skipping a meal meant going to bed hungry and possibly not being able to appease one’s hunger in the morning when they got their next meal. Catra needed to eat, or she would regret it later.

“I said I’m not hungry!”

Catra got up.

Her voice was harsh and cold, and she pushed the table so hard that the plate flew off it, splintering into a thousand pieces, the food splashing all over the floor.

There was a second of regret within Catra... but she felt too sick to eat, anyway. She wouldn’t have been able to keep anything down.

The room went dead silent for a moment and the two were just stared at – then everyone continued to go about their day.

Fights were a daily phenomenon around here.

As long as nobody got killed, nobody bothered to interfere.

The brunette couldn’t stay here any longer. Not with all these people, not with the other cadets from her squad, and especially not with Adora.

She stormed out of the room.

“Catra!”

Adora sighed, took one last bite of her meal, then ran after her.

—

“Catra wait!” The younger girl stopped short. She felt a pang of guilt form in her stomach. She hadn’t wanted Adora to miss dinner because of her. Adora took a moment to catch her breath when she was finally next to her best friend again. “Can... can you please tell me what’s going on? Did I make you upset? I’m sorry...”

Her best friend didn’t even look at her.

“It’s just- I can’t believe you stole my kill like that!” Catra hissed.

That wasn’t it. Not really. But it was close enough to be believable.

Adora looked at her in shock.

“That’s what this is about? Catra, this wasn’t a game! You almost got really hurt!”

There was a reason they rarely trained with actual laser fire, and why only cadets that passed certain tests were allowed to do it in the first place.

People got hurt occasionally, and, albeit very rarely because their instructors usually managed to stop the training simulation before it happened, someone died.

It was necessary to remind them that this wasn’t a game every now and again, to keep them in their toes and to make them aware that, when they finished training, they would be fighting in an actual war.

People got hurt in wars. People died in wars. What was now an occasional training session would be their day-to-day life in a few years.

Adora always looked out for Catra, but in the training sessions that were actually dangerous, her protectiveness reached a whole new level.

She couldn’t help it... especially in situations like earlier, where her best friend had looked so genuinely scared.

“I know that. I’m not stupid. I could have handled it.”

Catra’s voice was monotone. She still didn’t look at Adora. She rather eyed the floor instead.

She didn’t want her to see how badly she was hurting.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say- it’s just- You just kind of looked helpless, and I thought-”

Adora bit her lip and hanged her head. She’d just wanted to help her best friend, but that had backfired massively, and now Catra was mad at her... and her apologetic rambling just made things worse.

“Well, I wasn’t!” The brunette hissed.

...alright, maybe she had been helpless. A little. But she would have found a way out.

She always did.

She didn’t need Adora for that. She didn’t need Adora for anything.

Shadow Weaver’s words had really gotten to Catra.

“I was just trying to protect you!” The blonde defended herself, trying to get through to her best friend’s thick skull. Adora didn’t like fighting with Catra. She just wanted to get this over with. ‘It’s not because I think you’re weak, or that you can’t protect yourself. I know you can,’ she wanted to say. ‘But the thought of you getting hurt... I can’t take it. It drives me completely crazy.’

She reached for her friend, wanting to take her hand to comfort her a little, but she never actually got to touch her or to say anything else.

“WELL, YOU’RE DOING AN AWFUL JOB OF IT!” Catra snarled, in a tone that made even herself a bit taken aback by the poison in her words.

Adora’s shoulders sagged a little as she let her hand sink.

Catra felt awful. She wanted to break down into Adora’s arms and cry while she held her... but that would have been weak, and Catra wasn’t allowed to be weak, especially not in front of Adora. They weren’t supposed to be weak or vulnerable at all. It made them a liability in battle if they were. Adora would have hated her if she‘d known the truth about everything – if she‘d known how weak Catra truly still was, even after all these years.

...and then there was this tiny, spiteful voice whispering in the back of her mind that Catra tried to tune out so badly.

‘If you really want to protect me so much, why don’t you protect me from her?!’

But she wouldn’t do that even if she knew the truth about everything, would she? Because Adora loved the praise she was getting from that awful woman. She wouldn’t risk that just because Shadow Weaver was hurting her best friend, right?

Catra felt sick and disgusted at herself for thinking that way a few seconds later.

There it was again – the awful, dumb resentment that was eating away at her sometimes, that had shown its ugly face time and again over the last few years, its appearances becoming more and more frequent the older she grew.

It turned Adora’s kind words and gentle touches to poison in her head.

For a moment, Catra almost hated her best friend... and then her anger turned to desperation, and she hated herself for even thinking like that for a single second.

Adora was the only good thing about this awful place. The only thing that kept her sane. How dare she even so much as think something like that?

...how dare she let Shadow Weaver’s words get to her to an extent that it influenced her friendship with Adora?!

‘What is wrong with me?!’

She couldn’t look at Adora anymore, so she turned around and ran away again, back to the room they all shared to sleep that was currently pretty abandoned since dinner was barely over.

—

Catra curled up in bed; Adora’s bed, to be more specific – because it smelled like her and that helped her calm down a little –, and she just sobbed silently for a couple of minutes.

Then she heard the door open and close again, and when she looked up, Adora was sitting next to her on the bed and offered her her hand.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” the brunette mumbled, glancing over her shoulder instead of actually turning around to face her friend.

Catra was more upset than she was angry, and she didn’t want Adora to see her cry, despite the fact that the blonde was probably able to hear her sobs anyway.

Adora hanged her head, but she pulled herself together and smiled weakly.

“You don’t have to. But you’re obviously upset, and I’m not going to leave you. Not now, not ever.”

Catra’s heart melted. She sat up and moved closer towards her friend until her back touched Adora’s, and they sat like that for a long while, Catra still sobbing silently, but now, each of her sobs was accompanied by a comforting squeeze of her hand.

—

Eventually, their peaceful togetherness was rudely interrupted as the door opened once more.

“Rogelio?” Lonnie called out as she stuck her head through the door. “Okay, no, he’s not in here, either.” Then she spotted Catra and Adora and walked up to them. “Hey, have you guys seen-” She cut off in mid-sentence and coked her head to the side at the fairly weird image of the two girls sitting back to back in the bunk. “Why are you two sitting like this?”

“We had a fight, and now she won’t talk to me,” Adora replied, scratching the back of her head with the hand that wasn’t holding Catra’s, a weak smile plastered on her face. The fact that she was still very upset was unmistakable in her voice.

Their fellow cadet raised an eyebrow.

“Then why are you holding hands?”

“Catra gets sad when we fight,” the blonde replied without thinking.

Her best friend blushed and let go of her hand immediately, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“I do not.”

...yes, she did.

She hated fighting with Adora.

Lonnie just shook her head and groaned.

“Why are you guys so weird?”

“We’re not weird,” Catra growled.

“Yes, you definitely are.” Lonnie rolled her eyes. “Adora, when you’re done being a weirdo about Catra, you can come play with us in the locker room if you want. Kyle invented a game that sounds pretty fun. It involved something with spinning a bottle, I think? I don’t know, I kinda forgot.”

“I’d love to.” Adora bit her lip. “But only if Catra can come, too.”

Lonnie shook her head.

“Adora, I know you’re nice and all, but none of us actually understand why you hang out with her so much in the first place. Catra’s mean, and she doesn’t like us. And, quite frankly, we don’t like her, either.” Lonnie had had her less bad moments with Catra – moments where she’d felt sorry for her, moments where she almost felt like they could be friends... but Catra had always gone back to her usual cold, rude demeanor immediately afterwards, and Lonnie was incredibly tired of that. Either the girl wanted to be her friend, or she didn’t. And if she couldn’t keep being nice to Lonnie and her friends, Catra obviously didn’t. Lonnie wouldn’t play this game any longer. “Even if we would allow her to come, she wouldn’t want to, and if she did, she’d ruin our evening... so sorry, but no thanks.”

The blonde growled.

“Don’t talk about my best friend like that!”

“But she’s right,” Catra mumbled. “I don’t like them, and I wouldn’t want to play their stupid game anyway. Feel free to go without me if you want to.”

She had a very hard time not breaking down in tears, but the last thing she wanted right now was to be vulnerable again, especially in front of this stupid girl that was always trying to steal her best friend from her. ...the same stupid girl that she’d hit in a fit of jealous rage back when they were kids, and that had patched her up after a particularly bad training session that one time. And that Catra had then snapped at as a ‘thank you’ the next day.

...the more Catra thought about it, the more certain she was that, had she been anyone else, she wouldn’t have wanted to be friends with herself, either.

“No. I won’t. I’m staying with you,” Adora replied.

Catra almost managed a smile.

Damn it, how was this girl so perfect?

Lonnie shrugged.

“Whatever, suit yourself. Have you guys seen Rogelio?”

“No, sorry. I think I saw him at dinner, but I have no idea where he went afterwards,” Adora replied. “He’s definitely not been in here since we finished dinner.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway. I’ll find him, probably. You guys have ...fun?... with whatever the heck you’re doing. See you later.”

—

As soon as the door closed behind her, Catra’s hand found Adora’s again.

“You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

“Yeah. But I wanted to,” the blonde replied with a smile. “Besides, I didn’t want to go play with her after that anyway. I like Lonnie, and I like hanging out with her, but I don’t like the way she talked about you. You’re my best friend. Nobody is allowed to speak to you that way.“

“I... thank you.”

The brunette was still facing the wall, her voice was extremely quiet.

“Catra, listen, I...” Adora started, trying her best to find the right words. “I’m sorry about earlier. I know you can take care of yourself. It’s just... the thought that that robot could hurt you, or worse...” She gulped. “I couldn’t just stand by and watch. I had to do something.” Adora squeezed Catra’s hand again. “I’d never let anyone hurt you. Especially not a princess. I promised I would look out for you, remember?” Adora smiled at her softly. “I’m intending to keep that promise for the rest of my life.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Catra replied without missing a beat... then flattened her ears. “But thank you. I don’t want anything to happen to you, either.”

She gulped. She was being hurt... but it wasn’t Adora’s fault, and there was nothing she could do about it – not without putting herself in danger. And Catra didn’t want that.

The one thought she could bear even less than having to take these blows all her life was the thought of Adora taking them for her.

...the resentment was gone now, replaced by warmth and worry.

“I can’t lose you,” the brunette whispered. “Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I don’t know who I’d be without you.”

It wasn’t an apology, exactly... but Adora didn’t blame her.

Catra had never been good at apologies. Most people here weren’t. This was as good as it got, and she appreciated it.

Besides, at least part of the situation had been Adora’s fault, after all, so she didn’t really blame her.

Catra finally turned around to face her best friend again, allowing the blonde to wipe the tears off her cheeks. The brunette just let her do it without complaint, even enjoying the touch.

It made her feel warm inside.

Maybe being weak for once was okay, after all.

“Yeah, me either.”

Adora shrugged and pulled her best friend close. She was just happy they weren’t fighting anymore, and that she could finally hug her again to properly comfort her.

Catra snuggled up to her, her head nestling against the crook of the blonde’s neck.

“Good think we’ll never have to find out, right?”

“Never,” Adora emphasized. “I’m never going to leave you. You’re my best friend. I don’t want to be anywhere without you, ever.”

She stroked Catra’s head, making the girl purr happily. The blonde liked Catra’s purrs, especially when she so close to Adora’s chest. They made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

“And even if you leave... wherever you go, I’ll go. Yesterday, today and tomorrow. Forever. One day, it’s going to be you and me, together at the end of the word,” Catra added.

The thought made her a weird amount of happy. She hadn’t thought she would be able to smile again after the day she’d had, and the memories still made her shake, and the bruises still hurt... but she was smiling now.

Because Adora made her happy.

“Exactly. Nothing can separate us.” Adora beamed as she touched the picture they had carved into the bed when they were kids, shortly after they‘d first met. “Just like nothing can separate tiny Catra and Adora. They’ll be there on the bed frame together until the end of time.” She squeezed Catra’s hand. “Come on, we should get some sleep now so you don’t accidentally sleep in again tomorrow.”

Catra stayed silent for a moment, then breathed a silent “Okay.”

The two of them fell asleep arm in arm, the brunette sprawled out over her best friend.

[thepandapopo]

Absolute Truths

This idea wormed its way into my head and for the life of me I couldn’t get it out.

This oneshot is a little longer than the stuff I usually write (a whopping 8539 words), but I loved every minute of it. I tried editing it to the best of my ability, but honestly I suck at that. No beta, we die like Glenn. #SorryNotSorry #TooSoon ?

Please note this is non canon. The time frame for this is sometime after the Battle of Gronder post time skip and it is a mash up of the GD and BL routes (ie. Dimitri joins Claude and is no longer crazy; Rodrigue still dies. RIP).

Cross posted to ao3.

Pairing: Sylvain x Felix

Warnings: mentions of child abuse and PTSD

Synopsis:

When Felix and Sylvain get hit with a dark magic spell that reverts them back to children, the Resistance Army gets a deeper look into their bond and learn 5 absolute truths that form the foundation of their relationship.

OR

5 undeniable facts of Sylvain and Felix’s relationship.

Word Count: 8539

“Felix!”

Fuck. Sylvain loses sight of him for only a minute but that is all the enemy needs to overwhelm the already bombarded swordmaster.

Pulling the reigns sharply to the left, the Paladin charges across the battlefield, skewering any unfortunate enemies that dare block his way, the lance of ruin glowing like a beacon of fury despite the thick coating of blood on it. The air is heavy with the smell of smoke and dark magic, making it hard to breathe and blurring the red head’s vision. Regardless, Sylvain presses on; determined to get to his best friend in time before the group of mages over the hill finish casting… whatever ominous looking spell they are aiming at Felix.

“Sylvain, get out of here!” Felix shouts angrily, not even pausing his fighting to face the sight of Bella charging her way through the throng with her master astride her.

Shit. Felix cuts down another enemy.

It is never ending. No matter how many falls to his blade, another two enemies take their place. Felix isn’t stupid – he can see the group of mages prepping a dark magic spell in the distance, which makes him even angrier when he spots Sylvain riding to his aid.

Like hell he’ll give his childhood friend another reason to toss himself into harms way. Felix isn’t weak. He doesn’t need protection. And he sure as hell doesn’t want Sylvain to be the one who gets hurt trying to fix his mistakes just because he got a little too cocky and split from the rest of his battalion.

“Fuck.” Felix grunts and pushes his sword hard to disengage the thief that has him in a sword lock. He doesn’t bother to see if he is being pursued and dashes towards Sylvain who is now dismounting a short distance away, Lance of Ruin making quick work of anyone who strays too close for comfort.

Sylvain was undoubtedly within hit range of the spell now. If that idiot insists on being his usual self-sacrificing self, then the least Felix can do is use his own body to shield the older man and take the brunt of the damage.

The tell-tale crackle of magic behind him sets the hair on his nape standing.

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

He isn’t going to make it. Damn Sylvain for being so slow – this is exactly why he keeps telling him to take his training more seriously-!

“Fe!”

The last thing he knows before succumbing to the darkness is a hard chest plate knocking the wind out of him and warm, strong arms that remind him of summers spent with a heart lighter than air.

----

1.       Sylvain always has, and always will protect Felix until the day he dies.

Leonie is one of two on the first shift of babysitting duty.

Undeniably, the orange haired paladin would be the first to admit that she wasn’t the greatest with kids, however there is only so much the tiny, and thankfully unconscious, Fraldarius boy can do given his current predicament.

No one really knows what happened after the enemy spell envelops Felix and Sylvain, the larger of the two curled protectively around his companion as they fall. No one even knows what the spell is.

But what they do know is that now, instead of a regular sized Felix Hugo Fraldarius and Sylvain Jose Gautier, they have a chubby cheeked blue haired cherub and an unfairly-cute-even-as-a-child ginger.

It is in the middle of bemoaning her poor luck at drawing straws when the mini-Felix begins to stir and she feels panic clawing its way up her throat.

“Ngghh…” small, unscarred hands balled into fist come up to rub at bleary amber eyes before they widen almost comically as they take in his surroundings.

“Uhh… hey.” His gaze snaps towards Leonie and she can feel her terror rising with mini Felix’s hysteria, clearly evident by the shiny glaze beginning to cloud his eyes and the fat crocodile tears gathering at the edges of his almond eyes.

“It’s okay, Felix. It’s just me.” She reaches out a hand tentatively in a placating gesture, but quickly withdraws back as young Felix lets out a squeak and scurries as far back into the corner of the bed as he can get, taking his older self’s wool Fraldarius crest blanket with him, as if it could shield him.

“Wh-wh-who are you?” The poor thing is absolutely terrified and damn it, Leonie wants to comfort him, but she is equally as distressed here and this is exactly why she didn’t want to babysit.

“It’s me, Leonie. You don’t… you don’t recognize me?”

It comes out sounding more like a statement than a question.

It’s so painfully obvious that little Felix has no idea who she is.

Which means he doesn’t have his memories.

Which means they are down two of their best generals.

Which means they are well and truly fucked.

So, Leonie does the only thing she can logically think to do.

“Come on,” She says, rising from her bedside chair and reaching for his arm. “We need to go tell Linheartd that the situation is much worse than we had originally thought.” But as soon as her hand wraps around his forearm, Felix screams.

“Oh shi-! Felix! Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you!”

If anything, this just seems to have the opposite effect and the wails increase to near piercing.

Leonie thinks it may be a trick of her mind, and probably her ears because holy crap does little Felix have a set of lungs on him, but she is pretty sure that Felix is screaming out a name.

Specifically, a name belonging to a certain red head that is, the last time she checked anyways, unconscious two doors down from his room and currently being watched over by Caspar.

“Fe!” The door bursts open and suddenly there is chaos.

Was being watched over by Caspar, Leonie amends in her mind.

“Get back here!” The blue haired warrior lunges and swipes his arm out trying to catch mini Sylvain who is slipperier than a fish in water, using his short height to duck between legs and launch himself onto the bed.

“Leave Fe alone!” Honey brown eyes that are so very familiar yet also so different, are glaring holes into Leonie and Caspar, proudly defiant and blazing with determination. Short arms stuffed into the smallest adult shirt they could find on short notice stretch out protectively, completely shielding Felix from sight.

“S-Sylvain,” comes the little sob from behind him and the older boy spares a second to throw a comforting smile behind him. “Don’t worry, Fe. I’ll protect you.” And Goddess, he sounds so genuine and earnest that it makes Leonie wonder what happened to cause their Sylvain to hide behind fake laughs and charming lilts of the tongue.

“Sorry, Leonie.” Caspar is gasping for air like he has just run a marathon. “I tried to keep him in his room but as soon as he heard Felix screaming, he was out faster than I could blink.”

“Ugh. Just go get Ingrid and the Professor.”

----

2.       Sylvain hates himself and his crest, but Felix likes him in spite of it.

A day later finds Ingrid watching over the five year old Felix (“What?! He’s five? But he’s so tiny.” “Don’t let him hear you say that or he’ll cry again.”) and seven year old Sylvain.

“Just stay in this area, okay?” She calls out over the din of raucous laughter echoing throughout the courtyard. “I don’t want you two wandering off and getting into trouble.”

The play wrestling pauses for a brief moment and little Sylvain sticks out a tongue at her.

“We don’t get into trouble! You’re just a party pooper!”

“Yeah! Party pooper!”

Shoving down the urge to smack her childhood friends into the next moon, Ingrid settles for watching with pursed lips as Felix dissolves into giggles, Sylvain’s grabby hands finding purchase in his sides and tickling him relentlessly. The look of such carefree happiness on their faces makes her heart clench and eyes sting.

If Ingrid is being completely honest�� she misses this.

She remembers what it was like not carrying around a broken heart for a man buried six feet under, his remains not even whole enough to bring home. Back when she could play wrestle with Fe, Sylvie, and Dima in the dirt and then go to Glenn to kiss her knee better when one of them inevitably accidentally activated their crest and used too much strength, resulting in tears and scrapes and bruises.

It doesn’t do her any good to dwell on the past.

The dead should be left to rest, and the living should move on.

For an emotionally constipated guy, Felix is dead on with his philosophy.

Though she has long come to terms with her betrothed’s death, the small sliver of envy she has for her two oldest friends still lingers in the deepest, darkest recesses of her heart.

They’re lucky that they still have each other, even though they spend half the time bickering and denying their feelings.

“Is that the Gautier boy?”

Two monastery staff members stop beneath the path archway and look with undisguised admiration.

“So handsome at such a young age!”

“And I hear he’s incredibly charming too.”

Ingrid knows that Sylvain and hear them. He has always been keen of hearing, especially when it involves others gossiping about himself, for better or for worse.

Felix takes advantage of Sylvain’s distraction to get the upper hand and rolls on top, completely oblivious to the onlookers.

“If I were his mother, I would have secured him a betrothed as soon as he was tested for a crest.”

A hum of agreement. “Yes. His family is blessed with good looks so it would not be hard to secure an advantageous match. The Gautier line will likely continue on stronger than ever with such a prized heir.”

“Sylvain? Why did you stop?”

Felix is all wide eyes and adorable pouty cheeks, staring confusedly down at his best friend underneath him who has gone strangely silent with a strangled expression.

“Don’t you have duties to attend to?”

The two gossipmongers snap to attention at Ingrid’s sharp tone, her expression clearly telling them to get the hell out of here or risk facing her wrath.

With rushed replies of “yes, sorry miss!” and “our apologies”, they scurry off down the pathway and disappear around the corner.

But unfortunately, the damage is already done.

“Sylvain? What’s wrong? Why are you sad?”

Gently, the older boy extricates himself from Felix’s death grip of a grapple and stands up with his eyes cast downwards. “Sorry, Fe. I… I don’t want to play anymore.”

“What? What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“I’m tired. I want to go back to our room.”

It only takes one look at Sylvain’s expression before Felix is latching his fists into the fabric of Sylvain’s pants with a scowl on his face.

“You’re lying to me. Why are you lying?”

“I’m not lying, Fe! I don’t want to play anymore.”

“We’re best friends aren’t we?”

“Well, yeah, of course we are.”

“Best friends don’t lie to each other.”

Ingrid has patiently watched the exchange between Felix and Sylvain to this very moment, hoping that they can sort out this argument without her intervening like she always did as a child, but through years of experience, she can sense that one of them is about to snap and she would very much like to avoid that.

“You know the only reason we’re best friends is because our parents are friends and we both have crests.”

There it is.

It’s absolutely heart breaking how Sylvain has already learned to self destruct at the tender age of seven. If Miklan were still alive, Ingrid would skewer him a thousand times over for instilling the mantra of ‘you’re not worthy of love’ into Sylvain’s head.

“Hey guys, do you wanna go-“

“You’re a stupid head if that’s what you think.” Felix’s interruption shocks her. His usually bright amber eyes are fixed in a watery glare leveled at the boy opposite him. Right now, Ingrid may as well be invisible for all Felix cares.

“What?”

“You’re a stupid head!”

Sylvain looks absolutely affronted.

“No, I’m not!”

“Yeah, you are!” a few tears have managed to slip beyond the barrier and trail down Felix’s cheeks. “I don’t care that our parents know each other. And I don’t care about any stupid crests.”

Felix marches up to Sylvain with all the anger he can muster in his five year old glory and reaches up to smoosh his cheeks together. “I’d still pick you to be my best friend in the whole wide world because you’re funny and nice and I’m always happier with you than Ingrid or Dima.”

Sylvain can only stand there with his lips parted in round ‘o’ from his cheeks being pushed together and a dazed look in his eye. Felix takes this as a sign to continue his little tirade.

“And I know you’re smart so you should stop being such a stupid head because I don’t care what you think. You’re my best friend and I’ll always pick you over any stupid crest.”

“Fe…”

She recognizes that tone. Ingrid looks away then because she fears that if she doesn’t, the part of her heart that belongs to Glenn might just twist its way into her throat and choke her with envy.

Sylvain is giving Felix that look that she has seen many times throughout their lives whenever she watches her two friends from afar. It’s one that everyone, except for Felix, has seen a million times and knows that to Sylvain, the world around him has fallen away except for one person.

“You’re my best friend, Sylvain. So, don’t lie to me.”

For the first time since the gossipers appeared, Sylvain lets a smile slip through.

“Okay. I promise.”

Felix eyes him warily and searches for any hint of a lie in Sylvain’s expression. Once satisfied, he loops his own pinky around the one outstretched to him.

“Good. Now let’s go play Knights and Bandits!”

Perhaps it is because Felix is always looking ahead that he never sees how Sylvain looks at him like he was the one who hung the stars and moon in his dark sky, illuminating his life with happiness and love.

----

3.       Felix feels so much and Sylvain is the only one who understands him even without words.

A collective sigh echoes throughout the monastery when they find out that mini Felix and mini Sylvain aren’t too picky with their food.

Granted, even as a child, Felix shows a proclivity towards eating meat; but with a little friendly jostling from his best friend, even the youngest Fraldarius son can be convinced to eat his brussel sprouts.

Which is exactly why Claude is so baffled when Felix starts to protest eating during mealtimes.

“What do you mean he won’t eat?”

He’s well aware that he probably sounds like an idiot, if the exasperated look Lorenz is giving him is anything to go by; but they haven’t had any trouble before so it makes absolutely no sense that Felix would start being picky now.

“It’s exactly as I said,” Lorenz frowns. “We were all simply sitting together enjoying a meal, when Felix stopped eating and refused to finish his dinner. I’ve been told this is now the third occurrence in a row that his has happened.”

“Was he full?” Byleth pauses from looking through some supply requests to chime into their conversation. Although she has not outright said anything, Claude knows his love well enough to tell that she is stressed about their current predicament. Felix throwing a silent protest against food is just one more thing to add to her pile of worries that she doesn’t need.

“Don’t worry, Teach,” Claude winks and flashes his signature grin. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. You just worry about securing our supplies for the next moon, yeah?” His chair lets out a deafening screech as it drags across the floor, drowning out any protests their former professor may have and providing Claude the distraction he needs to usher Lorenz out of the room with him.

“Claude, are you sure you know what you are doing?” The doubt rolling off Lorenz would have offended a lesser man, but Claude has spent his life being the underdog and he lets the words bounce harmlessly off him. “Felix is not an enemy to be outsmarted. He is simply a child who only adheres to emotion.”

“I am aware of that, yes.”

“Then why do you look as though you are about to hatch a scheme?”

Because he is.

And although Felix is not an ‘enemy’, per say, doesn’t mean that Claude can’t use his usual tactics of watching and observing his opponent until he has hatched a plot to take them down. Hence, leading to Claude’s current position tucked away in the far corner of the mess hall during the following breakfast.

Even on his off days, Claude is always watching and learning. He knows the favourite foods of all his fellow comrades in arms and he also knows whom everyone’s preferred companion is.

There is very little that escapes his notice, and the Resistance Army leader is confident that he will have a plan by sundown at the very least.

It is a little past 8am when the two children sleepily trudge their way into the dining hall with Bernadetta, their ward for the day, close behind them.

Nothing seems particularly strange or odd when they join the line to retrieve their meal; and nothing remarkable happens either when Bernie leads them to the only empty table left in the middle of the hall.

“Good morning, Bernadetta!” Raphael greets cheerily and shuffles his mountain of food over to join the trio at their table. “Good morning, Felix, Sylvain!”

The little ones mumble back a greeting, but their voices are lost in the din of the morning meal chatter.

So far, so good. Felix is still eating his porridge (albeit with an adorable frown on his face) and talking animatedly about goddess knows what with Sylvain, who occasionally turns to answer a question from the adults.

“Oh, good morning, Bernadetta, Felix, Sylvain!”

Slowly but surely, the table begins to fill as their friends meander into the building in search of food to start their day. Greetings are exchanged and unsurprisingly, Felix and Sylvain garner a lot of attention due to their current forms. Sylvain, ever the chatterbox that he is, fields most of the questions; Whether it is because he is being considerate of his quieter friend or if he simply relishes in the attention is debatable, but Claude cannot help but notice how his eyes constantly dart back towards Felix who grows increasingly frustrated.

“Oh, you’re just too adorable!” Annette’s squeal of delight reaches even Claude’s remote corner and he assumes that the wince he sees from Felix is due to the sheer volume of the orange haired mage. Sylvain, the current object of attention, just flashes her his prize winning smile; his dimples making him look even more endearing than he already is.

The adults gathered around the children don’t even notice that Felix has stopped eating. Nor do they see Sylvain quietly reach below the table to grab Felix’s smaller hand in what looks to be a gesture of comfort.

In fact, it takes another five minutes of cooing and fawning before Raphael, of all people, notices that Felix is now glaring with teary eyes at his bowl of half eaten porridge.

“What’s wrong, little buddy? Not feeling well?”

Immediately the attention shifts to him and the effects are just as disastrous as Claude predicts.

“I’m not hungry.” Some of the porridge finds its way onto the table as Felix pushes his bowl away with such ferocity, Claude is half surprised it doesn’t completely tip over.

“What do you mean you’re not hungry?” Annette frowns. “This is the fourth time you’ve left a meal unfinished. Are you not feeling well? Do you need to go see Mercedes?”

“No. I don’t wanna eat anymore.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Felix? We just want to make sure you’re not getting sick.”

“I’m fine.”

It’s a big fat lie and anyone with half a brain can hear the distress and frustration in the blue haired boy’s voice. One lone tear manages to squeeze its way out of Felix’s water logged eyes and that’s all it takes for the table to burst into a flurry.

Claude almost feels bad for Felix as the adults descend on him like a pack of vultures, all of them crowding him and trying to coax the reason for his distress out of him. The Almyran prince has half a mind to go over and rescue his friend in arms from a situation that is probably in his top ten worst fears, but before he can even get out of his seat, Sylvain is already bounding out of his chair with a teary Felix in tow.

Sylvain shouts something about ‘Knights and Bandits’ and they’re out the southern doors before Bernadetta can even process what has happened.

Felix’s half eaten bowl of porridge sits on the table completely forgotten.

----

At lunch, Claude decides to test a hypothesis.

He asks Mercedes and Hilda to sit with the kids at lunch and pay special attention to Felix.

To everyone else, he gives them strict orders to leave their table alone.

Satisfied with how his experiment is set up, Claude finally seats himself back in his observatory spot with his own lunch sitting in front of him.

He’s not expecting amazing results. In fact, he’s not expecting his first hypothesis to be a success at all, but he wants to try it none the less because there is always the possibility that mini Felix fundamentally operates much differently than the Felix that he is used to.

What he doesn’t expect is for Felix to immediately shut down the minute Hilda tries to engage him in some conversation about the games him and Sylvain play in the courtyard.

Today’s lunch special is Daphnel Stew and Claude has it on good authority that it is a favourite of Felix’s (technically Dimitri is a reliable source, right? They were childhood friends after all).

Sylvain tries his best to jump into the conversation and pull some of the attention to himself, but Hilda is every bit as smooth of a talker as Claude is; deftly maneuvering the conversation back to Felix no matter what Sylvain does.

This time, it is Felix that reaches for Sylvain’s hand under the table.

Except instead of just holding Sylvain’s hand, Felix starts to pull at it every time Mercedes or Hilda asks him a question, as if pleading for his friend to save him.

At least Claude could now say for sure that Felix is not, and never was, a fan of being the center of attention.

When the first afternoon bell tolls signaling the end of lunch, Felix’s stew remains uneaten and untouched. On the way out of the hall, Claude looks the other way and pretends not to notice when Sylvain steals an apple from the pantry.

His experiment doesn’t exactly succeed, but he cannot write it off as a failure either. The information gathered from his two observation sessions is plentiful and a solution is forming within his mind even as he makes his way up to the war room to meet Byleth for their afternoon strategy session.

By the time he pushes open the door to his usual haunt, Claude is absolutely certain of two truths.

One, that Sylvain knows Felix better than anyone could ever hope to compare, and two, Felix Fraldarius is incredibly lucky to have an attentive best friend like Sylvain because stars above, does he suck with using his words.

----

When the hour before dinner time rolls around, Claude makes sure to talk to everyone he passes by and give them the order that no one is to approach Felix and Sylvain’s tables at mealtimes anymore. He tells them to pass the word around and it doesn’t take long before the entire monastery is in the know of their Leader’s command.

“Care for company?” Byleth smiles and sets her tray down beside his own without waiting for a reply.

Claude does a quick survey of the area to make sure no one is looking before leaning in to land a quick peck on Byleth’s cheek. Joy flutters in his stomach at her rising blush and he merely laughs and winks at her stuttered protests.

“Check it out,” Claude quickly changes the subject and nods his head over to where Bernadetta sits exhausted with a now cheerful Felix and Sylvain. The latter nodding enthusiastically to their conversation with the occasional laugh and both of their plates near devoid of food.

A tiny rush of pride swells when he sees the relived expression on Byleth’s face.

“Told ya I’d take care of it.”

Underneath the table, he flips his palm facing upward so that he can intertwine his fingers with her searching ones.

“Yes, you did.” The unspoken thanks lingers in the air between them, louder than the constant buzz of activity in the room.

For the first time in a while, the former professor looks more at ease. And Claude, being the shit stirrer that he is, cannot help but toss a little fuel into the fire.

“So… who do you think will wear white at the wedding? Between the two of them, I think Felix is the better choice.”

“What?!”

----

4.       Felix has an unwavering faith and belief in Sylvain that he’s not afraid to stubbornly stand by to the bitter end.

“Annie, are you sure this is a good idea?”

If Mercedes is concerned, then Lysithea is absolutely certain that no, this is most definitely not a good idea.

They are at the part of the training grounds where the various magic users can come to practice and hone their spells. The ground is singed with charred marks from stray thunder and fire spells, the black streaks contrasting starkly with the pale stone underneath. To the side, there is also a sand pit where mages can practice some more destructive flame based spells.

“I’m just a little curious, is all!” Annette whispers back. “I know Sylvain is really good with magic even though he never uses it. He was the one who helped me understand that magic formula that I was stuck on for a week, after all. I was thinking maybe he might show an aptitude for Reason as a child.”

“That’s fine and all; but I’m not really sure how safe it is to teach a child how to conjure a fire spell. That just seems like a recipe for disaster.”

The orange hair mage cannot help but look slightly put out by Lysithea’s comment.

Yes, maybe it wasn’t the safest idea ever… but Annette just really wants to find out the extent of Sylvain’s inherent abilities. Even after she makes him promise to take his training more seriously, she still feels like he is holding back on her when they are paired together.

“What kinda magic are you gonna show us?” Felix is eager and bouncing on his toes. The House Fraldarius specializes in swordplay, not magic, so this is a treat for him and he can barely contain his excitement.

“Oh well, I was thinking we could start off with a basic fire spell!”

“Oooh, fire!”

Annette really hopes that Felix doesn’t have a penchant for pyrotechnics.

As much of a bad idea as this is, Lysithea can’t exactly bring herself to leave them in case something goes terribly wrong. She is the strongest, most advanced Gremory the Resistance Army has; with her around, she’s confident that the worst that could happen would be some singed eyebrows and possibly an impromptu need for a haircut. But even that is an outcome that she is hoping to avoid.

Once the target is set up, Sylvain and Felix eagerly make their way over to the sidelines to watch Annette demonstrate a basic fire spell.

It’s nothing special really. Even the older Felix and Sylvain could probably cast it without much problem, but to their younger versions, the small ball of fire is so grand and spectacular that it warrants oo’s and ah’s and enthusiastic applause.

“Wow! That is so cool! Isn’t that so cool, Sylvain?”

Felix is pulling on Sylvain’s sleeve and the older boy nods emphatically with admiration shining in his eyes.

“Do you think you could do it too?”

Lysithea is startled to hear the question Felix asks Sylvain. Of course, Annette was already planning to ask the Gautier boy to attempt the spell, but that was out of curiosity.

From the shining look on Felix’s face, Lysithea knows that he is asking because in his mind, there is nothing that his smart, talented best friend in the whole wide world cannot do.

“Magic is difficult to learn and takes time. It can take years for some to learn just the basics.” She cuts in before Sylvain can answer.

She doesn’t want Felix to unwittingly trap him with an unrealistic expectation that he cannot meet and she figures it is better to disappoint him now rather than allow the red head to try and then feel guilty when he disappoints his friend.

“Sylvain is smart. I bet Sylvain could do it!”

Felix is pouting in that way that they are all quickly learning means ‘I’m right and you can’t convince me otherwise’.

“I’m sure Sylvain is very smart!” Mercedes agrees and gives the boys her best placating smile. “But I’m not so sure that a person could learn how to cast a Fire spell in one day! Why, it took Annie and I at least a week of practicing before we could do it!”

“Yep, I remember I almost burned my eyebrows off the first time I tried! But I can teach you the basics maybe and then we can bring you here again next time to practice?”

The urge to verbally reprimand the warlock for her relentless pursuit to satisfy her own curiosity rises and Lysithea has to physically clutch her biceps to stop herself from bursting.

Fine. If they were so eager to set themselves down this path, then so be it.

“Yeah!” Felix is literally vibrating with excitement and Sylvain looks nervous but determined to not let his admirer down.

Heaving a sigh, Lysithea moves to settle next to Mercedes who sends her an apologetic smile.

It was going to be a long afternoon.

----

Unsurprisingly, Felix does not do so well with learning the basics.

The diagrams and symbols are a little too much on the side of complex and it becomes apparent rather quickly that there is a reason the Fraldarius men carve through the battlefield with swords instead of magic.

“Aw, it’s okay Fe! You’re still the best with a sword anyways. You don’t need magic!” Sylvain ruffles his hair and smiles. “You’ll always beat me at swordplay.”

The small admission is enough to cheer Felix up and after a bit more nudging from the older boy, he runs off to play around with the wooden practice swords they have on the other side of the training room while Annette and Sylvain continue to work on creating basic magic circles.

It’s only after the third hour and Mercedes has long left to attend to various chores that Lysithea turns to watch Felix go through rather crude sword forms instead.

“You need to spread your feet farther apart.” Using her own foot, she nudges Felix’s left heel to the side to widen his stance. “Try striking again now.”

The wooden sword wobbles a bit in its trajectory, but the swing is undoubtedly much better than before. The sheer delight that lights up in Felix’s eyes almost makes Lysithea laugh out loud because she recognizes it as the same gleam she sees in the older Felix’s eyes when he executes a particularly hard maneuver.

“Why aren’t you watching Sylvain and Annie?”

For a five year old, Felix is incredibly perceptive.

Rather than lie to him, Lysithea opts for honesty because she is sure that’s what older Felix would have wanted.

“I don’t think he’ll succeed.”

Felix frowns. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. I know how hard it is to learn magic. I’m sure Sylvain is very intelligent, but it takes a lot of hard work to use Reason.”

“Sylvain can do it. I know he can.”

She sighs and turns a baleful eye down at Felix. “You’re a stubborn one aren’t you.”

“Glenn said that to me too when he didn’t believe me that I could stay up all night waiting for Sylvain.”

“And did you prove him wrong?”

Felix turns to full face her, expression full of gravity.

“Yup.” The dead seriousness of his tone looses Lysithea’s first laugh of the day and she cannot help but be drawn towards this little boy, the same way she was drawn to his older self.

Deigning not to continue a lost conversation, the cake loving Gremory opts to turn back and watch the progress that the other two have made, leaving Felix muttering to himself about his steadfast belief in his best friend.

----

“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got!”

The sun is setting and it is nearly time for dinner by the time Sylvain and Annette break away from Magic and Sorcery: Vol 1. to actually put some practice to the theory they have spent all day studying.

“Now, don’t be too disappointed if you can’t get it.” Annette says while moving out of the way. “You did just learn the basics and it takes a lot of practice!”

Lysithea has not moved from her perch from a nearby bench. She’s still extremely skeptical that Sylvain will manage to do very much at all. Yes, it is true that he had a budding talent for Reason during their academy days, but Sylvain hardly ever applied himself to any of his studies. The professor had to literally force him to attend one on one magic lessons with her before his aptitude for spells finally emerged.

Although, she muses, this younger Sylvain seems to be more enthusiastic to participate in things he was interested in. Even now, the scrunched up look of concentration on his face is indication enough that the Sylvain Lysithea is used to is a much different creature than the one before her currently.

House Ordelia does not really have any established trade routes with the Gautier territory, but the Ordelia heir has heard enough to know that the current Margrave is an arrogant, crest-obsessed prick.

It doesn’t take a prodigy to connect the dots and surmise that Sylvain’s carefree attitude and refusal to apply himself to anything is a product of his father’s suffocating expectations.

Fuck Margrave Gautier.

Maybe Lysithea does want Sylvain to prove her wrong and succeed; then at least he can go back home and light his father’s breeches on fire.

She’s only slightly disappointed when her expectations prove correct and the best Sylvain can conjure is one tiny flicker from a lone flame in his hand. However, it is still much more than she thought Sylvain would be able to do and for that, she is genuinely impressed.

Annette is also very much awestruck with Sylvain’s quick learning and happily informs the boy of this all the way to the dining hall. Sylvain is uncharacteristically quiet as he listens to the older mage praise him, but he is not yet skilled enough in the art of hiding behind a mask and the slight downward tilt of his lips does not go unnoticed.

“You really did an amazing job learning so much in such a short time, Sylvain! Don’t be too disappointed that you couldn’t do it.”

Sylvain gives a weak smile in return, but it is Felix who ultimately responds; one hand clasped tightly in the Gautier’s and the other one balled into a fist.

“Sylvain can do it. Just watch.”

----

Dinner passes without much fanfare and the boys are eventually tucked in for the night. Claude and Byleth have long decided that a full-time night chaperone is no longer necessary; although occasionally, one of their friends will peek into the room in the dead of night before they retire, but very rarely do they find anything wrong that requires their attention. A week has already passed with no incident, so there should be no need to exhaust their soldiers by keeping them up at night.

Except this time, when Petra nudges the door to their room open – being extremely careful not to open it too fast lest the hinges squeak – she does not see any sign of Felix or Sylvain anywhere.

It is the dead of night, but Garreg Mach Monastery blazes alive with a flurry of panic at the toll of the emergency bell.

“You’re absolutely sure no one saw them leave their room?”

Seteth slams his palms on the table and interrogates the night shift guards; his brows furrowed and mind racing a mile a minute.

If the enemy has somehow managed to sneak into Garreg Mach and kidnap the children, then they are well and truly fucked. They may have to abandon their home base or at the very least do an extensive investigation of their current ranks and re-evaluate their current passive defense.

“There were no signs that a struggle was happening.” Petra voices from her place around the war table. “I am having confidence that they left with willingness.”

“Goddess, please keep them safe.” The situation leaves a bad taste in Flayn’s mouth; it is much too reminiscent of when she was kidnapped and although it has been years since the incident, the memories still plague her.

Byleth’s voice leaves no room for discussion, “everyone split up and search the grounds. Most of our facilities are locked up at night so that should help limit the number of places we need to search.”

Everyone dashes out of the room with their orders and branch off at the second floor corridor. Those once belonging to the Black Eagle house comb through the main hall while the former Blue Lion students check all surrounding independent buildings; the Golden Deer fanning out to cover the outdoor grounds of the monastery.

An hour passes. Then another. And another.

Soon it is 3 in the morning and the panic is truly beginning to set in, giving rise to an unsettling fear clawing its way up from the depths of the night.

“Dimitri, Dedue! Have you found anything?” Ingrid pants and skids to a halt just below the stairs to the Sauna; the rest of her Blue Lion classmates run up to join her and debrief their findings.

“Nothing,” Dedue’s tone is flat as usual but his strangled expression is enough to betray his underlying worry. “We have searched all the open buildings and the grounds. There is no sign of them at all.”

Annette is near tears now and Mercedes places a hand on her shoulder, offering her silent support even while she herself is fiddling with her shawl, an attempt to keep her mind occupied before it spirals.

“It’s not like them to run away,” Ashe frowns. “Did anything happen today? Were they acting weird at all?”

“Not really. All we did was practice magic at the training grounds.”

Mercedes frowns. “Perhaps they left something there and went back to retrieve it?”

“The training grounds should be locked at 11PM. No one should be able to get in or out until sunrise.” Dimitri shakes his head.

“Well then we’re clearly running out of ideas here!” Ingrid throws up her hands in frustration and rakes them through her hair which is on the verge of looking like a bird’s nest. “We’ve checked the dining hall and the greenhouse but –“

“Your Majesty.” Dedue’s raised voice cuts Ingrid short and they look over to see the doors to the training grounds swing open slowly with a slight push of the man’s hands. “The doors were not locked as we thought.”

It takes only a heartbeat for them to scramble through the large wooden doors and down the hallway, their rushed footsteps echoing like thunder in the stone corridor.

“Oh Goddess. I smell smoke. Does anyone else smell smoke?” If her heartbeat accelerates any more, Annette is pretty sure she will have a heart attack.

“It’s coming from over there!” Their King leads the charge towards the magical training arena where the smell of smoke is the thickest.

When they burst into the open area, they are prepared for the worst. Weapons are drawn and hands raised with spells on the tips of tongues, but the sight they are greeted with is enough to shock them into stasis.

There in the middle of the sandpit, hunched over and panting hard, albeit with a brilliant grin on his face, is Sylvain. The practice dummy a few feet in front of him is alit with flames, illuminating the room with an orange glow, casting shadows along the stone walls that flicker like a live audience.

And off to the side bundled up in a woolen teal blanket that they all recognize, is a tired, but extremely proud looking Felix Fraldarius staring directly at the newcomers.

“I told you he could do it!”

----

5.       Sylvain has given Felix all the pieces of his fragile, fractured heart, even if he isn’t aware he possesses it.

Although once his greatest secret, Ignatz no longer hides his passion for art from his fellow Resistance Army members.

It’s not uncommon these days for people to find him at random places in the monastery with his art supplies sketching away at preserving a moment in time on blank paper forevermore.

Today, he is sitting on a bench next to a large oak tree, just a stone’s throw away from the main grounds. Beneath the shade and tucked between two large roots lie Sylvain and Felix, both completely tuckered out from their earlier attempts at climbing the towering tree. Sylvain is starfished on the ground with his arms stretched wide; to his left, Felix lays curled away from him with his head pillowed on the outstretched limb.

Sylvain and Felix have been the talk of the monastery for the past week and it is pretty obvious why. It’s not every day that you see two high ranking generals revert back to their child forms. Especially the most notorious bother-me-and-I’ll-bite-your-head-off and if-it-breathes-I’ll-flirt-with-it Generals to boot.

Of course, stories of their shenanigans and troublemaking usually fill the daily meal conversations, but there is one topic that floats above all else; the one that makes the maids in the kitchen giggle and even the burliest of knights crack a smile:

It is clear that even from a young age, Sylvain Jose Gautier and Felix Hugo Fraldarius are absolutely smitten with each other.

The two are inseparable and Ignatz is pretty sure that even a blind man would be able to see the absolute trust and unspoken devotion they have towards each other.

Ignatz has spent the day watching Felix and Sylvain, not just because it’s his turn to babysit, but also because he is fascinated with their bond. He had once thought that the Goddess was the most beautiful thing in the world, but the rawness and purity of their relationship fills him with more piety and awe than any portrait or statue of Sothis ever did.

It is like they are two parts of a well-oiled machine. Where one gives way, the other will step in to fill the gap; whenever Sylvain’s insecurities flare up, Felix is always there to chase the demons away with clumsy words and a physical display of affection, using his own body to ground his best friend and keep him close. Likewise, whenever tears well up in the youngest Fraldarius’ eyes (which is unfortunately quite often), Sylvain is there to wipe away the salty tracks and light up Felix’s heart with a smile warmer and brighter than sunshine.

Ignatz’s original plans were to draw the oak tree and the beautiful meadow of primrose flowers, but it seems that there will be a last minute change in muse.

Taking up his piece of charcoal, he begins the outline of what he thinks will be his fondest work to date.

Ignatz doesn’t know how long he spends sitting on that bench hunched over his sketchbook in silence with only the occasional birdsong floating through the silence. It’s so calm and peaceful that he doesn’t even notice that Sylvain has begun to stir until he looks up to find one of his subjects in a different position.

Leonie had warned him that Sylvain has a tendency towards nightmares. She had discovered that unfortunate fact in the first three days when each time she tip-toed into their room to check up on them, she found Sylvain wide awake with wild terror in his eyes and a sleepy Felix clinging to him comfortingly.

Strangely enough, Sylvain also does not startle awake from his nightmares. Instead, he slowly rouses himself as if from a deep sleep and if it weren’t for the glaze of lingering fear in his eyes, none would be able to tell that he had just woken up from a night terror.

That same glazed look is now flickering rapidly around him as if searching for the shadow of a monster that exists only within his mind.

“Sylvain…?”

Wild brown eyes finally settle on steady molten amber ones.

“Fe.”

“It’s okay, Sylvain. I’m here...”

Felix yawns and shuffles around until he is half wrapped around Sylvain with his left hand settling over Sylvain’s pounding heart.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you…” Small hands curl around the material of Sylvain’s shirt in a death grip. Felix’s loyalty and protectiveness so painfully evident even when the boy himself is half asleep. He manages to cling to the realm of the conscious for a little while longer, until the rapid thump thump thump of Sylvain’s heart slows to a steady lulling rhythm, pulling Felix back down under the veil of sleep.

Ignatz has silently watched this entire exchange and to be honest, he’s not really sure that Sylvain or Felix even remember that he is here with them. He cannot bring himself to make his presence known, so he continues to watch and observe.

He watches as the fear that was once in Sylvain’s eyes slowly recede again, the monsters inside his head vanquished in the company of his best friend. It only takes one more glance at the boy cuddled up to him with a hand protectively hovered over his heart to melt away the chains that bind him to the expectations of the people around him.

Here under this oak tree in a field of blooming young love, there is no crest or Miklan or nobility. There is only Felix and Sylvain.

Sylvain holds onto that truth as he wraps his free arm around the younger boy, tucking him more securely under his chin, letting the cool summer breeze lull him back to a dreamless sleep.

Ignatz pulls out a new page and starts a fresh outline. It takes him a little longer than anticipated to finish his drawing, but he figures it’s not such a bad thing since he likes this new version much better.

Later, as he trails after the now energetic boys back towards the monastery, Ignatz tucks his newest masterpiece securely under his arm, being very careful not to smudge the drawing or crease the paper.

After all, Claude did mention something about a wedding and Ignatz thinks that his drawing will make a fine gift.

----

Bonus: They’re just two idiots in love.

“Go away. Can’t you see I’m trying to enjoy my meal?”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Felix! You know, the younger you was much cuter. Definitely less prickly, too.” Dorothea pokes his cheek and snatches her hand away before Felix can stab it with his steak knife.

It’s been roughly a week since Felix and Sylvain have returned to their normal sizes, the dark magic having run its course and fizzling out without so much as a final spark. To the rest of the Army, this is a joyous occasion as it means that two of their best generals are now back to normal and can command them again. But to the last class of the academy… it is bittersweet.

Of course, they want their friends to return to normal. But that also means that Felix will go back to hissing and spitting with all the fury of a spooked cat and Sylvain will go back to seducing any individual that makes eye contact with him for longer than half a second.

“Better do as he says, Thea. Felix’s looking extra grumpy today and we wouldn’t want you to lose a pretty little finger.” Sylvain winks at her as he sets down his own meal and settles in the seat across from the swordsman.

The opera singer snorts, “right back to the flirting as usual. Save your hollow words for some other girl.”

“Ouch. Give a guy a break! I just recovered from a dark magic spell after all. Doesn’t that warrant some pity?”

“The only pity is that you immediately lost all your innocent and cute appeal when you reverted back to your regular body.”

Felix scowls at them, “if you insist on continuing your flirting, I’ll just eat my meal elsewhere.” He moves to stand but Sylvain is quicker and grabs his wrist, preventing him from moving.

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop. Just stay, okay? Please? For me, Fe?”

Sylvain is looking at Felix with that expression which he knows he cannot resist and Dorothea takes this opportunity to slip away while the two engage in a silent conversation with only their eyes.

“Fine.”

Their meal continues with little fanfare and easy conversation. Around them, their old classmates are scattered in their own little groups and if they notice, none of them mentions anything about how everyone seems to avoid sitting at Felix and Sylvain’s table.

Easy conversation flows into dessert, or more specifically: Felix wordlessly giving Sylvain his peach sorbet and Sylvain beaming a rare genuine smile and promising to join him at the training grounds first thing tomorrow morning.

The sun is slowly dipping below the horizon when Sylvain and Felix gather up their dishes. On their way out of the dining hall, Ignatz stops them with a heartfelt congratulations and a bundled up package that looks suspiciously like one of his works.

“Congratulations? For what?” Artfully tousled red hair shifts as Sylvain tilts his head in confusion and reluctantly accepts the gift.

“O-oh, well Claude just said…”

Dread rises up from the pit of Felix’s stomach. “What did that schemer say this time?”

“��He said that you two were getting married.”

“What?!”

[hyggeligbirch]

On The Phone

An EXO Fanfiction pairing: jongin x baekhyun word count: 2 395 warnings: Major Character Death: Suicide summary: Jongin has nightmares. Luckily his boyfriend's only a phone call away

Jongin holds his phone to his ear, wrapping Kongju’s long fur around his free hand as he listens to Baekhyun babble in his softest, sleepiest, you-woke-me-up-in-the-middle-of-the-night voice. He slowly stops trembling, the dual action of his dog’s warm presence next to him and his boyfriend’s voice in his ear easing him out of his panic.

Once his voice finds its way back, he rasps his way into Baekhyun’s sleepy monologue. “Thanks for picking up,” he says, and he means it.

He can hear Baekhyun’s sleepy hum as he smiles on the other end. “Yeah. Feel better?”

“Yeah,” and it isn’t a lie, because he’s stopped shaking, but he still can’t think of stopping the call. “Can we stay on the line until I fall asleep, though?”

Baekhyun sleepily laughs and agrees. It’s not the first time they’ve done this, and it probably won’t be the last. Jongin has nightmares; Baekhyun has bad days. Both are easily helped with a simple phone call, the sound of the other’s voice, the rhythmic breathing as they each fall asleep. Sometimes they skip the nightmares, late-night panic attacks, and just stay the night together. Not frequently, but sometimes.

Jongin always falls asleep last. There’s comfort to him to hear the way Baekhyun’s sleepy babble slowly fades into half-whispered syllables, then just random hums that give way to soft breathing. Especially since his nightmares have changed.

For months they had been simple, normal. Stage fright, performing a routine that he’d never learned. Learning about a class he’d never been to only during exam week. Sometimes, it was just a normal day, walking down past a park and suddenly everything would go dark and he’d be running away from an unseen monster. Normal things.

But the past few weeks had been different. The nightmares had started simply enough, morphed versions of the day they’d all gotten the news about the plane crash. He’d go to Baekhyun’s apartment to check on him, and everything would be fine, but then he’d be in the hospital, shaking as he sat next to Baekhyun, held his hand, prayed. Listened to doctors telling him things he didn’t want to hear from the other side of a glass wall. Hearing that his boyfriend might never wake up. Hearing that his boyfriend was as good as dead.

And then he watched the day unfold in Baekhyun’s apartment, unable to interact, unable to do anything but watch. Jongin saw himself feeding Baekhyun, making quiet promises and leaving. Baekhyun’s phone ringing. Baekhyun answering it and the what little life was in his eyes drain out. Watched Baekhyun go – and the dream always stopped right there. Baekhyun walking out of the room, and never coming back.

Even his own mind was never cruel enough to make him watch Baekhyun die.

It’s through late night phone calls that Jongin gets through the next several weeks, always waking up in cold sweats and tight muscles, calming against the breathing of his boyfriend, the assurance that Baekhyun is still there, still alive.

Where the nights are terrifying, the days are calm and peaceful. It’s the middle of summer, and Baekhyun’s working an internship six days a week and Jongin’s dancing seven, but they spend as much time as possible with each other, in the early mornings before Baekhyun goes to work and after Jongin’s taken Kongju out for a morning run; in the evenings when they’re both exhausted and just sink into the couch to mindlessly eat dinner and watch tv.

It’s during one of these late evenings – Kongju sent to her crate to keep her from jumping on Baekhyun, Jongin icing down his ankles, and both of them eating more pasta than they probably should – that Baekhyun makes an offhand comment about just crashing there, some half-hearted comment about how small and dark and dirty his apartment is in comparison.

“Sorry,” Jongin responds, “I mean, you can, but I have to leave in half an hour. I won’t be here, the studio’s got that thing tomorrow morning, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s fine, I’ll just – my apartment’s fine.”

Jongin frowns, not satisfied. Crashing at each other’s places is usually reserved for very bad days. “Baekhyun, if you’re having a bad day or something, you’re welcome to stay here with Kongju. She’s really good company in bed. And we can talk on the phone – I don’t care.”

“No, no, I’m fine!” Baekhyun insists, and elaborates at Jongin’s patient stare. “I just thought that maybe, your nightmares, maybe they wouldn’t be so bad if I was right there.”

And that’s probably the most thoughtful thing Jongin’s heard all week, but there’s still that little twist of his gut at making Baekhyun – Baekhyun, who has so many problems of his own – worry. “Thanks. Are you sure…?”

“I’m great. Promise.”

And they both are great, that night, Baekhyun in his own bed in his own apartment, Jongin passed out in the back of a van somewhere, thanks to a couple of sleeping pills. The next day goes well, too, and Jongin finds himself falling face-first into his bed, finally home, body aching sore and doesn’t even think about putting his phone somewhere he can access it easily, because he’s so tired.

He thinks that might have been a mistake, when he’s trying to find his phone and dial Baekhyun and his limbs are terror-locked and it feels a little like someone punched him in the stomach with a rocket. He gets half a second of bile in the back of his throat just as Baekhyun’s phone starts ringing before he’s vomiting all over himself, little more than bile and acid because his last meal’s been so long, but it burns his throat and his nose and he thinks he can hear Baekhyun’s sleepy “hello” turning into worried words, but he’s not sure because all he can focus on for a few minutes is not choking on his own vomit.

When his stomach finally stops rebelling against him so strongly, he can actually hear Baekhyun’s worried, “Jongin? Jongin, are you okay?”

Jongin spits some of the sour taste out of his mouth and tries to focus in on Baekhyun’s voice. “Are you?”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine? What about you? You called me, and then you were vomiting?”

Baekhyun was fine, and that little bit of information let Jongin center himself a little more. “I had another nightmare.” He paused for a moment as the smell of the vomit on him and his bed sinks in. “I should go…clean this up. Will you…?”

“Yeah, of course,” Baekhyun agrees so quickly, and Jongin puts the phone on his bedside table and strips out of his ruined clothes. Baekhyun starts up a light-hearted monologue, like he usually does, like he knows helps, as Jongin picks the phone back up and heads into the bathroom to wash up.

He can’t bring himself to go back into his bedroom and deal with the soiled sheets after he’s all washed, so Jongin slides down the wall to sit next to the toilet, Baekhyun still chattering away from the counter. Eventually, Baekhyun grows tired and starts to trail down into his sleepy hums. Jongin doesn’t mind, the cool tiles of the bathroom helping to keep him grounded, but his stomach lurches the quieter that Baekhyun gets and he’s happy that he decided to stay in the bathroom. He doesn’t vomit again, though.

Jongin’s been listening to Baekhyun breathe for what feels like hours, the quiet breaths and the cool porcelain working in tandem to keep him grounded, keep him from thinking about his dream, when the call abruptly disconnects. His brain short-circuits in his exhausted state, and, instead of intelligently grabbing for his phone and redialing, his nightmare starts replaying itself behind his eyes.

It’s not very clear, everything hazed with soot-black edges. One instant, Jongin is sitting on his couch, happy, calm, and the next he’s on his feet with his heart beating like crazy and then he’s standing outside of Baekhyun’s apartment, lungs seizing trying to draw air and the crash of breaking mugs echoing in his ears. And then he’s frozen, with one hand on the doorknob, unable to open the door, unable to make himself leave. He’s frozen there for what must be hours, if not days, and he can hear noises in the apartment and there’s a burning in his stomach to just open the door. Kick it down. But he can’t. He can’t do anything until everything is so, so silent that he’s not sure his own heart is even beating anymore. And then the door swings open. Jongin sees three things and only three things inside of Baekhyun’s apartment. A white floor. Red blood, enough for two people. And Baekhyun, broken and splayed across the floor like a ragdoll. Then everything goes black.

Jongin must fall asleep at some point that night, because he is woken in the morning by dog breath in his face.

He groans and rolls to his feet, every muscle protesting the motion after a long night on a bathroom floor, then pushes on Kongju’s head to get her to leave. With a couple of hard blinks, he follows after. Groggy from sleep, he barely notices that the sheets have been changed on his bed and that Kongju shouldn’t even be at his house. As such, he’s a little startled to find Baekhyun sitting on his couch with a bowl of cereal.

“Morning!” Baekhyun greets him, and Jongin just scowls because it is way too early in the morning to deal with anything resembling cheeriness.

“What’re you doing here?” He manages to grumble out.

“I’m returning your dog.”

Right. That was a thing that needed to happen. Jongin’s cool.

He’s slightly less cool when he finds out that Baekhyun has eaten the last of his cereal, though.

And Baekhyun’s still there when Jongin gets home from work, playing fetch with the dog in the apartment that is decidedly too small to play fetch in.

“I bought more cereal,” he says as way of greeting, “and I’m staying here this week. If that’s cool with you.” He sees Jongin’s brow furrow and jumps to cut him off. “Nightmares. Even if it doesn’t help for me to be here, at least you won’t have to sleep on the bathroom floor because you puked in your bed and didn’t have anyone to clean it up.”

Jongin has to admit that it’s nice to have Baekhyun in his bed in a halfway decent state of mind. It’s even nicer when he wakes up in the morning without any dreams to speak of.

After a week of dreamless nights, they’re sitting around eating breakfast, Jongin using Kongju as a footrest to keep her from jumping up to eat their food.

“Thanks for staying, Baekhyun,” Jongin says, “Maybe you should just move in.”

Baekhyun laughs around a spoonful of yogurt. “Maybe. Can I ask? What the nightmares are?” It’s something they’ve never actually discussed, because even thinking about them tends to set Jongin’s muscles tight and breathing sporadic.

He takes a deep breath in an effort to head off the panic, and answers. “Yeah, you can ask. I…I don’t know how to say it.” He takes a moment to gather the right words, stirring his cereal. “It’s always you. Killing yourself.” He stumbles over his words as he tries to push the next sentence out over Baekhyun’s surprise. “And I think that’s why you being here helps? Because you’re right here so I know you’re not dead.”

Jongin takes the chance to look up at Baekhyun and is surprised to see nothing but a quiet sadness on Baekhyun’s face. Baekhyun sighs and puts his yogurt down on the coffee table, sitting straighter. Jongin sits straighter in response, biting his tongue in confusion as Baekhyun reaches out and puts his hand on Jongin’s knee, leaning close enough to snuggle against his shoulder like he likes to do during serious conversations.

“Jongin,” he says, and Jongin’s not sure he’s ever heard Baekhyun so sad and so serious, “I’m not sure how to say this, either.” He squeezes Jongin’s leg as he swallows, and continues. “But I guess you already know this, anyway, so I shouldn’t be so worried about telling you, I mean –“

“Baekhyun? What is it?”

“I’m already dead, Jongin.”

“No,” Jongin tries for, but it comes out a little more like a whistling gasp as the air leaves his lungs. Everything drops a dark shade of grey and he’s pretty sure he’s hyperventilating.

Baekhyun tries to squeeze his leg, but he can’t feel it. “Jongin. Jongin. I killed myself a long time ago. I’m already dead.”

“No. But you’re right here. Baekhyun. Baekhyun. Baek-“ The hyperventilating catches up with Jongin and everything goes deep, deep black.

Jongin comes to in a world that is so much darker and so much colder than the one he has just left. There’s an incessant vibrating next to his head and he’s splayed out on the floor of his bedroom. He can hear Kongju scratching at the door and just wishes all of the noise would stop.

When it doesn’t, he groans and sits himself up, a pounding headache immediately starting from the rush of blood out of his head. With a few choice words, he gives in to the vibrating of his phone and picks up, not even bothering to check caller ID.

It’s Junmyeon, with a happy, fast tone to his voice and Jongin honestly doesn’t hear a word he says while he starts to find himself back. There’s only two things that Jongin knows at the moment: that Baekhyun is dead, and that there’s blood dried on Jongin’s face. It’s obviously something that’s not sustainable. He huffs as he figures out what he should do. Asking for help was never his strong suit, but still – “Junmyeon?” he interjects at the first pause, “Can I stay with you for a while?”

Junmyeon is understandably surprised on the other end. “Sure. Your apartment getting fumigated or something?”

“Uhmm, no. I just don’t think I can be here alone right now. Baekhyun.” And he hopes that’s enough.

“Yeah,” Junmyeon replies, and his voice is soft and Jongin’s wondering what he’s thinking about. “As long as you need.”

When Jongin hangs up, he sees the date on his phone. 12 April. It’s been a year.

[thekotaphoria]

Time adventure || personal analysis :3

Disclaimer: there are probably some spelling mistakes or word errors because I was just writing whatever was on my mind :3 enjoy!

Where to start. Well, There is a song that I love deeply, it circles around my head almost daily. It’s from my favorite show, Adventure Time. A show that I’ve had the privilege of growing up with. This song is called “Time Adventure”. It’s the main song in the final episode of the series, it is heartwarming, catchy, and emotional if you will, bringing the show together as it has its own timeline, featuring a mushroom war, and the total wipe out of a normal human species. The song is sung by BMO, a small robot that lives with the characters Finn and Jake. Although his physical form may not be so mighty looking, having no weapons or muscle, this small lovable robot serves a strong mental impact, always finds the good in things, facing death fearlessly. He was created by an old man to accompany his child which he didn’t end up having, so BMO was released to find a family of his own facing many ups and downs, experiencing life as it is, and learning the meaning of life. A part of him will always be kept inside my heart, because he reminds me that everything will be okay at the end of the day, no matter how big or small the challenges have been.

The song “time adventure” was sung by BMO to comfort Jake the stretchy dog, who had shrunk down, being caressed in the arms of BMO. Jake has always been Physically strong, and with his best friend/brother Finn, he has always been unstoppable. However, there is a time where his life will eventually come to an end, and in this moment of distress, the two starring death right in its face as a monster was about to end their lives, which spoiler, did not happen, BMO sang this song in order to comfort the frightened Jake, who usually is the one protecting him.

I’ll start off by introducing the first lyric of the song which is, “time is an illusion that helps things make sense”, this lyrics speaks to me on many levels because it shows that time is something man kind made up. Who is to say that time is real? We invented it, but in reality, evolution guided us to wake up when it’s bright outside, and go to sleep once it’s dark out. It’s a never ending cycle, and 24 hours is our way of knowing when the sun rises and sets on our side of the world. Time is our creation. It allows us humans to know when and where to be, and it helps us function in an organized manner, hence, it is an “illusion that helps things make sense”. Before our time on earth, this place that we call our home has been orbiting around the sun longer than we could ever imagine. This planet is older than time, and we we just happen to be apart of its journey.

After the first sentence, the song goes “we are always living in the present tense”. I absolutely love how this song has explained itself. This lyrics shows that even though our creation of time may not be real, we still live inside of it. Time being what we depend on to explain our whole existence. Our age, our lifespan, our schedule, everything we do involves time, but not everything in time has involved us. Milliseconds, seconds, minutes, hours, past, present, future, everything, we have made up, and everything we have ever done revolves around this illusion of time, as we orbit around what we have called, the sun. This song not only make you think about the creation of time, but it makes you think of the creation of absolutely everything. Atoms, moons, solar systems, etc… We have named everything we could possibly name in order for it to make sense to us, and same goes for time. The present, being where we claim to be right now, is now the past, and what I am about to say, is the future. For example, I wrote this in the past, but in what ever way this is being presented, it is in the future. Now when you think of it like that, it makes sense, but without time, we would not be able to comprehend this in the same way as we do with it.

The next part of the song that I would like to address, is “it seems unforgiving when a good thing ends”. This part of the song expresses that even though BMO and Jake’s time on earth was fun, it must come to an end at some point, and BMO explains this in the next line which is, “but you and I will always be back then”. Quite an emotive phrase indeed. It shows that, even though things are coming to an end, the things that they have experienced in the past, are still in the past, they still happened, and at least they had the chance to experience the things that happened. This time of despair does not countermand all the good times they have had. Just because in that moment of terror Jake was not as powerful as he usually is and it seemed as though their friends were in serious danger, it does not mean that they did not try, and that the life they lived was not worthwhile. Their bravery and triumph still happened. Love and happiness still happened. Everything good they have ever done, still happened. This moment of struggle does not define who they are, and as the world collapses around them, this loss does not signify defeat, for they have won more than they have lost. When the push comes to shove, they have done more good to the world than this misfortune will ever live to be. BMO comforts Jake by using the thought of the past, for the possibility of the future is not guaranteed, so the view of the present is blocked, focusing only on the joyful old memories.

The bridge of the song is impactful, with the first line being “if there was some amazing force outside of time to take us back to where we were”. This line sparks a wish that many of have, where we wish to go back in time to experience the laughter and joy we had in the past again. It shows that even though time is an illusion, we still do not have complete control over it. The feeling of wanting to experience happiness again is heavily desired, especially in moments where life is not as euphoric. BMO uses imagery but singing “hang each moment up like pictures on the wall inside a billion tiny frames so that we can see it all”. By singing this, BMO creates a mental image inside the heads of those who connect with the series. It shows that all the times you’ve had are now memories in you mind. I found this very insightful, because it’s seeing life in a new perspective. Seeing the past almost like Polaroids. Life forever changing, capturing every step, allowing you to step back and really look at all the good times you’ve had. Growing and blooming, in your final moments, you have experienced life as it is, and for BMO, it is clear that his journey through time is much bigger than the small picture of the present. He expresses that fear is only a barricading you from happiness. It’s your task to choose which side of that barrier you want to be on, and your mission to find out how to get there. BMO being the positive character he is, shows Jake that the positive moments are much more worthwhile.

The song ends beautifully with the line “you and I will always be best friends”, being another version of “back then”. I especially love this line because it shows that along their journey of life, they have made strong connections with other. Strengthening this bond with unforgettable moments, reminiscing with one another. As best friends, they know that they are not alone as the foundations of their home crumble around them. The depth of their friendship for one another is stronger than the fear of death, leading us back around to the reason why, being because of these memories with so much emotional meaning. Death is inevitable and learning to accept that is a skill. BMO is proven to be strong headed by accepting death, and as he sings, he finds out that singing is the way to kill the beast, defeating Glob and finally saving the day, protecting those who had once protected him.

As time goes on, BMO had found a way to continue making memories with his “best friends” by using his beliefs in a form of art, creating a key point in his own journey, alive. This song makes life surreal and comforting, for the message questions all forms of life, and makes the idea of death less terrifying. My perspective has changed ever sine listening to this song, and I am grateful for that. The idea of life being more important than death gives me something to live for. Creating impact and meeting amazing people. I have learnt that terrible situations do not define you, and the illusion of time will forever continue making sense of the world around us, reminding us of what is important and what makes us happy.