#this whole thing went through many moments of looking unsalvageable but in the end it is probably one of my best drawings of them

[chiropteracupola]

the wind and sea do follow thee /

and all the ledges calling thee...

[cdroloisms]

haha your snippit abt the dispenser got me thinking.

Dream gets let out of prison and he talks constantly, whatever is on his mind. And he's positive all the time. To a fault where people walk over him. And it doesn't make sense because he was tortured right???? But after an incident they find out it's because he hates the sound of silence and needs constant reminders that other people are there. Also he was punished for any negative emotions in the prison so his default is happy now,,,

hi anon !! this concept makes me SO goddamn sad ,, the idea that he Has to be happy bc anything else would mean punishment im so *punches the walls*

this ,, ficlet is honestly. pretty ooc, not really related to the ask at all, and mostly an excuse for me to cry abt c!dream and c!punz for an excessive amount of time (technically the vote on twitter was supposed to have this as c!sapnap pov, but i just wrote one for him so i went for c!punz instead. mostly bc i wanted to write him LMAO). hopefully someone enjoys it despite *gestures vaguely* all of that mess

tw: trauma, disordered eating, implied torture/abuse, blood, injuries, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional distress, thoughts of murder/mercy killing, mentioned animal death, dark content

In the end, it’s all rather anticlimactic, the complete opposite of Dream’s vault and the whole fiasco of adrenaline and theatrics that had made up that day. Quackity ended up having one too many drinks, bragged about the wrong thing to the wrong person - Punz doesn’t know the specifics, only knows that one thing has led to another and suddenly Sapnap was screaming at his ex-fiancé, sword pointed at his chest and tears streaming down his eyes in the middle of the Community House floor, everyone else stood around and watching. A look into Quackity’s office said everything he didn’t - the chests and chests of used and new tools, shiny and sharpened and completely rusted over with blood and everything in between. There’s been a balled up shirt in the wastebasket, completely unsalvageable from how saturated it was with blood, more red than white, and perhaps most chilling of all the calendar, marked with X after X in red pen, going back months and speaking to their utter failure to see what had been happening all but right in front of them.

With Quackity down, Sam caved not too long after, and with his input getting into the prison was no challenge at all. The only thing holding them back were bad memories and the tense, worried edge to Sam’s jaw as he led the small group of them - himself and Sapnap, actually entering the facility, Bad and Puffy waiting outside - carrying them through winding corridor after winding corridor and lava pit after lava pit, until they’d come to stand before a chasm filled with flowing lava, slowly draining before the main cell.

“I- I have to warn you,” Sam had muttered, uncharacteristically hesitant, “it looks…pretty bad,” and Punz would’ve questioned him further, but the lava had fallen far enough to reveal the topmost edge of the cell, so they let Sapnap hound the Warden for information as they directed their full attention on the cell itself and holy shit.

Nothing Sam said could’ve possibly have prepared them for the sight - it was a complete fucking bloodbath, crimson painting the walls and smeared over the floor and splattered over every visible surface like some abstract art experiment gone wrong. The stench of iron and burning flesh and viscera was awful, even over the gap marked by the still-draining lava. Punz strained his eyes; at the very back of the cell, huddled, unmoving, was a similarly bloodstained shape that must’ve been Dream. They remember the crack of Sapnap’s knuckles meeting Sam’s face and breaking his nose, remember themselves chucking a pearl and feeling along Dream’s neck desperately for a pulse - everything beyond that became a swirl of voices and panic and crying that makes their head hurt to think about, so they don’t.

Recovery is…messy. The physical side had been bad enough - pulling Dream out of the cell, barely breathing, limp in his arms and far too light, all Punz could think about was a sheep he’d found a year ago, frail and struggling to breathe, one he’d ended up killing - quick and painless - with a sword through the skull because it seemed kinder than letting it suffer. Watching Dream struggle on the bed, laid up in Bad’s mansion because none of them knew if he’d survive going any further, body resisting the potions they’d slowly forced down his throat after being so over-saturated on them, temperature spiking and heat baking into his skin like the lava from the prison had been imprinted onto his body, Punz feels the same strange mixture of pity and unease, wonders if it’d be a hell of a lot kinder if they just put him out of his fucking misery.

Still, because Dream is a stubborn bastard, against all odds, he ends up surviving - his fever breaks, the potions begin taking effect, and a few tireless, aching days later his eyes flutter open, lucid for the first time in a week. Punz isn’t even in the room when he wakes, only knows that it happens because the too-quiet room suddenly erupts in noise and activity, muffled thumps and sounds of a struggle undercutting Bad’s frantic calls for someone to help, anyone, and they run into the room to find Dream thrashing on the bed, wounds reopened and blood dripping onto the sheets, eyes wild and wide as his head whips from side to side so hard Punz is half-afraid that he’ll straight up break his neck. Somehow, worst of all, not a single scream falls from his lips, nothing but muffled whines squeezing past his mouth, clenched shut, and for a singular, awful second they wonder how long it took before he realized that screaming was useless.

Fortunately enough for them, or unfortunately, it’s not like he can tell the fucking difference anymore, the panic and strain end up with Dream passing out altogether, and they trade uneasy glances with Bad before going to clean off the worst of his wounds. If everything they’re doing feels hopeless, dressing up wounds that’ll be torn open hours later when Dream is awake enough to feel fear but not much else because he’s forgotten what it’s like to not be afraid - well, that’s for them to think and everyone else to pretend not to agree with.

Weeks pass along the same vein - Dream wakes up, panics; they try to calm him down, fails; he falls back into unconsciousness, and they move on and pretend that they’re cleaning up wounds from battle and not from someone that’s literally been tortured for months on end. People stop by, occasionally; Puffy spends more time than not inside the mansion, but hardly ever enters the door into Dream’s room, Sapnap and George drop by occasionally with potion brewing supplies that the rest of them can’t go out to get; once, he’d gone out to the front door to find a chest with an enchanted golden apple, sender nowhere in sight. He knows that the server is busy; Quackity’s admission had brought more than a few secrets to light, and from what they understand, the political fallout has been pretty damn messy. Still, he stays in the mansion, and watches.

He doesn’t exactly know why he stays. They’re not a stellar healer, not beyond what they know to dress their own wounds, and spend most of their time doing odd-and-ends tasks for Bad, who looks more tired than ever. Maybe it’s because he’s seen Dream at his worst more than the rest of them, had been there through his entire fall from grace, watched as his eyes became clouded with anger and madness and a single, desperate hope that he’d chased at the cost of his world and himself. Maybe it’s because they have no ties to the rest of the server - not to Las Nevadas, falling apart under the scrutiny of the eyes that now fall upon it, not Snowchester, caught up in the chaos, not the Badlands, half-dissolved after the fiasco of the Egg and with Sam’s actions having just come to light. Maybe it’s because above everything else, he feels guilty.

They’d thought the prison was the answer. It’d seemed too simple, back in that Vault - a perfect answer, because everyone else was perfectly happy to watch Dream die another time and some part of them had clenched painfully at the thought even thought they knew it was for the best. The prison meant that he’d be alive, if angry, and at some point when he had the time or the nerve or the guts he could go and visit, and they would talk, and Dream would be angry but with time maybe he could even understand.

They hadn’t wanted this. He can’t imagine anyone wanting this.

“Punz?” They don’t jump at the voice at their back, they don’t, but Bad still has a tiny, tight-lipped smile when they turn around anyway, eyes creased in the corners and still not as bright as they’d been before the Egg. Bad looks at him knowingly, setting a bowl of soup into his hands. “For Dream, if you can get him to eat.” He shifts a pointed gaze towards the door. “Maybe you two could talk.”

“About what?” The words come out harsher than they intend, and they take a moment to bite back the mostly self-directed anger that Bad doesn’t deserve to receive the brunt of. “I just-” he waves his hand in the air, trying to articulate the mess that is his relationship with Dream without the words to explain it. “I don’t know, man.”

“You don’t have to talk about everything,” Bad says, calm as always, eyes flicking down to the bowl of soup in his hands. “Just start with the soup.”

Punz sighs. “I’ll try.”

He enters the room in a single, fluid motion, mostly because he knows that if he were to stop at the door then he’d never actually make his way in. Dream flinches back when they enter, eyes going wide and stance going rigid, and the familiarity doesn’t make the sight any easier to bear as they wait, as always, for Dream’s eyes to clear enough for him to realize he’s in the mansion and not stuck in that same obsidian hellhole.

“I brought soup,” they say, finally, when Dream looks up. Dream’s lips twitch up in what he probably means as a smile; between the still-healing gashes on his face and the fear that flashes over his expression, still, it comes out as more of a grimace.

“Thanks.” Dream looks away. “I’ll eat it later.”

Liar, Punz thinks tiredly, moving closer to set the bowl down on the nightstand by the bed. They frown as Dream’s expression goes slack and distanced, again, eyes fixed to stare blankly at the wall once again.

“You should have some now,” he tries, careful to keep his words even. “You need the calories.”

“I’m good,” Dream says, automatic, just shy of sincere. “Thank you.”

“Dream,” they don’t quite succeed at keeping a displeased sigh from falling from their lungs, and bite back a curse at themselves when Dream pulls back with a silent flinch. It’s so goddamn hard, to talk to this version of Dream, both of them feeling around the edges of their relationship like walking on goddamn eggshells. A few months ago, he would’ve straight up called Dream out on his bullshit, get it through his thick skull that the whole ‘I’m fine and don’t need anyone’ act was stupid and completely failing to convince him. Here, they bite back another sigh, look forlornly at the bowl of the soup on the nightstand, sure to go uneaten once again, and force themselves to sound completely neutral when they speak again. “Alright. You’ll have to eat at some point, though.”

“Mmhm,” Dream hums noncommittally, once again staring at the wall. Punz stares at his hands. This is so fucking pointless.

“So,” they say after a few seconds, Bad’s words echoing in their head - they can try to make an effort to talk, sure. It’s just that Dream’s not going to cooperate. “How are you, man?”

The words come out stilted, awkward. He looks up to watch Dream’s expression, as the other man begins to gnaw on the inside of his cheek.

“I’m good,” he says, words deliberately light. “You?”

“Dream…”

“I’m fine.” Dream’s voice sharpens suddenly, breath hitching, before he shakes his head and turns his head away. “I’m fine.”

Punz looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Do we need to get into exactly how not-fine you are?” They wave a hand in his direction, jaw clenching when he rears back. “Do ‘fine’ people lose their minds from someone waving at them, now?”

“I-” For a second, Dream glares at him, eyes burning with a familiar, irritated fire that Punz knows all-too-well from having it directed at him a few too many times, before it suddenly dies and Dream is swinging his head back to the bedsheets, hands tightening on the cloth as he stammers. “I- What do you want?”

Punz breathes a soft sigh, regret blooming in the center of their chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles, careful to keep their gestures overly-telegraphed and away from the other man’s face. “I’m just- you’re not okay, man. No one’s expecting you to be okay after...all of that.”

“But why?”

Dream’s voice is small, nearly a sob, and Punz directs wide, alarmed eyes to where he’s hunched in over himself, knees pulled to his chest, hands staring at the sheets pulled over them. “Why?” he says, again, quieter, lip trembling slightly.

“Because you were tortured,” Punz begins, words slow as they watch Dream’s expression, trying to pull out the thoughts behind his averted eyes, “Because the cell was inhumane, and nobody deserves to be treated like that. Because you were hurt very, very badly because of what we did, and none of us are expecting you to be fine right after going through months of trauma.” He pauses. “You know that, right?”

“But I’m out,” Dream says, quiet, disbelieving, instead of answering their question. “I’m out of there. It’s over. It’s- everything’s good,” he whispers, more to himself than to them, hands curling into fists and then uncurling. “I’m- they said I would never get out. And I’m outside, and it’s not- not the cell, and I get real food, and Quackity doesn’t visit anymore,” he shakes his head, eyes squeezing shut as his breath catches in his throat. “I’m happy- I should be happy. Right?”

“Oh Dream,” the other man flinches back, breath quickening, and Punz’s hand stops short from where he’d almost let it fall onto the other’s shoulder. “You don’t have to be happy, man. Not- not after all of that. Not if you’re not ready yet.” Dream’s eyes, wide and wet, rise to look at their own, and they feel more than hear the soft, wounded noise that leaves their lips. “It’s ok to be hurt. It’s ok to be scared. No one’s blaming you, alright? No one’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

This, more than anything, seems to be the breaking point, because Dream collapses forward, hands flying up to pull at his tangled hair before Punz manages to ease them away and into his own hands, watching as he grips onto them until his knuckles go white. His breathing shudders, quiet, even his sobs muffled as to make as little noise as possible, and they murmur meaningless croons and hums as he cries into their chest.

“I wanna- I wanna be okay,” he hiccups, and Punz smooths his hair back behind their hand.

“I know,” he swallows around the lump that has risen in his own throat. “I’m sorry.”

[sarcastically-defensive17]

hi darling :) if its not too much trouble, could you write something with michael clifford using number 16 from the hurt/comfort prompts??

Hurting - M. Clifford

TW: MENTION OF FAMILY DEATH AND DEPRESSION. PLEASE DO JOT READ IF THIS CAN CAUSE DISCOMFORT OR MENTAL ILLNESS FLARE UPS FOR YOU.

Thank you for this request, lovie! It’s never too much trouble! I’m sorry it took so long! Hope you like it!

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

16. “Stop telling me you’re okay.”

For her whole life, her sister, Amelia, had been there. Through every love, every heartache, through every memory and dull moment.

The ups and downs, the moment she brought Michael home to meet their parents, and the many night she spent alone while Mike was on tour with the guys.

Amelia had been Y/N’s best friend for 24 years.

Then, by freak chance, a man so high on whatever forms of drugs ended her life with a simple turn of the wheel and push of the accelerator.

Her canary yellow convertible was a wreck, unsalvagable.

She was dead on impact.

Men in blue knocked on her door one afternoon and Michael answered, dogs jumping around his legs and his girlfriend dancing in her kitchen to whatever was playing on the radio.

Michael had never heard a sound so full of pain than when Y/N heard the news. The sobs started as soon as the idea sunk in, and she crumbled to the ground in Michael’s arms.

A painful scream tore from her throat and Michael could no longer fight both the tears for the woman he had grown close to throughout his relationship with Y/N and his girlfriend who was mourning the loss of her best friend.

They stayed in the same stop long after the police had left, promising to send somebody over to perform a welfare check.

For hours she broke down. The tears sapped her energy.

Her best friend was gone.

After six months she learned to fake a smile, act like she wasn’t torn apart inside.

She was never close to her parents so she had Amelia and Michael. And now Amelia was gone, and Michael was trying his best to be there for her.

Six months later, and her heart hadn’t even began to heal. The battle with depression she endured in her younger years has resurfaced and the one person that helped her through it was no longer around.

Michael hadn’t heard from her in a few days. He was worried but every time he messaged there was no reply. Every call went to voice mail.

He wanted to give her space but he also wanted to be there for her. He hadn’t told her, but he loved her.

He loved her so much that it killed him to watch her go through such a tragedy. She had lost the other half of her soul with the death of her sister, and it was as it the light was fading from her eyes with each passing day.

“What’re you doing, mate? You’re scrolling on that phone faster than a kid on Instagram trying to hide a half naked photo from his mum,” Calum jeered him, walking carefully through to the lounge room with two cups of coffee in hand.

“Thanks,” he answered at the sound of the cup connecting with the wooden coffee table. “I’m trying to find something.”

“What’s this something?” Calum was a nosy person. He had no shame over it, either.

“I need to find a video of an otter,” he answered, looking up to see the confused look on his best friends face, “for Y/N. I send her one every day, just a little something to hopefully make her smile.”

A cheesy smile spilled onto Calum’s face as he watched the blond man go back to his scrolling.

He made a sound of admiration, reaching across to punch Michael on the cheek, only to have his hand slapped away.

“How is she doing, by the way?”

Michael sighed, setting his phone down after he sent off a few videos to her on Instagram.

He rubbed a hand through his hair, ruffling it with a huff as he forgot a hat of some kind before going to Calum’s.

“Not well, I think. I haven’t heard from her since Thursday last week.” He was filled with worry, but he didn’t want to disturb her in her time of grief.

He was mostly worried that her depression might return.

It was obvious that she would fake a smile. He saw the glassiness in her eyes whenever she had a moment to let her thoughts act on their own volition.

She was hurting so deeply, and he wanted nothing more than to help her.

He just didn’t want to invade her space or force her to feel as if she needed to open up.

“Have you tried to talk to her?” Calum’s face was pinched in confusion. He had known the woman for as long as Michael had, and it was odd for her to go AWOL.

He couldn’t deny that he too was worried.

“Called her every day, gone to voice mail,” he sighed, stretching forward to drink from his cup. “The only hint I have that she acknowledges my messages is that she likes the videos I send her.”

“Go to her house,” Calum demands, folding his arms over his chest and watching his friend.

“No, Calum, you know I can’t-“

“Can’t what? Can’t go and visit your girlfriend?” He scoffs, snatching Michael’s shoes and tossing them at him.

Michael stays silent. He knew that it couldn’t hurt, after all, he had been to her house many times before.

“This isn’t up for argument, Clifford. Your girl is grieving, and she might need some comforting from her blonde bear boyfriend.”

“Did you just call me a bear-“

“So put your ugly ass shoes on - who the fuck even wears TN’s - and get in your ugly ass car and hug your adorable ass girlfriend or you’re never allowed to use my pink cup again,” Calum wasn’t playing around. He was one of Y/N’s closest friends, and over time he had been able to learn when she wasn’t okay and didn’t need somebody, or when she wasn’t okay and did need somebody.

This situation was definitely the latter.

“But-“ Michael tried to argue as Calum reefed him to his feet by the elbow.

“Drive yourself or I’ll drive there and make Y/N fall in love with me.”

“As if,” Michael scoffed.

“Don’t tempt me. Nobody can resist these cheeks,” Calum winked, squaring his shoulders as he pulled the man over to the door and pushed him out.

The door closed in his face and Michael grunted, “You have cheeks like a toddler!” He called, turning towards his car and walking off.

~~~~~~

Y/N was doing... nothing.

Not a single thing.

She was just... numb. She couldn’t even think of how to explain the bland, emptiness that she felt.

Her motivation for anything had quickly called out of a third story window, and she struggled to regulate her mood.

She was sick of faking a smile. She wanted to let her grief consume her, but she was scared of not being able to come back from it.

She had already dealt with her depression once, and she was terrified to let this bout of depression get anywhere near what it was before.

She was almost there.

A knock on the door sounded through her house. She heard it repeat. The sequence of five knocks that Michael would always do, repeating three times.

Four times. Five times.

25 knocks before the sound of the spare key in the tumbler echoed in the silence, the wood creaking open and the distinctive sound of his feet on the hardwood was familiar on her ears.

Her room was at the back of the house, second door on the left of the hallway.

He knew where she would be, and he knocked five times on her bedroom door, peaking his head around the door frame.

She was sat, knees pulled upwards and arms loosely hung over then. She was just staring at the wall.

All of her pictures had been taken down, and she was staring at the place they once were.

It was too painful to see the happy memories of when Amelia was still with her.

“Hey, baby,” she blinked, not turning her head to him. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Mike. What’re you doing here?”

“Just wanted to stop by,” he sat on the edge of her bed, eyeing her carefully. “Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

She made a noise of agreement, turning towards him slightly.

Her eyes were bloodshot and her eyes were dark. She looked like she hadn’t been eating properly. When things got bad she tended to turn off of food, too absorbed in everything else to acknowledge the hunger.

“Y/N,” he placed a hand on her shoulder. “How are you? Honestly, this time. Stop telling me you’re okay if you’re not okay. I’m here for you, for anything.”

She was silent for a beat.

She didn’t know if she should tell him the truth. It was too painful to open up, but she was taught by her psychologist that opening up is the best way to confront her pain.

Even thinking of it forced the tears to prick in her eyes.

She pushed a long breath out of her mouth.

“I-I’m not okay, Mike. I’m not okay. I’m not okay,” she couldn’t stop the sob that tore from her mouth.

He moved closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Baby, I’m here for you,” he placed his hands on either side of her face, bringing her eyes to meet his. “I’m always here for you.”

She was drying her tears with his shirt involuntarily.

The comfort provided by the hug was enough to ground her and suddenly, things didn’t feel so numb.

It was just painful.

“I’m always here for you, whenever you want to talk about anything.”

“Thank you, Mikey,” she whispered against his chest.

“Let’s have a rest, okay? I think you need it,” he asked her, watching as she nodded against his chest.

He moved aside so they could lay down, allowing him to kick his shoes off before pulling his feet onto the bed.

She placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention back to her for a second.

“Um, after, could we talk. About...her?” She was hesitant.

At the moment, all she wanted was Michael. She wanted to fall asleep in his arms and forget for a moment that her best friend was gone.

No matter what, she still had Michael.

Michael was there for her through all of it.

“Of course,” he kissed her forehead again. “Whatever you want to talk about, I’m here to listen.”

[ajoblotofjunk]

Before I leave the warm cocoon of Brynn’s house, I am going to write out ALL MY FEELINGS about New Amsterdam. Most of which can be summed up by: this show had a lot of great individual elements and did not know what the fuck to do with them at all.

Here are the things I SHOULD have expected going in but for some reason did not and was continually surprised by:

1. Nik is in the show ALL THE TIME. That was like 7 hours of concentrated Nik we just consumed and it was wild. (This fact will, funnily enough, be the reason behind one of my biggest issues with the show later on.)

2. Nik is very tall! And lanky! He’s around a lot of tall people in Game of Thrones I guess and the armor makes him look bulkier. I was just very surprised by his profile all the time.

Huh I thought there were more but I guess not. Moving on!

I’ll start with the things I loved:

1. Since it was so much his show, let me give credit where it’s due: Nik was GREAT. I have many issues with the character John Amsterdam but NCW took what he had and did excellent work with it. There were a couple of flat moments but they were either genuinely unsalvageable dialogue or because the show was relying on chemistry between him and the doctor that just was not there no matter how hard he tried. And he had amazing chemistry with MANY people on that show so I think it was just one of those weird mismatches you can’t overcome. You can’t fake chemistry! Someday casting directors will learn that. Anyway, I was very proud of him.

2. The supporting and one-time cast are incredible. (This is ALSO lead-up to my biggest issue with the show!) Eva Marquez is a TOP TIER character, a woman cop who is great at her job, quick and witty, has some hinted at emotional depth, and deserved her own show tbh. If I were re-writing this show I’d make HER the focus and saddle her with John and come at it from that angle. Omar is ALSO AMAZING and every scene he was in SPARKLED. The lady sergeant walked the line sometimes but could have been good and that white guy detective who seemed to have no partner of his own was developing in an interesting way. The one-time guest cast were all also really good and there was a surprising amount of casual diversity that I really appreciated! I did not appreciate how Indian culture was used AT ALL in the already atrocious rape episode and frankly Nik’s past-John hair in that was also an offense so you miss literally nothing of value if you skip all of it except the last five minutes and even that, turns out, means nothing by the end of ep 8. MORE ON THAT LATER.

3. All of the past stories (except the rape episode one) were really interesting and I am like 50/50 shipping John/Lily and John/Eva mostly because Lily canonically died and Eva is GREAT. The conceit of using a new past life moment to tie to the present day case would have gotten very old even 20 episodes into this show, but for 8 it was neat.

4. The IDEA of the show had a lot of potential! That is the nicest thing I can say about it!

The things I did not like:

1. As I alluded to above: John is in this A LOT. ALL THE TIME. They surrounded him with this amazing secondary cast with whom he had incredible chemistry (every Eva and John and Omar scene was GENUINELY DELIGHTFUL and I would watch a supercut of this show of just the three of them in whatever combination). But the hyper focus on John was frustrating BECAUSE they had all these other characters. And like, this was 2008 and the show is about him and they needed to hook you into the main character I get all that. But because the other characters were always just props to John’s pain, including the ACTUAL VICTIMS OF CRIMES, it got very cringe-y very fast sometimes and also left behind so many opportunities to expand on the secondary characters even more. Like the rape episode: EVA should have been spearheading that, but because the show is All About John, he stepped in and it became about him getting revenge for a missed opportunity to get revenge before (even though he did actually get that revenge before? You can’t have your cold revenge cake and eat it, too, show), and it stopped being about the victim at all. It was gross. I cannot stress enough you should not watch that episode. Y’all know I love Nik but the focus was too much on his character, especially by ep 6 when it would have been reasonable to expand more. The worst part is the show walked to that edge MULTIPLE TIMES and then walked back again. So frustrating.

2. My overall problem with the show can be summed up by: they were SO CLOSE to greatness in so many ways and they just couldn’t pull the trigger. FOR EXAMPLE. The show is about John finding his soulmate so he can become mortal again (which.....more on that in minute too) and in one of the later episodes he and Eva go to this dating service (that’s a front for something else but they don’t know that at the time) called Soulmates and the lady who runs it talks about the questionnaire everyone takes to join and your IMMEDIATE THOUGHT is: they’re gonna take the questionnaire right?? RIGHT?? Readers, they do not. No one talks about it, no one mentions it, the only important thing about this place is it’s a front for crime and also it’s called Soulmates which is basically only there to make John look angsty and confused about the situation he is in with his. SO CLOSE TO GREATNESS. What I REALLY want is for fandom to get their hands on this show and make it better. Fans would have KILLED with the set-up they give us.

3. Soulmates. I actually LOVE soulmates tropes. I know a lot of people don’t and I absolutely understand all the problematic elements to soulmates but I love it anyway. And I very much did not love the soulmates stuff going on in this show. Mostly because John Amsterdam is 400 years old and he’s learned a lot of skills and nothing about how to live and that could have been an actual choice by the writers but I don’t think it was. I think THEY were so focused on John finding his soulmate they forgot to make him a person beyond that. WHICH IS WEIRD given he gets together with The One (sigh) like halfway through the episodes we have and then breaks up with her by the end of the last one and yet they did zero work to show that relationship at all instead ONLY relying on the “they’re soulmates!!!!” connection. Combined with the actors’ lack of chemistry (honestly Sarah felt more like his mom than his girlfriend and that’s NOT GREAT) it killed that whole plotline. They had way better chemistry at the beginning of the series when they were just flirting; once they got together it went to hell. Which I guess worked since they ended up breaking up! But the show seemed like it wanted me to be upset that they did and not relieved which was how I actually felt.

ALL THIS BEING SAID. I do not regret watching the show! It was fun to see Nik as a new character and getting so much screentime and in all the different get-ups. I have adopted Eva and Omar into my Fandom Characters I Adore family and am happy to have them there. I kiiiiiiinda want to write fic that uses the elements in ways I want but that will probably never happen since there are tiny fandoms and then there are nonexistent fandoms and frankly I have enough JB fic ideas to last me for years at this point. So if you’re an NCW fan, I DO recommend it! Except episode 4 which is offensive! Heh.

Also John swims naked in the YMCA pool at night multiple times and they never explain WHY and I need an answer. I wish I could ask the showrunners what their long-term plan was because given what happens in 8 episodes it is NOT AT ALL clear. Maybe they were going to make it Eva/John endgame?? Who knows! I’m not sure they did!

Plus there’s this:

They had VERY good chemistry. It’s a shame the show didn’t even give us very much of them being partner-y. Their banter was so good and so limited. We didn’t even get late-night bullpen talks where John kind of casually has his tie loosened!! COME ON.

[agentdagonet]

so this may be asking too much but… Headset Romance: The love story of two people who have never met. With Agent!Harry and Handler!Eggsy

Okay so I know that this is several thousand years late, but I hope that it was at least a little worth the wait?

Headset Romance

‘You’re a bloody peacock and that’s somethin’ I’ve learned from experience, Galahad. The fuck did you say that for? He’s def gonna remember your sorry arse now.’

'I found his company degrading- I can get the drive without playing nice with an adulterer.’

'If you say so, guv- but if this comes back to bite your arse I expect the whole song an’ dance. An’ a stiff drink.’

'And how will I deliver these things to you, oh faceless one?’

'You’re a fuckin’ secret agent, I’m pretty sure you can figure out a private youtube link and how to pay a drink forward. Or just do the performance for Merlin- he’ll make sure I get to see it.’

'Alternatively, you and I could simply go out after a job well done like normal people do after work.’

'We ain’t normal people, guv- on your left, yeah good- and I’m plenty satisfied with this arrangement.’

'You could be further satisfied.’

'Did you really jus’ try an’ pull that one on me? Next you’ll be saying somethin’ about the many benefits of physical interaction. Upstairs, third door on the right.’

'Well it’s not as if I haven’t suggested such things before. Got it.’

'Good, can’t go back the way you came but there’s another stairwell down the way- go up a floor and go down elsewhere. Minimal interaction means you can’ just punch your way outta this one.’

'Fists are so uncivilised-’

'Or any of your gadgets, neither. Jus’ get home safe and drop that drive at HQ.’

'Fine. In repayment for you taking away all of my fun, I’ll be sure to send you the most awful thing I can find in-’

'Oh there you are’

'Shit.’

'Lemme guess, it’s the prick you insulted earlier. An’ he ain’t too happy.’ There’s no response, but the view from the feed is answer enough. 'Knock 'im out and get the fuck outta there. This cover’s a bust now, anyway so it don’t matter how just get it done.’ Galahad doesn’t acknowledge him, though he does knock the target’s lights out as quietly as possible before making his way quickly but calmly from the event. Small favours.

'So I’m expectin’ that song an’ dance before you’re sent off on your next mission.’

'Is now really the time to rub it in my face?’

'Are you dyin’?’

'No.’

'Bein’ pursued?’

'No.’

'Injured in literally any way?’

'Well, my knuckles ache a bit.’

'That don’t count. An’ my point is that now is the perfect time to rub your mistakes in your face like a pup who’s pissed on a rug. I dunno how you survived twenty-somethin’ years without me.’

'Merlin had hair to pull out. And I resent that statement.’

'Y'mean you represent that statement. An’ I’m buying that man a cake. “Congratulations on Surviving Galahad” has a nice ring to it.’

'In what way do I represent a pup? I’m perfectly grown, thank you.’

'Oh I know you are; you’re a big boy, ain’t ya? But you listen to very few people, an’ even then do things your own way, and then you strut your way home expecting a bone and a belly rub for a job well done.’

'I’m hanging up now- obviously made it to the extraction point; I’ll debrief upon arrival.’

'Oh don’t take it personal, Galahad- you know you’re my favourite.’ The silence on the other line was answer enough. Eggsy closed the feed and smiled to himself, happy with the successful mission. He’d only been Galahad’s main handler for a couple years, but it was easily the most fulfilling job he’d ever had. Percival took him too seriously, Bors was a bit obsessed with explosions, and Lancelot was far more pun than professionalism.

It also wasn’t a bad thing that Galahad was incredibly witty. And fit. And so out of his league it wasn’t even funny. One glance in the mirror when he forgot (He assumed he forgot; no need to make assumptions and make things worse than they were) that the feed was running and Eggsy was completely gone for him. Lust at first sight, when he’d already been enamoured with his dry wit, made Harry’s inexplicable interest in him the worst temptation.

But he didn’t know much of anything about Eggsy besides his sarcasm. Well, that wasn’t quite true either, Eggsy mused as he wrote up his end of the mission report. Eggsy’d spoken about his sister, and his mum, and about the Prick with a capital P he’d managed to get rid of when Merlin had hired him. He’d talked about loads of shit. Just nothing he thought was worth the kind of fuss Galahad made of him- Galahad, who had never even met him, and probably just had a thing for a bit of rough.

Not that that was a bad thing- but Eggsy knew he’d want more than a tumble with him and he just didn’t think that was possible.

'Eggsy, I have something for you.’ Merlin spoke from the doorjamb, ever-present clipboard in his hand and a smirk on his face. There’s a ping from his monitor, and Eggsy opens a file under the watchful eye of Merlin labelled 'He Told Me So.' 

It’s a simple video, a sheepish smile on Harry’s face as he sits in the Kingsman plane, doing these silly little waves with his hands while he sings 'you told me so’ in varying pitches at a whisper. It’s obvious that he doesn’t want the pilot (a mate of Eggsy’s named Ryan, not that Harry knows that) to hear him and turn around, he’s flushed from his neck to the tips of his ears. It’s actually adorable.

'I don’t know how you get him to do these things, lad.’ Merlin’s chuckling behind him, eyes bright behind his specs. ‘I can barely get him to show up on time.’

‘What c’n I say, I’ve got the magic touch.’

‘If I didn’t know better I’d accuse you of having siren’s blood- he’d do just about anything you asked of him.’ Merlin nods his head at the screen, where Harry is paused mid-song. ‘This being the least of it. He’s also instructed me, in this e-mail, to tell you that your drink will be waiting for you at the pub down the street once he’s back on home soil. And not to sound terribly cliched, but  am not an owl so stop using me to send messages back and forth. Give him an e-mail or something if you refuse to give him your number.’ He grumbled a bit (sounds suspiciously like you oblivious bastards) before wandering off.

Eggsy finishes his report with a smile, and places an order at the bakery he knows Merlin prefers.

Harry got off the plane at HQ early the next morning, sun barely over the horizon, and immediately went to debrief with Arthur. Merlin would be sure to meet him there, the way he always did, and then Harry would get to go home and sleep in his own bed. Sounded like heaven.

‘Now, Galahad, it seems like the mission went off without issue?’

‘For the most part, yes.’

‘The most part?’

‘I’m afraid that alias is unusable now- I accidentally compromised the mission but managed to work around it to fulfill the objective.’

‘Excuse me, gentleman- dropping off some reports for Arthur.’ A young man came through, dropping a thick stack of files on Arthur’s desk with a nod. Nothing in particular stood out about him, accent as upper-class as most everyone at Kingsman (with the one notable exception that Harry could never track down) and his clothes, though casual, were obviously of high quality. He was probably one of Merlin’s minions.

‘Ah, Lunete, thank you.’

‘Sir.’ In lieu of goodbye, he nodded at them (and exchanged a wry smile with Merlin, confirming his suspicion) before leaving the Dining Room.

‘Now, to get back to things- there was no “accidentally” involved in your alias being compromised.’ Merlin turned a severe glare in his direction before turning back to Arthur. ‘I reviewed the footage personally, and he brought attention to himself by insulting the target. Claims he found his company degrading, and could accomplish the task without following the instructions of his handler. In the end he forcefully knocked the target unconscious because too much time had elapsed to use the amnesia darts.

‘Well, as he did achieve the objective, we can at least attest to his being correct on part of that- though you did lose us a useful alias and years of work.’ Arthur turned to Harry, who looked sheepish for a moment, intent on opening his mouth to defend himself, but Merlin redirected his attention once again.

‘Yes sir, he did- but I’d like to bring something to your attention; glasses, please.’ They looked up at the hidden screen, which was now displaying the details of his alias’ file. ‘This is the file for Atticus Grey as it was originally constructed.’ He typed something onto his clipboard, ‘this is what is associated with that person.’

‘Well, this is convenient.’ Arthur muttered to himself, saying what Harry had been thinking. By some kind of divine intervention, it seemed that all of the people he’d made connections with through Atticus were either in custody or dead. The former of which was adding to the latter every year.

‘So, even though he did in fact ruin this alias, it’s not an altogether unsalvageable situation. Honestly, we probably would have scrapped this alias within the next couple of missions anyway.

‘However, with this alias being scrapped a bit prematurely, my team will need a few days to make the new alias as airtight as possible. With most agents off on missions we’re prioritising handling over our background work- when Percival and Lancelot return we should be ready for wherever you wish to send Galahad next.’

‘Forcing our Galahad into some down time, are we?’

‘No idea what you’re talking about, sir, it’s just procedure.’ There’s a glint in Merlin’s eye that says otherwise, but nothing he says will change their minds. This wasn’t the first time they’d pulled such tricks, merely the most recent. Arthur dismissed Merlin with a smile, and he and Harry finished their tea with non-work related chatter.

‘I have some errands- a few days home shouldn’t be too tedious.’

He was wrong. Harry Hart was many things and now he would be adding wrong to the list. A few days on home soil with no clear objective or clear end in sight was tortuous. He’d taken to pestering Merlin for updates every few hours, which had resulted in him being locked out of his office and the direct link from his glasses being shut off. 

‘Any reason in particular there’s a picture of Merlin’s face taped to that punching bag?’ The voice comes from behind him, bemused and unfamiliar, and Harry turns to find the minion from before. Shit.

‘Needed to let off some steam- Merlin’s decided to force some down time upon me, but I have nothing to do.’

‘That so? Still doesn’t explain why you’re punching his face like that.’

‘Sure it does- he’s insufferable and I can’t take it out on him in person.’

‘Isn’t there anything else you can do to pass your time?’

‘I’ve already finished all of my reports- and I’m doing the only other thing I can here at the gym.’

‘You could go for a swim- or the obstacle course! That one’s always fun. Or family to visit, or something?’

‘Been there, done that; and the obstacle course is only fun the first few times. Doing it on repeat for days takes it away. And no, they all died years ago. Just me and Kingsman.’

‘You need to get out more. Come with me.’ Lunete had one shoulder propped against the doorjamb, hands in his pockets, and a smirk on his face like he’s got a fabulous joke but won’t share it.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Well I was going to head home and hang out with my mother and sister, but you need a night out. Come on, then.’

‘I barely know you.’

‘First off, we both work at Kingsman, so how dangerous can I be to you; and second your file’s public to those of us in the Lake, so I know all about you- you could come out and even the score?’

‘I think you’re just trying to keep me from beating Merlin the next time he emerges from his cave.’

‘Eh, that’s just a pleasant bonus.’

Eggsy ended up bringing Harry to the first pub he saw between the mews and Kingsman- in the opposite direction from the one Harry’d left his “you told me so” drink at. It wouldn’t do to be recognised since he was doing some serious posh-acting; he didn’t want the jig to be up too soon. 

On the one hand, it was annoying as fuck to act like someone he wasn’t for longer than he absolutely had to. Arthur and his cronies were bad enough on site let alone out in public. On the other, though, it was probably the closest he’d get to actual spy work even if it was all for his own benefit.

But, even as they sat across from one another at a booth and talked aimlessly about nothing, Eggsy could see Harry relaxing despite himself. He’d talk about some mishap in R&D and Harry would laugh until he was wiping at his eyes; and Harry would tell some story about his dog (the fuck kind of name was Mr. Pickle, anyway?) which would prompt him to talk about JB, and inevitably end up in giggles.

Eggsy relished the opportunity to see what Harry was like outside of a mission, and what he acted like with someone he wasn’t strangely obsessed with. Now that he thought about it, Harry probably saw him as a mystery he wanted to solve. He wouldn’t be interested once the mystique was gone, no matter what he said to the contrary.

Even more motivation to make this mask believable. No way for Harry to connect the two.

Harry, on the other hand, was enchanted with the surprisingly eloquent man. He lamented not having met him before, but resolved to get to know him better now. Merlin certainly wouldn’t begrudge him a friendship with one of his minions, would he?

—

‘Lunete! Package for you.’

‘Another one?’

It had been a few months since Eggsy’d taken Harry out to that pub in the guise of Lunete- and for some odd reason Harry had decided that the best way to cultivate a friendship with him was through obnoxious souvenirs. The kind of things Eggsy thought of when Harry threatened to gift him with “the most awful thing” he could find in wherever the fuck he was for a mission. Eggsy wondered if these were Harry’s idea of good souvenirs and, if so, allowed himself a shudder at the possibilities “the most awful thing” suggested.

Today’s mystery package wasn’t very large- which eliminated another taxidermied animal- and it wasn’t very heavy- which eliminated a new creepy looking statue.

If Eggsy hadn’t already known Harry outside of Lunete he’d have run for the hills after the first package. There’s eccentric and then there’s eccentric and while the former was interesting the latter was incredibly creepy. As it was Eggsy worried about his sanity, though he probably shouldn’t, as most of the Knights had something incredibly strange they loved. Gawaine had a collection of cat statues, Bors kept bits of rubble, and Percival collected local animal teeth. He’d resolved to never ask where he got them, no matter how elegant they looked once he’d polished them.

The sight of them with bits of gum still attached made an impression, to say the least.

Steeling himself, Eggsy cut the tape and pulled open the flaps before he could talk himself out of it, one eye closed while the other squinted into the box.

There was a note.

Lunete, I saw this while in Switzerland  and was captivated before remembering that I had no one to gift such a thing. But I remembered that you mentioned a sister all that time ago, and picked it up anyway. I’ve no idea how old she is (for all your chatter you’re surprisingly difficult to get information from) but if nothing else you can give it to your mother or something.

Reaching blindly into the packing chips he grasped the first solid object he came into contact with. It was box-like, cool to the touch, and thus far made no noise which eliminated several possibilities- and pulling it out Eggsy gasped.

It was elegant, carved in cherry wood and smooth as silk; the designs were all floral, likely roses or carnations or something. It wasn’t the kind of thing Eggsy would have picked up on a whim, but the kind of timeless beauty he could see being passed down or inherited. Opening the lid, Eggsy was a bit startled to be greeted with music- who made music boxes this gorgeous? The tune was familiar, if a bit sped up, but he couldn’t resist humming along.

And then, giggling to himself, he penned a response.

Well, Galahad, I certainly have no use for something as pretty as this myself, and Daisy’s a bit young for it, but my mother will love it. Thank you for the rarity that is a gift that doesn’t haunt my (or the rest of us Minions’) nightmares. Seriously. They’re haunting. But I’ll certainly be that someone who’ll watch over you.

Gershwin? Really? Could have at least been a typical Mozart or something but you had to go and get something classy and unexpected.

—

Eggsy certainly hadn’t expected his bit of fun to bite him in the arse quite so immediately. Harry’s flirting hadn’t lessened any over the coms, but now it was accompanied by humming. Incessant humming that matched the music box that now lay atop his mother’s dresser.

'Fuuuuuuck.’

'I’m not your agony aunt, Eggsy, take your self-created issues elsewhere.’

'But he’s gonna figure it out, Merls!’

'Again, not my problem. Get back to R&D or research Galahad’s next assignment, I don’t care, but get out of my hair.’

'But you don’t have any-’

'Finish that sentence and I’ll delight in telling him myself. I’ll make a power point with all the evidence, and finish with your address so he can-’

'Alright, alright. Fine. I’ll just go curl up and die at my desk. An’ you’ll have to break the news to Daisy.’

'Far be it for me to interrupt your plans for spontaneous expiration.’

—

'So, Eggsy,’

’Don’ even start, Galahad. Up the stairs and to your right- the painting of some posh knobhead with blue boots is hollow.’

'You don’t even know what I was going to say!’

'Half the shit from your mouth during these missions is either you tryin’ to talk me out of the plans I make to keep your sorry arse alive, or flirtin’ with me despite the fact that we’ve never actually met in person. As you ain’t fightin’ the plan, I assume your next words were gonna be some persuasive argument about the pleasures of the flesh. Again.’ He let a little of his irritation slip through, though mostly he was just nervous about Harry connecting him and Lunete. He knew it would happen eventually, but fuck it didn’t need to be now. 

’… Got the file.’ Harry said reluctantly, almost a sigh, and for a moment Eggsy wondered if he’d somehow gone too far despite not changing his reactions to his flirting in the first place. 'On my way to extraction.’ The playful edge that had come to be the highlight of these missions was missing. A Galahad subdued and not in the I-made-a-mistake-and-got-briefly-captured-again way.

It left Eggsy feeling off-kilter. And incredibly worried.

'Job well done, Galahad. Debrief at 1000.’ Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything after all.

—

'Dare I ask what happened to put this kicked puppy look on your face, Harry?’

'I’ve been ridiculous and making unwanted advances on a man I have never seen.’

'You’re always ridiculous.’

'I’ve never even met the man and his voice is the brightest part of my missions.’

'As I’ve already said once of late I am not an agony aunt and I have no desire or true advice to give you. Outside of, oh, I don’t know, perhaps asking to meet in person?’

'He shoots down my advances-’

'Likely because that’s what they are? Advances, obviously geared toward a goal that doesn’t happen to stop at friendship or likely involve it at all.’ Merlin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, 'Why do you care so much, anyway?’

'Eggsy’s never treated me like a superior officer. He’s never acted like he was beneath me for being behind the coms instead of in the field. He’s honest and rude and makes me laugh and somehow I’ve fallen for him despite not knowing the shape of his face or the colour of his eyes- the timbre of his laugh is enough.’

'I was expecting something more like “he’s a shit like me and I don’t want to ruin our working relationship” but leave it to you, Hart, to make it about feelings. What kind of spy are you?’

'A good one, I hope, to have made it this far into my lifespan.’

'Only by the grace of excellent handling.’

'Ah, the great Merlin, so humble.’

'I was referring to Eggsy- you caused me to lose the last of my hair, I have no patience for your showmanship, and your unparalleled ability to destroy my tech means that I tolerate you at best when I’m handling you.’ And there it was, the shame, at reducing a brilliant handler to a seductive voice through no actions but his own.

'I don’t want to lose him.’ It’s whispered, eyes staring at a spot on the wall and completely missing the pitying look Merlin throws his way.

'Then be honest, you great pillock, and talk to him. Not your weird proposition shit, either- I have to go through your mission footage and some of that… You’re not going to get anywhere with some bad pickup lines and innuendo.’ Merlin pushes his glasses up his face and turned away, tapping at his clipboard, 'And that’s all I have for you today. Please vacate the premises or I shall be forced to do something terrible to another one of your fetishistic loo butterflies.’

'Fine, fine, I’m goi- wait, what do you mean another?!’

—

‘Eggsy.’ He’s holed up in a supply closet, as cliche as one can be, but he will be there for an undetermined amount of time and he is just absolutely done with the stilted, awkward, handling of this mission. 

‘Dare I ask, Galahad?’

‘I just wanted to thank you for putting up with me.’ He tries to press as much sincerity into the phrase as he can, hoping beyond hope that he can somehow repair what he hadn’t realised he was breaking. ‘I know that I can be a bit much, but I don’t want you to think that I’m this way with the rest of the Lake. I simply have no idea of how to keep your attention.’

‘It is literally my job, Galahad, to keep my attention focused on ou ad get your arse home safely.’ Eggsy was confused, and maybe a little hopeful. He’d felt bereft without Harry’s incessant nattering, but hadn’t known how to fix it- maybe this was it.

‘I was rather hoping to keep your attention while off-mission, as well.’ Eggsy nearly groaned, but took a moment to think on the situation. Harry wasn’t being actively flirty, the tone was all wrong; if Eggsy didn’t know any better he’d say that the great Harry Hart sounded nervous. 

‘With more soul-damaging relics from your missions like the ones you send Lunete?’ 

‘No- well, correction, not only with carefully-chosen pieces. I-’ Harry paused, and Eggsy realised that this was, indeed, an honest conversation that Harry was trying to have with him. ‘I would like for us to meet. Formally, face-to-face, give myself a visual to go with the auditory man who has consumed my attentions for quite some time. I understand that there is no reason for you to believe me, given my previous actions, but I’ll readily admit to having had no other idea of how to express my interest. Merlin can tell you that outside of a mission I’ve never been particularly graceful or smooth when it came to potential romantic partners.

‘I find that I’ve become enchanted with the idea of you, and would greatly appreciate the opportunity to discover if my fantasies even touch upon the reality of you as a person.’

Eggsy literally had no idea of how to progress from here. Despite his own infatuations with the man, he’d dismissed Harry’s words as empty and with this revelation had no idea of how to progress. Forget the conundrum of Eggsy and Lunete being the same person- this was a problem now, and Merlin had probably known all along and that fucker hadn’t even tried to warn him.

          'We’ll see Galahad,’ Eggsy fought to keep his voice playful, to not give away his scrambling for a proper answer, 'you’ve got to get your way out of this shit first. An’ maybe, maybe, we’ll see about gettin’ a drink or something.’ And now Eggsy was back to cursing his mouth for running ahead of his brain and making promises he probably couldn’t keep.

Harry continued to pretend that the pounding of his heart was due to his circumstances in the mission and not due to the tantalising possibility of meeting Eggsy proper at long last.

—

Of course, Harry had managed the near impossible and completed the mission both on time and without any grievous injury to himself. Or to his target, which was a positive as he’d been tasked with surveillance and strictly told not to engage which are rules the man usually took as a challenge.

Merlin googled at the record when it was brought to him, and Eggsy took a seat across from the man as he reviewed the contents.

‘He didn’t make an uncouth comment and get chased from the grounds?’ The again went unsaid.

‘No.’

‘And he didn’t continue to press you about going out after you gave him a solid maybe?’ Merlin sounded as incredulous as Eggsy felt.

‘Nope.’ Eggsy was in more than a fair bit of shock. On the one hand, Harry had achieved the objective while Eggsy had been in his ear. So that was a point for both of them, for Eggsy’s success as Handler and Harry’s as Knight; but the hows of it. Harry had done all of it because Eggsy had said they might get to meet if Harry did what needed to be done. The mere idea of getting to meet had given Harry enough cause to have achieved a nearly impossible feat for him.

‘I’m no’ one to butt into personal business-’

‘I fuckin’ know that, Merlin- you practically set this shit up by keepin’ to yourself.’ Eggsy grumbled, crossing his arms and slumping in the chair.

‘But perhaps, lad, Harry’s more than a bit serious about this.’ Merlin continued as if uninterrupted, and Eggsy looked away.

‘D’you really think so?’

‘The only way you’re going to know is if you actually talk to him and stop with this weird double life you’ve made for yourself and no,’ Merlin wagged a finger angrily, ‘I am not going to help you fix this shit. You dug this hole, make your own way out of it.

‘I certainly hope that you continue to inspire this out of him and he doesn’t corrupt you instead.’

Eggsy stayed in that chair long after Merlin had returned to his own tasks, wondering just what he was going to do. He had two obvious options: he could meet Harry in person and come clean- or he could really chav it up and hope Harry wouldn’t be able to see Lunete in Eggsy.

But, to be honest, Eggsy was getting real tired of having to keep track of who he had to be at any given moment. What Lunete knew versus what Eggsy knew and where they could overlap believably with them both being in the Lake. It was getting exhausting, and even with the possibility of losing Harry entirely through this fiasco, Eggsy was just. So. Tired. And maybe that wasn’t the best reason to stop leading a double life but it was the one he had.

          So, there, that was one decision made- a pretty big one, too. Now he just had to hold himself to it. 

But that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for the man; maybe he could get one last bit of fun from this fiasco.

–

Harry’s office at headquarters was very secure. Merlin never let anyone in or out without his say so, even when the door was unlocked he’d lock it just as someone was reaching for the handle just to be a shit.

So the box on his desk was a terrifying surprise. First because he’d had no idea that anyone had been in his office- but mostly because of the contents. The outside was so unassuming that Harry had reached in without a second thought and immediately regretted the action. 

‘What the fuck is this shit?’

‘It happens to be a gift, you idiot, if you’d bothered to read the card prior to sticking your hand inside?’ Melin chimed in from the glasses, and Harry flipped him off smoothly with one hand as the other shut the glasses down. So what if he was right, it was the principle of the thing.

Harry pulled out the thing that had stabbed his finger, and was greeted with the most obnoxiously American thing he had ever seen. Intricately carved, it would be a work or artistry if it weren’t for the obnoxious colouring. A bald eagle sitting on a branch, a snake in its grasp, with everything but the bird in natural colours- the eagle was painted as the Americal Flag. It was the end of a wing that had stabbed him, curled upward in a parody of landing from flight. It was atrocious. 

‘What. the fuck. Is this shit?’ Harry warily stuck his arm back into the box of packing chips, feeling about for any additional hidden monstrosity, but came up empty. ‘No note?’ Harry began to turn the box about, half tempted to “accidentally” knock the statue from his desk- but he knew that if it had ended up here then the sender would discover the untimely demise. And, heaven forbid, send a replacement. On the end that had been facing his chair there was a small note, taped and half falling off the side of the cardboard. 

Let’s play hide and seek, Galahad. You’re it. -Eggsy

Harry pulled the note and examined the writing closely. The ink was partially bled through in some spots, as if he’d hesitated while writing it, and it looked to have been written by one of the Kingsman issued pens- not the ones with the poison, but the ones used for official paperwork, with the combustible ink. Just in case, you see, someone ever managed to get their hands on confidential paperwork. Which eliminated a great many people, as the only people to use them casually were the Minions, who used them for everything by default.

As if sparked by this train of thought, the ink began to eat through the paper. Well, that route of examination was out. Eggsy had mentioned more than once the trinkets Harry would send to Lunete, so it was entirely possible that this gift was poking fun at his habit of choosing memorable items for the man, but to that end it also firmly pointed Harry to a particular collective of Minions: Merlin’s favourites. Unfortunately, codenames meant very little overall within the walls of the place- but real names were rare. It was far more difficult to ask after Richard than Bors, for example, because much like in faerie courts real names held power and were rarely shared.

So asking for Eggsy would get him nowhere, unless he was asking Merlin directly, but the man had been of no help thus far and would likely continue on that trend for a while yet. So he was on his own to solve this mystery. Which meant he had to rely upon his already collected knowledge far more than present clues.

Eggsy was a man with a simple- no, humble- past, who had come to Kingsman from the Army where Merlin had spotted him causing some trouble. Eggsy’d been confronted by his SO and had been quite contrite to admit that he’d been messing with the tech because he was bored and had lost his sense of purpose when those around him didn’t seem to care about the why as much as the when. He’d had a note put into his file, and Merlin had snatched him up immediately. Harry was still unsure of why Merlin had been watching the man in the first place, as there were so many people potential to sort through at any time and only a finite number of places to put them. Harry figured it was like applying to an Ivy League school you didn’t know was considering you. Incredibly selective- so what had pulled Merlin’s attention to him?

But that wasn’t the concern at the moment. With what he knew about Eggsy, could he find him on the grounds? What did he care about, what did he mention liking about Kingsman, where would he have the highest likelihood of spotting the man in time to win this game. Harry wasn’t even entirely sure what he was competing for- but he was a vain man and desired victory for the sake of it just as much as any prize.

Harry had never bothered to learn the things a Handler would- but he could strategise if he could only decide what direction to go in. Top to bottom? One end to the other? From the centre outwards, or vice versa? Simplest would be top to bottom, as the roof provided a finite amount of space he could go- so to the roof it was. He wasn’t so desperate as to climb the sides of the building, and opted instead to take the service stairs to the top level and find a window that overlooked a bit of the roof and meander is way from there.

Which actually ended up being surprisingly difficult, but once he had found an acceptable exit he also stumbled upon another note taped to it.

Let’s play a game, mate- well, another one, waiting in one spot is just so boring y’know? I’m hanging out with the rest of the Minions til ‘bout 3 where you left me my drink way back when. Find me. That little shit had been here, how long ago was anyone’s guess, and instead of following through on whatever his original plot had been had changed the rules. As if Harry had known what they were in the first place, but the point remained that he’d changed the rules without warning or explanation.

But wasn’t that just like Eggsy, to at one moment follow plans to the letter and the next follow Harry’s lead on a whim? The fact that they were always successful could more likely be attributed to luck than any actual skill, but Harry was willing to take what the universe deigned to gift him. So he huffed a laugh and made his way back to his office, checking himself idly in the window as he removed his tie and popped a button or two. Going around to a pub while dressed to the nines, while safe in a Kingsman suit, was making himself a spectacle and if he intended to actually find Eggsy he needed to be able to blend in- at least a little. He removed his glasses, and mussed his hair just enough that it looked purposefully dishevelled as opposed to perfectly organised.

Harry made his way down to the pub, one he frequented and thus was able to pull favours with, and nodded at the barman who smoothly slid his pint down the bartop to his waiting hand as he sat at his regular spot at the bar. No words having to be exchanged, which freed him up to idly glance about the room. There were some outside seats but it was easier to hide in a crowd, and easier still to disappear with staff constantly moving about, if you knew when and how to do so. Which was usually a skill Knights honed and Minions of the Lake dismissed as unnecessary. The likelihood of their being spotted, let alone pursued, was miniscule- so why waste the energy that could be dedicated to other things instead?

There was a group of younger people in the corner booth, only a half dozen or so, about half wearing very familiar glasses. Now to spot his target proper. There was a young woman leaning intimately into the side of one of the men without glasses, with dark brown hair and pale eyes. That was Agravaine and Blanchefleur, then, as they were the topic of many Knights who were critical of relationships from within. And, honestly, how did they expect to achieve any sense of intimacy with someone outside of Kingsman, anyway? But that eliminated two suspects. There was his regular pilot, Houdain, with whom he’d shared many idle conversations of the last couple years. His accent was similar to Eggsy’s, but not so much so that he could ever have confused one for the other.

Three down, three to go.

There was another young woman with short cropped red hair, sans glasses but obviously sporting a pair of Kingsman brogues, bent nearly in double as she laughed- inelegantly snorting. She slapped the glasses off the man sat across from her in her antics, simply by waving her arms about, and Harry was grateful to know that she was not a Knight. If she were in this collective she obviously had immense amounts of talent behind the scenes, but something like that could make or break a mission. Which was entirely off topic, but Harry’s head was running in a million directions as he caught sight of the last two members of the table.

One was a driver that he knew quite well, Ither, who had always been up for a joyride while escaping their pursuants. The other was Lunete.

So Eggsy had lied, then. He wasn’t here after all. He turned back to his drink as a way to distract himself, observing the condensation run down the glass, and pretended that disappointment was not a bitter pill to swallow.

 Except, suddenly, he heard a very distinct ‘you’re fucking jokin’, bruv!’ he knew without a doubt that Eggsy was in that group. His head snapped up just in time to see Lunete slap Houdain playfully on the shoulder, the latter covering his mouth with one hand while shaking with laughter.

‘Swear down, Eggs, I couldn’ make that shit up if I tried.’

‘The fuck was Lancelot thinkin’, tryin’ to make a jump like that in that outfit? She gave someone a lucky view, then?’ Ither looked as if Christmas had come early, a very Grinch-like smirk on his face at the thought, but Houdain shook his head.

‘The street was clear, luck with her, so she didn’t flash no one- but lots o’ people complained about the thumpin’ from the roof, next day.’ Lunete shook his head as Houdain finished, but Harry’s mind had stopped a bit before.

Eggs. Eggsy. Harry ran the facts over in his mind as he took another idle gulp of his Guinness; Eggsy spoke often of Lunete’s gifts, he obviously knew Harry quite well after all the time of being in his ear, was well-liked and trusted by Merlin (who else would he trust his oldest friends’ safety to, if not someone he trusted?), and suddenly he couldn’t unlink the two. Lunete was Eggsy.

Lunete was Eggsy.

Lunete was Eggsy and he’d already had a drink with the man and he’d never let it on. He’d not even hinted that he’d been hiding anything; to hide such a thing from a Knight was impressive in and of itself. He’d been sure to keep their interactions regular, had never hinted at- well, hinted at what, exactly? Had Eggsy thought anything of their pint, that day, and what of the gifts? Why had he hidden himself so thoroughly within the walls of Kingsman that it took a ducking scavenger hunt for Harry to figure it out? It was not as if Kingsan was particularly judgemental- well, no, that was a lie. Arthur was a prick.

Ah. Prejudice based around the way one walks. And talks. The things that are the quickest to reveal oneself as “other” in a collective of men from money. Arthur was quick to anger and quicker to insult, if only ever backhandedly, so the ability to blend in was imperative- he guessed- to Eggsy being able to do as he needed. Drivers and Pilots were often silent until prompted and prodded into speaking- a Handler was easily identified and exposed by voice. To affect an accent in the presence of those who would look down on you for being different was entirely understandable.

But had Eggsy truly thought that Harry would judge him in that way? Had he not been clear with his affections through the coms? Short of screaming it from the rooftops he’d done all he could to show Eggsy that he thought the world of him. But… but perhaps that was what had kept him away. If someone is showy, you never take their actions or words at face value. Never. It’s survival one-oh-one, and Harry kicks himself for not connecting the dots sooner.

Every bit of tension in his body began to loosen as Eggsy turned around, just enough for Harry to admire the cut of his jaw and the upturn of his lip as he winked.  At him. That cheeky arsehole. Harry didn’t hear the particulars, but Eggsy was excusing himself from the group with a smile and making his way toward Harry- and what was Harry going to say when he finally got there?

‘Hey, Harry.’ Eggsy slid into the seat beside him and nudged one shoulder with his own, sloshing what little was left in Harry’s glass. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

‘You led me here, and yet you’re the one claiming to be surprised?’

‘Weren’t sure you was gonna find that window, guv, but you managed that shit in record time you did.’

‘So you set me up to fail?’ Harry finished his drink before he turned and lifted a brow, and Eggsy had the gall to laugh.

‘Nah, I set you a challenge and you met it. Exceeded expectations and all that shit. So, now, I’m an open book- what d’you want to know?’ He lifted a hand to the barkeep and accepted to proffered drinks with a grin.

‘Why?’

‘Why’d I leave you messages?’

‘Why this double life in the first place? What’s the truth here, Eggsy?’ Harry looked away, tips of his ears pink, and Eggsy paused for a moment before speaking.

‘I was scared- terrified, even- of you connectin’ Lunete an’ Eggsy. You’re a posh man, you got class out your arse and you’re fit and funny and I knew you were leagues away from me in life. You’d flirt with Eggsy, but Lunete was a mystery an’ you treated him like any other bloke while at the pub an’ then started sendin’ gifts and shit.’ Eggsy ran a hand through his hair and looked ruefully at Harry, ‘You was thoughtful and flirty and it made me fall more for you that I had already.’

‘That doesn’t explain-’

‘Gettin’ there, Harry. Promise. When I started at Kingsman, I’d barely walked in and Arthur looked down his nose at me and sneered that he didn’ want to see my face again. I thought I’d been dismissed b’fore I could start, but Merlin drew me aside. Tol’ me to ignore Arthur an’ that he was my boss an’ til he said leave I weren’t to so much as think about the door. But,’ Eggsy shook his head, ‘he gave me the name Lunete, an’ said to make it someone Arthur wouldn’ look twice at.’

‘So you made yourself unremarkable.’ Harry concurred, and tipped his glass in his direction, but Eggsy shrugged.

‘I made myself what he was lookin’ for. Growin’ up at the Estates, after dad died, you learn how to read people an’ make yourself what you gotta be to get by, Jamal and Ryan know all the same shit I do- they just don’t gotta use it as often. But,’ Eggsy grinned, ‘to explain the rest of this shit you get a bit of a story.

‘See, you an’ I’ve met before all this shit. Merlin and I had a bit of a laugh about it once I’d settled in. Y’see, once upon a time,’ Eggsy reached into his collar and began to pull on a chain, ‘you came by my place an’ left this with me for safe keeping.’ He opened his palm, and Harry forgot to breathe.

‘Oh my god. Eggsy.’ Harry breathed, in disbelief at having forgotten the child. It was a memorable name, and yet Harry hadn’t recognised it when they’d crossed paths again. ‘Eggcy Unwin- you’re Lee’s boy.’ 

‘Yeah, an’ that’s the other thing- I didn’ know if you’d still fancy me, flirty and shit, once you knew that. Still don’t know, actually, but I got tired of pretendin’ at you. The way I figure, this shit goes one of two ways, yeah? Either we get on as mates an’ we move on, or this shit’s blown us to bits and we never speak again.’ Eggsy spoke as if either option was acceptable, but Harry could see the tension in his jaw and fondly thought of him as an idiot. As if there were only ever two choices when it came to life.

‘You’ve left something out, Eggsy.’ Harry spoke blandly, allowing himself a small smirk around the lip of his glass, before setting it down and facing Eggsy fully. He waited for Eggsy to look at him and not the tabletop, but he seemed to be doing everything in his power not to do so.

‘Oh?’ Eggsy didn’t dare look at Harry- he didn’t want a fatherly pat on the shoulder, or apologies for how his life’d turnt out- but when Harry’s hand landed heavily on the wrist clutching his glass his head snapped up.

Harry’s eyes flicked to his lips so quickly Eggsy swore he’d imagined it before there were lips against his own. Insistent yet chaste, Harry pulled Eggsy to him by framing his face with both hands. His fingertips cradling his jaw with what Eggsy could only describe as reverement. His eyes slipped closed, and just as Harry began to pull his hands away Eggsy made a soft noise of protest before leaning inward and pressing his insistently back. One hand held him steady on the countertop as the other wound itself into Harry’s hair as they began to lose time.

They broke apart to jeering from the other Minions, ‘get it, Eggs!’ and the two flipped the group off with a united two finger salute before dissolving into giggles.

‘Do they even recognise me?’ Harry breathed into Eggsy’s ear, and he shook his head in reply. ‘Well, they’re quite enthusiastic about your “getting it” from a man they don’t know.’

‘Like to hope they trust my judgement.’ Eggsy laughed, feeling high from the realisation that his antics hadn’t cost him a chance with the man before him. He pulled back, allowing himself to do a full once-over of Harry’s look- he looked gorgeous like this, ever so slightly undone, and Eggsy hadn’t let himself really realise it before that moment.

‘There’s never only two options, Eggsy. You know that as well as anyone.’ Harry smiled softly, running his thumb along his cheekbone.

‘Yeah, well, forgive me for puttin’ this option from my head after havin’ lied to you for so long. An’ forget the fact that  I’m nowhere near your league.’

‘We’re spies, Eggsy- lying is easy as breathing and takes half the thought of the truth. Not saying that I’m not a bit frustrated- but that’s more at my inability to be observant than your Parent Trap-ing me. And,’ Harry firmed the grip upon his face, ‘if I hear you dismiss yourself so easily again you’ll soon regret it. I love you, and if you find your own judgements are faulty then trust my own.’

‘You love me?’ Eggsy breathed, eyes wide like a child seeing art for the first time, and Harry allowed himself to drink his fill of the image before replying.

‘Well, I love what I know of you- both what you told me as Lunete and what I’ve come to know through our missions- and I look forward to loving the rest of you.’

‘Might take a while.’

‘Well, we have a while.’ The two pulled enough apart to finish their drinks, a pair of hands clasped between them as if to separate would break the spell.

[willel]

S3 Adjustments: If the Mind Flayer were smart as they say

Ok, so the Mind Flayer is supposed to be this very intelligent creature that has disposed of many many worlds just like ours.

In spite of their lack of physical abilities, mind flayers were feared by all beings in the Underdark because of their great mental prowess.

If we go beyond Stranger Things and think of the Mind Flayer as an Elder Brain, it’s even more apparent that it’s supposed to be some mastermind

Forming the physical and spiritual center of a mind flayer community, the elder brain served as a living library of the community's history, technology, and knowledge. Playing this important role in a mind flayer society, it often doubled as an advisor in all sorts of political and military decisions, operating as the community's effective leader.

So why then was the Mind Flayer’s plan in season 4 so... short sighted? It wanted to kill El. Of course it did. She was a mega threat, she shut the door in its face. Of course it’d be upset. 

But when the Mind Flayer woke up again in the real world and realized it was alive... why didn’t it think, “Oh. Another gate has opened. I should investigate this.” or “I see. These people have opened another gate. I should infiltrate them on the down low and make sure the gate opens properly.” or “Last time my enemy was able to shut me out because I only had 1 door. This time, I should make sure I have multiple ways back in on top of killing my enemy.”

See what I mean? If the Mind Flayer is this cunning creature, killing El should’ve have been its only goal. Building a weapon for El shouldn’t have been it’s only mission. It had so many people under its control, it could’ve carried out a multitude of plans for its future dominance of this world. 

Look back at season 2. Not only was it spreading underground, it was also building an army of demodogs AND decided to possess a human child to be its eyes (for reasons we don’t really know yet). That’s at least 3 different things going on. Did hatred make the Mind Flayer so blind as to not plan for anything else?

With that question in mind, here is an alternative story route. It’s not fully fleshed out. In fact, it’s very half baked. But it came to me last night so I’m gonna write it down. 

Season 3 Episode 4: The Sauna Test

This is a perfect time for the Mind Flayer to slightly change his plans after not only facing El face to face, but having a close look at the whole party (minus Dustin)

At this moment, I think the Mind Flayer should have noticed El. Billy should have noticed Max. And then, the Mind Flayer would again notice Will. Ah Will, his loose end. A dangerous loose end, he’s probably the reason why his new main host is trapped in a hot room. Or how they know how to figure out who is flayed. Or even his movements. 

His plan to build a giant weapon under El’s nose is immediately ruined, but not completely unsalvageable. As long as he removed Will from the equation, but first, he must escape or kill El right here and now. 

The fight goes down as expected. El is able to defeat Billy only barely and Billy escapes. As our Party comes together to figure out what to do next, so does the Mind Flayer.

“She knows about me,” Billy says. “And so does he.” 

The Party comes away with knowing Billy is a host and that there are many more based on what Nancy discovered about Mrs. Drisslady.

The Mind Flayer comes away knowing El’s strength, capabilities, the identities of everyone around her, and that Will is a problem. So, he makes a slight change of plans.

Goal #1: Kill El. She’s the only one who can close the gate, so he thinks. Or fight him in general. He has to take her out no matter what

Goal #2: Find where the gate is opening and protect it. If she can’t get to the gate to close it, then he can come in full force just like before.

Goal #3: Remove Will from the good team and possibly pull him back into the fold. Will could potentially know all of his secrets and obviously has some ability to find him or sense him. PLUS... the piece of him that’s still in the real world came from the Upside Down through Will, meaning, Will is potentially his back up way back into the real world after killing El. 

Season 3 Episode 5: I don’t remember the title

As we will later find out, the hospital is one big trap. But think about it. Why were they only trying to get Nancy? She was on the case of the rats, but at that point, the rats didn’t matter. The Mind Flayer already had an army at that point. So... it makes sense that this would just be a distraction!!!!

Nancy, Jonathan, Tom, and Bruce? All a distraction! A distraction to catch them off guard and make things chaotic. And what kind of chaotic sneaky tricks can you pull off in a half lit large hospital? 

Well... maybe you won’t notice someone on your team just got picked off/went missing while everyone was scrambling around. 

My suggestion is... maybe in the scramble of things, climbing up stairs, running around, going through dark areas... one of the Flayed manages to grab Will, knock him and, and whoosh they go. Of all those flayed people, only two were in the hospital? None of them lying in wait for El and the gang knowing how powerful she is? 

El would save Nancy, rush outside to watch the creature slither away, and all would seem well... until Jonathan asks, “Where is Will?” 

Will is in the hands of the Mind Flayer. Ah but it isn’t that simple. Will is not part of the kill El/flayed army plan. He’s part of the “You’re my backup gate” plan. 

What would this backup plan entail? Well, I’m thinking he can’t just possess Will again. Will didn’t have anymore True Sight visions when he inevitably got caught by the Mind Flayer. This could be for 2 reasons. It was just the Mind Flayer doing that to him, or two, Will was the one doing it by accident, but once the Mind Flayer caught him, he was unable to use the same ability. 

Let’s pretend the latter is the answer (and I think the later is the answer because if it were purely the Mind Flayer controlling what Will was feeling or seeing, then SURELY HE WOULD HAVE NOTICED WILL AT SOME POINT)

The Mind Flayer cannot possess Will, he must get Will to do the switching himself. Thing is, Will doesn’t know how to do it at Will. He hasn’t seen visions of the Upside Down in a year. The conditions have to be just right for it to happen, so, that’s what the Mind Flayer goes about doing. Trying to make the conditions right for Will to see into the Upside Down so the Mind Flayer can enter Will from there and come out on the other side. (horrific, really)

What conditions? Not sure. Probably location, temperature, his state of mind/how much sleep he has. Could be anything. 

The Rest

This is where things get hazy. I’ve got many ideas, none of them laid out all that well. So I’ll just ramble. 

Will isn’t just going to sit captured, I think that’d be a bad route for his character development. 

He may scared of his mind, but hey. He evaded the Demogorgon for a week. He’s resourceful and sneaky. Even though he’s tied up and probably gagged and guarded by the Flayed, I think Will can get out of this. Might take him a while.

You know what, what if they make it easy for Will to escape. They’d rather keep him, but letting him escape works too. Why? Because they’ll just do what Will wanted to do to Mrs. Drisslady. Let him go... and follow him. Follow him right back to the rest of the group.

But, Will is smart... maybe he’d catch onto that and not reunite with the Party right away. But, he also realizes El would come looking for him. If they meet in the void, I think Will would tell them not to come for him, but every is like, “Hell no, we’re coming for you and we’ll figure out what to do next.” 

Or, maybe this is when they set the trap. Will makes a correct assumption the Mind Flayer will try to follow him to the rest of the gang. So, the Party sets up some kind of firey trap and lie in wait. Will leads some Flayed right into a firey trap, taking some of them out and sending the rest fleeing back. (cue the Mind Flayer deciding to join together now since little people aren’t working)

Kinda feels like a tug of war. Kids get the upper hand (sauna). Then the Mind Flayer(hospital/kidnapping). Then the Kids (fire trap). Then the Mind Flayer (Billy speech/cabin fight). So on and so forth. 

See? Hazy malformed ideas. BUT, I do know one thing for sure.

If this whole Will is temporarily taken situation happens and the Mind Flayer states his intentions since he can speak now, then Will would learn even if they close the gates. Even if they destroy this piece of the Mind Flayer. Even if they plug every hole, seal every crack, and nail every hammer... he himself is a danger to the world. A living breathing gate. Doesn’t matter if they move. It might help, but there’s still always a looming risk in the back of his mind. 

And I like that idea.

[earth-ambassador-jim]

Changeling Loyalties: Chapter 7

Consequences

Toby is quite happy with his life, but then the Amulet of Daylight just had to choose his human friend. What’s a changeling to do? Good thing Toby never really liked Gunmar anyway.

AO3 - Fanfiction

~~~~

~~~~

The bus pulled up in front of a vaguely familiar house. It took Toby a second to place where he’d seen it before. It was one of the houses he and Jim had passed when they were escaping Bular. He slowly stepped out of the bus into the chilly night air with the sinking feeling that he knew exactly why they’d been called here tonight.

He was right.

The inside of the house looked like something out of a slasher movie. There was blood on the floor, some of the furniture was overturned and the backdoor had been torn off its hinges. The goblins in his backpack sniffed the air and chattered in excitement.

Alfhild was already there of course. Her hands were casually shoved into the pockets of her leather jacket as she talked to a short cloaked figure. When the changelings that had been in the bus settled into a semicircle in front of them she trailed off and turned to look at them.

“Okay, Y’all!” She barked. “As you can see we’re getting this place cleaned and ready for a cover-up, but before I assign your jobs I will introduce our guest.”

The cloaked changeling she had been talking to moved forward and faced them. Their eyes glowed yellow behind their black mesh mask.

“This is Viper, she will be observing you tonight. Continue as normal but be sure to answer any questions she asks you.”

The gathered changelings shifted and Toby could practically feel the tension in the room ratchet up. Understandably too, it generally didn’t bode well when higher-ups from HQ started nosing around. Most changelings had something they were hiding so it was hard to tell what or who they were after. Toby, however, was hiding a whole powder-keg of secrets. He bit back the urge to swallow.

Kracka sniffed at his neck and Toby quickly shoved down his fear, imagining locking it in a box the back of his mind to deal with later. He had a role to play.

Alfhild was now assigning jobs. She moved to stand in front of him and he shifted to attention.

“1870, you’re in charge of getting the blood out of the upstairs bedroom- Just the one across from the stairs, the master bedroom is fine- and clearing up anything else suspicious,” She paused eyeing the goblins. “You can tell them to take care of any bone shards and any cloth or other materials that are deemed unsalvageable. Make sure they know not to mess with anything else.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Alfhild was watching as Toby switched to Goblin to relay her orders. Kracka and the others were a little disappointed that they would not be getting free reign to eat anything they wanted, but relented when Toby promised to find them a treat when they were done.

The goblins scampered off and Toby went to the supply corner to grab a carpet cleaner. After eyeing the stairs for a moment he shifted forms and then picked it up.

~~~~

The room he had been assigned was decorated like a jungle. The walls were painted with trees and animals. Handcrafted cloth vines hung from the ceiling. The ones near the door had been ripped and dangled limply to the side as if something tall had snagged in them. The toucan patterned sheets had been pulled off the bed and ran parallel to a trail of blood leading out from under the bed. The smells of blood and fear and salt hung rank and yet strangely sweet in the air.

Toby swallowed, his stony hand clenching around the handle of the floor cleaner and making the plastic creak. He quickly shifted back to human form. He could still smell the blood, but at least it didn’t make him feel…

The changeling quickly shoved that thought down and took a deep breath through his mouth. He was fine. This wasn’t his fault. They’d taken a different route Bular would have gotten them. He was just being stupid. He had been on the surface too long. That was all.

He got to work. With each pass of the cleaner the blood stains became lighter. Maybe by the time he was done his hands would stop shaking.

~~~~

The changeling carefully finished the floor and made sure the vines were back in place. He tucked the last one up and took a step back. The room was back to looking about as neat as a child’s room would look normally.

He should head downstairs to check on the goblin’s they were probably getting to the end of the more obvious stuff now. If he left them on their own too long there was no telling what they would get into.

He turned around and yelped.

Viper was standing in the door watching him.

How long had she been there?

“Hi…” He said awkwardly. “Do you need something Ma’am?”

Without acknowledging his question in any way, she turned around and left.

Well that was creepy…

Toby pressed a hand to his chest for a moment. His heart was racing. He took a few deep breaths to calm it down.

~~~~

He spent the rest of the time directing the goblins and making sure they didn’t eat anything important. Once they were done, he hesitantly approached Alfhild, who was talking to Viper again.

“We’re done Ma’am. Do you have any other tasks for me or the goblins?”

Alfhild glanced at the kitchen where two changelings were working on installing a new door. She tilted her head and absently twirled one of her braids around her finger.

“I don’t believe so. You may leave if you’d like, or wait for the bus.”

Toby contemplated for a moment. He’d really rather get out of here now, but it was a long walk home and a teenager out this late would draw suspicion.

“I’ll wait for the bus,” He decided reluctantly.

Alfhild nodded and turned back to Viper.

“So… Any news on the hunt?”

Viper glared at her, or at least Toby was pretty sure she did (it was hard to tell with the mask), and then pointedly tilted her head toward Toby.

Alfhild snorted.

“Oh, please. It’s clearly not him. As vague as our Dark Prince’s description was I doubt he’d confuse slender with stout.”

“Maybe,” Viper acquiesced. (Her voice had a rumbly quality to it that suggested she was using her shifter magic to make it unrecognizable.) “But the walls have ears. We don’t want our little wolf to catch wind and hide in his den.”

They stood in silence for a moment watching as the other changelings worked on finishing up their individual tasks. Toby shifted uncomfortably.

“Sooooo….” He said finally, unable to deal with the silence any longer. “Is it just me or was this messier than usual.”

Alfhild snorted.

“Oh it definitely was.” She shifted a little closer to Toby and lowered her voice slightly. “Apparently Stricklander told The Dark Underlord himself about last night’s spectacle. He actually told Lord Bular that he’s supposed to differ to Stricklander as punishment.”

Toby winced. “Yeah I could see why Lord Bular would be in a bad mood after that…”

“Oh there’s more! Anyway he was really touchy all day yesterday. Stalking around snarling at anyone who even looked at him…” She waved a hand vaguely. “The works.”

Her lips quirked up slightly in a smirk and then she leaned forward slightly.

“Now it just so happens some fleshbag saw the whole debacle yesterday. He tried to call the police about it… Can you believe that!?” She gave a little incredulous laugh as if at the absurdity. “Naturally they didn’t believe him, but one of our agents heard the whole conversation.”

“So he’s reporting it, so we can decide whether to monitor it or… discretely remove the human. And then.” Alfhild gestured dramatically with both hands. “Lord Bular, who happens to be passing by just then, overhears it. He pins the informant to the wall and demands to address… So of course the frightened sod gives it to him.”

She leaned back again.

“Anyway we just barely had time to announce a gas leak and clear the neighborhood before Lord Bular arrived… A good thing too. You should have heard the screaming!”

Toby was glad he had not.

“Yeah… Sounds crazy!” (Did he sound too cheerful or not cheerful enough? He wasn’t sure.)

“Tell me about it,” Alfhild groaned. “I miss the good old days when it was busting people’s skulls open with battle axes and doing raids. Heck even working a trade route was better than all this sneaking around.”

Viper let out an amused huff and tugged at her hood.

“When were you planted exactly?” Toby asked hesitantly; not really wanting to know but trying to keep himself present.

“Oh way back,” Alfhild said with a vague wave, before her lips drew back into a toothy grin. “I was a Viking.”

“Yeah?” Toby could definitely believe that.

~~~~

Despite using the alley behind it as a shortcut for years, Jim had never actually been inside Stuart’s Electronics. His eyes widened a little as he tilted his head back to take in the floor to ceiling stock of various gizmos. Toby trailed silently at his side. Occasionally he would pull out his phone to cycle through the apps and then shove it back into his pocket. Jim glanced at him with a slight frown. He was about to ask him what was bothering him when a series of thumps drew his attention away.

“Customers! Welcome!”

A plump man with light skin and brown hair emerged from behind a stack of electronics at the top of the stairs. He was wearing a pink bathrobe, slippers, and a large cheerful smile.

He seemed vaguely familiar. Before Jim could place where he knew him from, Toby perked up and let out a squeak of excitement.

“Hey!” Toby said pointing a finger at the man. “You’re the taco guy.”

“I am,” He said cheerfully as he worked his way down the stairs. “I wear many hats… Though to be fair, I do have a lot more success selling tacos than radios.”

He settled behind the counter and shoved a tangle of wires that were attached to a small glowing blue rectangle to the side.

“Stuart of Stuart’s electronics, at your service,” He said offering his hand. “What can I do for you?”

Jim stepped forward and shook it.

“We’ve looking for a vacuum.” Normally he would look for it himself but they would need all the help they could get to find anything in this store… or at least to get it out without toppling something.

“A really really reaaaaalllly strong vacuum,” Toby cut in. “One so powerful that it could suck up like… a mouse.”

“You do know they have mouse traps for that, right kid?”

“It’s a very smart mouse,” Jim interjected.

Toby nodded vigorously.

“A very very smart mouse. Like Jerry from Tom and Jerry levels smart. We can’t use poison either since my Nana’s cats might into it.”

“I see,” Stuart said tapping his chin. “If you don’t mind waiting a moment, I’ll head into the back and see what I have.”

Stuart retreated behind a pile of electronics and Jim and Toby listened as a series of thuds sounded out. There was a loud clatter and then a moment of silence.

“I’m fine!” Stuart called out.

“Do you think he’s really okay?”

Toby shrugged in response.

~~~~

Blinky and Aaarrrgghh were quite relieved to see them when they arrived at Bagdwella’s store.

“Ah there you are Master Jim!” The four-armed troll said with a smile. “As far as we can tell the little varmint remains in his hole.”

“That’s good,” Jim said navigating the vacuum over the last bump.

He straightened up and grimaced as his back let out a series of pops. They really should have called Aaarrrgghh to help them bring the vacuum down the stairs. The thing was heavy.

“What’s that?” Aaarrrgghh rumbled with interest as Toby set down his bag.

“It’s a battery pack to run the vacuum off.”

The large troll leaned forward to sniff it.

“Tasty,” He said licking his lips.

“Don’t eat that,” Jim said quickly. “We need it.”

“After we catch gnome?” Aaarrrgghh asked hopefully.

“Sorry,” Jim said. “It’s my Mom’s. She might miss it.”

Aaarrrgghh sighed and gave him a sad look. Such a big troll had no right to have such big woe-be-gone puppy dog eyes.

“Well… Here goes nothing,” Jim muttered as he stuck the hose into the gnome’s hole.

The machine roared to life and immediately angry chattering began sounding from inside the wall. Things began thudding into the hose.

“What is it doing?” Blinky inquired.

“It’s working,” Jim said with a giddy smile. “I can’t believe it’s actually working.”

He’d have to drop back by the shop and thank Stuart later. The man had apparently made his own modifications to it. He held up a hand for Toby hi-five and then quickly returned to bracing the tube. The gnome’s chattering became more rapid and then it let out a loud shriek.

Thunk.

Jim pulled the tube back revealing a pair of feet sticking out of it. It shook and Jim was barely able to maintain his hold as the gnome’s feet kicked aggressively.

“Quick, get something to trap it!”

Blinky began to scramble around for some form of containment. Fortunately it seemed that Aaarrrgghh was already prepared. Blinky smiled at the green giant when he handed him a sturdy bag, which he then handed to Jim, who wrapped it around the hose.

“Okay… turn it off, Tobes.”

Toby pushed the off switch and the roar of the machine died down. Jim pulled the bag back and it immediately began thrashing. He closed his other hand around the bag’s opening to prevent gnome from escaping.

“We got him!” Jim glanced over at the vacuum. “Did we get the amulet?”

“I’ll check,” Toby volunteered. “You get something to tie that closed.”

That was a good plan. Jim wasn’t sure how long he would be able to hold the bag closed. Bagdwella found them a rope while Toby removed the top of the vacuum and rooted around inside.

“So any luck?” Jim asked coming up behind him.

His friend yelped, clearly having not heard him coming.

“Nope. We probably should keep trying.”

Jim winced. This wasn’t good. He was fairly certain losing an ancient magical artifact was a big no-no.

He turned on the vacuum and tried again, this time going until it was sucking up nothing else, and then they emptied out the bag. Bagdwella sorted her things out of the dust and announced that all was accounted for. Unfortunately the amulet didn’t turn up.

“Maybe it’s too heavy?” Toby suggested.

“I don’t think so,” Jim said with a frown. “The vacuum got the gnome and it was much heavier than the amulet.”

He turned to Blinky and Aaarrrgghh.

“Did you guys watch the hole all night?”

Blinky nodded.

“Aaarrrgghh and I took shifts and made sure it was never unsupervised.” He paused fidgeting a little as his eyes darted around. “Perhaps there is another opening to the tunnel.”

Jim grimaced. He rubbed at his arms. This just kept getting better. What now? He glanced at the wiggling bag.

“Does anyone here speak gnome? Is there any way to interrogate one?”

“I’m afraid not, Master Jim,” Blinky said with deep regret. “I know some have studied gnomes and their language. Unfortunately none of them live in Trollmarket.” He shot a glare at the bag as the gnome let loose a string of angry sounds. “That and most attempts to understand the vermin resulted in insults.”

Well that was just great. Jim sighed.

“So what should we do?”

Blinky rubbed the back of his hand and shrugged.

“I am afraid I am at a loss… I suggest you retire for the night and we reconvene tomorrow with fresh ideas.”

“What about the gnome?”

Blinky picked it up and handed the bag to him.

“Keep him on hand for the moment… as a precaution… but once we find the amulet you must finish the job.”

“Finish… Wait you mean kill it?!”

“Of course. That is one of the Rules.”

Jim’s stomach clenched as he accepted the bag from Blinky. He could understand seeing the gnome as annoying… but to kill it?

“Come on Toby,” He said as he turned to leave Bagdwella’s shop.

The shorter boy followed him slowly, brows furrowed.

~~~~

Toby and Jim pulled into their cul-de-sac just as the sun slipped behind the trees.

“Hey…”

Toby turned and blinked at him. Jim noticed there were dark bags under Toby’s eyes. He had been distant all day. When had he last had a full night’s sleep? Something twisted in Jim’s gut.

“Do you want to stay over tonight?” His voice came out so much more hesitant than he wanted. “We can watch a movie and I’ll even make my Ultimate Party Popcorn.”

Toby’s brows drew together and his gaze flicked away for a moment. The twisting in Jim’s gut grew more pronounced. Then Toby’s expression relaxed into a smile.

“Yeah… that would be nice,” He nudged Jim’s shoulder with his own. “Besides how can I pass up on your Ultimate Party Popcorn?”

Jim bumped him back with a smile. He let out a quiet breath of relief. They were still okay.

~~~~

Toby listened as Jim’s breathing slowly leveled out.

He stared at the dark ceiling, eyes carefully kept open. The images of last night were still too fresh in his mind. A reminder of what would happen if they messed up. If they were caught.

Of the consequences of their actions.

The changeling quietly rose to his feet. His hand slipped into his pocket closing around the cold metal circle. Its tingling energy pulsed against his fingers like a heartbeat (He wondered if it matched Jim’s). His gaze flickered to his friend’s sleeping form.

It would be so easy to get rid of it. Jim had no obligation to the trolls. Toby certainly didn’t. He could slip away and hide it somewhere no one would ever find it. Maybe he could even destroy it. There would be no way to release Gunmar if the amulet was gone, right?

His fingers clenched tightly and he thrust it deeper into his pocket. He glanced at Jim. The room seemed to brighten slightly as his eyes glowed.  He wondered what the human would see right now if he woke up.

~~~~

~~~~

Well time to go edit my outline. Toby was originally not supposed to steal the amulet at this point... But well... things happen.

Stuart gets an appearance!

[ofexaltationsa]

Overwrought Addendum

The long version of this post. ( attn. @quiprava​. cc: Soren Amell )

It was, of course, Shaw’s fault.

The battle was over- and since the Darkspawn were all dead and some of the Wardens yet remained, they had even won. ( But it was brutal, as battles with the beasts always were. It made Shaw’s bones buzz beneath his armor, like ringing in his ears that spread to the whole of him. ) Sometimes, when the fight was over, the buzz turned to a quake and the rattle of his armor over his traitorous bones could be heard over the din of the camp.

Such was the case. He tucked away to his tent, privacy what he needed to deal with it.

He had some field dressing, but the wound on his side wanted for more attention, his armor damaged around it. There was time for that after he finished. There were worse injuries for their healers to tend to first. This was another part of it, the healing. Gauntlets removed first, laid palm up side by side. Shaking hands clenched and he focused on the feel of hot flesh, the fresh pain of his nails in his palms. ( The wound on his side wouldn’t do, not for this. He barely felt it at this point between the battle rush and time. ) His eyes closed and he focused on the sounds around him. A deep breath, held, let go. The muted bustle of post-battle camp. Breath. The silence of the forest around them. Breath. The crack of his small brazier.

Bracers next, the metal hot to the touch on his bare palms. That’s good, too. He grasped his bare forearms, solid. Pulse pounding wildly, but his. More breathing, but it’s easier now. Chest piece next- mangled as it was on his side, all the better to get it off. He counted while he undid the clasps and buckles. Not thinking on anything but how long it takes him and his own breath. It was not meant to speed his hands, simply to observe. ( He liked to know how quickly he could, if needed, but that was not the point of doing it every time. )

He let out a soft yell when he pulled the plate off. That was the thing about pain- one either felt it or one feared it, and Shaw had long forgotten how to fear.

( No, a lie. When his own blood hummed at the feeling of Warden-Commander Amell calling upon his foul blood magic, when he turned to see half a dozen Darkspawn encroaching. Shaw did not realize he let one of his mighty shouts out, at that moment, attempting to draw their attention. He did realize that he cleaved two’s heads off in one blow in a vain attempt to get closer, the press of bodies too great- - there was fear there. Something about Amell gripped Shaw by the heart and threatened to tear it out. The foul magic, maybe. Blood, regardless. Shaw doubted he would understand, even if he could know. )

He felt weightless and exposed without the heavy metal, but that was part of it. He wanted to pull it back on, to allow the heft of it to pull him more solidly to the ground. He did not. That was part of it. Shaw placed the gory plate on the stand and ran his hand over the silver griffon. Some of the repairs that the fight demanded were purely cosmetic, but Shaw allowed himself a bit of vanity. The blue chain mail came next, the Warden letting out a noise of pain through his teeth as broken links pulled from his wound. Blue stained black with his blood, the sight familiar, though not fond. A lucky shot from the Alpha who wounded him, the Warden distracted by hearing Soren Amell’s voice from across the battlefield, weaving through the din like it was completely separate, cutting straight to Shaw. A lucky shot, cut short by Shaw bashing the beast’s head in with his pommel. 

The gambeson was unsalvageable, even to Shaw’s shrewd eyes. Peeling it back and discarding the mostly-bloody light shirt he wore underneath with it. Hissing and gasping, he took inventory of the damage. It missed anything major, but it was deep and broad enough to look gruesome. ( “It looks worse than it is,” he tried to tell healers many times. “I’ll be the judge of that,” was always their reply. ) The minor patch the field healer managed had split open, as they knew it would have. It was enough to get him through the battle and back to camp, not much more.

The shaking had quelled a bit, now a mere tremor. The pain was sharper as his senses focused. Little sounds no longer echoed between his ears, big sounds no longer muffled. His legging and greaves took no time at all, his hands hurried by the urgency demanded by the wound on his side. His mind turned to what needed to be done as his hands moved down his legs. Damage assessed, pyres built, dead mourned. A meal, a drink, and sleep.

He needed to go to the Warden-Commander and report.

His hands stalled.

“Maker’s balls.” He had not missed that part while traveling. They had argued during The Blight- - and Shaw was always aching for another fight after a battle, it seemed. The quaking of his bones ebbed, but his blood still burned. The doing was easy. Facilitating and coordinating. The rest- the talking, debriefing, is where Shaw ran into issues. Especially with the Warden-Commander.

The grip around his heart tightened and he remembered the fear he felt at the sight of Soren the mage backed against the wall of that cave, already injured and outnumbered, too far for Shaw to reach. Shaw grimaced, taking the fear and turning it into anger. ( A visceral thing, reaching to whatever gripped his heart and tearing it to shreds. ) He threw the greave in his hand across the tent with a shouted, “Fuck!” His wounded side protested at the movement and he doubled over, anger blossoming to safe, familiar rage. 

When he made it to the healers’ tent, blood followed his steps- more from his knuckles than his side. He waved them away from treating his hands, orders in the practical, barebones way of his to just stop the bleeding on his side and then turn their attention to those who needed it more.

It was late, hours after the battle ended, when Shaw finally made it into the Warden-Commander’s tent. Still bloody, in desperate need for some food, but he needed to do this first. Get it over with.

Reports- on damages, on loss, of what next.

“You were almost one of the casualties.” Shaw stood before the mage, bloody arms crossed over his broad chest. In truth, the Warden-Commander looked like a proper warrior than a mage these days. Far from the skinny welp still pale from the Circle. ( They were both so far from then, from the before, it was almost not worth remarking upon. ) A deflection. Mention that he had obviously lived.

“You almost did not.” Anger rising once more. Soren Amell was a proper lord, nowadays, and Shaw’s commander, but he almost died and Shaw had to watch it, helpless. Anger met with anger, the mage pointing out that they were all going to die, likely fighting Darkspawn.

“If an Archdemon couldn’t kill you, Amell, some pissant genlock isn’t going to!” Shaw swept an arm out, his voice raising to a proper shout. The warrior began to pace, the worry rushing through his anger, spilling over. “You’re the only one left, you blighted maleficar- - -”

A nerve struck. The paradigm shifted.

( Just like it had when Soren killed the Archdemon and lived. Was the young mage aware of how the world turned beneath his feet? How it changed when he walked upon it? How he affected people? The story of Andraste almost made sense, sometimes, when Soren’s accomplishments were taken into account, when one spent enough time in the same room as him. Shaw wanted to hate him, but here he stood, dressing his own commander down for getting too close to death, the warrior’s knuckles bloodied on stones in attempt to tame his own fear of the thought. )

“I hate that I hate it.” That honest, open aggression the mage got when Shaw pushed him too far in one of these arguments. Grief raw and poison itself. Shaw steeled his expression.

“I hate that I’ve become thing I never wanted to be, a burden to you, a source of pain and suffering- - ” No, Soren Amell would never want to be a burden to anyone. To the point of carrying all of Thedas on his back through a Blight, uniting his nation and installing a king of his choosing. “A prison.” Shaw was still here- not at Alistair’s side in Denerim, as a guard or as an officer. Shaw slept in the room across from Soren’s, in that massive keep with more space than Shaw could rightly wrap his head around. Shaw stood a step behind the Warden-Commander more often than not, a grim shadow who mirrored the mage as easy as breathing. ( Going through what they had, how they had, Shaw had found he could generally anticipate the Warden-Commander’s official actions. It went without saying, of course, when fighting side by side, that there was not a sight quite like them. ) Shaw stayed, bound. Soren Amell knew Shaw could not leave no more than he could order him to go. ( They tried that, didn’t they- - )

“I hate that if I’d had a choice I’d have said no.” The choice- let them all argue until they were blue, until the time for battle came, to who would be the one to make the sacrifice, and still run the risk of one of them dying anyway. No, there wasn’t a choice. Morrigan approached him- the mage, not Shaw, who warmed her tent for most of the Blight- and left without a word of goodbye. There was no choice to it, anymore than Soren could have chosen to willingly execute Alistair and Shaw by his own hand.

“That I was grateful I didn’t have a choice, because I wanted to live, even if I didn’t deserve to.” The tightness around Shaw’s heart moved to his throat. All thought silenced and Shaw stood- dumbfounded, frozen. The anger fled and all Shaw was left empty, gutted. Soren Amell, not deserving to live. Of all of them- - of anyone- -

He didn’t think as he closed the gap between them. Fix this, like you’ve fixed everything else. The blood I’ve spilled is nothing compared to the lengths I’ll go. 

Shaw wanted to hate the damned maleficar, he certainly tried, but when had what the lowborn brute wanted ever come into relevance?