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duskoon · 2 years ago

Text

“Weakness”:

Tw: Fem!Earthing!reader, Yandere themes, Stalking, Attempted murder (against the reader), Manipulation, Established relationship with the heroes (Who are my OC’s, btw.), Kidnapping, Violence, Cussing, Non-consensual touching, Non-consensual kissing, Implied hypnosis.

+ Yandere type: Possessive, Manipulative, Delusional.

+ Intensity: Medium-to-High. (A+)

+ Manipulative: High. (S)

+ Danger: Medium. (A)

QotC: “No good deed goes unpunished.” -Oscar Wilde.

Weakness. Such word only roused revulsion and dismay within himself. Yet, here he is. Soaked entirely in it, as his crimson irises trailed on the delicate frame of his recent addiction from afar. His presence is concealed, lest they -bothersome pests-interfere with his doing.

She was the quintessential of frailty; A body that can give up easily, crushed and obliterated into a bloody plump by the mere sight of a Ki-blast. His mind could not divulge him a proper reason for such obsession. Conceivably the fact, she had saved his life- ignorant of his identity- and in silent appreciation this unwanted illness has came to be.

The albino bio-android made every effort possible, to rid himself of this sickening disease. It was a plague that breached both his heart and mind. He even attempted to kill her, whilst the time patrollers “heroines” were busy elsewhere interrupting with his creator and his plans.

Maybe the strange sensation will vanish, if she ceases to exist. Just a quick twist of her puny neck and she will be gone, thus he could finally get on with his foremost objective.

The goal that he was created for and intended to achieve, that is to become the strongest life form in the whole macrocosm. However, it was easier said than done. For when the time called, his hands betrayed him. He couldn't come to kill her for some odd reason. Was it gratitude holding him back? Or was it pity? He doubted that, as a demon like him have no need for that emotion.

She could feel eyes burning into her frame wherever she went, but couldn't figure out who it was. It terrified her to her core, especially when it followed her home within Conton city. She was no one of importance, the only thing she had was her intimate connection with the heroines of Conton city and Toki Toki city. That's why she reached for her most trusted companions, to help her out with her current predicament.

“Hey Hummingbird, nice to see ya again. What did you invite us for? Is it for a feast again, you know that I love your food so much.” Anima, the female saiyan, commented cheerfully. It was so apparent, as her grey tail wagged in a way that conveyed her excitement at the thought.

“Is food all you ever think of? Did Kakarot contaminate your mind again. Plus, her name is (Y/n) not hummingbird.” Toma, the other female saiyan, stated annoyance creeping into her words.

“At least, I ain’t Vegeta lite. Also, are ya jealous of my relation with the little birdie~ ” Anima teased, painfully drawling her syllables. Her nickname made the earthling’s face flushed in embarrassment, even as years has passed by she wasn't used to her friend’s shenanigans.

“What did you say?! I ain't a rip off of anyone. Nor am I jealous, what are you on?!” The dark haired saiyan retaliated angrily -tail swishing to the sides like a pendulum-, as a dust of pink appeared on her milky cheeks.

“Sure. If that what keeps your mind at rest.”

“Why you..”

On daily basis, she finds their disputes to be amusing. Yet, today’s subject was of significance.

“Unfortunately, no. It is something unnerving and has been on my mind recently.” The (h/c) woman expressed, her tone is uncharacteristically sombre and tense. Distinguishable from her usual carefree and easygoing nature, that adorned her visage. Both heroines took notice and their expression shifted into seriousness.

“Is there someone that I need to kill? Because if that is the case, then hell ya you're speaking my lingo.” Toma remarked with a wicked grin gracing her scarred face.

“No. Lately, someone has been stalking me.” With that said, (Y/n) felt a sudden change in the air. Looking around, only to discover that Toma has subconsciously transformed into her SSJ3 form. The ground of her home is shaking with the blonde’s wrath, as the (h/c) could clearly discern the signs of bloodlust in the former raven haired warrior’s expression.

“TOMA. Calm down. Can't you see you're scaring her more than she already is, plus no super saiyan within the city parameters. Remember?” The elder saiyan reprimanded her partner. As she pointed to the earthling’s frightened countenance to verify her point.

“Fine, mother.” The latter grumbled sarcastically, hair turning jet black like it used to be prior to the transformation.

“Now, Hummingbird. Can you tell us exactly what happened and how did you come to the conclusion that you are being stalked. After all, this is the first case of someone getting stalked within a city as tightly secured as Conton city.” Anima uttered softly, confusion hazing her mind as she tried to come up with an explanation for the current situation.

“At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks or I was paranoid seeing that this city is armed to the teeth. I know this may sound ridiculous, considering I can not sense energy like you two. As weeks went by, their presence kept on growing. Until one day...” She started, as her hands began peeling off her baggy scarf.

“This mark appeared out of nowhere on my neck. I assumed that somebody tried to kill me, while I was asleep.” She continued trying to hold back the urge of breaking down in tears, as she pointed toward the imprint of a large hand on her throat. It faded into pink, owing to the passing of days. Otherwise, it would've been glaring red.

Anima’s silver eyes darkened, as she gently traced her slender fingers on the earthling’s wounded area. Who would dare harm her friend, let alone stalk her and in her sleep too? And for what gain? The (h/c) didn't have anything of value, other than the fact she was kind and respectful. She was a human, after all. Not a saiyan that was blessed with peak physical strength, nor a namekian with regenerative properties.

Suddenly, a dark possibility washed her mind as Anima locked her silvery irises with Toma’s amber ones in a knowing stare.

“(Y/n), do not panic.. I know it is a lot to take in mind, but the only ones who I and Toma believe can bypass the barrier of the city are the time breakers.” The grey-head worded her statement, mindful enough not to plunge the human further into bouts of anxiety. The fact her playful saiyan friend dropped the nickname, meant she was earnest in her saying.

“No.. No.. It must be something else. Maybe someone else is stalking me. Maybe, the city’s laws are not enforced as it is believed to be. For whatever reason do a demon want with a mere human like me?” The panicked woman endeavored an explanation, lest her mind falls into the clutches of madness and trepidation. Trying to convince herself, more so than the two saiyans.

As much as the sight of the young woman crying, tugged at her steeled heart. Toma would have her know the truth, rather than let her drown in a false sense of hope.

“I am afraid, that is the case. It is unlikely someone would break a law here and escape without a patroller being notified. Unless said criminal hid their ki skillfully, or lack it completely. At least we know the perpetrators, so now we could do something about this problem.” The silent saiyan finally spoke, wrecking the earthling’s false sense of safety.

“C’mon Toma, Could you not be insensitive for one moment in your life and be mindful of your words? The poor girl is breaking down and you are not helping the situation.” Anima responded infuriated at the younger’s harsh nature, as she took in the earthling into her strong arms.

“You might be older and stronger then me, but Kami... You're an absolute buffon, if you believe sugar coating the problem would do any good. If anything, it will make it far worse than it already is. I am doing her a favour and protecting her, instead of letting her rot in ignorance like you.” Toma spat, glaring into her argent eyes in a challenging manner. Goading the elder saiyan to refute her statement.

Anima did not say anything, why does she when her body language speaks it all? Her silvery-white pupils darkened to almost ashy grey, grim expression drawn into her porcelain visage, and her hold onto the crying female tightening. Grey tail protectively wrapping around the earthling’s waist.

“You stay with her, while I see it through with Chronoa regarding this issue. If I see one hair on her head unaligned, you will be held accountable. And you won't like me, when I am really mad.” Anima voiced calmly, with a threatening tenor in tow.

“That, you should not be afraid of. Finally, you suggested something of reason.” The taller of the two assured.

Before letting the (h/c) go from her tight grasp, Anima previous tense expression has softened up as she addressed the following words with honeyed timbre.

“Don't worry, Hummingbird. So long you're with us, no harm will be dealt against you. That I promise you.” With that, Anima flew away from the house to contact the supreme kai of time. Leaving the other two females behind.

“Good grief. Fine, I won't kill them. Even though, they obviously deserved it. Just, please, stop crying. It's irritating.” Toma groaned, seemingly vexed. However, it was far from the truth. As deep down in her shriveled heart, she truly cared about her friend. After all, the human was the first to accept the unruly saiyan unconditionally. Hell be damned, if she'd let anyone take the light and joy from her friend’s (e/c) eyes.

Hatred- no, emotions has always been an enigma that he could not personally understand nor feel. As it was unnecessary for him to have one. His body, soul, and heart-assuming, he had one.- were churning with a bizarre distasteful sensation. It was those execrate saiyans again. Not only do they persist to hinder his plans, but also steer away his obsession from him.

He wanted nothing more than to rip the sliver-head to shreds, as he watched the interaction from a device that Towa has created. At this point, his desire for a battle with the two waned into a lust for their blood.

“My, Mira. Something on your mind? It is very unlike you to be this unfocused, especially when the plan goes our way. Is it perhaps the human, again?” Towa inquired teasingly, her bloody hued pupils dissecting the brooding android.

“Not at all.” Mira replied almost instantaneously, holding back the claws of envy from overwhelming his senses.

“You can lie to Dabura all you want, but not to me. After all, I am your creator. I know all about your inner machinations, so tell me. Perhaps, I can even lend a hand. Do you wish for the human to be utterly yours and yours alone?” She suggested, whilst mischievously twirling her staff. A cruel smirk tugging at her plump lips, awaiting patiently for the demon’s response.

He felt it once again, but this time it was much more pleasant. The notion of having her close to him made his engines- heart whirl with excitement and elation. To deem her as his and his alone. What a paradise it will be, as much as raising the demon realm from it's rubbles.

“Yes, I do...” Mira answered.

“Are you sure? You seem hesitant. Do not worry about my brother, if that what concerns you. I am sure he would understand, as you are loyal and such fealty must be rewarded. No?” Towa reassured, tapping her staff on the grounds of the demon realm. By doing so, she opened a rift into Conton city.

Her words enabled his fixation more, as he gave his final verdict.

“Yes, I do.” This time, more assured then before.

“Excellent. A loyal solider, deserves nothing less. In addition to that, I can’t wait for those saiyans to crumble to the hands of despair. Watching their dearest friend, disappear not to be seen again. Especially, after being such nuisances.” The demoness uttered, face twisting into a fiendish grin.

She was walking through the recreational plaza to gather some ingredients to cook, with Toma trailing close behind her. It was her way to show her gratitude towards the saiyans, who are currently overwatching her.

“What are you planning to cook? Y’know you don't have to do this, right?” Toma stated, arms crossed at her chest.

“I know, but that the least I can do for you guys. Plus, It is a surprise you will surely like.” You replied back softly. Feeling obligated to return the favour, even if it was their duty to do so.

“Ah. You are always too good, aren't you? Just be careful, not everyone in this shitty world is well deserving of it. Do not put your life in some else hands, they're bound to steal it away.” The taller saiyan advised with a ghost of smile emerging on her blemished lips.

“Noted.” She smiled tenderly.

‘Kami, I thought at first you were weak. However, I was clearly mistaken. It was purity not weakness, and I fear for it as a demon or corrupt asshole may feed on it. Let's hope, it does end in good terms.’ Toma thought, keeping her sharp honey irises on the kind-hearted woman.

As the earthling carried on with her shopping, Toma felt four large familiar and sinister energies nearby. Her stoic visage curled into concern as her calloused hands latched on the oblivious woman, therefore startling her.

“What is it?” She asked confused and slightly worried at the drop of the buoyant mood.

“(Y/n), stay behind me and do absolutely not move.” Toma ordered, voice strained. The human nodded, as she followed the dark haired warrior words.

“Well. What do we have here? A saiyan and her earthling pet.” A feminine voice lulled from above, as a sudden pressure of evil Ki appeared with the arrival of the mysterious individuals. Two of whom are demons; With pristine white hair, azure complexion, dark crimson pupils, pointed ears, and claded in red and black outfit.

Towa and Mira, her guard dog, didn't elicit fear in her gut as much as the other two floating beside them. The fearsome pink demon with pitch black sclera, boiling red irises, mauvelous pink skin, and a menacing grin that itches to destroy anything in his path. Majin buu, more specifically Kid buu.

In a normal circumstances, Kid buu is a pain in the ass to deal with. But to add Broly in the mix, that's a recipe for a nightmare. As she remembered clear as a sunny day, how that green haired sai- no, devil stomping on her back without a single regard. Laughing with mirth at every second of her pain, as if it was the most delightful thing in the world. The only way to defeat these two combined, is via fusion with Anima.

The (h/c) might not know the gruelling details of her friends’ work, but she knew those four are to be reckoned with. She does not need the ability to detect energy, when their imposing image is enough as it is. Especially the towering and pupil-less male, that could easily snap her into two like a twig if he wished to.

“I am afraid your command is unnecessary. The human will come with us.” Towa stated, watching the power level of the dark haired saiyan rise exponentially, as her short raven hair shifted upwards and into blue hair.

“The hell she will.” Toma roared. Anger flowing her veins, like rivulet of water within the trims of a leaf at the dawn of day. She formed a ki-blade in her hand, then sped through the menaces to get a chance at slicing the female demon. However, her endeavour at harming Towa was blocked with Mira’s hands. With a flick of a his finger, the demonic android sent the heroine flying through multiple buildings.

“I simply can not let you do that. You have crossed our my way for the last time.” The silent demon finally spoke with semblance of irritation seeping onto his proclamation. As he and the pink terror chased the super sayian around the city.

“You saiyans are quite tenacious folk, despite the fact that you are clearly outnumbered you still fight. It is point-” Before she could keep going, a fierce fist hooked with Towa’s surprised face. Which sent the albino demoness soaring uphill into the sky.

“No. It isn't, you putrid bitch. Unlike you, we saiyans are prideful of our convictions. If, by Kami’s name, anyone dared to cross it.. I will eviscerate them. Starting with you, then your lap dog.” Anima, in her SSJBE form, remarked coldly as she wiped the filth’s blood from her fist.

Whilst her friends and the other patrollers were fighting, (Y/n) decided to take a refuge in the most secured place her mind could conjure. The time nest.

Which was surprising, considering the area wasn't heavily guarded as she thought it would be. Something was wrong, yet she couldn't put her finger on it.

This was her first time in here, as it usually is restricted to time patrollers, GoDs, and other Kais. Other citizens were not authorized to enter, to prevent probable alteration towards history from happening.

However, something felt off inside the time vault. Her mind told her no, yet her body moved on it's own. Curiosity already sparked, she pushed forward.

Hesistantly and carefully, She moved into the chamber. A dark voice ricocheted through the hardened walls, as they tampered with the time scrolls.

“Ah, Hummingbird. Was it? No need to be shy, show yourself or I'll make you.” The unidentified individual spoke sensing her unadulterated energy, their voice oddly familiar and jovial. Heeding their orders, she revealed herself from behind the lofty pillars.

Only to be shocked, that it was the supreme kai of time who was behind this. No, there was something uncanny about her like the two terrifying beings she saw with Toma. The Kai’s forehead was plastered with the time breaker’s insignia, as her usual deep chocolate irises alongside her sclera is as crimson as blood.

“Y-y-you’re not Chronoa, who are you?” She stuttered fearfully, perceiving the wickedness from the kai’s imposter.

“You are not as brainless as your kin, it seems.” She taunted, voice shifting from feminine into a gruff masculine one. His guise falling apart, exposing the demon king himself. Dabura.

With each step the demon took toward her, she trekked back twice frightened of his powers and what he is going to do to her.

“What do you want for me? I-I am worthless as a source of an energy, if that what you intend with me.” You voiced. Feeling the coolness of the pillars crashing with your rear, as you kept your distance from the sneering devil.

“Why such a dreadful expression? I won't hurt you.” He said, relishing on her terrified bearing. It was akin to eating from the tree of might. His poor sister’s creation mistook her purity for weakness, though Dabura could not blame him for that. She is weak, but pure.

No wonder his sister’s quiet partner was attracted to her ki, for a demon’s-even as artificial as Mira- favored craving is that of innocence and the woman in front of him reeked of it.

‘As if, with the previous threat.’ Her mother used to tell her tales, regarding demons. How they are the manifestation of undiluted evil, that tainted every creature with their heinous actions and tempting lies. Bringing out the worse of the worst within each soul, a catalyst for calamities and utter destruction.

To see one- let alone their king- shook her to her core and she felt bile rising from her stomach, as the realization suddenly strikes her. She was alone, with possibly one of the strongest and most vile beings on the cosmos in front of her, without any protection or combat experience whatsoever.

“As for your previous question, how would you like to hold the position of a princess?” The red skinned demon suggested, his cruel signature smirk remained on his visage.

“Why should I believe a foul demon like you?” You expressed skeptically, eyes scanning for any outlet to escape from. Once you do, you will run off as quick as your legs can afford to.

“Your fear is very much founded, but you earthlings and your silly superstitions are laughable. Let's not digress, this is not the point. Whether you come willingly or not, it will end up the same. Don't you think it is rather strange, that you’re alone? So do yourself a favour and do not be a stubborn brat.” Dabura chuckled at her false bravado, that masked her true feelings of paralyzing terror.

“So you're telling me those people who were sent against my companions were nothing, but distractions to drag me out here on my own?” You said, slowly working out the implication of his assertions. So, it was premeditated all along. It was them, after all. Toma nor Anima were lying, yet it was dread that clouded your judgment back then to take notice.

“Heh. You are not as dumb as you are naïve, aren't you?” The hellspawn responded jeeringly, playing with her anxiety like a predator would do to it's prey before devouring it whole.

The female bolted without hesitation from whence she first came from, once she saw the gate was no longer blocked with an imperceptible force. Her heart thumping hard against her torso, that it might as well rive through her body from the sheer terror she is currently experiencing.

Sweat rolling down her neck, blood turning cold, and her body in a seemingly permanent flight or fight mode. Desperately trying to outrun the laughing beast behind her. His steps were slow, in comparison to her speedy one. He was either taunting her or he was dragging this chase long enough to satiate his wanton sadism, for she knew that he could've caught her without breaking a sweat.

“This is completely your fault. If you weren't so kind you wouldn’t be in this quagmire, in the first place. Your tender-heart was and still is your downfall.” His hurtful words stung her deeply and confused her at the same time, yet she didn't have the stint to lament or reflect on it. Her life was on the line, yet she was unaware of the deep-rooted obsession that a certain demonic-android had for her.

She was so close to the gleaming portal, that separated the time nest from the city. Yet, she felt a pressure from behind pushing her down to the grassy ground. Her hands were tied behind her back with an insurmountable strong chains, or seems like it as she can not move them freely.

“Now, think... (Y/n) think. Whom did you help last month? A poor lady in need of assistance or an injured traveller, perhaps?” Dabura remarked hoping his statement would rejuvenate her memories, as his sharp talons grazed the earthling’s shoulder gently. As much as he wants to continue playing with her, he won't injure her. After all, he has a promise to keep with his sister.

Her (e/c) eyes dilated for a moment, as she processed his words.

‘No... No... It can not possibly be the stranger that I took a month ago and nursed back to full health.’ She refused to accept it. If it was true, then the demon king was not fibbing at all. When he stated, it was her empathy for others that screwed her over. She unwittingly helped a demon, even when they behaved in a dubious and vague manners.

~~ (Flashback, a month prior.)

It was at the dead of the night, when she had first heard it. The sounds of something hefty crashed on top of her roof, startling up the lady from her sleep. Rousing up from her slumber groggy, she decided to investigate the source of the noise.

What she has discovered made her sleepy eyes open wide at the sight of the unconscious individual. They were gravely injured, based on the electrical sparks and strange dark blue liquid seeping from their wounds.

Were they an android? She was no stranger to one, seeing that she lives in a city where she is exposed to unique races on daily basis.

Usually, she would inform the patrollers about this strange occurrence. But, it was far too late for that. Her conscious would not let her live with the guilt of not helping them either, when she clearly has the ability to do something about it.

Taking matters into her hands, the female decided to carry the person inside. Or more precisely, drag considering how heavy they weight owing to the fact they're an android she assumed. Once she managed to bring them onto her couch, her smooth hand slid over their tattered cloak. The earthling tried to remove the garment. Alas, her appendage was unexpectedly clasped in the the stranger’s powerful grip.

The alien’s lustrous red LED was glowing underneath his hood, eyeing her movements cautiously. It was quite a shock to her that they were awake based on the damage they had sustained, but she doesn't blame them for their sudden wariness.

“Don’t worry, I am here to help. If it will make you comfortable, then I won't remove your cloak. I will just patch you up.” Her statement managed to put the stranger’s mind into rest, as his robust azure hands laxed its grip on her own. However, he understandably did not let go.

“Who...are...you? Why...are you helping...me.” The stranger asked. His masculine voice was raspy and static-like, presumably due to the incision that ripped through the stiff fabric of his voicebox.

“My name is (Y/n) (L/n), and I do not need a reason to help anyone in need. What truly matters, is that you're okay. I hate seeing people hurt, including androids. Plus you needn't worry. I am an engineer myself, so you're in good hands. That I assure you.” She introduced, whilst her rough hands were carefully tending the obtrusive injury on his pectoral.

“Ho...w... naï..” His voice cut off mid-sentence, as he abruptly fell into a state of comatose. It seems his lesions finally took a major toll on his energy.

‘Good grief, this will be a lot of work. At least, it will be worth it. Seeing that I will save a person.’

Hours has passed, since then. She, first, mended the vital wounds, then progressed towards the lesser ones. It was a tiring work to say the least, especially near his pectoral region. Where she had to stitch it close with different reinforced material, than the one he was created from. So that his artificial heart, as bizarre and strangely organic as it is, would not be exposed to detrimental effects.

Within her repairing session, her mind could not help but wonder about how this particular android was created. After all, she dealt with injured androids’ time patrollers before.. All of them, seem to be made by similar components. However the one she is currently dealing with, is far advanced and distinct from what she is accustomed to.

Her final strike was shrugging it off. Thinking of the matter as nothing, but a new product that Capsule corps’ are starting to manufacture. To upgrade the current androids for combat and security purposes.

Soon after, she went to sleep. Darkness took her in its cold embrace, ignorant of the gleaming bloody eyes that stalked her drowsing figure in the shadows.

‘Foolish girl, yet if it weren't for you... I would.. No, I am far stronger than that to rely on her. In addition, this aura you are drenched in... is not something to see everyday. It is addicting, but I am better than... that. Maybe, this accident is not pointless...’

(Flashback, the day after.)

Greeting, Ms. (L/n).

My sincerest apologies, if my disappearance has distressed you. I would like to thank you for your help personally, but... I had an urgent mission that I must attend to. Perhaps... Once I am finished with my tasks, we could meet face to face.

Of course, if you do not mind that is. I would never ask of you something, that you're uncomfortable with.

Regardless, your aid will never be forgotten and overlooked. One day, I hope I'll return the favour to you. As for my name, it is attached by the end of this letter.

~ Arim, an appreciative android.

. P.s. I heard you ,earthlings, find meanings in flowers. I wish the yellow lilies is to your satisfaction. I brought it in as a compensation for the trouble that I gave you.

His words were nothing short of beautiful and elegant- albeit straightforward, yet you were flattered by it. Especially the golden blossoms that lay atop the letter, it's sweet aroma has managed to relax your nerves. How did he manage to know your favorite flower is beyond you, perhaps it was by coincidence that or he was acquainted with humans.

Honestly, you were reasonably worried about him. Despite the fact he was an adept android, his injuries were quite severe and would normally require at least three weeks of recovery. Sighing, you decided to cook a feast as two of your most cherished friends will be visiting today.

A dreamy smile adorned the female’s visage, as she continued to stir the pot. Her thoughts drifted off to Arim, finally a name she can assign to the mysterious android, as she tried to envision what he would look like underneath his shroud. ‘Probably, a handsome lad.’

As much as she would want to share her story with the two rowdy saiyans, she decided it was best to keep it a secret. Namely, out of respect towards Arim’s identity and circumstances. Soon she'll come to regret her decision, but for now she drowse happily in her own world.

(Current day)

“That look of yours... means only one thing, that you have began to finally acknowledge your current situation. Now... You better yield, if not.. Well, I have other means to make you come with me and you'd not like that.” Dabura demanded impatiently, his previous impish mood has completely dropped.

His words -however- fell deaf to her ears, as she starts hyperventilating at her own stupidity. This fucking situation would have been avoided, if she just minded her own business. But, her heart decided to intervene and play the role of a hero. Now, she pays the price for it.

Tears began cascading endlessly from her burnt visage, her breath shortened; feeling her chest getting tauter as minutes pass, and her harrowing cries echoed across the vastness of the time vault.

��My... friends will come f-for me, just you wait.” The earthling hiccuped feigning courage, barely hanging on a flimsy rope of hope.

For if that did not occur, then her mind would lose it all. If only she was a saiyan, or had the ability to utilize her own ki to its fullest potential... Then she would not be so pathetically weak and certainly not be a burden to her companions. Her sight bit by bit becoming bleary, whilst her body started tiring out due to her breakdown.

“That is... If they managed to survive.” The red devil spoke coldly, watching the female faint owing to exhaustion. Her unconscious condition is pitiful and would've garnered his sympathy, if it weren't for the fact that he could not spare any for her hypocritical kind. He is doing it out of respect for his sister’s wish, otherwise he would've killed her earlier.

It... hurts. Her head was throbbing painfully, as if she had been whacked with a strong blow on her cranium. Opening her eyes, she finds herself in an unfamiliar territory. The area she was imprisoned in was rather nice for a supposed penitentiary.

The human was kept in a fancy alabaster room, with checkered black and white marble floor. She laid on a pastel blue queen bed fit for a noble standing, which she was far from it. Apart from that, the room was surrounded with plethora of aristocratic portraits and botanical engravings that were affixed on the walls.

Alongside that, was the presence of her most beloved flowers. It decorated the room with its alluring fragrance and provided refreshment for the chamber. The individual behind this must've tailored it, specifically on her preferences.

Her fingers brushed the soft satiny cover, enjoying the texture of it. That is until a particular movement, has snapped her from her mindless stupor. She made an effort to stand up, yet her hands were pulled back into the bed. Which propelled her, much to her dismay, onto the smooth cushion. It seem like she was restrained by a hidden force, which bred a dark thought into her cerebrum.

“Calm down, do not panic.” She kept on muttered those words like a mantra. Hoping it would extinguish her rising anxiety. Looking down below the bed covers, she noticed that her clothes were left unchanged. Which somewhat quieted the worst of her fears.

“Hush, hummingbird. You have no reason to be afraid of me.” A familiar baritone voice echoed from the shadowy corner of the room. It was Arim. As much as this room was what she envision to be her ideal residence, she did neither want to abandon her friends and the place she came to call home for it.

To see help finally arrive, has sparked anticipation in her spirit to escape from this dreary area. She did not know why, but it stinks with evil and wretchedness. Regardless, that wasn't important as much...

Like a sheep waiting to be slaughtered, she waved her hands in hopes of her saviour to witness.

“Arim, is that you?” Questioned she, her eyes burning with hope and tears of happiness. Kami knows, how much time has passed since she was knocked out.

“Indeed, It is I. You needn't worry, for I have saved you. You are home, where you belong rightfully.” The android statement confounded the earthling, as her brain tried to figure out his perplexing saying.

“H..ha..ha this is no time to joke, Arim. This is not my home, never is and never will be.” (Y/n) gulped nervously, feeling his intense stare on her shivering figure.

“Is it not to your satisfaction? Perhaps a change is in need, then.” Ignoring her comment, he continued.

“W..why are you so insistent about me staying here?” Inquired she fearfully. The (h/c) decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe he had hit his head or something. Because there is possibly no way, Arim would do this of his own accord.

Stepping forward, Arim, revealed himself. She was both in shock and despair once she saw who it truly was. Incredibly tall build, short snowy white hair, bright cerulean complexion, pointed ears, accursed carmine irises, red and black outfit, and that harsh stoic expression. Her saviour was all along her captor, Mira.

At this instance, she understood why fate is considered a cruel lady. For she feeds on her subjects’ anguish.

“Simply, I am protecting you from those who wish to mislead you. Look where your naïvety has lead you, that would be avoided if you left me to die. Yet, if weren't for you... Then I would not be able to accomplish my goals and for that I am completely grateful.” Mira spoke bluntly. Despite his stolid disposition, his crimson eyes creeped with an obsessive need to hoard her.

Akin to a dragon selfishly hoarding it's most valuable treasures, far away from the leering sight of the unworthy. Soon his large hands began brushing her arms gently, lest she falls asunder at the mere spike of his own power.

His hands were utterly cold, so chilly it may as well be colder than the vacuum of space. She should have noticed the signs before. If she did, she wouldn't suffer like this. The earthling tried to retract her hands from his grasp, but to no avail it only grew tighter.

“Grateful, how?! By letting your cohorts kidnap me, possibly hurting my friends in the process, and daresay lay destruction upon my home. The only precaution I need is against you not from you. Let me go, you bastard.” She screamed, shaking her invisible shackles in a fit of boiling rage. Angered at her stupidity, outraged at the injury of her friends, and especially wrathful - or is it sadness under the guise of fury?- at the man, no- demon who took advantage of her kindness.

Mira’s impassive expression shifted into a seemingly saddened smile, as his cool magnetic eyes melted into softness. Which only managed to invoke bitterness within the captive.

“Those weak saiyans appears to have poisoned your mind with their barbaric ways. It is my duty, as the future king of the demon realm, to ensure the safety and comfort of my queen. That, and I've come to see you in another light.” Mira started, whilst his rugged appendage has moved from her polished hands to where her heart was located. The action caused the earthling to suddenly panic, perhaps he had decided to end her for her insolence.

However, she was far from the truth. If anything, he had finally accept it. That she may be weak, but if it weren't for her purity... then he would be gone forever. After all, androids do not have souls and thus can only be permitted to live once with no afterlife awaiting them.

“Wh-what light?”

“You saved me, in turn I must save you. And that I love you.” The bio-android’s statement has shook the already terrified woman. The softness in his eyes remains, lips upturned into genuine smile across his azure visage.

The chamber was drowned in uncomfortable silence, while the (h/c) tried to comprehend his deluded sayings.

‘What?! All this time, a demonic-android have been pining after me?! Shit, if only I had... reported the incident back then. But, it's far too late for that.’ Her brain was swirling full with regrets. Despite that... She won't give up on her friends, home, and all that she knows easily for a demon’s whims.

“An android cannot love, let alone a demon like you. You fucking tried to kill me.” Spiteful she was, making an effort to harm him with her words instead of force. Her words stroke a nerve in the albino, as his smile shifted into a demented grin. Fit for a demon like him. Showing his true colors, that what the earthling thought.

“If that what you personally believe, then let me change your mind. After all, you once loved me. Surely, you can do that again.” Before she could rebuke his argument, a pair of cold hungry lips has abruptly locked with her own in a heated session.

Groaning, she attempted to push the hulking male away from her. Yet, his hold on her arms stilled. It was not harsh to the point of leaving a bruise, yet it was firm to keep her in place. Looking in his usual red eye, she noticed that his pupils began to glow white.

After a while, Mira removed his lips from hers. With that being said, her energy began falling. Thd last thing she saw before her eyes fluttered close, was Mira’s vile grin. She doesn't know why, but that damn kiss had drained her vitality completely.

“Hush now, my Queen. Once you are awake, by then the universe will be at the tip of your fingers. Now rest your mind, and succumb to me and me alone.”

An:

I decided to add a new ranking system, regarding yandere’s attributes. (Z being the highest D- being the lowest.)

QotC = Quote of the chapter. It gives the one shot it's general theme. Based on the quote, you can guess the reader shot herself in the leg by saving Mira.

The quote is often associated with Oscar Wilde, yet there has some speculation that someone else (Anonymous) had said it before him. If I figured out who, then I will edit it.

Also, I must apologize for my inactivity lately. I had mid-exams concerning calculus 2 and data structure, for those who are curious.

On another note, dragon balls has a huge following. Yet, barely any yandere writing I wonder why. 🤔

General question, which db/dbz/dbgt villains is your favorite or/and scared you the most when you were younger?

Reblogs are much appreciated.

Lastly, I hope you enjoyed this one shot. I also hope that I didn't butcher the character’s personalities (especially Mira). Personally, this is not my best but I needed to get it done and post it. Mainly, because I've not been posting anything for a while. 🥲

#duskoon.speaks #yandere dragon ball #yandere dragon ball x reader #yandere dragon ball xenoverse #yandere dragon ball xenoverse x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere mira #yandere mira x reader #tw: yandere #tw: stalking #tw: attempted murder #tw: manipulation #tw: kidnapping #tw: violence #tw: cussing #tw: non-consensual touching #tw: non-consensual kissing #tw: Implied hypnosis

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fanartfunart · 4 years ago

Text

Fly Away

Episode 1: Paon Lilas (*Lilac Peacock)

Ao3 Link (If I actually continue this, check my Ao3 of the same name “Fanartfunart”.. Considering how much mental real estate it’s taking up, I probably will.)

An au in which Adrien didn't succeed in trying to 'sneak' into brick and mortar school and therefore also didn't get the Black Cat miraculous..... but he did find a pretty peacock. (It's in his house... I mean....) Ladybug and Féline Sombre (Who uses She/They. Black Cat hero name thanks to @broadwaytheanimatedseries) get some help from the mysterious peacock miraculous holder, but Ladybug isn’t sure he’s 100% doing this for good.

Warnings: Canon typical violence.... Not much else? Tell me if I need to add anything.

A/N because Brick and Mortar schoolers never know that’s what they are: "Brick and Mortar school" is a homeschool/online school method of reference to in-person schools before calling it “in-person” was a thing. I 100% think Adrien would use that phrasing. (if the writers knew it existed...Tho. Idk if there's a French equivalent)

-*-

Adrien knew he shouldn’t be doing this. This was a worse idea than trying to sneak his way into brick and mortar school. He’d only seen it by accident. He wasn’t even doing very good at committing to breaking into his father’s mysterious safe. This was the third time he’d come back down to find out what was behind that painting.... He should really not be doing this. But...a secret compartment behind his mother’s painting was just… too interesting to ignore. He unfurled an umbrella to cover himself from the cameras his father probably had in the room. Inching his way to the painting of his mother.

...He had had far too much time to think about this. He only had to punch in the code once (his mother’s birthday- frankly, his father really needed a code harder to guess), for the safe to click and unlock.

The contents… were not what he anticipated. It looked like a keepsake box, not a super secret compartment. He ghosted a hand over the frame of his mother’s photo, blinking away the lingering sadness. ...A peacock brooch? He picked it up, tumbling it in his hand. It almost hummed with energy. He tilted his head, brow raised.

Footsteps.

Adrien frantically closed the hidden compartment and glancing for a hiding place. The umbrella closed over his head just as he dove for the curtain. That… might bruise. He flattened himself against the windowsill, going on his tip-toes on the barely-there window ledge.

From the distinct clack of dress shoes on the floor, his father had entered the room. Adrien held his breath, hearing his father’s footsteps come closer. A strange whirr. Then silence. Adrien stood there for a long moment, feeling the edges of the peacock brooch dig into his clenched fist. Heart hammering. But father never called for Natalie, or his bodyguard, or moved, or anything. It was eerily quiet. The umbrella peaked out of the curtain. He popped open the umbrella to find… no one.

"What?" Adrien whispered to himself. He frowned, and tiptoed out from the window, before racing out of the room, down the hall, and outside. Once safely in the garden, he dropped the umbrella. He slid down into the grass, taking deep breaths.

The brooch vibrated.

Wait. The brooch vibrated? He opened his hand. He had to shield his face from the burst of light. He opened an eye to see… a tiny… hummingbird? No, it was a peacock. Why is a peacock… floating? And Tiny? And why isn’t he sneezing? Are miniature peacocks hypoallergenic? “What the...”

“Ooooo, hello!” The creature said cheerfully, “Lovely weather isn’t it? Beautiful flowers! Nice to be outdoors for once isn’t it? Are you my new miraculous wielder? You’re so cute! You look almost like…” tears welled up into the miniature peacock’s eyes. Adrien looked around frantically. It kept talking unintelligibly between sobs, gesturing vaguely.

“Are you… okay?”

“Noooooooo.”

“Right. Er-” Adrien frowned, clearly it wasn’t going to make sense if he asked what was wrong. He opted for distraction. “Do… you want something to eat?”

“Oh sure!” The tiny peacock’s tears cleared up immediately.

Adrien blinked at the sudden change in mood and nodded “Let’s… Let’s go get you something to eat… I guess. Er, what are you?”

"Oh I'm Duusu, a kwami, I can grant the power to hone emotions into constructs."

He tilted his head. The image of Ladybug summoning her Lucky Charm came to mind. "Like… a superhero? How?”

"Well you are transformed by a magic phrase, and once transformed, you can create a sentimonster out of vibrant emotions. Whoever holds the Amok, the item imbued with power, can control the sentimonster."

“Oh, cool!”

"It is! Do you have any mangoes? I love mango."

“We’ll see.” Adrien glanced at the peacock brooch and stuffed it into his pocket. He looked back at the door inside, then Duusu. “Actually, can you… hide? Just for now-”

“Oh yes! Don’t worry! I know the Kwami and our wielder's identities are a secret.” The kwami zipped into Adrien’s over-shirt inner pocket and settled there. It felt… almost natural. He smiled a bit to himself and went to find out if they had some good fruit for the tiny peacock.

The TV played in the background while Duusu had another sudden breakdown about… something. Adrien still wasn’t sure what. He was starting to feel very out of his depth.

“Duusu.... Duusu. D- Duusu, do you want to talk about it?” There was a pause before the tears flowed even harder. Adrien was reminded of a sprinkler.

His eyes were pulled to the TV, with a flash of red and black blurring on the screen. Followed by an Akuma. Ladybug and Féline Sombre. He glanced at the Kwami. “Duusu… you mentioned you can give me powers, right?”

“Mhm! You just have to say ‘Spread my feathers.’”

“Alright! Duusu-”

“OH! Wait I didn’t-”

“Spread my feathers!” The transformation felt so natural, like he was made to do this. He struck a pose and smiled behind the fan that materialized in his hand. “Alright, let’s go help Ladybug and Féline Sombre.”

He didn’t expect to start… feeling, seeing emotions. Although he supposed that made sense for the power set. They were everywhere- it was like being dropped into the deep end of a pool, surrounded and covered. Fear, worry, frustration, annoyance, determination. Stronger emotions felt… bigger, somehow. The world was full of colors and feelings he’d never expected. He lept across rooftops, feeling like he was flying. His own elation from the truest sense of freedom he’s ever had in… ever; a bright vibrant bubble. He stumbled to a stop as he spotted Ladybug.

Ladybug was determined… and scared? He didn’t expect that from Paris’s hero. She kept looking around, searching for a plan. The redhead cat hero dove in from above and smacked the Akuma with their baton. Her baton was then immediately captured and swallowed by the plants under the Akuma’s control. Féline Sombe pulled desperately before eventually giving up and vaulting towards Ladybug. She was scared too, he noticed, and frustrated.

The Akumatized person was angry. So so angry it was overwhelming. He almost couldn’t see the person behind their anger. “It’s only a matter of time before Chloé Bourgeois and the litterers of Paris pay!” The plant-covered Akuma cackled.

Chloe?! Well that’s not good. One of his only friends is in danger?

“Bonzaniac is just gonna grow bigger if they go anywhere near the Eiffel. We need to prune this plant before it’s unmanageable.” Ladybug told Féline Sombre, wrapping her yo-yo around the Akuma’s legs, straining to control Bonzaniac’s movement.

Féline Sombre gestured widely, “If I touch them I’ll just become Cat-nip! How are we supposed to stop them?”

Ladybug called her Lucky Charm, ending up with a polka dotted fishing pole. “How’s that supposed to help?”

The peacock hero frowned and… Chloé? What’s she doing here? Bonzaniac noticed her as well, it seemed, because the plant growth reached toward her. Chloé’s fear grew rapidly and immediately. He plucked a feather from the fan, imbuing it with power. He dove from his perch on the roof down towards Chloé and Bonzaniac.

“Fly away, darling amok.” The feather fluttered into Chloé’s necklace. He grabbed a traffic cone and hurled it at the plant tendrils, keeping it from touching Chloé. Féline Sombre quickly took over the idea, batting away the tendrils with a trash can lid. (That made Chloé cringe.) A purplish mask of light illuminated Chloé’s and his own face. “Chloé, I am…er- Paon Lilas. I can sense your fear. Let me help you turn it into safety. I can grant you a construct to protect you.”

“Then just do it already!” Chloé cried, “Please just don’t let it turn me into a sticky sappy gross tree!” A large golden bear materialized in front of Chloe. It roared and Chloé gasped. “Mr. Cuddles!”

Ladybug was... understandably confused. “What? Another Akuma?” She furrowed her brow and deepened her fighting stance.

“OH! No no no, uh, I’m Paon Lilas." He flourished his fan with a bow. "I’m here to help.”

Ladybug’s suspicion grew, but he didn’t have much of a chance to explain himself as Bonzaniac roared and turned on him, aiming their plant tendrils towards him. “Hey! I’m not really the roosting type of bird!” He dived for cover behind a car, patting himself down, ��Come on, is the only weapon I get a fan? Why couldn’t I get a baton or something like that?”

The gold bear attacked Bonzaniac, knocking them down. Bonzaniac grappled the bear in plants, taking the plants away from protecting their back.

Ladybug gasped, "There! They only have so much plant matter! Féline, destroy as much plant matter as you can, Paon, distract Bonzaniac! I'm going Akuma fishing."

The two other heroes nodded.

"Cataclysm!" Féline Sombre yelled, summoning black destructive energy around their hand. She ducked and weaved towards the center of Bonzaniac's plant mass, jumping out of the way of grasping tendrils.

Paon Lilas whistled "Hey Bonzaniac, have you heard about Fast Fashion? I use all my outfits that way. Never worn the same shirt twice!"

The Akuma roared "All. That. WASTE!" They focused a massive amount of plant matter towards him.

"Didn't think that'd work so effectively," he muttered under his breath. He lept out of the way, and back around the bend of the car. The plants wrapped up around the car. He whooped in triamph.

Féline Sombre finally managed to hit Bonzaniac, severely reducing the amount of plants in their control. Ladybug swung the fishing pole and caught a necklace from in the middle of the thicket of plant matter. She crushed it under foot and captured the purple butterfly that fluttered out.

Mr Cuddly the sentibear sat on the Akuma victim. Paon frowned and glanced at Chloé. The gardener looked dazed and confused.

“Now who do you think you are?” Chloe said, crossing her arms.

The gardener smacked the side of the over large bear. “Wh- you! You littered in my garden! And refused to simply pick it up!”

“So what? That's not my job," Chloe huffed, crossing her arms. The sentibear huffed with her.

Paon snapped his fingers, pulling the amok from the necklace, the sentibear disappearing. Chloe gasped, pouting.

"Mademoiselle Chloe," Paon sighed softly, "How would you feel if someone threw trash into your beautiful hair and refused to help clean it up?" Chloe grabbed her hair, and Paon saw her horror at the concept. "Exactly. That garden takes just as much work, or more, as your hair. I suggest apologizing."

She pouted, "Fine, your garden was pretty or whatever, sorry I messed it up." She flicked her hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. "There. I apologized."

Féline Sombre and Ladybug chatted in the background. Féline grabbed their baton and with a light salute, she vaulted away.

Paon's Miraculous beeped. That... meant something right?

"Birdy!" Ladybug called, walking toward him, her own Miraculous beeping. "Where did you get that Miraculous?"

"Oh… um…. Funny story-"

"I'm sorry, but you need to give it to me. It doesn't belong to you."

"What?" Paon took a step back, "Why?"

"It's been lost. I'm going to take it back to the original owner."

Paon paled. Did Ladybug know his father? Or did his father find the lost miraculous without giving it back? Did his father know what it was? What would happen if his father found out he took it? The bubble of elated freedom popped. "That… sounds like a great, morally right thing to do… but… consider…” He took a soft step back, glancing up to find a path of escape, hands raised surrender. “I can't. Sorry, bye!" Paon ran, leaping up and away.

Ladybug moved to go after him, only for her miraculous to beep again. Sabrina had run in just in time to comfort Chloé, so Ladybug sighed and ran in the opposite direction.

Adrien tripped over himself as he detransformed in a back alley. His legs weak, and head dizzy. "Woah- is that normal?"

Duusu looked up at him with sad eyes. "I meant to tell you. The miraculous is broken... If you continue to use it... it will hurt you."

"... Does it hurt you?"

Duusu thought for a moment. "The transformation? No.... It is nice... to see another use it's power so kindly."

Adrien glanced down. He looked at the broach clipped to his overshirt. The lightness... the freedom. He nodded firmly. Unclipping it from his shirt and instead clipping it in his inside pocket. Hidden. "I'll be careful. Come on, let's get something to eat...” He rubbed his head, “I feel like we both need it."

Marinette just barely managed to make it to the bakery before the afternoon rush.

"Marinette! How was school?” Tom called, opening his arms for a hug. She happily took her place in her father’s arms.

"Not great.. Chloé caused another Akuma."

Tom sighed and shook his head, releasing her with a pat on the back. "At least we have Ladybug and Féline Sombre. Come on, if you can't learn in peace at school you can learn some more Dupain-Chang classics!"

Marinette chuckled and nodded, heading over to get ready to work behind the counter.

The door chimed, signaling the entrance of a young blond. She stared at him. He seemed oddly familiar. She started picturing him against all the blonds she knew, although her brain was still somewhat stuck on the Peacock Miraculous holder…. She really needed to talk to Master Fu about that.

The boy stumbled. He was just about to faceplant into the counter before Marinette, intending to catch him- shoved him. He fell on his rear instead.

“OH, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Marinette cried, moving to pull him up to his feet. He was surprisingly light, ohmy and now she just manhandled him like a human doll.

“It’s okay! You saved me from what was probably a worse fate.” He giggled awkwardly, "Thanks... I’ve been.. a bit dizzy today, I guess."

"Oh, I hope you feel better, anything I can do to help?"

"Heh, I was looking for food. Got some, er, fruity stuff?"

"Fruity, fruit. For sure, fruit." Marinette stared at him a bit longer. Finally the images and fashion magazine clippings clicked next to the boy’s face. She gasped "Adrien Agreste! You're Gabriel Agreste's son! He’s my favorite fashion designer!"

He laughed awkwardly. Rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah… That’s… that’s me."

"You probably hear that all the time, sorry! But! Fruit." She walked over to the counter and gestured at the prepared goods. "Macaroons are always good, and there's some a couple of fruit Eclairs, brioche and jam-"

He smiled somewhat stiffly, before frowning at the eclairs. He made a subtle 'come here' gesture. Marinette looked down at the eclairs herself, unsure what exactly made him frown.

He sighed, adjusting his overshirt. (Duusu settled nicely into the pocket again, glad to have been able to choose his treat.) "I think one of those is good.... Er... actually, I think two."

He handed her the money, and she handed him the pastries. "Thank you."

She smiled, "Thank you! Come again soon. Just try not to trip, that's usually my thing."

He laughed. "Actually…” He takes a bite of his eclair, with a smile “I think I will definetly try to come in again."

"Oh! Okay, cool!"

He waved and walked out of the establishment with a small smile.

Tom leaned over as she watched him leave. "Flirting with the customers?"

Marinette gasped dramatically, "NoOo dad no. He's... just a friend."

Adrien leaned against a wall and sighed. Duusu floated up into view, taking a section of eclair. "Ah young love..."

He shook his head, "...She's just a friend..." He gasped, glancing back at the bakery with a smile, "A friend."

Marinette frowned, "Wait, Master Fu, do you think he could be working with Hawkmoth?"

"It is a possibility. I wouldn’t be surprised if the butterfly and the peacock had been nearby each other. If you can find out where he found it, it may help us find Hawkmoth.”

“Hm, he didn’t seem like he was with Hawkmoth. He was helpful... And he actually got Chloé to apologize?” She was still bewildered about that. It wasn’t the best apology ever, but she still actually did it.

“The peacock wields the power of emotion, Peon Lilas will be able to sense emotion. He can very easily use that information to manipulate others into doing things for him. Even something as simple as an apology.”

She frowned, considering, “I think I understand.”

“Be careful, the peacock is not to be underestimated. Make sure you and Féline Sombre are prepared for what he might do next."

She nodded firmly. "I will be.”

Gabriel Agreste stared at the paused frame from the newscast on his newest enemy. Emile's painting ajar and missing a vital item. "Natalie... Where is the surveillance footage for this room?"

She silently pulled up the footage, scrolling through to find an umbrella blocking their view of their thief.

Gabriel growled under his breath and stood up. "Time to catch a runaway bird, it seems. See what you can find from the rest of the cameras in and out of the building. If there's anything or anyone out of place, you tell me immediately."

"What will you do sir?" Natalie asked, already scanning through footage on her tablet.

"Someone found and stole the peacock miraculous from right under our noses. I need to find a way to protect my identity and a lure for our heroic peafoul.”

#gabriel agreste #hawkmoth #adrien agreste #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #ml #peacock!adrien #black cat!sabrina #Chloé Bourgeois #akuma oc #ml fanfiction #fanart's fanfic #Peon Lilas AU #Duusu #Up next: me drawing them lolol

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brooklynislandgirl · 4 years ago

Note

♥ Do they make it a point to eat at lease one meal a day together with their partner, or do they do as they please?

Love and Courtship || Accepting

Sometimes a meal in a single day is all that Beth can manage, depending on verse. As an emergency room nurse, Beth works the 7pm-7am night shift, which means she leaves for work between 5pm and 6pm {the extra time built into her schedule to accommodate the subway running behind}. She also tends to work most holidays. When she is strictly running her own clinic as a nurse practitioner or doctor, then her schedule becomes much more flexible. Beth doesn’t cook, and so she relies on her partner for that. If she doesn’t have one, she will rely on her brother{s}, roommate, or the house-keeper/cook. Otherwise, there’s a kingdom of take-away cartons in her fridge.

If scheduling doesn’t permit a meal to be taken together, she will find other ways to spend quality time with her partner; a long bath, close-cuddling before the other has to get up and out of bed, a phone-call or text/time spent in a video conference.

Food though is a kind of love language for her, especially culturally. She’s used to having large gatherings where everyone contributes to a communal meal. She still prefers these kinds of meals here on the mainland, and they are especially important to her during the holidays, which she might celebrate a little early or a little late, to ensure that everyone who wants to can be a part of it. Beth also spends her days off volunteering to work in her church’s soup-kitchen, whether that means she’s serving, doing prep-work, or clean up. Sometimes, if it’s slow going, she will sit with parents of babies and small children, helping feed them or keep them entertained while the parent{s} eat.

As she is vaguely dependant on her partner on what they are having, if someone is kind enough to make her a meat-based meal, she will not complain and will, in fact, eat it graciously and gracefully, even though she is primarily pescatarian. Other than personal preference, she has no dietary restrictions or needs.

One of the interminably awful, most torturous events for Beth is having Dinner with the Admiral, which is typically a once a month standing date. As unfair as it is to her partner, she tends to need a very long run up to, and severe after care from this event as it is viewed by the man to be open season on his daughter, and he will run her down in every way possible over the course of three and a half to four hours.

Side-note: Though she sees food as culturally important, and will shove snacks at anyone who will take them, surprise people with baked goods and the like from local businesses and the like, she herself doesn’t eat much or regularly unless someone does sit down with her. She also has a hummingbird metabolism and could eat the same portions as two people twice her size.

Side-Side note: When Beth was pregnant with Styxx in A Little South of Heaven {Main} Verse, her son insisted on her becoming a very hands on carnivore. A lot of red meat, the rarer the better. She has not yet emotionally recovered from this.

~*~

Specifically in Across the Universe {Star Wars} and it’s AUs... Anakin and Keni almost never have the luxury of being in the Temple at the same time together, and haven’t for years, much less able to carve out enough time to eat together. Things were simpler when they were younger, and were in the same youngling clan. During their early years of training they would have go to the smaller breakfast rooms set aside for them on the rooftops. On nice days the transparisteel windows would rise into the ceiling to let in sunshine and fresh air in, allowing them to experience a cool breeze while still being surrounded by the safety of the Temple and it’s guardians. Occasionally Jedi masters would join and speak to them, in what they believed was a privileged visits, but what actually turned out to be clever interviews to look for potential future padawans. Anakin and Melakeni would always find a way to sit together, whether directly beside or directly across. Food was passed from one to the other as favourites were decided upon. This sharing of food didn’t stop as they got older, and instead began to take meals at one of the refectories scattered around the temple. The refectories always had a kitchen and a dining hall, and were supplied from the Storage level and the kitchen gardens. When she feared not being chosen by a Master, Keni thought she wouldn’t mind working in the gardens, and could maybe at least catch a glimpse now and then of Anakin. While the refectories were designed for beauty, they maintained a sense of utilitarian purpose. They were connected to the service corridors, were attended by droids who would hover around the rooms to clear away spills, forgotten dishes, and to dispose of any undesired waste. The kitchens were large enough to service over a hundred Jedi at a time. Large stoves and ovens lined the walls. The dining halls themselves were filled with long trestle tables and accompanying benches. Holodisplays hung along the pillared walls to show news from across the galaxy. Meals there were often sombre affairs for the two of them, who never really fit in with clusters of other padawans. Especially the ones who decided to pick on Anakin and mess with him, or his food tray.

Later, the closer that they came to the Clone Wars, whenever Anakin returned to the Temple and Keni happened to be there, she would find a way for them to end up in her quarters. After their ritual re-acquaintance which largely consisted of Anakin standing there while she breathed him in and nuzzled his throat and petted or stroked every bit of him that was polite, he would often bestow upon her off-world treats that he had acquired, though none so rare as the occasional wullah fruit picked up from traders who exported it from Zelos. Other times they would smuggle tidbits out of the refectories to share later, things nibbled off one another’s fingers, usually fruit and vegetables. Occasionally a bit of bread or special pastry.

In later years, after the fall of the Order and the rise of Imperial Rule, Palpatine cleverly arranges social gatherings and it is rare that they are both allowed to be in attendance. But still, they manage. When it is possible, they do share meals together. Keni continues to threaten the Impending Doom of both cooking him a meal and making one of him.

Anakin continues to hope that she will.

Side-Note: One thing that has never changed in all of their years together, Melakeni always shares her food with Anakin because she doesn’t technically need as much as other humans, and because she is, in fact, biologically capable of photosynthesising, and able to survive up to three months or so of going without anything more substantial than sunlight.

#Mahalo!Belle <333 #She's Talking to Angels {Bethisms}#The Dreaming Tree|Melakeni Ivers #The Turtle Speaks|Mun Answered Asks #Honourable Mention|Styxx Rau Morrians #Honourable Mention|Anakin Skywalker #southern-belle-outcasts

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tenspontaneite · 5 years ago

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Boundless (Chapter 1/?)

A powerful arcanum needs a powerful outlet. Where none exists, magic will create one, or kill you trying.

Callum’s human body isn’t enough to withstand the boundless power of the Sky Primal. But magic always finds a way.

(Or: Callum gains the Sky Arcanum, and swiftly thereafter begins to grow wings.)

(Chapter length: ~8k. Ao3 Link)

Preword: For the record, I’ve been planning this story since s2, and wrote this chapter and most of the next in the week following the 10th October. I have edited this chapter by a very small amount to make it align more fully with s3 canon, mainly for descriptions of early season scenery. If s3 made you hungry for wingfic, you’ve come to the right place!

Story warnings: I’m a lot more into wing and feather biology than a lot of wingfic authors are, and also I believe in making my characters pay for their goodies. As such, this story starts off much more ‘body horror’ than ‘glorious magic materialisation of wings’. As the story progresses, it’ll go into significant detail about wing-related anatomy and biology.

Chapter warnings: Blood, pain, body horror. Edging into gore territory for some of it, though it’s relatively short-lived. Also, milder warnings for suffocation and emetophobia.

—

The first time Callum cast aspiro by virtue of his own arcanum, it was living triumph. A culmination of all the thought and fear and inadequacy that had chased him through the week, and the realisation of what his deathly dream had taught him. The magic of the Sky was around him and within him and everywhere, and as he cast his spell it settled like a spark into his heart. He felt it every breath thereafter, every second, with every gust on the cliffside and glimpse of the blue-above shivering through him like another kind of life.

It settled into his blood like the air did, it coursed through his bones and flesh and sinew – the Sky was a part of him and he was a part of the Sky, the understanding of it sinking deeper and deeper with every minute that passed. By the time he’d said farewell to his brother, the arcanum was as viscerally-rooted in him as his own skeleton, a precious and irrevocable part of him; a channel that opened him up to the vast and boundless magic of the Sky.

He and Rayla and Zym walked to the Breach, and if he noticed the ache in his back, he thought nothing of it. After all, hadn’t he spent hours today convalescent upon hard stone? It was only to be expected.

—

The second time Callum cast aspiro from his own breath and magic, it was amidst heat and urgency and the dread of a rising sun. The magic surged in him as he spoke and wrote and breathed, the feeling of it effervescent and electric at once, crackling in his blood and bubbling through every inch of him. It ached. It burned, too, but wasn’t that just the heat of the Breach? He worried more about directing the wind-gust from his lips, and watching Zym’s wings catch the air like twin sails, and seeing how great a shadow a young dragon could cast.

And when they were safely across, and Callum and Rayla threw their arms around each other from the pure relief of it, her arms around his shoulders were startlingly painful. Like pressure against a livid bruise. But the adrenaline of their success was enough to forestall the flinch, and she noticed nothing.

But when they drew apart, Zym cheerful and victorious between them, the ache at his shoulders didn’t leave. As though Rayla’s touch had wakened it, or perhaps awakened him to it, and it became insistent enough that he paid it notice he hadn’t earlier.

“You alright?” Rayla asked, as she showed him along the canyon-paths into Xadia, as he twisted his hands behind his back to pat cautiously at his shoulders.

They hurt, to the touch. Sharp and raw, like the worst bruises he’d ever had. Like blistering skin. “…My back is kinda sore.” He admitted, with a light frown. “Maybe I bruised it, or something.”

She blinked at him with a glimmer of concern. “…Well, hopefully that’s just from sleeping funny on a cave floor.” She offered. “Or maybe you hit yourself during your dramatic collapse earlier.”

He eyed her, fingers lingering on the fabric over his shoulders. “Dramatic collapse?” he repeated, uncomprehending.

Rayla averted her eyes. “When you…unchained the dragon.” She elaborated, and didn’t say when you used dark magic, and he knew at her expression that she hadn’t quite forgiven him for that.

“…Maybe.” He agreed, uncomfortable, and thought of the way the power of it had swept through him, heady and dark and burning. How empty he’d felt afterwards; hollowed-out and aching, like an empty husk.

Sky magic didn’t feel like that. His second aspiro had ached too, but not like the hollowness of the dark. Not like everything beneath his skin had been scooped out. More like…the magic had put too much back in. As if there was too large a force for too small a space, and his skin couldn’t quite hold it. He wondered, for a fretful moment, if the power of the Sky was too vast for him. If even the barest spark of it that was his arcanum was stifled in his too-human flesh.

Rayla watched him, unusually sombre, for a few more seconds. Then she reached out to pull his hand from his shoulder, and tugged him onwards by the fingers. “Come on, stop messing with it.” She said, deliberately light-hearted. “If you’ve hit your back you won’t do it any favours by picking at it.”

“I’m not exactly picking at it.” He complained at her, but allowed himself to be pulled unresisting further into the Xadian borderlands, where the canyon-tunnels widened out into the bright glow of red rock beneath the sun, where that same sun gleamed upon something gold and glittering and huge-

“Welcome to Xadia!” Rayla said, and when she saw him staring, turned to follow his gaze. Like him, she saw the immense shining form of the Archdragon, stopped short, stared with perhaps more horror and less awe than he did. “Oh no,” She breathed, utterly dismayed. “It’s him. It’s Sol Regem.”

And then they were entirely too busy figuring out how to bypass a dragon to worry about his back.

(The third aspiro, wielded against Sol Regem, might well have burned, and might well have seared; but there was no room around their desperate attempts to escape for him to notice it. If he was aware of the pain, it was in a very distant way, far-removed from the far more immediate issue of their survival. They passed into Xadia, and neither commented on the spell that had saved them.)

—

Later, when they were together and more-or-less unharmed past the gauntlet of a former-King, there was a little more space to breathe. A little more space to feel the Sky brimming up against his skin, to feel the breath almost too-deep in his lungs, like there was too much of it, like the air was filling him up like a balloon and he’d burst any second-

He only noticed that he’d fallen when Rayla caught him, his scarf still a vibrant streak of red about her neck. “Callum!” She said, alarmed, as she insinuated herself under one of his arms to hold him up. She put her arm around his shoulders to complete the support – and at the slightest pressure against his back, he cried out in pain. She released him as though burned, and then barely managed to catch him before he crumpled fully to the ground. “Callum,” She repeated, when all he did was breathe in quick shallow bursts, rather than answer. “What’s wrong? Is it your back?”

He was too-full of air, too-full of magic. He’d burst. He couldn’t breathe, but he had to. Near to hyperventilating, he sucked in more and more and more of the Sky with every second, and felt it brimming in his flesh, swelling his lungs, and it hurt. “No,” He managed, after another several conspicuous gasps. “I mean – yes – but not-“ He had to break off for another half minute, torn to pieces between the feeling that he couldn’t breathe and the utterly paradoxical sensation of his lungs filled past their capacity. The primal panic of breathlessness was a far more immediate thing than the searing pain on his back, though, and so much harder to resist. “Can’t breathe.” He said to her, when he found enough space between suffocating and bursting to speak.

He barely had the presence of mind to see the worry written all over her as she ran her eyes over him as if to inspect him for signs of damage. “Haven’t you suffocated enough for one day?” She asked him, with some asperity, as if it could disguise the fear in her eyes. “I hope you’re not planning on making a habit of this.” Gently, she pressed fingers against a point on his wrist, perhaps to feel the hummingbird-pace of his heart.

Callum tried to laugh, and the requisite loss of breath left him spluttering for long painful moments. “Sorry,” he said, once he had found some equilibrium again, and then descended once more into gasping, sucking in air as if there was none left in the Sky. But there was. There was so much breath, too much, too much to hold-

“Dumb prince.” She muttered to him, worried but achingly fond. She supported him upright, so that he was sitting up, and held him there, a hand on each of his shoulders, carefully away from his back. “Callum. Look at me.” She said, with such sudden command that his frantic breath stilled for a second, just to look at her. He stared at her as she stared back at him, and clung to the eye contact like a lifeline in the tide of breathless panic. “…Good.” She nodded, a little, and he abruptly realised that he wasn’t gasping so desperately now. The breathlessness was a constant pressure, though, and as he noticed it he started wheezing again – Rayla shook him, and the surprise of it stilled him again. “Just breathe.” She told him, in a way that was by now terribly familiar.

Hadn’t he heard it, drowning in the dream-state? Hadn’t he heard her? Hadn’t he heard the words from her lips, before he heard them from his mother’s? “…Trying,” he managed, still caught in the eye contact like a ship to its anchor.

“I know.” She said. “Just…try to breathe more slowly. Deeper, I guess.”

He tried. It was hard when the gasps kept bursting into his attempts at deep, steadying breaths. Harder when the pressure of breathlessness increased, even as the pressure of too-much-air decreased. The former was harder to bear than the latter – suffocation was death, but pain was only pain.

…But, by the sharp and tearing ache in his chest, he was reminded that some pains did lead to death. His lungs felt too-full. Like they really would burst.

He breathed through the panic, and did not suffocate, and did not rupture.

When his breathing was into more of a normal rhythm, and he seemed calmer, Rayla relaxed a little and lowered her hands from their urgent place on his shoulders. He managed to keep himself upright, and appreciated it more than he could say when she took and squeezed one of his hands. “Is it the dark magic again?” She asked him, after a moment, and he had breath enough to speak.

He closed his eyes, just briefly, and felt the Sky brimming beneath his skin. “No.” he said, shaking his head, vehement. “It’s not – it’s the Sky magic.” In the new sense of calm, Zym finally found space to insinuate himself between them, settling his front paws into Callum’s lap and looking up at him with wide worried eyes. He lowered his other hand to the dragonling’s mane, and felt a little calmer at the contact.

He could feel the Sky beneath his fingers. It was in Zym, too, but…settled, in a way it wasn’t with him. It belonged.

“The Sky magic?” Rayla repeated, after a second, clearly startled. “But – why? It’s Primal magic – it’s…natural.”

Water was natural, too. But it could still drown you.

He shook his head, almost more to clear the thought than as a response to her. “It’s too much.” He said, and then shuddered at expressing it. “It’s like – I’m filling up with Sky magic, and – and there’s no way out for it, and I’m just…” He raised the hand from Zym’s mane to wave frustratedly in the air. His voice trembled worse than his fingers. “It feels like I’m going to explode. I – I don’t think humans are made for Primal magic, Rayla.” His heart sped again, this time in a different fear, and she stared back at him with a furrowed brow. “I – I think I’ve really messed up.”

Having spoken the words onto the air, they felt too real. What if he’d messed with something he shouldn’t? What if – what if the dark magic was only the first thing he shouldn’t have touched, what if humans just weren’t meant to use Primal magic, what if he’d bitten off more than he could chew and – what if it killed him?

This moment he lingered in, caught between breathlessness and bursting…he couldn’t keep it up, surely. Either he’d suffocate or he’d explode, and it was all his fault. His fault for grasping at something he was never meant to hold.

“Try casting a spell.” She said, after a moment, and the words were such a shock against his thoughts that they practically gave him whiplash.

“What?” He demanded, breathing picking up again, even as he tried to calm it down. “I say I’m full of too much magic, and your solution is more magic?”

She stared back at him, unrepentant. “Spells use magic, right?” She pointed out. “Maybe casting a spell or two will let off the pressure.”

Callum blinked. “That’s….” He frowned. “That’s actually a pretty good idea.”

Rayla rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t sound so surprised.” She huffed. “Just cast your spell, alright?”

He considered her, and then considered the spell he hadn’t tried casting since the Primal Stone broke. The most powerful spell he knew. He nodded, slowly, and exhaled like it could relieve the pressure in him, and shuffled away. His fingers parted from hers, and still sitting, he raised them to draw in the air, the opposite direction from her. “Fulminis,” He said, with the breath he had, and the magic…changed.

It had been building in him, swelling in him, as aimless and merciless as water straining at a dam. There had been too much of it to sit in his blood, too much to fit in his lungs, and it had hurt. Too much breath, too much air, with nowhere to go.

The spell awakened it. That aimless, ruthless pressure went hot and bright and fast, like the sear of a lightning-flash against unprepared eyes, and the unleashed magic screamed through him with terrible purpose. It shrieked from his fingers, incandescent and sparking, and cracked through the Sky to shatter the quiet like glass. And then – in that moment-

His hands flinched back from the dissipating rune as if from fire, and flew to his shoulders. He gasped with pain, and hunched forwards the better to reach it, to feel something roiling beneath his skin, the lingering magic burning there like it had burned out of his fingers. Like it had unleashed itself upon some other conduit than a spell.

“Callum?” Rayla spoke, worried, when all he did was pat frantically at the searing pain on his back. “…Did it work?”

Was he imagining it? Was it just that his back was sore and swollen and the skin felt huge with the pain of it? Was it just his imagination?

“Callum.” She pressed, a second later, impatient enough that his head jerked over to look at her.

“Huh?” he thought. “I mean – yeah, kinda? But-“ The pressure that had built in him had released, in a way. He could feel it building again already, but – not all of that magic had gone into the spell. For a second – for a second, it had felt like – and now his back felt – but surely he was just imagining things.

…Well, there was one way to find out.

“…Could you, um, feel here for a second?” He requested, awkwardly, fingers still hovering over the pain on his back. “But – carefully.”

Her eyes flickered between his hands and his eyes, wary, but she leaned forwards, reaching out. He moved his hand to let hers pat gingerly at the spot over his shoulder-blade, and-

Any hope he’d had of it just being his imagination was soundly dashed the second her hand shot away again, eyes flying wide-open with shock. “What is that?” She demanded, in a strangled voice, nearly squashing Zym’s tail with how quickly she retreated.

He deflated. “I don’t know.” He admitted, a new fear beating in his chest. “It’s…I think it’s why my back is hurting.”

“There’s something on your back.” She told him, stridently, as if he hadn’t just figured that out for himself. “Is it – some sort of, I don’t know – did you break your shoulder, or something?”

For a second he entertained the brief and bloody image of a spur of broken bone jutting through his skin, and shuddered. “I think I’d have noticed that, Rayla.”

Her eyes moved from him to do a cautious sweep of their surroundings, and she exhaled. “We’ll need to take a look at it.” She said. “But…maybe we should try to find a good place to camp, first. If you’re injured…”

He grimaced. They had very little in the way of supplies, which had been okay up till now, but none of them had got hurt up to now either. “Yeah.”

“Can you walk?” She asked, quick and practical, and he considered himself.

He felt…okay. His back hurt badly enough now that it seared through him in bursts of pain that…pulsed, almost, like he could feel his heartbeat in the swelling over his shoulder-blades. But the pressure of too-much-magic and too-much-air was, for the most part, gone. He felt quite sure it’d be coming back, but….

“Yeah.” He answered, eventually, and rose to his feet.

She rose with him, and gave him a quick look-over before nodding. “Alright.” She said. “Let’s go.”

—

It took a while to find somewhere suitable to stop. The dry, dusty canyons of the borderlands began to give way to red rock studded with greenery, little waterfalls coursing down the vast cliffsides. In the distance, he could see the edges of a vast forest, but by mutual decision they made no attempt to reach it that day.

Instead, they settled for a sheltered little hollow in the rock, close enough to a river that he could hear the water burbling someway off towards the forest. By that time, though, the pain of the something on Callum’s back had magnified considerably, and he was gasping and wincing every time he moved. Every step felt like it jolted the searing, swollen agony that was building there, enough to send shocks of pain through much of his body. The fabric of his clothing over the skin felt too-rough, abrasive, and the whole area burned.

When at last Rayla ordered him to sit down and get his shirt off, he was almost too relieved at the prospect of – of removing the abrasion, finding out what was on his back – to be embarrassed.

Almost.

With Rayla’s help, he peeled off his jacket, gingerly enough to not pull unduly at the now very pronounced distension of his upper back. Then his shirt went too – and with only the thin undershirt in the way, it was evidently concerning enough to look at that Rayla cursed quietly. And then, feeling increasingly chilly and increasingly exposed, Callum divested himself of his undershirt, and understood the severity of whatever was going on by how utterly silent Rayla went.

“…What does it look like?” He asked her, once the fear of not-knowing had surpassed the fear of knowing, and the silence had stretched too long. “Rayla?” He prompted, anxiously, when she didn’t reply.

Very gently, she reached out and touched her fingers to the inflamed skin on his upper back. He flinched and jumped a little at the touch, her fingers almost startlingly cold on the burn of it. “….There’s something sort of…pushing up underneath your skin.” She said, after a moment, with the barest tremble in her voice. “In two places. Here,” Her fingers drifted, touching skin that wasn’t quite so painful, and then over to something that seared. “And here. Kind of….a little to the up and middle of your shoulder-blades, stretching down to here, on both sides.” Her fingers moved again, carefully gentle, and trailed a line down to maybe the middle of his torso. “It…looks pretty symmetrical.”

When she stopped talking, the silence resumed. He wasn’t at all sure what to say, and had to fight off the fear that gripped at his throat and made him feel increasingly breathless, increasingly – oh, but no, that was the…Sky-magic-thing, wasn’t it? He shivered, feeling the magic building in him closer and closer to that strange crisis point he’d reached earlier, not quite yet enough to hurt yet, but enough to make him want to gulp in air like he was drowning. And that was a thought, wasn’t it. “My back got worse when I used fulminis.” He admitted, a little hoarsely. “It was – almost like I could feel something moving. On my back.” He shuddered, all over, at the revulsion of the sense-memory.

She hesitated. “I’m…going to try pressing on it a little, alright? See if I can get any clues about what it is.”

He gritted his teeth, and nodded, bracing himself. “…Okay.” He said, grimly. “Do it.”

He exhaled roughly through his nose, stifling a cry, as she palpated one of the unnatural masses under his skin. It was unbelievably painful. It was beyond anything he’d ever felt. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on what she was saying, when she began to speak. “It’s…solid.” She informed him, voice a little choked. “Not just…bloody swelling or soft tissue or anything. I’m pretty sure there’s bone in there.” She prodded a little harder at one point, near the top end of a shoulder blade, where the distension was worst. “And there’s something at the top here, on both sides. Something sort of…a little pointy, poking at your skin.” She paused. “On the left, actually, there’s two little pointy spots.”

He shuddered, half with horror and half with pain. “What is it?” He asked at last, desperate, even though he knew she hadn’t any more idea than he did.

“…I don’t know.” She confessed, quiet, and drew her fingers away. “I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

He’d known that would be the answer. But it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

—

She located the nearby river, and brought him to its edge to make him drink. Then, carefully, she slathered cool-wet river silt against the hot agony of his back. It helped, a little, but not enough.

It was at least warm enough in the Xadian borderlands that it wasn’t too cold to go shirtless for such a long time, but when he’d tried to put a shirt back on, the pressure against the growing things under his skin was too much to bear. And they were growing. Rayla said she could practically see it, hour to hour, stretching his skin out until red-raw lines were drawn upwards to the peaks of the swelling. It felt like his skin was tearing every time he so much as moved a muscle, and she admitted that she wouldn’t be surprised if it really did start tearing soon.

Callum had thought, after that spell earlier, that the horror of his back was related in some way to the Sky Magic. It made him dread the way that the energy built up in his blood, the way his lungs started feeling too-full again, too full to breathe. He lingered on the edge of the suffocation, gasping frantically again, until Rayla clutched at his hand and said “Just cast another spell, Callum. It helped last time.”

“Last time,” He huffed, light-headed and fearful, “it made my back worse. Don’t want-“ He paused to gasp in six more frantic breaths. “Don’t want to get worse again.”

She shifted, uncertainly. “It…might not be because of that.” She said, though she didn’t sound especially convinced by even her own words. “It could be something else.”

He snorted amidst the feeling of his lungs straining, straining almost as much as the distended skin of his back. Tearing and stretching and- “Like what?”

“…Dark magic?” She suggested, though only half-heartedly. “That’s actually unnatural.”

“I think I’d have-“ He gulped air. “I’d have noticed if – Lord Viren – or Claudia – turned into – hunchbacks, Rayla.“

She watched him gasp, increasingly anxious, and finally snapped “Callum, you can’t breathe. Even if it does make your back worse – you have to cast something!”

He didn’t answer, and remained steadfast in his avoidance for about another minute of gasping for breath around straining lungs before he got light-headed and faint enough to agree with her. Torn two-ways by fear, he raised a finger and drew aspiro. He barely had enough breath to whisper it, but it was enough. The terrible over-pressure of breath and magic gusted out of him, potentiated into the purpose of the spell, rushing through his body and – and out three channels. One, his mouth, breathing the spell, and the other two-

The pain leapt and tore and burned.

Something gave way.

He wasn’t aware of much more than screaming, the seconds after he cast the spell, but when he regained some measure of awareness….the pressure of the magic was quiescent again, and…the pressure in his back had lessened, just a little, too. There was something warm dripping down his spine.

“…Okay, you’re right, it’s definitely the Sky magic doing it.” Rayla said, voice tight, and he realised that she’d been squeezing one of his hands the whole time.

“…My back,” he started, a little numbly, and tried to use his other hand to reach behind, to feel… “I’m – am I bleeding?”

She hesitated, nodded, and then dropped his hand to go have a better look. “The poking-bits have…” She swallowed, looking a little green, and turned aside for a few seconds to suppress a gag. “Well, they’ve gone through your skin, now. They’re…pointy. Whatever’s under your skin is bigger, too.”

He closed his eyes, and drew his fingers away from his back bloodied at the tips. “…right.”

Rayla had to take several more deep calming breaths before she could investigate further. “At least we’re next to a river.” She said, determinedly, and ushered him to the water again. “Let’s get this cleaned up.”

True to her words, she cleaned the blood from his back, of which there was quite a lot, draining from the blood-swollen tissues around the distension. With some of the pressure relieved, it…actually hurt a fair bit less, but it was still awful. And then, with the bleeding stopping, and his back clean, Rayla made her assessment of what had poked through his skin.

“There’s four. I think?” She said, poking at each of them in turn. “Small. Black and sharp. They look like claws.” She hesitated, and poked at the swelling behind the claw-things. “I think they’re on…I don’t know, fingers? Two on each side. And something underneath.” She frowned, and prodded something a little more purposefully. He felt something under his skin move aside from the pressure, and he shuddered. “…Definitely something underneath these.” She concluded.

He was silent for a while, processing that. “So, what.” He said, finally. “Am I growing a couple of weird clawed extra arms, or something?”

“Arms,” She muttered, almost scornful, and leaned away to shuffle around to his side again. “Honestly, Callum, if it wasn’t for the claws – and for them being all the way up on your shoulders-“ She stopped.

He eyed her, curiosity piqued, despite the ongoing pain. “What?”

Rayla frowned. “Sky elves.” She said, without preamble. “Skywing elves. Some of them have wings, you know.”

He stilled, and it felt like his heart stilled too.

“…But they have their wings lower down – sort of mid-back, underneath their shoulders and arms. And they don’t have claws on them.” She exhaled. “And they’re born with them, anyway, so – it’s not like-“ She waved her hands towards his back, very expressively.

Callum stared at her, his gut uncertain whether it was twisting or fluttering. “…I wasn’t born with an arcanum.” He reminded her. “But I got one anyway.”

She sighed, looking as uncertain as he’d ever seen her. “I get your point.” She said. “And I suppose it would make more sense for you to be growing wings because of Sky magic than – than some weird clawed arms. But it’s – it’s not normal, Callum. I don’t know what’s happening to you.” She sounded almost hopeless, at that. Afraid.

Unthinkingly, he clutched at her hand again. Squeezed it to reassure her, for once. “…well, whatever it is, we’ll probably find out soon.” He said, uncertain how he quite felt about that. “It’s been, what, half a day since I got my arcanum? It’s going fast.”

She glanced at him, side-long. “Magic speeds it up.” She noted, and he went still again at the implication.

“…You want to make it go even faster?” He said, aghast.

She shrugged. “Not want, but…it’s probably an option.” Her eyes slid over his shoulders again. “Where those claws came through…it’s healing quickly. Magic-fast, even. If you keep waiting until you need to cast a spell again…you’ll probably just keep tearing your back open.”

He shifted uncertainly. “I don’t know, Rayla. Maybe it’d be faster to just…cast a load of spells and get it over with – whatever it is, but…” He shuddered, at the mere thought of it. How much would it hurt, to have his skin roil and tear and peel away as the things on his back grew and grew and tore their way out of his skin all at once?

Rayla watched him, anxious but sympathetic, and squeezed his hand back. “…Let’s go to sleep, then.” She said, finally, glancing up at the growing gloom of the evening. “See how it looks in the morning.”

He exhaled, and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

—

He slept on his front, with his shirts and jacket draped over him like blankets. Zym curled up beside him, pressed to his side, and wormed his way underneath Callum’s arm until he deigned to hold it around the little dragonling. He wondered if Zym was missing Ez. He wondered what Ez would think of the somethings growing beneath his skin. He wondered a lot of things, thoughts whirling and spinning around themselves, until he finally managed to slip asleep.

It didn’t last. He might have expected pain to wake him, but instead, it was the magic. He woke breathless and gasping, some hours into the night, chest tight and lungs swollen as the magic built in him to the point of pain again. He stumbled upright, dislodging Zym and waking Rayla, who sat straight up and rubbed her eyes, blinking blearily at him.

“Callum?” She asked, groggily, eyes settling onto his shoulders. “Y’alright?”

“Breath,” he explained, his whole upper back straining as he moved, and he turned aside to draw the zig-zagging shape of fulminis.

Just as before, the aimless magic in his body shifted and awakened and moved. Unlike before, barely any of it left his fingers. The lightning-bolt that emerged was thin and sparking and did not travel very far at all, spilling only the barest smell of ozone into the air, and instead – instead, all of that electric energy surged into his back as though to a lightning-rod, and it writhed.

He cried out with pain, Zym squeaking in fright and Rayla shuffling over to grip his hand, and familiar hot-wet spilled down his back again. Something had torn, again, more than yesterday, much more-

Callum reached back, to feel, to find out what had come through – and nearly vomited at the feeling of finding something small and limp and blood-wet and firm hanging out of the skin there. It was warm. Warm like a limb. Warm like a living thing – but wet and tacky and too-soft, like the thin weeping skin under a blister. On the end of the horrible hanging thing was something small and sharp. The claw.

So…the ‘fingers’, that the claws were apparently on. One on that side, and….he checked…two had torn free on the right hand side. The second on the left was still under his skin. And…wait.

Was that a third? He checked the other side, found something much like it in the distended shape of his skin, and felt his breath stutter with horror.

“That’s horrible.” Rayla told him, looking pale and a little green, as his fingers trailed blood over his upper back. There was so much pain now that it felt almost like he’d passed through it, to some numb other-side where nothing felt right and his thoughts were strange and scrambled.

“Mmhm.” He agreed, a little vacantly, moving one of the clawed-things between his fingers. It felt like a finger, slim and bony, even if the skin was all wrong and it was covered in blood and had torn its way out of his flesh-

“We need to clean you up again.” Rayla said, decisively, and moved to herd him over to the water again. He could hardly see anything around them, given the time of night, but the moon was past half-full and cast just about enough light to see by.

“…Wait.” He said, after a moment, and her fingers stilled on his arm. He breathed, not-quite-awake and not-quite-coherent, uncertain if he just hadn’t woken up properly, or if the pain had just…disconnected him from a proper feeling of consciousness. “You were right. I should just…get this over with. It’s not going to stop. So…I should just…” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Cautiously, she took his hand, and pulled him to his feet. “Are you sure?”

“No.” he admitted. “But I don’t want to keep waking up and – having to cast a spell and tear myself open again. Once these….whatever, once they’re out, it should be better. Right?”

“…Well, in theory, you won’t have anything trying to break out of your skin anymore.” She said, dubious, and a little wary. “So, I guess?”

He sighed. “This is going to suck.”

“It’ll also be pretty bloody, I think.” She nodded, looking as though she were trying not to think about it too hard. “So let’s get you to the water for this anyway.”

Once they were there, and Rayla had washed some of the blood off to see the new developments with his back, she reported on the state of things and confirmed his uneasy sense-impression of what he’d felt through his skin.

“It’s grown in the night.” She said, of the distension as a whole. “One of the clawed…fingers…is still under your skin. And…” She shivered, close enough to his side that it made the fabric of her sleeve brush against his shoulder. “And, I think there’s…three. Fingers, I mean, on each one. The third ones are still…inside your back.” Her eyes squeezed briefly shut, as if to forcefully expel the image from her mind as well as her eyes.

“…Thought I felt something like that.” He said, quiet and pale, mind too numb with shock and pain to offer much more than delirious dread. He had felt something that felt disturbingly like another digit, underneath the right-hand two that had torn out.

Rayla looked side-long at him, hesitating. “…Honestly, Callum? It might hurt less if – if we cut it, instead of letting your skin rip open.” Zym, who seemed to understand them quite well, quailed at the words, crooning and shrinking back.

He blinked, startled, not having thought of that. “With one of your swords, you mean?” He asked, and reached to the side to pat Zym on the head. After a second, he drew the little dragon into his lap. He wasn’t a human kid, maybe, but this was still kind of more gore than he was comfortable with Zym seeing. If he was in his lap…he at least wouldn’t see it.

At his words, though she seemed distinctly sickened at the notion, Rayla nodded.

It was probably a bad sign that he found the idea a relief. The clean cut of a blade seemed so much more merciful than skin strained to tearing. “Good idea.” He said, and wondered at how swiftly his life had gone weird, to make such a thing a sensible and merciful option.

Still, she hesitated, hand on the hilt of one of the weapons hung at the small of her back. “…Now?” She asked, unhappily. “Or when you cast the spell?”

He considered it. “….during the spell.” He decided, reluctantly. “That way we can get it all done at once.” Nausea rose in his throat, and he carefully swallowed it away.

Rayla shuddered. “…Alright.” She said, visibly steeling herself, and he heard the shnk of her blade assembling as she moved behind him. A couple of weeks ago, he’d have done nearly anything to keep her blades away from him, and now he was inviting them. The world was mad. “Go ahead.” She said, and lowered the tip of the blade against his skin, cold and sharp, just below the protruding left digit. He braced himself, and raised a hand.

Fulminis was somewhat easier to deal with, since he didn’t need to do any gusty exhaling for it, so he drew its rune crackling in the air. This time, when he spoke it, there was no well of expanding magic pooling and stretching him out from within – instead, it coursed in from the Sky, that inner-spark of the arcanum opening and welcoming it in. A little of it went to its proper place, coursing along his arm, but only a thin crackle and a few sparks emerged. The rest…

It surged to his back, and at once, the flesh beneath his skin swelled and grew and roiled, pressing and stretching and expanding into a searing, tearing pain. And then-

The sword was sharp. Incredibly so. There was barely any resistance at all as it parted his skin and the thin layers of flesh below it – it was so sharp and clean a cut that for a second, it almost didn’t hurt. He gritted his teeth and hissed and gasped, but even then – even then, there was such a relief to it. He could feel the horrible straining pressure easing even as the magic of the spell coursed in and in and in, even as the somethings under his skin grew, and grew, and finally-

Where Rayla had made the cut on the left, something spilled loose. Something heavy and fleshy and soft, limp and bloody, dropped out of the open wound and thumped wetly against his back. He heard Rayla gag, and felt nausea surge in his own throat at the mere feeling of it, but – she stayed her course, and moved her blade over to the right to repeat the cut.

The energy of the spell ebbed, even as the cut widened and the incredible relief repeated for the other thing, the wet meaty limb spilling down along his back in a trail of blood and gore. He clenched his fingers in Zym’s mane, stomach roiling. Voice hoarse, he asked “Is it all out?”

She gagged again, but answered anyway. “Think so.” She said, shakily, and moved to the side to wash her hands and blade in the water. “Feel for yourself.”

He wasn’t really sure he wanted to. Even the sensation of the things, wet and warm down his back, was viscerally disgusting, and his throat already felt fluttery with nausea. Still, though, he couldn’t quite restrain the morbid curiosity, and moved one hand from Zym’s back to feel around at his own.

His hand landed on something warm and wet and sticky. The skin was…thin, too thin, like something malformed and underdeveloped, and it was growing out of his body but he couldn’t feel it, couldn’t feel his touch on it, it might as well have been – have been something else, something not-him, something alien, something parasitic, growing out of him-

He lurched forward and vomited, managing to avoid Zym entirely. The dragonling scurried out of his lap in a hurry, yipping with alarm, and stared at the puddle of sick with wide-eyed consternation. Then he looked over Callum’s shoulder, and shrank back.

“It wasn’t much nicer to watch it, believe me.” Rayla told him, dryly, as she came over to gently bring him over by the water, steering him with careful fingers at his arms. “Come on. Let’s clean you up. Wash your mouth out.”

He was entirely too shaken to make any sort of comeback, and just nodded, leaning forwards to slip his hands into the water and wash the blood off and then cup some water from further up-river to his mouth. He washed out and spat it to the side, even as Rayla gently set to work cleaning the blood off his back and the things with water and a few wet river-leaves. He still had open wounds, of course, and she muttered a little worriedly about getting river-water in them, but…in the end, it wasn’t as though they had anything to boil water in.

Finally, his back was apparently clean enough, and she patted him on his clammy-wet shoulder. “That’ll do it for tonight.” She said, tiredly. “Wish I could bandage you, but…”

“No bandages?” He guessed, and she nodded.

“No bandages.” She agreed. “You are healing already, though. It’s already scabbing around the…” Her voice went odd. “…limbs.” She decided, eventually.

“…So that’s definitely what they are?” He ventured, brow furrowed. He reached over his shoulder and found, indeed, that the cuts she’d made and the tears around the protrusion of the things were already near-firm with hard coagulation, even though she’d just been at him with water. It was astonishingly painless, compared to how it had been not fifteen minutes ago.

“Can’t you feel them?” She asked, after a moment. Tentatively, she reached out, and he could guess that she picked up one of the limbs by the lessening of the sensation of weight, pulling at his shoulders.

He shook his head, unsettled. “I can’t feel them at all.”

Rayla grimaced, and then, not looking terribly pleased about it, gently manoeuvred the thing down and around to his side, so that he could actually see it. He twisted to stare at it, morbidly fascinated, the nausea lessened now that he’d already vomited.

“That’s gross,” he noted, almost fascinated now, and made a face as he reached out to touch it. It was warm, and that was even more disgusting, somehow.

She let it fall into his hand, and he inspected it. There was a joint at the end, like a wrist joint, with something that wasn’t really a hand hanging there limply. There were, at any rate, three digits, all of which clawed. The first digit was half the length of the second, which itself was half the length of the third. All of them had as many joints as a normal finger would, but the proportions were all wrong – stretched-out and heinously alien, not even close to human. With a raw, shocked sort of apathy, he took the shortest in his fingers and bent it, pressing the sharp point of the claw against his thumb.

“…Is there an elbow joint?” He asked, though he was already checking. In short order he felt along the limb and found it, and hummed pensively at the discovery. Oddly, the discovery of the joints made him feel a little better about it. The limbs were disgusting, and he couldn’t feel them, and he hadn’t asked for them, and it wasn’t even slightly normal to grow two extra limbs on his back – but, at the very least, they had an almost soothing structural similarity to his arms. An elbow and a wrist and a hand each. It was a paltry thing to be comforted by, but it was something.

“You really can’t feel them?” Rayla checked, again, fingers reaching tentatively out to poke at the limb in his hand. He could guess what she felt, when she touched it, by how it felt on his own hands: warm and somehow tacky, even with all the blood washed away. The skin didn’t feel right. It wasn’t like normal skin – it was….thin. Delicate, in an alarming way that made him feel he could rip it with the slightest pressure. Like he would rip it, if he weren’t very very careful. “They look…sore.”

“It’s just my back that hurts, around them.” Callum said, making a face at the two alien fingers on one of his new limbs. His new, limp, utterly insensate limbs. “I can’t feel any of this. It’s like-“ he swallowed against the taste of acid, against the shape of the thoughts that had horrified him earlier. “It’s like it’s – not even me. Just…something growing out of me.”

Rayla shuddered at that too – and for a long moment, he was suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful that she was here with him. Here to help him, here to empathise with the visceral horror of what was happening to him, just…here.

“Maybe that’ll change.” She said, softly, and he wasn’t actually sure whether he agreed or not.

If he never felt anything from them – if they stayed these disgusting, insensate things hanging from his body…that would almost be easier to deal with. At least then he could…look into getting them cut off, or something. But if he could feel them – if they really did become a part of him, these things that were on his back but shouldn’t be – that was somehow a whole lot scarier. What would that even mean? “…I don’t even know what they are.” He said, a little plaintively. “I don’t even know why they’re growing. No one else grows weird gross extra limbs from their backs like this.”

“No one else gets a sparkly new arcanum years and years after they’re born, either.” She pointed out, and he huffed, reminded of what she’d said before.

“So, what? Are they arms? Useless featherless wings? Something else?” He questioned, looking down at the disturbing tiny hand-joint thing she was still gingerly holding. Three-fingered, it looked nothing like a proper human hand – not even an elf hand – and the proportions were all wrong.

“If it’s an arm, it’s not like any I’ve ever seen.” She answered, after a moment, peering along the wrinkly too-thin skin, as if she were looking for something. “As for wings…I don’t know. I’ve never seen a Skywing without feathers, but…I’ve never seen the wings of a baby, either. Pretty sure they’re not born with feathers, so…”

“Too early to tell?” he suggested, and she shrugged helplessly at him. He sighed, and inspected the limb as best he could by moonlight. “Well, I guess it does look kind of…baby-skin-ish.” He concluded. “Like newborn baby-skin, I mean – all red-looking and wrinkly and gross.”

“…Well, they’re developing fast.” She said, dubious, and withdrew her fingers from the senseless skin. “Maybe they’ll look less gross and sore-looking and wrinkly by morning.”

Callum wondered, for a brief and distant moment, as if he should maybe be a little bit put-off by her using those descriptors, even though she was mostly just quoting him. After all, these new…things…were ostensibly part of his body, so shouldn’t he feel defensive about their appearance?

But he didn’t. All he felt was a sincere echo of her own sentiments and her own disgust as he looked at the limp thing in his hand. It didn’t feel like a part of him. It didn’t feel like a part of him at all.

His gut twisted, and he shivered. “Maybe.” He said, a little tightly, and dropped the limb. It dropped back down, sagging against his back with the other one. A small, insistent part of him was screaming to get them off, in an instinctive revulsion he couldn’t quite manage to displace. He swallowed against the nausea again, and tried to put the thoughts aside.

Rayla looked at him, for a long moment that he spent mostly trying to wrestle his gut into some semblance of good behaviour. He’d really like it if his stomach would stop roiling at every reminder of the things that had burst out of his upper back. “…If you think you can, it’d be a good idea to try to get to sleep.” She offered, eventually. “It’s still the middle of the night – and we have a long way to go.”

He frowned….but nodded, reluctantly. “I don’t know if I can.” He admitted, and thought the reasoning needed little explanation. “But I’ll try, I guess.”

As if encouraged by the words, Zym took that opportunity to butt his head under Callum’s hand, crooning a little when the motion automatically earned him some scritches around the horns. The little dragonling looked up at him in a way that suggested he was entirely ready for some nap-time, preferably with a large warm cuddle-buddy.

Zym hadn’t been this touch-hungry before, he didn’t think. Not when Ezran was here. Still…

Callum smiled, gentle affection replacing the churning in his gut, and reached out to hoist Zym into his arms as he stood. The new limbs swayed and slapped a little against his back as he moved, but he tried not to think about that.

“If nothing else, Zym definitely needs sleep.” He said, and tucked the dark blue dragon-wings neatly under his arms. Zym craned his neck backwards, trying to look at him, and then broke into a sharp-toothed yawn. In the contagious way of yawns, he was returning it a second later, abruptly more tired by all the pain and stress than he’d realised.

“Looks like Zym isn’t the only one.” Rayla observed, lips twitching, and then ushered him gently over to where they’d been sleeping.

Laying down took some arrangement, this time. He had to avoid laying on the new limbs, and somehow manoeuvre them into a comfortable position despite not being able to feel or move them. They were a strange, warm, foreign weight against his back. Eventually, Rayla took pity on him and tucked them inwards on his back, draping his jacket over him.

As a finishing touch, she picked up Zym, picked up his arm, and then planted the dragonling beneath it. Said dragonling chirped happily, and shoved his snout into Callum’s armpit. “Sleep.” She ordered him, or perhaps ordered them both, and slipped with a smile on her lips to lay just a little way beside him.

As unsettling as everything had been…it had been exhausting, too. He’d thought he’d stay up a long time, thinking about it all, but instead…

Instead, he closed his eyes, and fell asleep almost instantly.

—

End chapter.

Notes: This chapter is the bloodiest by far. There might be small bloody moments in the future, but from now on it’s just steadily decreasing amounts of body horror and drastically increasing amounts of inconvenience, indignity, and fluff. There’s also potential for a more complex magically-rooted plotline eventually, but it depends on what I plot out. Could just end up being a relatively straight s3 fic with wing-related divergence points, could be very very different. We’ll see.

I really do mean it when I say I’m going to go very in-depth with the wing biology stuff. This will, in places, be slightly gross. Callum may be done with most of his pain but I have so many other ways to make him suffer.

World notes: Magic works a bit differently in this AU, which is why Callum is growing wings. Callum’s wings are also very different to an elf’s, and to the mage-wings as seen in canon. Still, there will be a whole lot of wingfic stuff and wing-fluff, which I imagine many of us are very hungry for after s3.

Hope everyone enjoyed s3 as much as I did!

Feedback and kudos etc very much appreciated. Chapter 2 is mostly done, just need to adjust it for s3.

#the dragon prince s3 #tdp callum #tdp rayla #rayllum #wingfic #tdp fic #boundless

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markedwardsmasters2020 · 5 years ago

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Freda Kahlo: Self portrait with Hummingbird and Thorn 1940. How do we see the world as humans, as non-humans, as performers in nature or nature ?

Kahlo’s self portrait is a sombre spiritual representation of living as part of nature, it grapples with self the interior hidden shroud of a woman deep rooted in her ancestral past. Identity living within a cosmos of plant, animal and human life. Perez says “explore the nature of self as not (social) circumscribed identities alongside identity as nature and cosmic being. Beyond asking what is self, the work asks what is life, what are the forms, what constitutes lasting being” ?

Pérez, Laura E.. 2019. Eros Ideologies : Writings on Art, Spirituality, and the Decolonial. Durham: Duke University Press. Accessed June 1, 2020. ProQuest Ebook Central.

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nunoxaviermoreira · 5 years ago

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Sombre Hummingbird / Beija-flor-cinza by anacm.silva Taken on a very rainy day... without tripod! Sítio Folha Seca - Ubatuba Brazil https://flic.kr/p/2hp7TeE

#IFTTT #Flickr #sombrehummingbird #beijaflorcinza #aphantochroacirrochloris #beijaflor #colibri #ave

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savinscripts · 6 years ago

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CHAPTER 9:

❝ The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you ❞

Later on, in the night, something woke Faye up. She blinked, leaning up on one elbow to brush her hair from her face as she rubbed at her eyes. Fane was sound asleep right where he’d been when she’d fallen asleep herself. Completely out, breathing softly. The fire was nearly gone, so Faye got up, frowning a bit at what could have woken her, and moved to add another few logs. Maybe it was the encroaching cold. When she turned back, her eyes moved to movement from the bed. Her frown deepened.

Carrington was thrashing beneath the covers, arms and legs moving erratically. At first Faye thought - at it alarmed him so much that she nearly woke Fane - that he might be having a seizure. But he grew quite suddenly still, and then it started back up. He murmured to himself, tiny sounds and whimpers of what sounded very much like distress. Then Faye realize it wasn’t a seizure. He was having a nightmare.

There was no hesitation as Faye climbed into the bed beside him. Not wanting to frighten him more and make him reinjure himself - she wasn’t worried about her own safety - Faye gently caught hold of Carrington’s arm. Then the other. He jerked away, or tried to, but it wasn’t enough to get Faye to release him. “Hey… hey, it’s alright. It’s alright. Wake up, hmm?” she murmured, letting go of one arm to press a hand to his cheek. “Cari… honey, open your eyes. It’s Faye… it’s Faye. You’re safe, okay? You’re home with us. With me an’ Fane…”

He slowly started to settle, longs limbs slowing their uneasy movements beneath the covers. His eyes fluttered, and Faye could see them open even in the dim light. The glimmer of blue beneath heavy eyelids was nearly black in the dim light. It took him a moment to find her face, disoriented and heavily medicated as he was. But once he did, his eyes locked onto her and didn’t waver. Perhaps he was still half-asleep. Or perhaps it was the drugs. Who could say? But he saw her, and even though his heart beat like a hummingbird in his chest, and his breathing was faster than it should be, he visibly sagged back into his pillows.

“There you are,” Faye said quietly, smiling softly at him. She pet his hair, doing it without thinking, and watched as his eyes fluttered closed again. But they slid open after a moment, and the way he gazed at her made Faye’s cheeks flush. It was the drugs, she told herself. He’s high as a kite on painkillers. But he kept looking at her, until finally Faye had to drop her eyes.

“Don’t.” It was one word, uttered softly.

Faye looked back up. He was still gazing at her. “Don’t what?” she asked just as softly, letting her fingers move through his hair again.

“Don’t go.” His eyes fluttered shut. “Stay.” His good arm moved around her, circling her waist lazily as sleep pulled him back down again. He shifted towards her, towards her warmth, and was out before she could protest.

“Stay,” Faye repeated, watching him for a bit before she pulled the covers up around them. She secured his injured hand as best she could and let her arm fall over him. Before long, they were both breathing quietly, and Carrington’s nightmares didn’t return.

On any other night Fane would have been awake at the sound of a pin drop, but everything so far had culminated in him being practically comatose where he lay face half-buried in the pillow his breathing shallowly coming in through his nose and out through his mouth. He slept through Faye moving from the mattress, Carrington’s disturbance nearby though had it continued it would have likely woken him eventually.

Faye moving over settled Carrington as he stared at her under heavy eyelids. His eyes dark and unfocussed in the low light of the room, but enough that he seemed to recognise her presence. Or perhaps it was the smell of her, warm and familiar nearby. Lavender he’d always thought, and being this close to her he knew that it was. Lavender and something… something he couldn’t place, but as his arm settled over her and he shifted close to the warmth of her body he half-turned his face into her breathing quietly even if it was still a little fast. The petting of his hair settled him, as though his body registered it as an affectionate and calming act that caused him to slowly sink back down beside her as the tension seeped out of him.

He was asleep in next to no time, dreaming of himself and the others wandering through vast seemingly endless fields of lavender. A few hours later though he stirred once more, his mouth buried partially against her muffling his sleep-laden heavily medicated words into a mumble head lolling heavily against her. “M’I dead?”

Faye didn’t move again either, not until several hours later when Carrington stirred. She stretched a bit, toes brushing his shins as she roused herself enough to comprehend what he’d said. “Mmm, no. Don’t think so.” Faye didn’t open her eyes, entirely too warm and comfortable to move too much.

“Mm,” was Carrington’s return answer. A small, sleepy grunt. “‘S good.” He turned his head a bit, finding a new position that tucked him a bit more snugly under her chin. His fingers moved idly over her back.

Faye hummed at the gentle touch, still mostly asleep, but awake enough to be aware of her surroundings. To be aware of him against her. It felt good, and her own arms pulled him closer. To which he let out a sigh of contentment.

“Wher’sfane?” he mumbled a moment later, the words slurring together into one.

“Floor,” Faye said.

“Mmm. Bast’rd. Should come here. S’warm.” As if to emphasize his point, Carrington burrowed himself even deeper against Faye.

“He’s fine. Has a mattress. Let ‘im sleep.”

Carrington grunted again, and took Faye’s advice for himself. Faye did too, and a couple of hours later, they both woke again. Faye before Carrington and Fane. The first rays of morning light were peeking through the curtains, and the fire had gone out recently. It smoldered gently. Faye didn’t want to move, she was too warm and too cozy underneath the blankets. Especially with Carrington’s warm, solid weight against her. She lay there for a bit, fingers carding gently through his overlong hair, and watched the light grow brighter. When there was enough to see by, she reached for the little book on Carrington’s sidetable, curious as to what it was. He was always reading it.

It was poetry, Faye saw, and found herself reading quietly while she waited on the others to wake up.

Carrington slept soundly, buried against Faye his dreams sliding from thing to thing but never quite settling on anything in particular. All he knew was that in each he felt safe, secure even. As though whatever happened he would be okay, protected even. He didn’t know why, all he did know was that he rather liked it. During the night he shifted closer to the warmth nearby, the fire he supposed, not remembering much of anything that had happened during the night or the last time he woke.

He slowly came to, toes curling and fingers flexing against her spine where they were pressed. Slow and very drawn out movements that he was only really half-aware he was even making. The drugs were still in his system, Carrington nosed closer to that warmth mumbling something utterly incoherent where his mouth was still pressed into Faye’s midsection against which he’d buried himself last night. He was so warm, warmer than he could remember ever being and the slow stroke of fingers against his head caused him to hum happily.

He dozed like that for a while, who knows how long before his eyes fluttered open lazily not that Faye seemed to notice. His vision swam, and he closed his eyes for a few more minutes opening them once more and staring intently at the book she seemed to be holding not quite able to make it out at first. His mind slower than it typically was. Until he realised, that was his book, holding her just a fraction tighter he smiled just a little against her. “Read t’me?”

There was a beat of silence, Carrington not moving from where he was tucked up snugly against her “please?”

The only thing Faye remembered from her own dreams that night was the feeling of safety. Much like Carrington, she felt a sense of belonging. A sense of being wanted and needed, and being able to feel that way in return. There was warmth and laughter. Happiness and a sense of freedom that Faye had never felt before, even in all her wanderings. She held onto that feeling when she woke early the next morning, and let herself just be. Let herself just lie there with Carrington and be content for a while.

Her fingers carded with absent purpose through his hair, and she smiled to herself as she read from his book. It was lovely. Faye had never read too much poetry, but she knew the classics. When he moved closer, she let him, pausing her petting until he settled again. And when his voice came a bit later, soft and sombre, and he pulled her closer, Faye found she couldn’t say no.

“Which one?” she asked quietly, a smile in her voice. “Or should I pick?”

The slow stroke and drag of her fingers through his hair had his eyes drifting closed again. Almost certain that if given the chance he would stay like this forever. Feeling warm and safe and secure pressed up against her. He shifted just a little, moving close until he settled with his head pillowed on her. “Any,” his voice came softly and slightly slurred “jus’ read hm?” He drew in and exhaled a long breath his fingers seeking out the warmth of skin at her back and when he found it he hugged her tight, fingers pressed just beneath the rise of the old tee she had changed into.

Meanwhile on the floor, Fane stirred a little at the voices from nearby early morning light filtered through the curtains and he squinted a little bit at it turning his face into the pillow with a grimace. He noticed how cold the bed had gotten and pulled the sheets up higher, tucking his knees up a fraction more he settled once more in this new position before he started dozing once more in that same position there. Oblivious to the quiet couple in the bed nearby and fact that he’d all but been abandoned on the floor where he was. Though it would be something he’d notice later on when he woke properly.

“Alright.” Faye reached up to flip through the little book, making a contented, sleepy noise as Carrington burrowed against her. The book - or its contents rather - had been a surprise. She never figured him for the poetry type. Though it made sense in its own way. She stopped on a random page, blushing a bit as the title of the poem reached her eyes. Never a fan of hearing her own voice, her accent not made for speeches or reading aloud, Faye cleared her throat.

“‘ Once again, someone falls in their first falling–fall of two bodies, of two eyes, of four green eyes or eight green eyes if we count those born in the mirror (at midnight, in the purest fear, in the loss), you haven’t been able to recognize the voice of your dull silence, to see the earthly messages scrawled in the middle of one mad state, when the body is a glass and from ourselves and from the other we drink some kind of impossible water.

Desire needlessly spills on me a cursed liqueur. For my thirsty thirst, what can the promise of eyes do? I speak of something not in this world. I speak of someone whose purpose is elsewhere. And I was naked in memory of the white night. Drunk and I made love all night, just like a sick dog. Sometimes we suffer too much reality in the space of a single night. We get undressed, we’re horrified. We’re aware the mirror sounds like a watch, the mirror from which your cry will pour out, your laceration.

Night opens itself only once. It’s enough. You see. You’ve seen. Fear of being two in the mirror, and suddenly we’re four. We cry, we moan, my fear, my joy more horrible than my fear, my visceral words, my words are keys that lock me into a mirror, with you, but ever alone. And I am well aware what night is made of. We’ve fallen so completely into jaws that didn’t expect this sacrifice, this condemnation of my eyes which have seen. I speak of a discovery: felt the I in sex, sex in the I. I speak of burying everyday fear to secure the fear of an instant. The purest loss. But who’ll say: you don’t cry anymore at night? Because madness is also a lie. Like night. Like death. ’”

Faye finished, unaware of Fane’s half-awareness from beneath his own covers, and looked down at Carrington where her fingers brushed the line of his arm now. “Still awake?” she asked quietly.

He was dozing as Faye began to read, not quite asleep but neither awake enough to want to move or realise what was happening to any other point than it felt good right now. A small smile was gracing his features where he lay, softly continuing to brush her back with his fingers in slow lazy and rather random patterns. When she finished and her own hand stroked down his arm he made a quiet noise of contentment looking up at her his eyes cracking open a fraction to look up at her from where he had rested entirely buried against her until now.

Fane had begun to stir at the sound of voices, uncertain what they were discussing though and unsure if he was entirely welcome to the conversation he stayed where he was. Keeping his eyes closed he let himself lounge, though he peaked up at the bed with a slight open of one eye. Noticing how Faye and Carrington were wrapped up around one another, did it mean anything? He didn’t quite know, nor did he know when Faye had moved during the night.

“Like your voice, s’nice” Carrington’s words were drawled lazily as he touched her skin. “Read me ‘nother? Please?”

Sometimes there were moments that didn’t need to be filled with words. Or with idle small talk. Moments that didn’t need explanation or reasons why. Sometimes moments just happened. This appeared to be one of them. Quiet contentment in the early hours of a new day.

Faye met Carrington’s eyes as he looked up once she’d finished. She let her fingers brush his hair again, and smiled softly. She wanted to say so many things. Ask how he was. Tell him she was sorry. Tell him reasons why she’d acted like she had. But she couldn’t bring herself to break the subtle magic of the moment. Carrington looked back at her, still muzzy headed from the night before, but aware enough to return the caress.

Faye hummed at the soft touch along her back, and her eyes closed briefly. Neither noticed Fane’s peeking up at them. It would hardly have mattered if they had. He could have joined them, and neither would have had the heart to protest. Not that they would have wanted to. Faye laughed softly as Carrington said he liked her voice. But still she didn’t protest.

She flipped the page, and read another: “‘ I find no peace, and all my war is done. I fear and hope. I burn and freeze like ice. I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise; And nought I have, and all the world I season. That loseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison And holdeth me not—yet can I scape no wise— Nor letteth me live nor die at my device, And yet of death it giveth me occasion. Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain. I desire to perish, and yet I ask health. I love another, and thus I hate myself. I feed me in sorrow and laugh in all my pain; Likewise displeaseth me both life and death, And my delight is causer of this strife.’ ”

She read a few more as the sun rose higher and the room brightened. When it was nearing what had to be breakfast time, and Carrington had drifted into wakeful dozing instead of actual sleepiness, Faye finally closed the book. But she didn’t get up. “Would you like breakfast?” she asked, slowly rubbing her toes over his shin.

Fane truly wasn’t sure what to make of it all, nor the things that she was reading not having known that Carrington was a poetry fan it caught him by surprise. But he didn’t want to disrupt the quietness of the morning, and so, he made the conscious decision to stay where he was though he rolled a little onto his side. One arm propped under his pillow as he rested listening to the refrains of Faye’s voice coming softly from the bed after Carrington requested she continue reading to him. In the quietness of his space, his mind drifted onto dangerous things. He wondered what it would’ve been like to wake up to this on mornings.

The warmth of another’s body, the soft affections of someone caring enough to want to share that space with you. And he wanted it, so badly, that it sometimes felt like an acute ache in his soul. Because how was that supposed to work? When neither of the people he truly wanted it with could even manage it for themselves unless entirely dosed out of their mind on pain meds until they were high as a kite and barely registering entirely what they were doing. Fane didn’t know, but he let himself drift in imagining what it might’ve been like. He could dream, before the world would come back and he would have to set aside idle musings for the reality in which he lived. He would keep his fantasies to himself for now.

Hearing Faye finish up the reading of a few more pieces of literature, he supposed now might as well be a decent enough time to ‘wake up’ himself. Rolling onto his back, sheets tangling with the act as he yawned stretching out his back until it clicked satisfactorily. Opening his eyes he blinked, rubbing away the sleepiness and squinting against the light with a muffled noise of protest.

Carrington for his part merely nosed against Faye, “m’warm.”

“You talking ‘bout food? M’game for that” Fane asked, propping himself up on his elbow his hair a wild curly mess atop his head.

Faye knew Carrington was most likely able to speak and act as he did towards her because of the medication he’d been given. And part of her felt guilty for letting him. For staying here, curled around him like old lovers, reading to him from a book of poetry. It was… surreal. Though she justified it - barely - by telling herself that they weren’t doing anything they shouldn’t. Or that they weren’t ready for. Perhaps this was what they needed. A situation that would allow them to be close without all the tension involved. Though Faye would never want him to be hurt just to make things easier on her. On them.

She would talk to him, really talk to him, once he was truly awake and not stoned out of his mind. Because Faye had allowed herself to drift as well. In the small moments when she forgot why they were here. Not just because of Carrington’s hand - and her part in that - but because of the people that searched for them. And the task they’d all been neglecting because of personal differences.

Perhaps those could be put behind them now. Because this had made Faye realize that she didn’t want to fight. She didn’t want to argue and quarrel all the time. Like she’d told Fane, she had never been wanted by anyone. Had never had any place that she considered a true home. And this old house, neglected though it was, was already starting to feel that way. As were the two men she’d come to know and care for over the last few months. They had been neglected too. By the world. By the people that were supposed to care for them. By Faye. But that could change. It could change, and it would change. Faye was determined.

She laughed quietly as he turned down food in favor of staying where he was. “You have to eat sometime. Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it.”

Carrington gave his own sleepy laugh, his mouth warm as he nuzzled her midsection. His long fingers crawled beneath her shirt. “Mm… this…” he murmured, mouthing the planes of her stomach.

Faye huffed, but her laugh died a bit in favor of another sound. One that she didn’t realize she’d made until Fane’s head popped up over the side of the bed and she snatched herself back to reality. “Yes… yes, food,” she laughed in the way of someone who’d got caught enjoying something they knew they shouldn’t.

Carrington grumbled his discontent at been jostled from his place. His good hand patted around for a spare pillow. When he found one, he lobbed it in the direction of Fane’s voice. “Blocker…” he grinned, laughing at himself drunkenly as he turned his face back into Faye’s belly.

Faye blushed, looking at Fane with a ‘well, what was I supposed to do?’ look on her face. His hair was messy and floated around his head in a riot of curls. She idly thought he could use a trim. “I um… I should go get something started. Fane… do you wanna-?” ‘Take over here?’ was what the look said.

Considering the height difference between the mattress and the bed, Fane didn’t actually realise what he was interrupting until-- well, his brows inched higher at the sight of Carrington’s mouth pressed to Faye’s midriff. His eyes flickered between the two in bed, “well, someone’s feeling better he quipped” his tone was light and teasing mostly and Faye’s embarrassed laugh caused him to grin at her a look that was all teeth and clear amusement. He hardly minded, even if he’d wanted to be in that same position several weeks back “who knew you just had to be fatally injured to get her on her back.” Again, his grin betrayed the joke to his words as he sat up scrubbing his hand over his face and through his hair.

Fane was still rubbing his head when the pillow came sailing across and Fane didn’t have enough time to dodge it. He toppled sideways chuckling at the commentary from the far side of the bed not that he could see Carrington where he was presently buried against Faye’s body. The soldier’s fingers still played at the back of her shirt as his mouth moved lazily over the few inches of exposed skin he’d revealed.

Catching Faye’s eye and her blush only served to make Fane grin a little more slanted, “oh no, don’t let me interrupt.” He rolled over to the edge of the bed clambering up to his feet but not before tossing the pillow back at Carrington who grumbled at being hit with it. “I’ll go make food, seems like you’re tending to the invalid” he shot her a playful wink before darting out the door before he could be struck down by another pillow. However, a moment later his voice echoed down the hall followed by a burst of laughter “or you know, you can let the invalid tend to you!” They couldn’t see him, but Fane was wearing a shit-eating grin as he walked off towards the kitchen to make food.

Faye blushed even harder at Fane’s comment, her mouth falling open in mock offense. Though he wasn’t actually wrong. In a manner of speaking. It had taken Carrington’s injury to get the two of them where they were. No comment followed though. Instead, a bright peal of laughter echoed in the quiet room as Carrington tossed the pillow at Fane. God what Faye would give for this to be her life. The thought came so quickly that it took her breath. Though it might also have been the warm wetness of Carrington’s searching mouth finally finding skin. “Oh. Oh… I um… mmm…” She couldn’t make the words come out of her mouth. Not to tell Carrington that nope. Nope, this wasn’t a good idea. Or to tell Fane where he could promptly shove his own words.

Though the other man was gone before she could pull her brain back from the place where Carrington was so quickly pulling it down to. The words that were called back up the hall were met with a chuckle from Carrington, who sighed against Faye’s skin, and a widening of Faye’s eyes. Oh. Oh, nonononono. No.

“Should I?” Carrington murmured. His fingers squeezed pressed a bit more insistently against her back. “Tend t’you?” His tongue flicked over her bellybutton. “Could prob’ly use it…”

Faye’s eyes had fluttered shut as the slip of his tongue. Her belly quivered, and she made a small sound low in her throat. It would be so easy to just let him. So easy to just lie back and let things progress as they would. But no. No nononono. Not like this.

“We can’t…” Faye huffed, making herself open her eyes and blink. Hard. “We shouldn’t… I’m… it’s not… you’re high as a kite for one…” The protests were weak, she knew. But there was no way she was allowing this to happen. Not without them both being fully aware.

“So? You’re lovely… shouldn’t waste it…” His good hand slipped down her back and over the curve of her ass. “Not nice t’waste th’ngs…”

The look on Faye’s face only served to make Fane laugh more, because he damn well knew he was right even if it wasn’t in the sense he’d been teasing them about. Carrington would have probably ended up in a huff if he hadn’t been stoned out of his mind but it didn’t make it any less true. Nor did it actually change any of his interest in her and Carrington continued to press lazy open mouthed kisses to the flat plane of her exposed stomach all the while trying to ruck her shirt up more.

“I want to though,” it was almost petulantly said as he nipped at her skin carefully with his teeth. Not enough to harm her but enough to make his intentions very plain. Just because he was feeling a little muzzy headed and floaty from the drugs didn’t change the fact that he wanted this. “Mm, ‘n’ I think…” he nosed against the warm expanse of her skin as she shivered rolling over onto her a little more though admittedly mindful of his arm “I think you want this too.”

He grinned against her as she continued to try and protest but Carrington continued his lazy exploration his good hand grabbing a handful of her ass and giving it a generous squeeze. Looking up at her his mouth curled into a lazy contented smile, eyes still a little hooded but intent and want clear as day in the dark hazy blue of his eyes.

Fane’s words and his laughter faded out down the hall as he left Faye and Carrington alone for the time being. Faye was quickly drawn back to the man lying next to her. His mouth was wicked, she thought, with the way it moved over her bare skin. And gods above she wanted to just lie back and let him have her. Even now her body ached from the slow stroke of his fingers and the press of his lips.

“You don’t...mmphh… you don’t know that…” Faye said, trying and failing to pull her shirt down and wiggle from his grasp. He held her fast, arm curved over her waist as it was.

“Do,” Carrington said between lazy nips of his teeth. Nips that caused Faye to let out tiny huffs of air, and card her hands in his hair a bit less gently than before. This only caused Carrington to hum with approval and pull her flusher against him. He moved against her, rising slowly up the mound of her belly. Another breath left her as he gripped her backside, and her head fell back just a little. But she raised it again and looked down at him as he spoke. Her look softened, and the gentle tension of her body relaxed just a bit. Because she did want this. Very much. Just like with Fane.

“I do,” she admitted. “So much… but I-“ Faye swallowed. “I want it to be right. And not because… not because your inhibitions are gone. Or mine.” The look in his eyes… Jesus. It would be so easy. So easy to just say yes and let it happen. But what would come after? When the meds has worn off. He might not be completely gone, but how was Faye to know? She trusted him, but she cared for him too. Very much. So she would make the hard choice now. To make things better later. “But I do want this…” Her fingers brushed his face, the fall of his riotous hair. After a moment, she leaned down, hesitating just a moment before brushing his mouth with hers.

The kiss was soft. Gentle and searching and asking so many things in such a short moment.

Carrington’s hand rose to cup her face. The kiss was a surprise, but not unwelcome. His eyes fluttered shut, and he sighed into Faye’s mouth. The smile remained, and when they broke apart, he looked at her for a long moment before kissing her again just as reverently.

He made a slight noise of protest at the idea of having to wait. His haze filled mind dwelling on the fact that if they both wanted this then why was there any point to waiting? What use would it do? It wouldn’t, would it? Had he been in a more lucid state he would have certainly hesitated by now. More than that he wouldn’t even be touching her this way in memory of what had happened the last time he had. He’d scared her. But lost in the warm comfortable headspace he presently occupied he only took note of what felt good and the slightly harder tug of her fingers felt damn good.

But he was soon being distracted by the press of her mouth over his own, soft and asking so many things he didn't know how to articulate. And so he did the only thing he could, moving up he held her face while bringing their mouths together once more. Firmer, seemingly more sure than her tentativeness.

Because he did want this. And it scared him. A lot. Which was why getting to the point of admitting that was such an uphill battle. He still wasn’t sure what any of this meant, or what any of last night meant (if anything). But Fane had got him thinking about the possibilities and now Carrington didn’t wish to give them up. Heavens blast the bastard.

If there was one thing Faye wouldn’t fold on, it was the fact that it hadn’t been Carrington that she’d been afraid of. It had been the unexpected forcefulness. Once he’d kissed her it had all fallen away. And may have stayed away if not for how recently the events had happened. On the job before she’d met the two of them. Less than a year, but more than six months or so. She couldn’t quite remember. And she needed to tell him that. Before they went any further. So that he didn’t carry any more guilt than he already had.

Because she didn’t blame him at all. She blamed herself. For being so obstinate. For being so scared of letting anyone get close. Though she could say that for all of them really. They were all afraid. In some way or another. But perhaps trusting each other with those fears, trusting each other not to judge or question - other than the constructive questions - would help them overcome things. With time at least. Because Faye wanted this. She wanted Carrington. She wanted Fane. In whatever way that was supposed to work. Though from the tentative vibes she was getting, it seemed that the three of them were doing this… together? Whatever this was.

Right now, it was a kiss returned just a bit more assuredly than before. The touch of fingers over her cheeks, calloused on the tips from years of use and hard work. She’d seen the violence those fingers, those hands, could met out. Seen them bloody and bruised - and now broken - from the battles they’d fought. But right now they were gentle. They touched her like something delicate, something to be cherished. Something to be protected.

And Carrington would. In his sleepy, honey-thick thoughts, he knew he would protect them both. With his life if that’s what it took. Not that he planned on dying anytime soon. Though that would be the way of it, his subconscious murmured. To find the one thing he’d always wanted - someone that cared for him as much as he cared for them - and then lose it before he could blink. The thought made him kiss Faye with even more insistence. His hand slid up through her flyaway hair and curved around the back of her skull.

His mouth moved with purpose, desire fuelled by years of loneliness, years of solitude, years of aching for one person… one person to want him for who he was, and not what he could give them. And now there were two? Or so it seemed? Christ it was more than his heart could properly bear.

“You’ll be the death of me, the two of you.” Carrington pulled back and pressed his forehead to Faye’s. A small breath that might have been either a laugh or a sob, or even both, was warm across her cheek.

She smiled at him again. “Death is but the next great adventure, right?” she quipped, though there was more than just humor in her voice. There was something else. Something full of promise. Full of joy. Full of fear too, yes, but also full of the courage to try to push past it. To see what lay on the other side.

None of them had any sort of road or guide map on this one, they were all rather literally flying by the seat of their pants in term of what to do and when to do it. Fane had laid it more or less clean with both Carrington and Faye his own particular desires. That whatever this was, he didn’t want to choose one over the other but instead wished to share it with the both of them. Carrington had admitted to him (and tried to admit to Faye also) that he was of the same mind. It was just Faye who seemed to need to find the courage to take that final step after the little dalliance in the laundry room downstairs.

Unfortunately, her attempt the prior night had led to the unfortunate discovery of Carrington’s restless form gripped in the lock of a fierce fever. Perhaps it was that realisation. Of how close he’d come to possibly losing this chance and opportunity that drove him to act not to mention the drugs suppressing most logical thoughts that might usually go through his mind at this point. So for now his fingers skimmed, her cheek, violence and force held restrained in favour of allowing himself to be more affectionate with her. Hands that had done so much damage over the years held to the softest of brushes they might not have even happened until he held the back of her head and pulled her close so that he might get even the briefest taste of her once more. Who knew when the opportunity would ever come again.

As they broke a small distance apart, breath warm and just a little faster his eyes drifted shut content to share this silence with her after his admission. Because who knew what the future held, but her response earned a soft snort “don’t wanna know just yet.” He dipped down once more to capture her lips, sweetly this time, taking his time about it to make sure she knew this mattered to him.

It was a few kisses later that Fane toed the door open with his foot and paused; tray laden with food in hand that he studied the pair in bed. Clearing his throat, he was grinning still, “you know, I was expecting more clothes to be askew by now. Need a guide in how to undress someone?” Though whether he spoke to Carrington or Faye was debatable, or perhaps he was addressing the both of them for his own damn amusement.

Faye knew she was dragging her feet. She knew that out of the three of them, even though she had voiced the fact that she wanted this just as they had, that she had yet to truly act on it. Other than coming up to speak with Carrington about things. Though that hadn’t turned out quite as she’d hoped. Quite as any of them had hoped. But they were here now. And that’s what mattered. Faye didn’t have to be doing this. She could’ve left him on his own. Gone downstairs with Fane. But what good would that have done?

So she’d stayed. And the progress they’d made was a mile ahead of where they’d been, drug-induced bravery or not. Faye kissed him back, letting her desire for him burn low in her belly, stoically keeping it from flaming higher. There would be time for that. Or she hoped there would be. Because Carrington was right: there was no guarantee of what tomorrow would bring. They might have to make a break for it. They might be forced to go their separate ways. They might be ambushed and-

Faye didn’t allow her mind to go there. It would be alright. The three of them had been doing this for a long time separately. And come out the other side each time. Together… together they would see Monarch fall to dust. “Me either,” she said quietly. Death wasn’t an option. Not now. Not for a very, very long time.

The creaking of the door pulled her attention from the man in front of her, She looked up, blushing again at Fane’s light-hearted teasing. From his position on his side, Carrington grunted and mumbled something about Fane knowing damn well he didn’t need any help undressing anyone. But the smell of food lured him to chance sitting up. Faye did as well, propping a pillow or two behind Carrington as he used his good arm to push back against the headboard. He gave her a long-suffering look, though there was affection there as well.

“I hope you have tea,” he said to Fane, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I feel like twice-warmed shit.”

Faye scooted out of the bed to help Fane with the tray. “Did you cook the whole pantry?” she grinned, looking at the amount of food he’d managed to put together.

To his credit, Fane commented no further than he did upon entry about undressing anyone but the grin remained a fixed feature of his expression as he walked further into the room. Arriving at the bed he let the others roll and adjust themselves until they were situated comfortably. Once they were he let Faye take one that he’d been balancing and the other for Carrington.

“I mean you look like twice-warmed shit so that’s hardly news to anyone here,” Fane needled in return waving off Carrington’s comment “yeah, yeah, I don’t have bloody octopus arms do I? Wait here.” He could hardly carry everything, now could he? Though in response to Faye’s question Fane winked but said nothing. “Here’s hoping you doing get that food poisoning you were complaining about hm? It’d be a shame if I managed to live up to those expectations.”

Of course, it was all light-hearted and Carrington with some help propped his tray on his lap spearing a piece of bacon with his fork and shoving it into his mouth with little preamble. Considering he lacked the ability to cut things up they would have to deal with bad manners, but after the night he had and everything that had happened he suddenly realised how hungry he felt and by the time Fane was walking back in with a tray of his own food, a mug of coffee and a teapot he was already using a hash brown to mop up the beans on the plate.

Faye and Carrington both just rolled their eyes at Fane, and Faye helped unload the food while Fane went back for the rest. She perched on one side of Carrington, leaving the other side for Fane if he wished, and tucked into her own food once everyone was situated.

Feeling a bit less foggy after a cup of strong tea and with a belly full of comfort food (that he and Faye both complemented Fane on), Carrington examined his arm for the first time. He looked thoughtful, if a bit sheepish, and just a tad regretful. Though he didn’t say anything just yet, needing to order his thoughts (and what he remembered from the last feverish 24 hours) before asking who’d wrapped him up like a Christmas ham. Wiggling his fingers, he propped the arm back up on a pillow. His tea was in his good hand, now propped on his blanket-covered knee.

“So… anything noteworthy come from that dusty old book while I’ve been nailing this place back together?” He glanced between Faye and Fane, taking a slow sip from his mug. “Nothing? Really? In nearly a week you two brainiacs haven’t translated anything useful?” He was teasing - mostly, since a part of him genuinely wanted and needed to know - and it showed in his tone.

Faye covered her mouth, speaking around a piece of bacon. “What was that thing you said was referenced a few times? That phrase that kept poppin’ up? Somethin’ ‘bout a dagger? A necklace n’ a ‘silver box’?” She looked over at Carrington. “Don’t know what they are, but that’s the rough translation. Or so our resident linguist says.”

Once the plates and dishes were handed out Fane clambered into the space beside Faye, the mattress dipping a little under his weight settling on it. Pouring himself a strong brew on the side table and taking a sip before he speared a portion of sausage and bacon together shovelling the food into his mouth with very little preamble. Carrington seemed to be a little more awake now and whether that was the food or a general combination of him feeling better, getting a serious amount of sleep and a decently cooked breakfast Fane couldn’t tell. Though all that really mattered was the fact that he was seemingly feeling a bit better.

Another mouthful of egg, buttered toast and mushrooms vanished into his mouth as Carrington queried about the manuscript he’d spent the last few days studying. Though Carrington’s teasing caused Fane to roll his eyes and snort, “you try working from an artefact in a long since gone unspoken language and then tell me how you fair.” Fane didn’t have the same consideration for manners as Faye though he spoke mostly in the gaps between washed down mouthfuls of the fry-up he’d prepared for them.

Though Faye’s mention of a dagger did make Fane nod, “yeah, some artefact-- similar age or thereabouts. Looks to be that…” Fane swallowed another mouthful of food before he continued “mostly the script talks of this ancient prophecy that at some point in the future the earth will suffer absolute devastation but the individual able to use or wield some sort of… blade or dagger I think-- with another item and wearing the necklace… They’ll have the ability to reshape the world.” He sounded dubious. It hardly made any sort of sense to him. End of the world type shenanigans. “I doubt it’ll truly do that, but the items may go together in some other way that has been lost to time.”

Carrington sipped his tea as Faye and Fane explained what they’d learned from the manuscript that had started this whole bloody mess. “The only dead language I need to anything about is Latin. Besides, that’s what you two or for. The brainwork.” Carrington wasn’t dim. Not by a longshot. He knew a smidge of Spanish, some Portugese, French… a fair bit of Latin. A sprinkling of phrases in a few Middle Eastern languages. All things he’d picked up while in the military and on his travels. But he was no linguist or academic like the others.

Fane continued, backing up what Faye said about the other items. He frowned as something tugged at the back of his still slightly foggy mind. Letting his head fall back against the headboard, he spent a few moments contemplating what it might be, while still listening intently to Fane’s explanation. As the other man finished - specifically mentioning some sort of necklace again, Carrington’s expression turned from one of concentration to one of realization. And then his eyes closed as he sighed.

“It wouldn’t happen to be a ceremonial necklace would it? About 2,000 years old? Maybe more?”

From behind her mug, Faye frowned and looked over at Fane. “Could be. Why?” Her words were both curious and cautious, unsure where Carrington was headed with the very specific question.

Carrington took another long breath. “This isn’t the first time I’ve worked for Monarch.” He wasn’t sure if the others were aware of that fact or not. He thought so, but he couldn’t be certain in his current fogginess. “About a year and half ago, maybe two… they sent me after an artifact - a centuries old necklace made of obsidian and jade - that was in a private collection in Prague. I lifted it, gave it to them. And they paid me. And that was it.”

“But there’re tons of obsidian blades from the pre-Columbian era. What’re the chances that it’s the one this book talks about?” Faye looked to Fane, asking for his input.

Fane was halfway to shovelling another fork-full of breakfast into his mouth when Carrington spoke and his hand wavered as he glanced aside at them. Setting it down he studied Carrington’s behaviour unsure if it was down to what they were discussing or whether he was feeling fatigued from the effort of sitting up, eating and talking after everything he’d been through. Not to mention the drugs he’d been given. But he did seem concerned over something and so Fane just waited.

Though the question as it was given was rather specific, a little too specific for his liking and Fane’s eyes narrowed a little so that he was squinting at Carrington. Not unkindly, but in a rather acute observational fashion. As though he were taking this information on board and was attempting to compute it in his head. Faye’s response was decent enough and Fane scratched his chin “there’s a drawing of it in the text, think you would recognise it if you saw it?”

“Yeah, probably?” Carrington wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that question. “But-- she’s right isn’t she? What’s… the odds of it being the same one?”

As it was dismissed by Faye as being any singular blade from that era and not the one being referenced in the doomsday book they had in their possession Fane just frowned a little deeper. “I mean… If you wanna discount the fact a multi-million corporation that is somehow in control of their own global private army didn’t manage to get their hands on the matching piece to go with that text that they were willing to murder the three of us over, sure, I guess but… I can’t help but feel like there’s a goal here. Hm? Why get pieces that don’t go together? A collection you’re willing to sell will be a goldmine if it’s of the same set and-- let’s say these doomsday sayings are true and having it does somehow make you almighty and able to shape the world to your whim…” Fane didn’t say it unkindly, but his expression spoke of the fact he wasn’t so convinced that the pieces would turn out to be coincidental but be related in some fashion. Not that he thought the latter was possible, but a jumped up cult of psychotic misguided believers could be led like lambs to the slaughter given the right evidence and arguments.

In truth, Carrington felt alright. A little woozy, a little foggy, and a bit like he’d been hit by a small trolley car and backed over once or twice, but all things considered, he felt decent. So it was more the sudden ringing of the alarm bells in his head, and the subsequent unease that the current discussion was stirring to life. He saw the gazes of the others and explained himself, answering Fane’s question about a drawing. Carrington didn’t know all that much about such items, so as Faye said, one could look just like a dozen others.

He stared off into the distance, tapping his teacup with the fingers of his bandaged hand. He was listening, of course. The expression on his face said as much. It was simply how he processed things. Find a spot on the wall, a focal point, so nothing could distract him from the information he was being given.

As Carrington listened, Faye sat down her fork. What Fane said rang true. The odds were… well, the odds were astronomical. One artifact owned - previously owned, Faye reminded herself - by a Czech billionaire being the same one referenced in the text? Though the coincidences surrounding it’s acquisition made Faye frown. She didn’t believe in coincidence. Not in 99.9% of cases. There was the overhanging umbrella of Monarch being the company that had been after both the necklace and the text. They’d gotten one fairly easily, thanks to Carrington. And sent three people after the second. Then tried to kill those three people when it was in hand.

“No. No, Fane’s right,” Faye said. She sat down her plate, using both hands while she spoke. “Monarch isn’t doing this for the money. They’ve got billions, right?” She looked to Carrington for confirmation. He nodded, gesturing that she was right on the last point at least as his eyes flicked to Fane and back.

Faye continued. “If it was just about money, a company like that isn’t going to waste the time, effort, and manpower it would cost to off us to save a puny five mill. Or… well, fifteen in this case. Anyway… they’d pay up and go on their merry way. Like they did when Carrington stole the necklace.”

“I didn’t steal it. I acquired it,” he murmured to himself.

Faye raised an eyebrow at him, but got to the point. “What I’m sayin’ is, we’ve all worked jobs for people that wipe their asses with hundred dollar bills. Not once have I ever had anyone come after me like this. Ever.” She swallowed, a fleeting look of something bothersome passing over her face, but it was gone before anyone could comment. “I think what we said in the beginning still applies: they don’t want us knowing what’s in that book. And for me, coincidence is mostly bullshit.” She looked at Carrington. “In this case, I’d say the odds of that necklace being the one in the book, or at least one they think is referenced in there, are pretty good.”

Though that brought another point to light. “But if they didn’t have the book, where did they get their information from?” Faye asked. Though that was a whole other can of worms that she really didn’t want to open.

Carrington sighed. “Who knows. Maybe they Googled it.” He ignored the slightly withering look from Faye and turned back to Fane. “Show me this rendering. I’ll tell you if it’s the same one.”

“We’re all thieves here, no one’s judging you moody,” Fane needled lightly earning a huff from Carrington taking another drink of his tea as the others discussed their current situation. He was of the same opinion, a company like this wouldn’t have bothered to try and remove them if they didn’t feel it necessary to leave no trail of what it was they were up to. Which meant there had to be something larger at play here, Fane just wasn’t quite so sure what that was presently.

So hearing Faye agree to that general theory Fane pressed his lips together though Carrington’s reference of just google it did result in an eyeroll. But he nodded, “yeah, lemme finish up eating then I’ll go and fetch it.” Something niggled him though, and he scratched his chin as he pondered on it until his plate was clear and the tea he’d made drained from his cup.

How had they know about the necklace?

There was something there, something that wasn’t quite piecing together and Fane didn’t quite know what to make of it so he put a mental pin in it for now. Why did it sound so familiar? Realising he’d retreated into his own head Fane shook it off and set about loading up his tray “alright, let me take these down and then I’ll grab it.” He wasn’t so sure why he felt uneasy but chalked it up to some sort of mild paranoia about this case. Nothing else made sense.

Carrington huffed but didn’t say much else as he finished up his own food and tea. He agreed with the others. That this job was different. It wasn’t just a job, not this time. Something far darker and far more complicated was at work here. And while Carrington didn’t believe fairy tales about the end of the world, or any of that sort of rubbish, he knew others did. And belief in something could make people dangerous. Monarch was already dangerous.

He rubbed his good hand over his face as Fane packed up the dishes when they were all done.

Faye had gotten up as well, and Carrington turned to watch her rummage through his drawers once Fane had disappeared briefly. His eyes tracked down her small form, not in a leering way, but merely in observation of how she had to stand on her tiptoes to see into the top of the dresser. “I could fashion you a stool for that, if you like?” he said, a bit surprised that he was able to find a bit of humor in himself, current situation and all.

Faye paused and looked back over her shoulder. “Well, we can’t all be giants now can we?” She managed to find a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, as well a long-sleeved jumper. “Do you need some help with these?” she asked as she laid them on the bed.

Carrington shook his head. “No. But the offer is appreciated. I think actually… I’d quite like a shower once I’ve looked at the professor’s book. Might need some help.” He wiggled his wrapped fingers at her. “Invalid and all.”

Faye was about to comment, but Fane returned before she could. “Carrington says he stinks,” she told Fane. “Said you should wash his back for him.”

Fane had stopped off downstairs in the kitchen to deposit the items in the dishwasher that would be put on later before he looped around on his journey to the library. It had been here that most of his days and nights had been spent working on attempting to decode the text and so it was from here he picked up the notes he’d made in his journal which included (a rather decent in his opinion) copy of the blade depicted in the original text. Scooping it up and tucking it under his arm as he returned back upstairs. He did however look a little confused at Faye’s announcement.

“And there was me thinking you would jump at the opportunity to get his clothes off if earlier was anything to go by,” Fane squinted at her a little though it was all in jest. “Or is it you just want me to get wet too so you can have the both of us without clothes hm? I see what you’re up to.” For good measure he waggled his brows at her but soon enough was circling round to the edge of the bed where Carrington had sat up and was now perched.

Sitting down beside him Fane flicked open to the relevant page, letting Carrington take it in his good hand and study the image. “Shit,” was his first remark followed up by “yeah… That’s it,” he manipulated the book to tap at a part of the hilt “I remember it distinctly had that symbol carved into its hilt… That’s the one I took for them.”

Fane pulled a face, “well, at least we know where one piece of the puzzle is… I guess that’s one bonus,” downside being they were tied in terms of items; their trio with the manuscript and Monarch with the dagger. “Guess it means we need to try and figure out where this box thing is.”

“All things in due time. Isn’t that what you Brits say?” Faye commented to Carrington at Fane’s tease.

“I do what I want. Isn’t that what you Americans say?” Carrington quipped back.

Faye merely tipped an eyebrow and cleared her throat. She was not thinking about the pair of them wet and soapy… together… all sweaty and- “Anyway. The picture?” They had a job to do after all. And that job wasn’t just each other. Oh for- “You’re certain?” Faye asked, coming over to look at the image herself. Though she’d already seen it several times.

“Yes. I’m certain.” Carrington’s eyes flicked to Faye. There was a slight edge of his old tone in the words, but it didn’t go any further than the one comment. “It was in Prague less than two years ago. I’ve never heard mention of a silver box.” His eyes turned back to Fane. “If I were Monarch,” he said to Fane, agreeing with him, “that’s exactly what I’d be doing. They know we have the book. But we’ve ghosted them. For now. How long that’ll last…” He clamped off the rest. They all knew their time was limited. Best not to waste it.

Faye sighed, moving off to pace in front of the fireplace. “Could ‘silver box’ be a metaphor?” she asked Fane. “For something else?”

“The picture picture or mental picture you just had?” Fane shot her a slightly lascivious and utterly knowing look. Because Faye was good, damn good but there were some things that were hard to mask and where her mind had gone following his quip was not one of those she could easily conceal.

Unfortunately for them all, talk moved on to the topic of the necklace and with Carrington’s confirmation Fane clicked his tongue lightly. “Well, guess we know what our next move is-- Get the box before the creepy ghost organisation with mega-millionaires bank rolling them hm?” His tone was dry, but despite the seemingly impossible prospects he had decent hopes for them. Who knew how long it had taken them to figure out their last clue, not to mention this one.

Faye’s question though caused Fane to glance over at her, “I’m… not sure. Possibly. I’ll have to keep researching and see whether I come up with anything… I’ll keep trying to work through the manuscript. The more of it we translate and understand the better chances we have at piecing all of this together.” There wasn’t much else to be done beyond that.

“Well, for now, I’m gonna get a shower and try not to slip and crack my skull open in the process,” Carrington announced over the slightly morbid insinuation that hung over their prospects of success. He glanced at the window, “might go on a walk too… Clear skies.”

“If you’re going on a walk later Faye’s going with you… I don’t want you wandering off into some… bush whilst high on whatever it is meds you got dosed up with hm?”

“The picture,” Faye said, cheeks flaming red as she did her best to ignore Fane’s comments. He knew she was in need of a good snog - or more - and teasing her was nearly cruel at this point. Relatively speaking, of course. She knew he meant no harm. Thankfully, the subject changed to something relevant. “Oh, well that should be easy enough. The three of us and our huge pool of personal resources against… what was it you said? Ghost organization being funded by billionaires? Sounds about even.” Her sarcasm practically dripped from the words, but she turned her cynicism inwards and tried to think.

“We need to get online somehow. Without getting dinged by anyone. I still have access to some of the archival networks. I can look up private collections, auctions, the works. Might be able to dig up some information that way.” She glanced at Carrington. “Let me wrap that arm in something so it doesn’t get wet?”

Carrington sighed, looking at the bulky bandage before relenting. It would have to come off if it got wet. “Fine,” he said to Faye, though the comment served as an answer to Fane’s comment as well. “Would either of you like to put a bell around my neck while we’re at it? I’m not going to wander off and disappear onto the moors.” The return of his usual acerbic manner - though not as bitingly sharp as it had been before his incident - was a good sign. Or at least Faye thought so. It meant he was feeling better.

“Don’t have any bells,” Faye said, “but Fane could probably fix your meds up into a biscuit so you don’t taste them.” She grinned and shook the bottle of antibiotics at him, indicating he should take the morning dose now that he’d eaten.

Carrington simply glared at her before reaching for the bottle. He popped the top with his good hand, tapped one pill into his mouth and swallowed it dry before recapping and tossing it back to Faye. “I’m not a dog,” he said, taking his clothes from the bed and moving to the bathroom. “Now come wrap my bloody arm so we can get on with it…”

There were several things left to be said in response but for once Fane let it be. Let Faye have the time because while it was good natured teasing he wasn’t doing it to be cruel or anything else. Perhaps later. They’d just have to see how it all went he supposed.

“I’ll see about getting us set up,” Fane said in response to the topic of getting them online. It would take a little bit but they would manage it well enough. “We’ll need some equipment,” but Fane had contacts that would be able to get them that stuff. Fane glanced between the pair of them as they quipped back and forth unable to help the little smile at Carrington’s attitude. “Well, someone seems to be feeling better. We’ll get some cling-film and get it wrapped up.” There was no point wasting the work Jess had done. “Think you could grab it for me while I’m sorting him out?”

Carrington gave him a look as if to say I can still hear you. But it was ignored in favour of talking to Faye. Only as he took the meds Fane just grinned slightly only then addressing him “I mean you're very good at following orders… and you come when I tell you sooo… I would be willing to debate that fact.” Fane was still grinning as Carrington flipped him the bird with his good hand and vanished into the bathroom for whoever was going to do his arm.

Faye nodded, and Carrington made a sound of agreement as well. Online resources and archives would be invaluable if they were going to narrow down where this last item might be. Faye could do that at least. She’d worked in the archives at her last legitimate job before she was ‘let go.’ They were all idiots anyway.

She made her way towards the door, in search of the plastic wrap Fane had asked for. “I’ll be right back,” she said, covering her mouth to hide her grin at Fane’s comment to Carrington.

As for the man himself, he started the shower and let it run while he made to brush his teeth and stare at himself in the mirror for a long moment afterwards. He really did look like hell. He needed a shave, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He turned off the sink as he heard Fane enter. “So which one of you is responsible for wrapping me up like a ham?” he asked, scraping his other hand back through his hair after one last look in the mirror.

They would have to see how things came along, for now though Faye moved off to find the wrap and Fane followed Carrington into the bathroom. He hung back a little as Carrington inspected himself in the mirror, he really did look a mess. Though after everything that he had been through Fane would have been surprised if he looked anything but that. He certainly needed a shave and a haircut, the former was something Fane could assist him with the latter? Maybe Faye could aid there. He’d mention it to her.

“No idea, but you woke up in bed with Faye so let’s go with it’s her taking care of you ‘cause you can’t seem to take care of yourself hm?” Fane gave him a look, knowing quite clearly he was also referencing Carrington’s hand and what its neglect had led to the night before. “Can you really blame her for being worried about you?” Fane stepped up behind Carrington being an inch or so taller he looked at Cari’s reflection raising a hand to lightly touch the other man’s beard “this needs to go, I don’t like it.”

Carrington huffed ducking away a little from the touch, “so what if you don’t? Maybe I want to keep it.”

Fane pulled a face, “bull, look at you, it looks weird at least trim it or… something jesus.” Fane occupied himself then by gripping Carrington’s shirt giving it a small yank until the man got the hint and with a dry comment of being able to undress himself let Fane manipulate his shirt off him and over the bandages wrapped about his arm. Once it was off Fane dropped it in the corner and took a moment then to inspect Cari’s arms, shoulders, back and chest generally for any other signs or complications that might make themselves known. Happy that there wasn’t anything else he glanced back as he heard the door open “in here,” he called to her so she would know where they were though she could have figured it herself more than likely but it didn’t hurt.

Carrington looked at Fane, his expression saying that he didn’t believe half of what the other man was saying. “Faye did this?” He held up his arm. “Well, remind me to thank her then.” He met Fane’s eyes in the mirror as the taller man stepped up behind him. “She also have those medications in her bag? Antibiotics and Oxy?”

He didn’t comment on whether he blamed Faye for worrying over him (he didn’t) and instead snapped back at Fane’s comment about his beard. “You trim it if you don’t like it,” Carrington said, feeling a bit obstinate after waking up to the realization that he’d been out for the count for the last twelve hours or so. And hadn’t had a choice in what had happened to his person. Not that whatever had been done wasn’t absolutely necessary (that part was mute when it came to being slightly stubborn). He stood still and let Fane undress and inspect his upper body, sighing to himself as he heard Faye’s return. Just what he needed: the two of them ganging up on him.

Faye came in, brandishing a roll of plastic wrap, having heard a bit of the conversation before. She wasn’t sure what Fane wanted Carrington to know about last night - the trip to the vet’s office and Jess’ knowledge that they were here to be specific - so she kept quiet for now. Though Faye thought he should know that someone knew they were up here.

“I’d say your track record for makin’ good choices where your personal well-bein’ is concerned is pretty much shit.” She leaned against the doorjamb, crossing her arms. “So says the broken hand and near-miss blood infection.” Her eyes moved over Carrington again, her previous timidness and softness hidden back behind sharp humor and no-nonsense attitude. “You look homeless. Let him shave you.”

The question about the medication and pieces caused Fane to look at Carrington for a moment, not exactly surprised more a little confused about what he was asking. “You remember anything about last night?” he figured not, but depending on the answer it would explain a fair bit. Not that Fane was deliberately keeping information from Carrington, he simply hadn’t entirely understood what the man was asking until now. “No… She didn’t, we ended up having to take you to a friend of mine’s-- and before you jump the gun, no, we didn’t go to the hospital,” Fane said with a small raise of his hand. “My friend splinted your hand, Faye helped to bandage it…”

Carrington’s eyes narrowed at the mention of going to a friend’s “where’d we go then? Seems pretty convenient you being able to get this stuff… Especially when we’re out in the sticks.”

“She’s uh-- well, she’s a vet. Lives in a town not far from here” which just made Carrington’s earlier remark about not being a dog all the more ironic considering where they had ended up taking him to be treated. “Jess said that she’d X-Ray your hand and cast it properly next week if we brought you back down to her clinic.”

The soldier grew sullenly quiet then, seeming to need the time to digest this fact. It was at this point Faye arrived back and Fane glanced over at her with a small nod of thanks. “She’s right,” he said indicating towards her before taking the wrap in hand and starting about the task of wrapping up Carrington’s bandages so that no water would get into them. “Shower first then I’ll sort the mess your face is in.”

Carrington let Fane wrap his hand while the ex-soldier thought over what the others had done in order to secure his well-being. In the grand scheme of things, it might not seem like much. But for someone like Carrington, it meant… it meant everything. No one had ever stuck around long enough to see through the thick layers of sharp words, bullshit, and casual indifference that he’d built up over the years. No one had ever cared that much about him, besides his mother. The steam from the shower was starting to fill the room. The glass was fogging a bit once Fane was done wrapping Carrington’s hand. Suddenly, he blinked, and said, “I’m sorry. For letting it get that bad.” The words were said softly, but in a tone that they others would know to be genuine. Carrington looked up, eyes moving between the two of them. “Thank you.” The moment didn’t last long, and even before Faye and Fane could register what the other man had said, he was looking away again. “Let’s see about washing my ass then, shall we?”

For her part, Faye both watched Carrington intently, and tried not to be too obvious as Fane wrapped the bandage. He was worrying over something in that head of his, she could tell. And when it finally came out, Faye’s own reaction wasn’t what she’d thought. There was no ‘I told you so,’ or ‘that’s what I thought.’ Nothing meant to hurt or shame or make Carrington feel badly for what he’d allowed to fester. He was simply being true to his nature. And for that, Faye - and she assumed Fane as well - could never blame him.

“‘S alright,” Faye said quietly. Her tone was much different than it had been a moment before, touched as she was by Carrington’s apology. “You gave us a bit of a scare though. Stubborn ass.” She smiled at him as he moved to the shower.

Fane understood to a point about how difficult it was for Carrington to say these sorts of things, so his apology was met with a small smile and a hand raising to lightly pat his shoulder. A small affection but enough to show that he’d been heard. “Yeah though for that to happen I’d suggest taking the trousers off hm?” Hearing Faye speak and admit something that was the case for both of them Fane just looked down a little, feeling… he didn’t really know what honestly but he’d ponder on it later. Setting the wrap aside just to occupy his hands with something.

“Oh-- yeah,” Carrington was a little hazy from the new drugs he’d taken this morning after the food though not half so bad as he was the night before. Though he did have the decency to look down at Faye’s mention of scaring them, he didn’t seem sure of what to say and Fane spoke instead.

“Just-- don’t let it get this bad if anything ever happens again, tell us so we can help,” because that was what they all wanted to do at the end of the day. Carrington’s eyes flickered to Fane and the two men shared a look before the ex-soldier dipped his head.

“Okay. I will.”

It was enough for Fane who glanced over at Faye unsure if she was staying or going to get ready herself considering Carrington would have to strip down and she seemed rather insistent about certainly not being the one to shower him herself. He didn’t want her to feel like she was being kicked out or anything, but he also didn’t want her uncomfortable and feel obligated to stay if she would rather go and get washed herself. So Fane gave her an out if she wanted it “I’ll get him sorted and then we’ll regroup after? I’ll probably shave that monstrosity off his face too while we’re at it so might still be in here by the time you’re done.”

When Carrington agreed to let them know if anything came up in the future, Faye nodded. She felt slightly awkward standing there after that, waiting on him to drop his pants. A bit out of the loop even, since Carrington didn’t look at her again after that. Though she tried not to read into it. They’d all said their part in regards to what they wanted here. The only one to not take the leap yet - relatively speaking - was Faye. But she was working on it.

So when Fane gave her an out, she almost didn’t take it. She didn’t want to seem like she was running away. Because she wasn’t. Was she still scared about all this? Not just Monarch and what that could mean in the future, but this? The three of them and whatever was growing between them? Yes, she was. She was terrified.

“I’ll just…” She gestured over her shoulder. “Go. Get cleaned up. Um. I’ll be back.” With a tight smile she turned and left, heading to her room to shower and get a fresh change clothes. And sort her head. If that was possible.

Carrington turned his head slightly to watch her go. A frown crossed his face as he pondered how different Faye was than Fane. But how similar as well. Feeling eyes on him, he glanced over to see Fane watching him. Huffing slightly through his nose, he got rid of his joggers and moved to step into the shower. He kept his twice wrapped arm out of the spray, holding it aloft and bracing it against the wall. “Go on. I know you have something to say. I can see it milling around inside that head of yours.”

Fane didn’t see Faye taking some time to try and order everything that was happening as her running away, simply as her ordering everything for when the pair finally spoke without his presence hovering nearby. Carrington had tried in a roundabout way to make his intent clear even if it had backfired but Fane had spoken with them respectively and knew it was just a matter of explanation that would eventually be solved. Perhaps when they went on their walk later.

When it was just the pair of them left he did study Carrington for a long moment, nonplussed as he shucked his trousers and stepped under the spray soaking himself in water. The trails dripped and run in smooth rivulets over the ex-soldier’s body and Fane found himself interested in watching a couple trailing down the slopes of Carrington’s shoulders when he was brought from his thoughts by Carrington’s passing remark. “Hardly anything new, just that you two need a chance to talk and Faye needs to explain some things I think… There’s a reason behind what she did the other day and I think she needs to talk to you about it before anything can move forwards.”

Fane didn’t know if he was right or not, but it was more or less what he’d gathered from everything that had happened. But he supposed it didn’t matter, he let Carrington soak for a while and scrub his hair clean from the sweat and fever he’d had the prior night. Once he started scrubbing himself down one-handedly Fane intervened when he seemed to be having some difficulty, taking the sponge and mindful of the spray started scrubbing at Carrington’s back and down his body. He got a little spray here and there but thankfully for the most part stayed dry.

Once Carrington was lathered and washed the soap from his body Fane stepped out from the stall and found a towel for Carrington to wrap himself in. Moving to pull a stool out from under the sink Fane knew Carrington would sit and thus started to fill the basin with warm water so that he could set about sorting Carrington’s beard out.

“I gathered it was something like that,” Carrington said as he dipped his head beneath the water. He let it run over his face, then his shoulders, then set about the process of getting cleaned up. Once upon a time, he might have tried to suffer through bathing himself even with a busted hand. But now… now Carrington was just tired. Not really in a physical sense - he felt much better than he had just a scant hour or two before - but in a mental sense. Not so much with the work, it was what it was, but with the constant need he felt to always be on guard. Never letting his defenses drop. Never letting anyone in. Always letting his stubborn pride get in the way of ever connecting with another person. Not that there had ever been anyone, but the fact remained that his existence was lonely. And much harder than it had to be. Because of who he was. Because of who the world and his experiences had shaped him into.

He let Fane help him finish up, closing his eyes and letting himself enjoy the pressure of the other man’s hands working the soap over his body. When they were done, he felt exponentially better. Without too much protest - just another vaguely put-upon sigh that was merely a trademark sound at this point - he dried off as best he could and wrapped the towel loosely around his waist before sitting down on the stool.

Down the hall, Faye was finishing up her own shower. She’d taken no real joy in it, moving mechanically to wash her hair and body, then rinse the soap off. She shaved her legs and armpits, grimacing at the prickliness that had been allowed to grow over the last few days. God what she wouldn’t give for a long, hot soak in the bath. Her skin would thank her, she knew. Maybe she could make up a sugar scrub for herself. Get rid of the layers of dead skin that traipsing about in the jungle had left to build up. Maybe she’d go back to the market, get some of those mudmasks to help ease the damage done by the wind and sun to her complexion.

Christ she sounded ridiculous, even in her head. They weren’t here for her to have a vacation. They were here to work. So what if she looked like she did? Who cared?

You do , her inner voice said.

“Shut up,” Faye said as she turned off the water and got out. She dried quickly, brushed her teeth, sorted her mess of hair as best she could and threw on some clean jeans and a long-sleeved jumper. She headed back down the hall, and when she didn’t hear the shower running, she cleared her throat before peeking back into the bathroom.

Faye didn’t say anything, just stood and watched as Fane was starting to get rid of Carrington’s scruffy, unkempt beard.

There wasn’t much conversation that happened between Fane and Carrington then, they both knew Carrington and Faye were going to talk at some point and that point was likely sometime over the next day or few days. At least, that was what Fane hoped. So once Carrington had the towel around his waist and perched on the stool Fane took the time to check the length of his beard. Grabbing a pair of scissors first to cut it down to a far more reasonable and manageable length, the pieces falling to the floor to be cleaned up later.

Once Fane had it at a length he was more happy with then he lathered up his hands with shaving cream which was then soaped onto Carrington’s jaw thick enough that the suds turned the lower half of his face into a white frothy mess. Once Fane was satisfied that he was decently lathered next came the razor that was soaked quickly before he started to work at shaving Carrington’s face in smooth neat little tugs, occasionally having to tilt the other man’s head this way and that to get the right angle. Every now and then Fane stopped to wash the razor in the water before he set about the task once more pulling Carrington’s skin taut as he worked around his upper lip.

Fane was just soaking the razor again when Faye arrived and he sent a smile over to her, “he looks better already doesn’t he? I think he could use a haircut too while we’re at it.”

Carrington for his part sent Fane a long-suffering look, “you’re insufferable.”

“I know, it’s a charm, don’t you think?” he asked Faye with a grin as he returned back to Carrington and continued to shave him until he was down to the other man’s neck.

“I’m surprised he let you that close to his neck with somethin’ so sharp,” Faye said, though she was smiling. Carrington did look better, not that she minded the beard, but considering his current state, the unkempt facial hair only lended to a rather haggard appearance. “What makes you think I know anythin’ about cuttin’ hair?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Just ‘cause I’m a woman? That’s quite sexist of you.”

Carrington snorted, but kept his eyes closed. “One of many,” he murmured in answer to Fane’s question.

Faye could only shrug as she agreed with him. “If you really want a trim though, I can try. Don’t blame me if you end up bald though.”

They chatted idly while Fane finished up Carrington’s shave. Carrington himself remained fairly quiet, content to listen to the voices of the others. It was something he was very good at: quiet observation. It was what had made him good at his job when he’d still been in his unit. Listening, watching, finding out things that needed knowing. For instance, there was an ease to the way Faye spoke to Fane. An ease that didn’t quite exist yet between her and himself. Yet that same ease existed when she spoke to him across the buffer of Fane’s presence. The other man was the centerpoint it seemed. Around which he and Faye currently circled each other. He wondered idly if Fane had slept with her yet. If that was part of the reason they seemed comfortable with each other.

Surprisingly, there was no jealousy in the thought. If anything, it stirred another type of thought. One he’d tried to avoid as much as possible. But it had passed through his head now, and there was no stopping it. He could hardly move with the razor scraping away at his neck, so as the consequences of his errant mind started to make themselves known, he adjusted his hands, hoping to quell any further… complications.

“I’ll pass for now, thanks,” Carrington said, unsure if he could handle the feel of Faye’s hands in his hair right now.

“It’s not sexist if I’m being honest, I just think if I end up trying he’ll end up with something lopsided,” Fane glanced at the other man with a grin knowing he couldn’t move very well with how Fane had him held. Fane settled into the quietness of the task at hand, making the odd remark and comment to Faye every now and then as he worked. Slowly the shaving cream was removed from Carrington’s jaw leaving him clean-shaven as Fane slowly worked down his jaw in precise and mindful strokes of the blade. He wasn’t aware of Carrington’s musings, or ponderings, Faye and he had shared nothing more than that moment in the laundry room the other day but he would be a liar to say he hadn’t thought of sharing more than just that brief rendezvous with her.

Fane did notice how Carrington adjusted a little in his seat, though he put it down simply to being uncomfortable on the short stool and nothing more than that. Why would he? There was nothing in particular about this situation that was enticing so for once he didn’t think of anything other than the situation that was simply at hand. “You do need a cut at some point,” but Fane didn’t push it and instead finished up down Carrington’s neck grabbing a spare towel to wipe the excess cream off his face “there you go, smooth as a baby’s bottom,” he quipped affectionately patting Carrington’s cheek before he pushed back to stand.

“You alright to get dressed?” Fane asked Carrington, considering Fane was now the only one not dressed and his mattress would also need dragging back into his room from where it was discarded on the floor.

“I’m fine, yes,” Carrington said, huffing as Fane patted his cheek. He needed a moment to sort himself out anyway. Getting up right now wasn’t an option, not if he wanted to avoid any distractions. Not that they wouldn’t be welcome ones, but they truly did have business to get on with. They’d spent enough time dallying around already. No thanks to his own stupidity.

Faye pushed off the doorjamb once Fane was done with Carrington’s shave. “I’m just gonna go down and see to a few things. If you still wanna go for that walk… I wouldn’t mind seeing the grounds?”

She said this to Carrington, who glanced over at her. After a moment’s thought, he nodded. “Alright. Quarter past then?” It was closing in on 9 am. Still early, but much later than any of them usually allowed. Though Faye despised mornings.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. I’ll um… I can make up a sling for your arm too. So you don’t have to worry about bangin’ it on anything.” Faye gave a small smile after that and disappeared again.

Carrington watched her go and scrubbed his good hand over his face once she was out of sight. “Christ save me from difficult women…” he muttered to himself.

With the two seeming to sort their day out between them, Fane glanced between them content that at least they weren’t bickering and set about cleaning up. Emptying the sink as he listened to them organise when they would be heading out, “it’s probably going to be a bit overgrown out there but hardly comparable to the jungle,” Fane jested lightly which did make Carrington roll his eyes.

When Faye headed off and Fane had finished washing the sink out, he did snort at Carrington’s passing remark “don’t let her hear you say that.”

“I have better sense than to let that happen.”

“Doubtful, but I’ll take your word for it on this occasion.” Carrington muttered something Fane didn’t wish to repeat, though it did make him laugh “I’ll leave you to sort your morning wood out hm? Nice attempt to hide it,” Fane remarked knowing Carrington should have gotten up by now but his frame still perched on the stool indicated something else was up - rather literally.

“Oh shut up you dick.”

“I’m not the one with the dick issues right now mate,” Fane laughed, patted Carrington on the shoulder before slinking through the door to go get ready himself. The sound of the mattress being dragged out with him as he shuffled back to his room with it echoing in his wake.

At quarter past on the dot, Carrington arrived downstairs having dressed in a shirt, jumper, jeans and a jacket. Though he was presently eyeing his boots rather disdainfully considering doing them up one handed was going to prove a far sight harder than any of his other tasks today.

#explorer au #scene

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