#Had a mental breakdown and ran into the woods to cry

[vonn13]

If the foxes went to summer camp as kids

So I was a camp councilor at a summer camp that had a mix of special need kids (autism, adhd, odd etc.) with kids from foster care and families that aren't well off.

Let me tell you these kids are wild and here are some of the things they did which I feel like our foxes would do as well.

Neil would definitely kidnap a bunch of frogs from a bog and hide them in hair like my menaces did. The kid that inspired this also had a blonde little partner in crime, so there you got it. Andreil as kids would've kidnapped frogs and given them ridiculous names.

Kevin would've become so depressed after losing at a game he'd grab a stick and draw in the sand. Then a kid wouldn't see his drawing and accidentally step on a single line (cough Allison cough) and boy would be bursting into tears and gesture at the sand and pretend stab himself with his stick.

Kevin would've also been such a dramatic bitch that when one of the kids rough house a bit with them he'd burst into tears and turn red in the face as he dramatically acted out every single thing that happened to him. This includes slapping himself in the face and choking himself out while the councilors just look on tired as hell.

Matt would be trying to ply extra ice cream from camp councilors in the middle of the night by walking out of the hut with his plushie while they were discussing the day and then rant about how pretty the stars are. He'd actually manage to talk quite some time while the councilors just wanted to cry, but had to be nice despite it being 1am.

Andrew stashes a pile of candy under his pillow on the first night knowing he isn't sleek but not giving a fuck and tosses the wrappers on the ground to annoy his roommates.

On the last night the councilors give the kids as much candy/food as possible so they'll sugar crash. Matt fell asleep on a pile of chicken nuggets.

Aaron got really into building a tower of sticks and marshmallows and sabotaged other teams (cough Neil cough) by kicking a football at them, yet somehow hitting his own tower in devastation.

Neil 'accidentally' tied Matt up to a wooden post and left him to fend for himself.

Aaron gets so pissed of at Seth at some point he tells Seth that he hopes he becomes infertile as he kicks him in the nuts and runs away like his life was on the line (it was)

Allison would be one of those girls that tell the councillors every bit of gossip there is and puts campers against each other by spreading all these rumors just for fun.

Neil stole the matches from an activity and sleeps with them in his sleeping bag. The councilors only found out on the last day they were dealing with a pyromaniac who had the means to an end when they were helping him clear up his bag.

Neil is somehow one of those wild kids that just knows their way around everywhere, so he can't possibly get lost in the woods.

Nicky does get lost in the woods and would just want his ipad or something nonstop.

Neil runs away every time he's about to get medicated for the day and dan helps chase him down because she can't handle hyperactive Neil without his meds (I could see him having adhd maybe and Andrew as autistic)

Andreil would be one of those camp couples that somehow are in a relationship when they've known each other for less than a week and are like fucking toddlers. They're disgustingly cute and give each other dumb nicknames and exchange phone numbers. They definitely changed their profile pics to a selfie of the two of them together and will get mercilessly bullied by their guardians.

#aftg #andrew minyard #neil josten #all for the game #andreil #the foxhole court #Worst yet best week of my life was being a camp councilor #Had a mental breakdown and ran into the woods to cry #matt boyd #aaron minyard #kevin day

[stitched-mouth]

Cum On The Knife

Pairing: Art the Clown x AFAB! Reader.

Summary: Art fucks the reader with a knife.

Warnings: Knife play, oral sex (male receiving!), cum eating, Art is a warning himself, slight dumbification, face fucking, fingering, crying?

Even though there is a knife and it’s Art the Clown, there is no blood! Reader does not get hurt at all.

I don’t know if I made it clear or not but this is all consensual sex. Reader has a fucked up head and wants to appease Art and Art just wants to eat cum.

No use of Y/N because I hate that shit.

Word Count: Who knows? It’s short.

Writing Time: 20 minutes.

A/N:

I didn’t stop writing, I just had a mental breakdown. But I’m back now! And still writing smut. Please request some smut, I’ll write for anyone on my masterlists, just please request smut. I’m horny af

Not proof read!

—///—-

You felt your whole body shiver as he brought the tip of the knife across your stomach and down beyond. The cold metal only made you hotter.

Art grinned and looked although he was laughing at your lewd state.

How could you have possibly ended up here?

Laying on Art the Clown’s table, that you knew was used for something gruesome considering the blood permanently stained into the wood, willingly letting him torture you with the thrill of accidentally being cut or worse. It wasn’t something you planned or ever saw happening.

Three of his fingers were as deep into your pussy as they could go. Slowly stretching you out while his thumb occasionally flicked your clit.

Dear God this felt good.

And it only got better when Art ripped his fingers out of you and shoved the end of the knife into your cunt. You screamed against your gag in shock.

How nice of him to use the handle end and not the blade.

Art’s grin got wider as he pushed the end of the knife in further and further till he could only see the metal part. Then he carefully moved it to each side.

Tears had ruined your vision, so you didn’t notice Art suddenly standing up and moving to your head till he was right in front of your face, smiling down at you. Of course he left the knife in you.

Art began ripping at his clown suit, making a hole for his dick to fit through. He slapped both your cheeks with his cock, his precum mixing with your tears, until he finally pulled off your gag and forced his dick down your throat. You immediately got to work, licking and sucking at the thing.

‘What a good girl!’ Art thought, proudly. He didn’t even have to tell you what to do.

Art began thrusting in and out of your mouth, whilst sucking your slick off his own fingers. When he ran out of your cum on his fingers, he leaned across your body, to pull the knife out of you and suck on that.

His dick moved further down your throat when he reached down, causing you to gag around him and cry again.

As you know, Art is a troll. A selfish one too. So truly, he doesn’t care if you’re enjoying this. All Art cares about is mocking you and his own pleasure. So him fingering you and fucking you with a knife is really just for himself.

But Art can’t lie, he really does love the taste of your cum. Which is why he intends to give you as many orgasms as possible, till your a weeping mess.

You’re gonna be on that table a while.

#stitched #stitched talks #stitched writes #art the clown #art the clown smut #terrifier #terrifer 2

[importantchaosgiver]

Where Loyalties Lie:

Reality Or Madness?

Summary: (Y/N) doesn't know what's happening to her and it's scaring her to the point she may be going mad...

Warnings: Blood, canon typical swearing, soft Daemon, mental breakdown?

******

(Y/N)'s POV

What is happening to me?! Why did feel that?! Why did I see that?! Why did I hear her?! I can still hear her! Those screams... the screams just won't go away. The moment I had woken up, I ran. Out of King's Landing and into the woods, but I couldn't get away from the screams. Aemma's screams. Gods be good, why won't they go?! I felt like I was suffocating, my lungs burning. But not matter how much I tried to let air in, I only got a little bit every rapid breath I took. I couldn't see... I couldn't think. Because of my state, I slammed into a tree. I punched it, not like it would do me any good. But then, it splintered, the thud being almighty as it swayed and toppled over, hitting ground with a crash. I stumbled back. What?! How?! Why?! How could I do that?! HOW?!

I kept punching the damned tree, trying to stop myself from thinking of all that blood... Viserys's crying eyes... those ungodly screams. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" I shouted although no one was there. What sort of trick were the gods playing on me?!

Then, I heard a twig snap. I lifted my head, my teary eyes finding Corlys's ones with a couple of knights. "No, leave me," I croaked out. When did my throat get so dry? "Gods be good, (Y/N)," he whispered, slowly approaching me. "Stay back!" I roared, heat flooding my veins like magma. I punched the fallen tree again... but my fist hit the ground. I had reduced the tree to chunks of wood no bigger than my foot. I fell to my knees. Why? Why was this happening?! I couldn't stop the tears from falling down my face. Two large hands cupped my face, lifting it up. "(Y/N)... you're safe," Corlys said gently, moving his hands to my shoulders. "What... am I?" I whispered, my throat incredibly dry and scratchy. "I don't know. Come, let's get you seen to," Corlys whispered, scooping me up in his arms. I didn't have any strength to argue either...

No One's POV

When Corlys entered the courtyard, Viserys and Daemon were waiting nervously. When they were told of Lady (Y/N)'s abrupt leave and bad state of mind, they thought the worse. And when they saw her in Corlys's arms, it didn't help any. Her clothes were dirty, her skin clammy and her hair slightly damp with sweat. Her knuckles were bloody, broken and had bits of wood and dirt in them. She was barely awake, her cheeks stained with tears as she let out shaky sniffles and breaths, her eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. "By the gods," Viserys whispered, rushing over, taking (Y/N) from Corlys's arms and into his. Was she always so light? She felt like a bundle of feathers.

Alicent and Rhaenyra gasped in horror at the state of the usually punctual, kind, wise and stern Lady Commander. (Y/N) shivered a little as Viserys carried her into the Red Keep, Daemon following also, not wanting to admit how much he cared for the lady knight. But he certainly carried respect and some degree of care for how long she has and continued to protect his brother for as well as remaining unquestionably loyal.

But this? This was new behaviour. Viserys took (Y/N) to her chambers and called for maesters. She was put on her bed, but Viserys refused to let her go. Her back was against his chest as he sat behind her as the maesters began cleaning up her knuckles. They could almost see right to the bone as they removed the splinters from the flesh. (Y/N) gave no noise of pain from how numb they had went. Afterwards, they were cleaned thoroughly and wrapped up to heal. (Y/N)'s expression was empty, like she wasn't completely all there. She barely registered when Viserys's hand brushed through her hair to comfort her. "How could she lose herself so much, this happened?" Daemon mumbled, holding one of her hands gently, brushing a thumb over the wrappings. "I don't know, Daemon," Viserys whispered as (Y/N)'s eyes began dropping as she let herself be taken into her dreams. She was laid down, tucked underneath the crook of Viserys's arm, snuggled into his side. Despite all the darkness, despite the fact his son and wife were dead, the sight made a small smile crack upon his face. There were hardly times anyone would call Lady (Y/N) cute or adorable. But these were one of those times. It warmed his grieving heart to see her so peaceful. Daemon smiled down at (Y/N) also. She went from distraught, to content. Well, at least in her sleep. Only time will tell if she will ever return to how she once was. And what killed Viserys was that he had no idea what caused such a hysterical episode...

******

Two parts again! Whew. I am enjoying writing this so much. I hope y'all are enjoying it too.

#alicent hightower #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon #otto hightower #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #viserys x reader #fantasy #westeros #asoiaf

[kittyphoenix12-xx]

>_> you gotta link for that puppy? or is it a WIP.

sadly it's a wip rn because the original file got corrupted and i had to take a break from rewriting before i started crying lmao

but! here are the first 500 words because I'm very excited about it :)

There was something in the woods of Hawkins. It was moving in the shadows, out of the corner of Billy’s eye. As he lay on the floor, neck aching and veins burning, all he could think was the Byers have one creepy ass house.

A cool wind blew in from where the brats had left the door open, hauling Harrington’s fat ass to wherever they were going. He had heard the Camaro’s engine rev and disappear into the night. Billy hoped they crashed and died.

He tried to sit up, but his head hurt like hell. Sure, Harrington got a few good hits in, but the shit Max shot into him fucked him up more than he thought. With a dizzying exertion, Billy finally hauled himself up and slumped against the Byers’ counter.

“Fuck,” he muttered and scrubbed a hand down his face. This couldn’t’ve gone any worse. His mouth ached from where he’d been punched, and he could still taste the blood coating his gums. He ran a tongue over his teeth as if to clean them and looked blearily at the house.

It was a mess, and Billy knew that it hadn’t been him.

Those weird drawings were still on the walls, but the rest of the house looked like a hurricane had sauntered through. Billy had heard some things about Joyce Byers, about the near mental breakdown she’d had the year before. He could see it when he looked around the house.

“Fuck,” he muttered again as he stumbled to the fridge. His head was aching worse than before, and he hoped this creepy family had some ice, at least.

They did not have some ice. They had an alien in the refrigerator.

Billy took a breath and then another.

Max was in a fucking alien cult or some shit. And that was not Billy’s problem.

With shaking hands, he shut the fridge door, rubbed at the ache in his forehead and decided to go home. He could deal with the consequences tomorrow, but part of him (a small part, he wasn’t a pussy) was scared of what would happen if he waited for them to return. No weird cult shit for him, thank you.

But there were monsters in the woods of Hawkins.

The wind was biting when he stepped onto the drive. Gravel crunched underfoot as Billy shivered and stumbled, cursing as he tripped over nothing. The Byers lived fifteen minutes away by car, so it would probably take Billy an hour at this rate. God.

The drugs in his system were doing nothing to help. The shadows walked with him, swirling around his ankles like waves, leading him deeper into Hawkins's open blackness at night. There weren’t any streetlights, and the trees blocked the stars, so Billy was left in darkness.

He wasn’t left for long. He could hear a familiar rumble through the fog, and he almost cried in relief. The bright headlights came over a ridge and slowed down as they approached him. Billy slumped against the nearest tree, body losing to the drugs in his system as he giggled deliriously.

The slamming of a car door jerked his body as it echoed. He forced himself awake and blinked. A man was in front of him, lips twitching in subdued amusement. He was wearing a suit and tie, sunglasses on, and he was holding a card in front of him.

“Good evening.”

“Hey,” Billy replied dryly, squinting at the card. It was kinda difficult to read, but it seemed very official and shit. “You government?”

“Do we need to be?”

Billy shrugged. They may be government, but he always had issues with authority. The man acknowledged his silence with a smile, scanning him up and down. Billy was aware of the bruises around his face, the blood on his teeth and the shaking in his hands.

Another man got out of the car. He wore the same uniform but looked serious and less likely to take bullshit. He leaned down and whispered something to the other man before taking something out of his pocket.

“Have you seen anything like this?”

Billy took the photo and held it to the light. Huh. Guess he hadn’t hallucinated that thing in the fridge. “Yeah,” he said.

They both looked as if they wanted him to say more. Billy bit his lip.

Max had run away to a creepy cabin, drugged him, stolen his car and left him stranded where there were more of those aliens running around… but Billy didn’t want to send these government spies after her.

“I hit it with my car.”

“Did you, now?”

Billy scowled. “Yeah. I hit it and flipped my car. Got out, saw it, thought I had a concussion and was on my way to find a phone or some shit.” He didn’t know how believable it was, his speech sounded slurred, and he was getting dizzy again.

The first guy seemed to notice as he gently put his arm around Billy. “We can take you to the hospital, okay? We appreciate what you told us.”

As he helped Billy stumble to the car, which at a closer look, was one of those big black military vehicles, Billy felt warm. They got him into the back, and something caught his eye as the engine turned back on.

The symbol on the badge, the one that Billy originally thought was the government, looked nothing like it. It looked familiar, though, and Billy was so tired.

There were monsters in Hawkins, and to Billy, they would always be human.

#kitty's asks #billy hargrove #i did have to sit down and plan it out because it was getting too long #and im very excited about uh #everything that happens :))

[that-was-anticlimactic]

j, t, w?

lol hey just remembered that i had these from dec 19th lol i think i was just so mentally unwell at the time that i couldn't actually process the fact that i had asks and was capable of answering them even tho i literally reblogged the ask game lol anyways was going through my drafts and saw this and i'm MUCH better now so i went through and found the game and imma do it now <3

j - name a fandom you didn’t think about until you saw it all over tumblr. (you don’t have to care about it or follow it; it just has to be something that tumblr made you aware of.)

so. many. i mean, most recently, bungou stray dogs, haha! but most of the anime i watched came from tumblr moots on the dash! y'all help introduce me to SO many things <3

t - do you have any hard and fast headcanons that you will die defending?

YES SO MANY i mean obviously all of my ts headcanons and neurodivergence ones, too, but also all the who eats tomatoes like apples hcs and okay i'll choose one specific one uhhhhh let's see... OH! cole ninjago actually doesn't like cake that much. the reason he was so excited about cake is that, we can assume, he had to be on a diet on some sorts growing up. maybe nota diet, but i'm sure lou would have a pretty sugar-free household due to how serious he took dancing, so i feel like cake was a special thing, right? and i hc that lilly LOVED cake and that's why cole got so excited and why cake is his go to sweet food - because it makes him think of his mom. whenever their family indulged in sweets, lilly and lou always chose cake. it's just a special thing for cole and he has a lot of nice memories with it! that's why he got so excited in "double trouble". he actually prefers a lot of other things to cake. and we can assume that marty oppenehimers prolly was even more restrictive and then cole ran away and prolly lived in the woods so like where's he going to get cake with what money with what bakery. anyways. i will DIE ON THIS HILL and is this partially spite... yes. but idc. i am correct.

w - a trope which you are virtually certain to hate in any fandom.

i answered this here, but i can CERTAINLY answer it again <3 i hate the dynamic where it's like... one character is more depressed or traumatized than the other (which is SUCH a subjective argument to imply/make UGH) therefore they always cry and breakdown (and 9/10 times, the character they do this to wouldn't respond to their trauma this way so it's ooc) and the other one has to constantly protect or comfort them. i don't mind characters being protective of each other or comforting each other, but like. when the fandom seems to agree that one character's trauma is more important than another's it sucks and is so nasty. i remember trying to find fics for fandoms or ships or whatever and having SO much trouble because (depending on the character) almost every fic was them protecting or caring for the other and like... i get it. but dude. stop disrespecting the character you uwu-ified or babied. they'd hate you for babying them. let them actually process their trauma the way they Would. not everyone just cries all the time. ugh. let them express their emotions they way they genuinely would.

#hil tag #the [redacted] fandom @... you know. i won't redact this one. i'll use their initals: jw #hahhahha haiiiiiii #sorry for forgetting about this and just seeing it now #i sucked last year lol #sorry for going on multiple rants i have so many feelings #and okay although i @-ed a specific fandom in the tags for the last one it's not just that one it's also SO many more lol #thank you for indulging me even tho this is late <3 #corey rambles:)

[creepypasta-archive]

Fredrick Bio vs Jeff the Killer

by Anonymous

The first part of a diary entry styled duology, about Fredrick, a very macho man that wants to end Jeff.

CW// death

Click below to read the original unedited story

Fredrick Bio vs Jeff the Killer by Anonymous

Journal log 1:

My name is Fredrick Bio. I am a CIA agent. I have been serving the CIA five years. I was just recently assigned to eliminate mass murderer Jeff Alan Woods. This man was described as too dangerous to be kept alive. He seems to have suffered some injuries that I assume made him go insane. He must have been somehow burned and bleached in the skin making his skin a ghostly white. His hair has been singed black and he carved a smile in his face (probably due to the insanity). Although he is much better known as Jeff The Killer.

I am writing this journal as I go on for my search to end Jeff the Killer.

Journal log 2:

I have been researching and he has murdered more people than anyone else in history. I'll have to be careful.

Journal log 3: 

I've researched his current whereabouts. No luck. 

Journal log 4: 

I've been looking online for anyone who has encountered this madman. I can't find anyone. He must have killed them all. 

Journal log 5: 

I've researched and researched but no luck. This man is good at covering his tracks. Jeff Alan Woods, you shall breath your last.

Journal log 6:

Why can't I find anyone who's survived this man?! I might be safer not even trying to find him. 

Journal log 7: 

I've found someone who has survived a attack by Jeff the Killer. He is just a small child, with bellow average hight and a Spongebob shirt on. What kind of monster tries to kill a child?! Anyways, I got permission to pull him out of his orphanage he has been in.I interview him tomorrow. This has been a recent attack too, so the information must be good.

Journal log 8: 

Today I was going to interview the kid, but he had a mental breakdown and refused to come. Oh well, I'll try again tomorrow.

Journal log 9: 

I interviewed the kid today. I feel so bad for him. I promised him that I would avenge his family. Here is what he said:

"I was in my bed, having trouble falling asleep. I went and got some warm milk and it helped me fall asleep. I felt as though I was being watched but I dismissed it. I fell asleep. I woke up to some noise and looked out the window. There he was. That face...no eyelids...and a blood red smile carved into it. Me and him looked at each other as I sat there in fear. He said 'GO TO SLEEP' I screamed. He tried to stab me but before he could, my mom and dad ran in to protect me. Dad had a baseball bat and prepared to swing. Jeff stabbed him an..." 

The little boy started crying uncontrollably. He had to be taken away. However, one of the workers at the orphanage finished the story. Basically what happened was Jeff killed his mom and his dad but couldn't kill the boy due to up coming police. Jeff escaped and left the boy there in tears. None of his family was left so he had to move to the orphanage. I teared up a bit myself. Jeff is rumored to still he in the town. Jeff the Killer, I'm coming for you.

Journal log 10: 

I asked locals where Jeff could be. They said he is hiding out in the woods just behind the boy's house. I sneaked out there to find out if it was true. It was. Jeff almost heard me and I barely escaped. I'm coming for him in a few days. 

Journal log 11: 

I prepared my weapons, and looked up how he fights. If I'm gonna win, I'm going to barely win. 

Journal log 12: 

I've overheard that Jeff had had came back and killed the boy. I started to cry. But now this is personal. Jeff is going to die. This may be my last journal log. Wish me luck. 

Journal log 13: 

Hello, my name is Jeff the Killer. I have killed Fredrick Bio. I am writing to inform you guys that no matter how hard you try, you cannot kill a demon of my caliber. Beware, none of you are safe.

Journal log 14: 

My name is Tailor Bio. I am Fredrick Bio's brother. I am the only member of the bio family alive. Jeff has killed the only person left that I cared about. I am going to avenge him one way or another. I will continue this journal in my attempts to murder this man. 

This is part of the vs Jeff series, for part two, go to Tailor Bio vs Jeff the Killer

#jeff the killer #creepypasta #fanfiction #horror #jtk #story

[levis-hazelnut]

Hello, can I request one where Levi's fem s/o is getting threatened by some scouts who think she becomes a squad leader only because she is Levi's girlfriend? The reader refuses to talk about it to Levi but he gets suspicious of her behaviour. One day he sees her coming to their room hurt. When he asks her to tell him what happened the reader tries to lie but Levi doesn't believe her and she with some hesitation tells him the truth. Thank you so much, I love your works❤️

(a/n: tysm for the request and kind words, love! i hope you like it <3 also, sorry that i took so long to write it)

Levi x Reader Let Me Be There For You

Salty moisture fell from your eyes when the door to your office closed behind you with the click of the lock. This was something you wouldn’t allow anyone to see because one: that would mean those that caused your tears would know that their words do affect you. And two: you don’t want to seem weak and vulnerable, especially not in front of your boyfriend.

Their words echoed in your ears, etching themselves into your brain to be trapped there.

“If I sleep with him, will I become a squad leader?”

“She doesn’t even deserve to be one. She’s one of the weakest.”

“I bet she’s only with him so she can be a squad leader.”

“She acts like she’s everything just because she’s dating the Corporal. I doubt she even loves him.”

Every sentence, word, letter caused a piece of your heart to crack and fall apart. And it would only happen in the safety of your office, where no one could say anything to you, or witness your breakdowns.

How could they say you don’t love him?

He’s the reason you work so hard. So you can live as long as he will. So he’s proud of you. So you can prove that he has nothing to worry about when out on expeditions or any other missions.

There have been times when you wanted to break up with him. Not because you don’t love him, but because you just wanted all these people to leave you alone. However, you won’t break up with him because that would mean those people will get what they want. And you don’t want to part from him for something irrelevant and petty. Especially when he cares so much about you that it would definitely hurt him if you broke up with him.

After calming yourself down, you rid your cheeks of your tears and made a start on your work. Paperwork was one of the only ways to distract yourself. It was almost like your comfort. Because nothing can happen to you while your pen scratches against the paper and your mind is only focused on the words before you. And with your door locked, no one can burst into the office.

“(Y/N),” the familiar voice of your lover called softly from the other side of the door, knocking quietly. “Unlock the door.”

“I want to be alone right now,” you replied.

“(Y/N), let me in. Let me help you.”

“There’s nothing to help me with.”

“Then, let me listen to you. I’ll try to do whatever I can to make sure that you aren’t upset anymore.”

“What makes you think I was crying?”

“... I didn’t say that. But now, I do know that you were crying... Did... did I do something to make you upset?”

“No, no. No, you didn’t, Levi. Don’t worry. You haven’t done anything wrong, my love.”

“Open the door, please.”

After some consideration, you huffed and stood up to open the door for your boyfriend as you stood there, keeping your gaze away from him. His eyes immediately ran over your face, noticing the puffiness and slight tinge of red around your eyes. An expression of concern scribbled itself over his visage before he took hold of your forearm and stepped further into your office, shutting the door. He led you to the sofa in your office, sitting you down and crouching in front of you.

“What happened?” he inquired, in a tone so gentle and caring that made your heart melt.

“Nothing...”

“Tch. Tell me what happened. Who made you cry? Just... tell me who hurt you. You know I never like to see you upset. So, tell me who did this and I’ll kick their asses.”

“And you know I would tell you if there’s something wrong, and I’d let you kick their ass. But you don’t need to,” you smiled, but the raven saw right through that fake-ass smile. He wanted to see your sweet, genuine smile spread across  your soft lips.

Cupping your cheeks, he spoke up, “Don’t give this bullshit. Don’t force a smile. All I want is to help, or do whatever I can.”

“You aren’t my knight in shining armour,” you scoffed. “I’m a soldier, I can fight my own fights.”

“I know that. It’s just that I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“Levi, I’m fine, okay? Let me finish off my paperwork.”

“... Fine,” he sighed, standing from his crouching position as you got up and went back to your desk. “If you’re going to spend a long time doing paperwork, do you want me to bring your dinner?”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll go down and get it myself. Thank you, baby.”

“Don’t work yourself too hard.”

“Same goes to you,” you told him as he left your office.

After a couple of hours, the paperwork was done and it was just in time for dinner. Though, before you went to the mess hall, you had to drop it off to Erwin, so you quickly made your way there, hoping that you wouldn’t bump into anyone.

Your fists hit the wood twice before you heard a ‘come in’, so you opened the door and offered a small smile to your Commander, but he could tell that something was wrong as you were placing the pile of papers onto his desk. 

“Thank you, (Y/N),” he said as you gave a mere nod and turned around to leave. “Wait, before you go... Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“You just seem off.”

“Nope, I’m fine. Anyway, I’m hungry, so I’m going to go eat. What about you?”

“I’ll come in a bit.”

With an ‘okay’, you left his office, shutting the door behind you and making your way to the mess hall. Relief washed over you when there was no one around to say insulting words. And once you got to the mess hall, there was nothing to worry about because Levi and your friends were there, so no one would dare to say anything to you.

When you took a seat, you felt a few pairs of eyes on you, however, you ignored them since if you looked up, you knew they would be able to see that something was wrong. And you didn’t want to burden them with your problems. Which is another one of the reasons you refuse to tell your boyfriend.

~/~

You wished that the reason you woke up was because of the soft kisses pressed to your head and the soothing hand that drifted over your tresses. But it wasn’t because of that. It was because of an unpleasant dream. The same people, saying the same rude things, accusing you of false things, mentally destroying you.

But, once you lifted your head off of Levi’s chest, (E/C) met grey that swirled with love and affection and care.

“Good morning,” you hummed, earning a mutter of the same words from him while he pecked your forehead.

Normally, he would get out of bed straight away, but now, he was simply gazing at you, admiring you as you laid your head back onto his chest, closing your eyes for a few more moments. Soon, his gaze felt less loving and it felt like he was just staring at you to analyse your behaviour since you wouldn’t tell him what’s wrong.

Finally, after about five minutes, he let out a defeated huff. “... I can’t believe I can’t figure out what’s wrong,” he mumbled.

“Maybe because there isn’t?” you retorted. “Stop looking at me like that. I’d rather start my day with something nice, rather than being scrutinised.”

“And you would be able to have that if you just told me.”

“Tell you what?”

“... I hate you,” he sighed before leaving the warmth of your shared bed, stretching his limbs.

“Love you, too,” you teased, deciding to stay in bed for longer because you weren’t ready to leave the comfort and go outside, where people would terrorise you.

Once Levi had changed into his uniform, he had told you to get out of bed prior to leaving the room. That’s when you begrudgingly slithered out from under the covers and into the chilly air, freshening up and chucking on a fresh uniform.

When you arrived at the door of the room, your fingers lingered on the knob when you hesitated to leave the room.

You couldn’t stay strong forever. Something just felt off today, and you felt like it would be a terrible idea if you exposed yourself to the outside. Maybe it would be better if you just stayed inside and asked Levi to get you breakfast.

It was almost certain that you would break down if someone said anything. Only one thing would break you. You had that feeling. And that would mean Levi, and your friends, knowing that you aren’t as strong as they think.

But it would also have pros, right? Like if they found out, they would help you and try to prevent it from continuing.

But you didn’t want to push your problems onto other people. You wanted to deal with this yourself. Though, it’s probably inevitable since you doubt you will be able to carry on staying strong for much longer.

Without your permission, tears fell from your eyes and sobs racked your body.

What did you do to deserve this? All you want is to love Levi without anyone getting in the way.

Your legs gave out and you dropped to your knees, hiding your face in your hands as liquid seeped through your fingers and dropped with a patter.

Unbeknownst to you, Levi had been waiting for you outside the room. So, that meant he heard you crying.

The door quietly opened and he stepped inside, closing the door behind himself and locking it. He kneeled down in front of you, deciding not to question your tears, and instead, give you comfort by gently tugging you into his arms. You rested your head on his shoulder as he soothingly hushed you, stroking your back and pressing small pecks all over your head.

You didn’t care if he knew anymore because no matter what, he will always think of you the same. He wouldn’t think you’re weak, or that you’re a burden. He will help you, support you, and kick those people’s asses for you.

After some time, when you had calmed down, the raven brushed your tears away and kissed your forehead.

“(Y/N), I never beg. But, I’m begging you to tell me what’s going on. Please. Do you think that I like to see you this upset?” he spoke, voice laced with concern and slight pain. Quietly, you shook your head and he cupped your face, tilting your head up to face him. “Then, tell me. Tell me what’s troubling you.”

After some reluctance, you gave in and told him about what people said, and how much it affected you, and why you never mentioned it to anyone. And you could tell he was a little angry that you didn’t tell him earlier, but he was also understanding and he did his best to comfort you and he promised to help you.

His arms invited you for another embrace and you happily accepted, relief flowing through you since you finally got it off your chest and you don’t have to suffer in silence anymore.

“You can stay here, while I get us some breakfast, okay?” he told you quietly.

“Okay.”

“And after that, you tell me the specific people that said those things, so I can kick their asses.”

You let out a small giggle and nodded, slightly parting from the hug to mould your lips with his.

“Thank you, my love,” you murmured in between kisses.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot #aot fanfiction #aot imagines #snk #snk fanfiction #snk imagines #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin #x reader #reader insert #anime #your wish is my command #hazel's angels #im acc not that proud of this :/ #sorry

[thecreativitygeek]

Put It Down | Jack Kelly x Reader

Warnings: Self harm, depression, abuse.

Summary: Jack walks in during a mental breakdown.

Prompt: (47) You better put that knife (I'm using the word blade) down right now. (103) Calm down. You're scaring me.

You were behind.

You were behind on everything.

Your dad had kicked you out of the house just a few weeks ago. You had been a Newsie for years to help pay the bills every since your mom died, so your dad had been taking most of the money you made for a while. Still, you had a place to sleep.

He had gotten so fed up with you though, that he kicked you out. You still went back every night to give him about 70% of the money you were making, but he didn't give you food, and he didn't let you sleep there anymore either.

And you were behind on rent now.

The newsies hadn't even hesitated to let you move into the lodging house, and Mr. Kloppman had been so kind about it too.

Lots of the newsies could barely afford rent even keeping everything they made. You had managed to scrape together enough for the past month with your savings and what your dad had let you keep, but you weren't so sure about this month.

This led to you to doing the only thing you knew to do when things became stressful.

Grabbing the small blade out of your bag, you quietly slipped out of bed at 2am, and made your way to the common area.

There was still an abundance of cards lying out on the table from last night's intense gambling match, courtesy of the one and only Race, but all of the chairs had been set back up after a few of the boys stormed out in mock frustration.

You leaned against the far wall to the right of the door, and slid all the way down, resting you head against the wood and praying your hair wouldn't get ridiculously tangled.

You could feel your breathing begin to quicken as you dug your fingers into your hair, and you immediately grabbed the blade that you had let drop to the floor.

You started blindly cutting the skin on your arm, not caring where. They didn't form any sort of word or pattern, you just let it go. Every time a particularly painful or stressful thought popped into your mind, you couldn't help but notice how the cut that came after it seemed slightly more painful than the rest.

You could barely see through the tears collecting in your eyes as you looked down at your arm, a sort of magical feeling washing over you as you felt your mental clarity slip completely.

It was just you, your tears, and your blade.

This was why you hadn't even noticed when someone made their way in, freezing in pure shock at the sight of you making mark after mark on your arm.

"Y/N? Y/N stop!" The familiar voice of Jack Kelly snapped you out of your daze, and a panicked expression took over your features as you realized you had been stupid enough to get caught.

Jack half ran over to you to try and pull the one thing that had kept you grounded away from you, but you quickly scrambled to your feet, and backed away from him.

"What are you doing???"

"Jack I promise this isn't what it looks like." You mentally cringed at the words coming out of your mouth. "I promise."

"It's not? Then what is it Y/N?" Jack half-shouted, not wanting to wake the others. "Cause to me it looked like you were using that stupid blade to slice your wrists open!"

"Jack please calm down. You're scaring me." You pleaded, backing up a little bit and cringing at the way you sounded like you were about to cry.... even though you were already crying.

"Y/N I swear to God you better put that blade down right now." Jack said, taking a few steps forward. Everything inside of you screamed for you to back away, open the door and run, but you were frozen. You were stuck where you were and you couldn't move.

"Put it down."

You almost wanted to set the blade down. To collapse and just start sobbing. Everything in your life was already falling apart, and now you had been stupid enough to let yourself get caught doing the one thing that brought you any sort of relief.

Jack sighed, and stepped forward, never taking his eyes off of you. You refused to look up at him though, keeping your eye fixated on the ground.

The two of you were practically pressed against each other as Jack reached down and pried the blade out of your hands.

Neither of you said anything. You both just stood there, doing nothing other than waiting to see what the other would do next.

You heard Jack sigh.

"Please Y/N, just look at me." He said, defeated. You slowly turned your head up to see him.

You continued staring at each other, a few stray tears falling out of your eyes.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

#newsies live #newsies #jack kelly #livesies #self h@rm #self worth #tw depressing stuff #this is depressing #depression #anxiety #comfort #newsies comfort #why is tagging so difficult #fanfiction #fanfics #fic #fanfic

[writerfae]

about your Aiden post, here are some questions I would like you to answer 😌

what is his fav colour?

would he raise a baby deer if he ever finds one that is lost or their mother is killed?

what would he name the deer?

what would he wear on a festival/ball thing (you know what I mean)? And I need details like colour, jewelry etc.

are there nicknames he called his brother?

did his brother have any nicknames for him?

what is his most precious memory with his brother?

what does he do nowadays when there is a storm?

does he know how to ride a horse? (Idk this question just came to me and it reminded me that I always imagined him go to foot where ever he went but that would take some time wouldn’t it?? 😭😭)

his fav star constellation if he has one?

that brings me to, can he coordinate where to go by (or with, why is English so hard??) the stars?

car or dog person?

white, green, black or fruit tea?

Okay that’s enough questions I guess 😭😭😭

anyway I love my boy Aiden so much *gently holds him* 🥺🤲🏻💗

omg THANK YOU SO MUCH again I love you for asking about my boy, I could still cry 😭💕 (Aiden loves you too 🥺)

So…

What is his fav colour? - (Dark) green!

would he raise a baby deer if he ever finds one that is lost or their mother is killed? - Absolutely. He loves animals and I think he’d grow pretty attached to it (bonus point and extra angst what if he shot the mother because he didn’t see that she had a fawn so he raises the baby to kinda make up for it)

what would he name the deer? - probably Bonny (that means something along the lines of „pretty one“) or Fia

what would he wear on a festival/ball? - He’d definitely wear a fancy suit. Almost had a mental breakdown over trying to decide what kind of cut that suit would have and didn’t come up with anything but I do have a certain color/pattern in mind. He’d wear a black suit (maybe with either black or dark green vest?) and the suit jacket would have little dark green embroidery on the sleeves and the collar area that look like little branches (I had a ref pic but of course i lost it). Aiden is never really wearing much jewelry, but he’d insist on keeping on his crow pendant. In general Aiden looks really good in dark green and/or black suits I imagine (or black with dark red. Or black-gold, y’know, Talon’s house colors 👀👀).

He’d prefer simple designs that wouldn’t make him stick out too much, as if he wouldn’t look so good in any kind of suit that people just have to watch him 👀

are there nicknames he called his brother? - he calls him old man sometimes to mock him xD (in modern AU he calls him bro but idk if he does in canon cause not sure if it fits the time period ahaha)

did his brother have any nicknames for him? - haha yeah he called him little rabbit because he ran around like one when he was little and little brother of course (or you know, Brüderchen in German). Sometimes troublemaker xD

what is his most precious memory with his brother? - Oh he has many but what he treasures most is crawling into his brother’s bed after a nightmare and Henry reading him stories until they both fell back asleep. Also Henry carrying him back home on his back whenever Aiden was exhausted from playing in the woods.

what does he do nowadays when there is a storm? - trying to blend out the thunder by working in the house, humming his mother’s lullaby to calm his nerves

does he know how to ride a horse? - he does! His neighbors had a horse so him and Henry learned to ride there (yeah well Aiden does walk a lot but for very far ways he does indeed ride a horse sometimes 🙈)

his fav star constellation if he has one? - not to be predictable ahaha but it’s Sagittarius (y’know since he’s an archer haha) I’m still not over the fact that this is also Talon’s star sign

can he coordinate where to go by the stars? - yes he can! his father taught him how to do it

cat or dog person? - he likes both but I’d say he’s more of a cat person, since his family had a cat when he was little that he was pretty attached to

white, green, black or fruit tea? - fruit tea! (like me ^^)

#tumblr was being a bitch when it came to editing this again I hope it works and I didn’t forget anything #i know j already said that but thank you so much for the questions 😭💖 #i Never would’ve come up with those #writer speaks #writeblr #wip: the knights of the alder #ask #my characters #oc: aiden #did you see that I actually used the tag haha I’m proud

[hellisheuphoria]

Chapter 6: Conceal.

The MC has their true feelings exposed.

[This chapter contains scenes depicting mental breakdowns, anxiety/panic attacks and suicidal thoughts, so please read at your own risk. And thank you for reading, stay safe <3]

You heard the front door click open and a group of voices rushing in from the entrance. You stood still, panicked and frozen- your mind completely blank. You picked up your bags and ran out of your room and to the only place you knew you could go.

You sprinted across the hallway. It was hard to run with the bags in your hands, and you couldn’t help but drop a few things.

You stopped in front of the dollhouse and remembered the time when you and Beel looked for Luke in there after he disappeared inside of the closet.

You noticed the riddle engraved in the small walls of the dollhouse, written in the language of angels, which Beel translated for you.

When the morning star dwelt in the heavens, its light shone down upon this one, sparkling brilliantly, the eighth of the eight.

Your fingers brushed the wood, an aura of melancholy radiating from the slightest touch.

”The morning star was another name for Lucifer,” you spoke out loud, “And the eighth child of the eight was Lilith.”

A blinding, white light engulfed you and you felt as though you were floating, suspended in midair. Everything ceased to exist for a moment, and you held your breath, keeping your eyes shut.

At last, a hard floor emerged from beneath you and your feet landed upon it. You opened your eyes to find yourself in Lilith’s room.

All the furniture was still draped in white, bland sheets that took away the beauty of this place. It held melancholy, pain and grief, yet you could sense the memories that once made this place so special. It almost made you feel bad to be breaking into it.

You let go of your bags and sat down, pulling your knees up to your chest and letting yourself rest for what felt like eternity. God, you were exhausted.

You heard a ping! from your phone and picked it up, seeing a few texts from Beel. You hesitated for a few seconds, but opened up the app anyways. It’s not as though he could find you just by reading his texts, right?

Beel

Hey, MC.

I know a lot has happened these past few months and you probably don’t want to talk to me, but..

Please, just hear me out, okay? If I can’t talk to you physically, this is the second best I can do.

I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you, MC. I know that I’ve been absolutely selfish for not being able to tell how you’ve been feeling for however long it’s been going on, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t help you before it escalated, I shouldn’t have ignored your feelings.

I don’t want to make this too long, so I’ll try and keep it short. MC, I only want to help you- we all do. And I’m not exaggerating when I say that I’m concerned for you. I’m not mad at you for running away, I’m mad at myself for not knowing why. I could have helped you, and I didn’t. I didn’t even notice. We just want the best for you, Belphie included. Even if he might be the cause of this. It was our fault for not noticing.

You’re so kind and considerate, and I’m ashamed of myself for not being the same back. Please forgive me if you can find it in your heart to do so.

-Beel.

You felt an air of shame surround you. Beel had a heart the same size as his hunger, and it you could feel the sadness he felt from reading his texts.

Perhaps it was time for you to stop being so evasive... maybe- it was time for you to answer their questions, to reveal what you truly felt on the inside.

It had tormented you for so long, the fear of being exposed, to be stripped bate for everyone to see what truly hid underneath- for them to be broken from their masks and lenses of lies and ignorance.

Was it really worth it? Was it worth it to worry about this for the rest of your minuscule, almost pointless life? Did they deserve your lies?

Were you worth it?

As sweet as they were, they were demons, nonetheless. Angels that fell from grace, their souls corrupted and blackened, their purity decayed and rotten.

How could they possibly understand? They couldn’t understand. Why should they? Human lives were pointless and non-existent when compared to theirs. Humans were weak and vulnerable, easily manipulated with just a few sentences.

Did they truly care for you at all? Did they only think of you as a replacement for their late, dear sister? Another Lilith?

Would you have been discarded and thrown away like trash if they did not know of your heritage? After all, the apple never falls far from the tree.

It was hard to trust people in the Devildom. It was hard to trust anyone at all, really. It was suffocating being so.. alone, no matter how isolated and distant you were.

It felt hard to breathe, again. The air felt constricting and hot.

No one could be trusted.

No one at all.

You let out a strangled sob, tears pouring down your reddened cheeks as you held onto yourself from comfort, crying for some sort of validation.

You were weak and spineless, and you brushed your hand in your hair as you tried to console yourself as silently as you could. You were truly alone. Vulnerable and scarred on the inside and outside. Maybe there really was no hope for you.

Salty, hot tears rushed down your cheeks. You couldn’t help but weep uncontrollably, your back arched and your arms wrapping around your shaking body.

Everything hurt so much, it felt as though you were being strangled again, pinned to the wall and unable to move. It was like dying all over again, and you couldn’t help but scream.

It felt like something was suffocating you, sitting on your chest like a bag of bricks. The air suddenly turned cold and you jumped, terrified of being attacked in your horrible, sensitive state.

You hid your face in your hands and sank down to the floor, wishing to disappear and never come back. What hope was there left? What was the point of your existence?

You screamed in your hands and went rigid, your entire body exhibiting naked emotion.

Everything was tuned out. The world simply didn’t exist anymore, and neither did anyone else. Except you.

Yet, you still failed to notice someone else entering the room, completely flabbergasted at what was happening in front of them.

”MC!” Beel yelled, frozen in a state of panic and pulsing waves of anger. It was absolutely sickening to witness you crumble into pieces on the floor, holding onto yourself hard enough to leave bruises. He would later beat himself up for being so ignorant.

He immediately fell to the floor and tried to hold you. He wanted to console you, to comfort you, but he couldn’t.

You felt so vulnerable and exposed. It was like reliving your death at the hands of Belphegor, and so when Beel tried to touch you, you screamed and crawled away from him, shifting yourself into the corner so he wasn’t even within arms length of you.

He immediately recoiled when you screamed, and felt his heart drop at the sight of you cowering away like an injured lamb.

You wailed, “Don’t touch me! Stop- get- get away from me!” You pulled up your knees and wrapped your arms around them, trying to disappear, if you could.

”Please- don’t hurt me- not again! Leave me alone- I beg you!”

Beel slowly shuffled closer, and tried to talk in the most calm and quiet voice he could muster up, careful not to rattle you any further.

”MC, it’s Beel, I’m not-“ he felt disgusted at seeing what his twin brother had done to you. He had broken you far from recognition, shattered you into pieces and left you by yourself to pick them up. He had defiled you. And the worst thing was that he allowed him to. It was almost as repulsive as doing it himself. “I’m not Belphie. I’m not going to hurt you,”

He held his arms wide enough for you to crawl into his embrace. “I want to help, MC. Please listen, I’m here for you.”

You looked up at him, shaken and tear-ridden, ashamed of mistaking him as a monster.

”Beel...?” You whispered, your voice raspy and your throat scratchy and aching.

He nodded, “Yes, MC. It’s me.”

You jumped into his embrace, sobbing. He wrapped his arms around you and sat there, waiting for you to calm down, almost collapsing in tears, himself.

You two sat there for a while, not saying anything but appreciating each other’s company. Everything came to a standstill, and you were glad that nothing could be heard from here.

“I’m sorry.” You spoke after a while, ashamed of being seen like this, so exposed and weak.

He looked down at you and shook his head, “No, MC. You’re not the one who should be apologising, that should be me.”

”I wish I noticed, I’m so sorry.”

It was probably enough, at this point. If you had to put up with this for any longer, you may as well just not put up with anything, and let go.

If your life was just gonna be full of this horrible torture, the only way to be rid of this was to not be here any longer. To cease to live.

If only you could just double over and die. You would be so grateful to the demon that would end your misery in this twisted universe.

Your stupid, worthless life had no meaning anyway. There was nothing permanent in life. Friends would drift away, no matter how close you were or how long you’d know each other. And family members could not live forever either.

One day, you wouldn’t live. Be it at your hands or someone else’s. Maybe even nature.

It felt shameful and piteous to be seen like this- to feel like this. What was the point in living any longer?

People would laugh at you, they would judge you, they would hurt you- no matter if they were an angel, a demon or human. You would forever be judged.

Maybe some people thought of you as confident; maybe some of them thought of you as kind or considerate. Hell, maybe some of them thought of you as hardheaded or stubborn.

If you were to change yourself, you would always have a different version of yourself in everyone’s mind. There would never be the same version of yourself in anyone’s point of view. What was the point in redemption? You would never feel satisfaction so long as there is somebody that thinks of you in an ill-mannered way.

You were tired of thinking. You were tired of everything. You kept your arms around Beel and eased your body, letting yourself relax. He wrapped his arms around your form and scooped you up, letting you rest against him.

He kissed the top of your head and whispered, “I’ll make everything right, MC. I swear.”

How sweet of him.

Your weary, red eyes closed, and you drifted away to a world where nothing could hurt you, and you were at peace. Away from this corrupt reality and hollow world.

[This chapter is really triggering, so please don’t hesitate to talk to me if you’re feeling like you need to vent or if you need any solace <3]

#obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me lilith #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me luke #obey me solomon #obey me angst #obey me headcanons #obey me fic #shall we date

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober 2020 Day 8

Abandoned | Isolation

Ao3

Warnings: Depression, Panic Attacks, Claustrophobia, blink and you'll miss it Suicidal Thoughts.

Dedicated to @ckbookish! Hope you don't mind me tagging you 👉👈

-o-o-o-o-

"That's great, Dami! I'm happy for you."

Dick held the phone between his ear and shoulder, listening to Damian ramble on about an advanced theater class he got into because the teacher felt the current intermediate class he was in was wasting his potential. He carefully scrubbed the sides of the bowl he had just finished eating about five servings of pudding out of and set it off to the side. He wiped his hands then leaned against the counter, smiling. 

"Thank you, Richard," Damian said. His voice was just as stiff and careful as it always was, but Dick could hear the excitement and gratitude sprinkled in there. The kid was opening up. Expressing himself more and more every day in ways the place he came from had never allowed him to. Dick couldn't remember the last time Damian genuinely threatened anyone with violence, let alone threatened Tim. In fact, last he heard, Tim and Damian were going to go to the Gotham Zoo together next weekend. There was no real reason for them to. It was just to attempt at hanging out and Dick couldn't be more proud. 

"When will you be switching to the new class?" Dick asked. While he did, he began to migrate from the kitchen counter towards his bedroom door, careful to not trip on anything that was laying on the floor. Not for the first time this day, week, month, or year, Dick made a mental note to finally deep clean the place. "Like, is this a tomorrow thing or…?"

"At the end of the term, actually," Damian answered, his voice dropping ever so slightly. Dick hummed in sympathy. He sounded very excited about it, it must be agonizing for him to find out he needed to wait another few months for the first term to come to a close. 

"Well, I'm sure you'll have fun being the best in your current class until then," Dick joked, finally reaching the door to his bedroom and placing his hand on the door handle. Damian scoffed over the phone.

"I am not the best, unfortunately." Damian didn't sound that torn up about it, which was good. Admitting someone was better than you was good character growth. It proved that Damian was letting himself start from the bottom of something instead of immediately being at the top. "There is another girl, her name is Abigail. She has been taking classes since she was a toddler because her mother runs a local theater group."

"So she's as good at theater and you are with a sword," Dick confirmed and Damian hummed. 

Dick opened his door, mentally planning out the least tedious way to get undressed, in bed, and asleep as quickly as possible. First he needed to end the phone call, as much as he didn't want to. He started a new job tomorrow, so he needed to be rested. There was a swimming pool downtown that was looking for an assistant coach for the children's gymnastics classes they held there. Dick took up the job the moment he saw it. Or well, the moment he was no longer swinging past it as Nightwing and was back in civilian clothes. There was a good chance that he could work his way up to being a head instructor with his own classes, considering the woman who hired him didn't really seem the type to enjoy children very much. Dick gave it two months tops before she began to just not show up, making it so he was promoted. 

"I suppose so," Damian said, "she won't be moving up with me however. She has… friends in the lower class that she doesn't want to-"

Dick missed out on the rest, because the moment he stepped into his bedroom and closed the door behind him, his feet were knocked out from under him and his phone flung from his hand. Decades of experience made it so he was immediately able to go from zero to a hundred, allowing him to scramble up from the floor and throw a punch at the closest shadow like clockwork.

His fists met air. With wide eyes, he spun around his room, heart in his throat as he tried to figure out what had shoved him to the floor. 

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All he could see was his messy room, his unmade bed, his open closet, and his closed window.

Suddenly, Dick heard a noise sound across his room from where he threw his phone. Dick rushed across his room and searched for his phone like he had been jolted by a bolt of electricity. He hated how confused and worried Damian's muffled demands sounded. 

"Richard! What happened?!"

There! Dick bent down and reached out his hand to grab the phone-

And then his hand went through the phone. 

Dick stared down at his empty hand and the phone that sat unmoving on the ground, everything going deathly still as he tried to… process what happened. If it was actually real. 

Okay. His nerves were just shot. He tried again, this time a little more slower and careful. He watched with disbelieving eyes as his hand once again just… went through the phone. It just laid there, undisturbed, like Dick wasn't… even there. 

Damian's voice rose in volume and Dick kneeled down, noting now how he was fully grounded on the floor; his shirts and other various objects around him phased through him like holograms. Okay, okay so something was definitely wrong. "Damian?" Dick asked, but Damian didn't say anything, just continued to shout for Dick to answer. 

"Damian!" Dick yelled louder, but Damian didn't say anything that counted as a reply. 

"Richard, if you don't answer me, I will fetch father!"

"Bruce might be a good idea there, Dami," Dick breathed, falling back onto his rear end and watching how he simply went through everything. He brought his hand back to his phone and purposely stuck it through, his fingernail soundlessly tapped the hidden floor beneath. 

Curious, Dick knocked on the wood, and when no noise reached his ears he hit it harder. 

Nothing. He can't touch anything and apparently he couldn't be heard. 

And suddenly, Dick was filled with the crippling realization that he had… no idea what to do now. He just sat there, listening to Damian panic until he eventually hung up to fetch Bruce. Dick sat there, running his fingers through everything he couldn't touch around him until he knew the entire space around him by heart. Dick sat there, and it took him… awhile to work up the energy to stand up and figure this out. But when he did, he forced himself to not let the confusion, horror, and fear stop him. He walked around the room first, looking for something that must have made him like this. There were no sigils that he could see, and if one was hidden under the things he had left on the floor, he wouldn't know because no matter how hard he focused or how many times he tried, he couldn't get anything to move. He went to sit down on his bed to think this through, but then his hand went straight through the mattress and he barely caught himself in time to avoid landing on his rear.

Thoroughly freaked out now, he ran through his dresser, heart pounding to the upbeat rhythm of his phone as Bruce began to call him. Dick didn't pick up the phone, he knew he wouldn't be able to. 

He couldn't touch anything. He couldn't. Touch. Anything. His feet would hit the ground and have no volume. His hands would slap against the wall but nothing would sound. He tried not to panic, but when he went to go out his door, it didn't move. He tugged on the door handle. It didn’t budge. Not a single millimeter. 

And okay. Okay he was beginning to panic now. He sprinted to the window and slammed his elbows against it, but it was like the glass was replaced with a transparent sheet of solid steel. 

Was this some sort of hallucination? Had whatever knocked him down drugged him somehow? Did he hit his head?

He was hyperventilating—this he knew for sure but suddenly he didn't know how to stop it—and without thinking he ran back to his door, banging his silent fists against the wood and tugging on the frozen in place handle. 

Oh gods. This was really happening wasn't it? Somehow, he had found himself unable to move anything. Unable to go anywhere. Unable to- to-

His knees gave out, causing him to slide down against the door and press his forehead against the unmovable force before him. He couldn't- he couldn't breathe. Somewhere, at the back of his head, a voice told him that he could breathe. He could take breaths right now and calm down. He could count five things he could see, four things he could touch, three things he could hear, two things he could smell, and one thing he could taste. He could calm down and think rationally and explore his situation a bit more calmly. But the moment he opened his eyes after not realizing he had them closed in the first place and saw his leg phasing through his empty trash can he knew he couldn't go anywhere from there without having a full blown mental breakdown. 

So he closed his eyes, tried making noise on the door once again, and tried to keep his breakdown to a minimum. 

Just hyperventilating. Just fading. 

"Help!" He shouted before he could really consider what good that would do. He was at the top floor of his building and the neighbors across from him weren't home until early in the morning thanks to the graveyard shift. No one will hear him… even if he could be heard. 

His phone began to ring again and Dick stuck his fist into his mouth and bit down on his knuckles to keep from screaming. 

He sat there—trying and failing to breathe, trying and failing to not cry—and continued to sit there until eventually, he found himself leaning against the door with half lidded and tearful eyes, staring at how his body continued to not touch a single thing.

He let his eyes fall shut one final time and let the stress and anxiety and confusion whisk him away into a very troubled slumber.

-o-o-o-o-

When he woke up he was immediately made aware that his current situation was, in fact, not a nightmare. 

And so much worse than what he could even predict. 

He awoke to him falling backwards, a crick in his neck and spine suddenly becoming undone as the door he was leaning against suddenly opened, hitting his head with a disquietingly silent bonk on the floor of his living room. For a hopeful, blissful moment he thought whatever happened before he passed the fuck out was all fake and he had just imagined the entire thing, but then he opened his eyes and lifted his head…

Just to see a pair of legs sticking out from the middle of his  intangible chest.

His breath hitched, his eyes flicking up to see a worried Bruce literally standing inside of him. The threat of hyperventilating once again became a very real thing as Bruce stepped past him, into the room, and started calling his name. 

"Bruce!" Dick shouted, scrambling up from the floor and running back into the room that had previously been his impenetrable prison. He instinctively tried to grab his shoulder, but ended up flinching back violently when his hand simply went through Bruce. He couldn't feel Bruce at all. None of the course fibers of his winter coat brushed against his touch receptors. "Bruce! I'm here!" He tried again, but surprise surprise, it didn't work.

"Is he there?" A new voice said, and Dick just managed to turn around in time to watch Damian walk into the room with wrinkles between his brow and bags under his eyes, shining black against his olive skin. Dick jumped away from Damian's path as he approached their father and watched with a frown as Bruce bent down and picked up his discarded phone.

Then, Dick's phone suddenly began to ring, causing Bruce to scowl. Frightened, confused, and curious, Dick slowly approached to read his phone's screen. 

It was close to 6am. Bruce must have driven here as quickly as he could after Damian probably took a few hours to panic to himself and work up the courage to tell Bruce that he thought something was wrong. Though, Dick didn't ponder over why they were here so early for very long. The number calling belonged to his new boss.

He was supposed to be at work thirty minutes ago.

"Shit," Dick breathed, stepping back as Bruce clicked the answer button on the phone and held it to his ear.

Immediately, there was the sound of the lead coach’s nasally voice. Coach Shah. Short, lean, toned, full of freckles, and rocking curly red hair. The woman who was definitely a phenomenal gymnast, but probably shouldn't be allowed to work closely with kids with her grumpy attitude. She didn't sound entirely upset from the muffled tones on the other side of the speaker. Maybe she was saving the angry for later, letting the passive aggressiveness of her annoyance at him for being late to his first day of work steadily drip into her tone. 

Bruce finally opened his mouth. "I'm sorry, but I'm not Mr Grayson."

Dick winced at the sound of her confused squawk. Bruce proceeded to explain that he was Dick's father, and that he couldn't find Dick anywhere. Bruce's frown slowly began to deepen as Coach Shah began to probably explain that Dick was her newest assistant and that she hadn't seen him. Shockingly, the phone call didn't end with Dick being immediately fired. Just with Bruce clicking the screen off and looking down at Damian with barely contained worry. 

"You said he just shouted then stopped responding?" Bruce clarified.

Damian nodded, looking at the phone still in Bruce's hand like it had threatened him. 

"Okay," Bruce sighed, brushing his free hand over his jaw. "Okay. Let's look for signs of struggle."

And this was how you could immediately tell that the Wayne family was nowhere close to normal. Normal families would call the police. 

The batfamily searched on their own, then only called the police later to keep up the civilian facade. 

Dick stepped slowly back, then flinched forward when his shoulders met the walls solidly. The feeling of any walls touching him while his feet stood through the things on the floor almost made him want to bend over and vomit. But thinking about vomiting also made him stress about what would happen then and what the sick would touch or if it would make any noise at all. It was repulsive and horrible to think about, so he found a tiny place of clear flooring that wasn't near any walls and folded his arms across his chest.

He watched Bruce and Damian comb through his room, looking for any signs that his disappearance wasn't on his own power. Dick hoped they found something. A reason for why he was a ghost in his own room. 

A solid thirty minutes passed before Bruce deemed Dick's bedroom clean. Evidence wise. Not literally. Dick was pretty sure his room was in an even bigger mess than what it had been before. He jerked out of the way of Bruce as he walked ignorantly past Dick towards the living room. Damian followed along, dragging his feet. 

It was then Dick noticed Damian's hand wrap around the door’s handle. Pure terror shot through Dick's veins, which gave him just enough courage to quickly dart forward and purposely run through Damian into his living room before he was locked back in there again. He didn't know he was gasping and choking back horrified sobs until he felt the first tear tickle down his cheek and off his chin. 

And this all felt so real suddenly. Like not being able to touch Damian—one of the most important people in Dick's entire life—was what gave it the official stamp of reality.

Dick was a living, breathing, walking ghost. 

He couldn't touch anything. He couldn't be heard. He couldn't open doors or pick up phones or touch the shoulder of the man he had considered his father for longer than he had known his birth father. 

It was all he could do to stand and force himself to breath—but did he even need to keep doing that?—and let his tears silently fall. He watched Bruce and Damian sift through the rest of his apartment and finish empty handed. It was hours later when Bruce suggested going back to the cave and checking Dick's phone for any possible clues. So, after Bruce hid a few sensors around to warn them if Dick "came back", they went to the front door while Dick made sure to stick as close as he could without going through them. He wiped under his eyes as they approached Bruce's car, his heart stuttering when he realized he didn't even know if he could even sit in the car with them without phasing through the seats. He might have to walk back to Gotham. 

That would take… hours. 

And oh God, would he starve? Would he be slowly forced to thirst to death because he couldn't touch any of the substances he needed to live? 

Bruce opened the drivers door and Damian opened the passenger. Instead of thinking about the very real possibility that Dick probably had less than a few days left to live—if he was alive at all—Dick once again forced himself to go through Damian. 

Somehow, against all odds, Dick was able to touch the car. Except, when his knees went through Damian's lap to touch the cushioned chair and his hands shot through Bruce's shoulder to support himself jumping into the back of the car, the normally well padded leather was stony and unrecognizable to his touch. It didn't give under the pressure of his weight or grip. It didn't sink around his touch. It remained like cement. 

It felt like cement. 

Dick curled up in the back seat, his heart jumping madly when both the drivers and passenger doors closed. He suddenly felt like a trapped animal. He had no will here. He didn't even bother to try the door handle of the back seat, because he knew it wouldn't go anywhere. The doors wouldn't open for him. The walls wouldn't bend. He brought his knees up to his chest as Bruce drove onto the road and as Damian turned on the radio. 

And he… simply watched out the window and tried not to make too much noise that no one would hear anyway. 

-o-o-o-o-

Getting out of the car door was more adrenaline inducing than standing toe to toe with Killer Croc. It was a good thing Dick was so flexible and had decades of experience with flipping his way through life. Thanks to that, he managed to jump out of the car just in the nick of time.

Seeing the manor like this hit differently. He was barely aware of Bruce and Damian walking past him towards the front doors until he saw Alfred open those aforementioned doors. Dick had to sprint to get inside, and he tried his best to not flinch as the door shut behind him. He didn't succeed. 

Not that anybody saw. 

"Master Dick?" Alfred asked, and more a heart stopping moment Dick almost thought Alfred was talking to him. 

But then Bruce shook his head and began to shed his jacket. 

"No sign of him. His apartment was locked and there was no sign of forced entry."

Alfred frowned and Damian shoved past them all, his body moving with less confidence than it normally did. Dick watched him go, desperately wanting nothing more than to race after him and gather him into the world's bestest hug, but Bruce was heading to the cave with Alfred trailing along. Dick had to help in whatever way he could to push Bruce into finding out what happened. Damian… could wait. He'll have to wait. It wasn't like Dick could do anything for him if he decided to follow after the clearly upset teen anyway. 

"It's almost like he just vanished, Alfred," Bruce continued, his voice oddly wet. Dick's heart tied itself in a knot. "Into thin air."

"No one simply disappears into thin air," Alfred sniffed. "You will find him."

"Yeah," Bruce agreed, sounding unsure but determined at the same time. They walked into the study and Dick carefully followed them both into the cave through the narrow passage of grandfather clock. 

Bruce quickly got to work and Dick stood back, careful to not touch anything. Bruce started the search as he always did, by sifting through traffic cams around the scene of the crime. And since it was Dick's apartment, he also had access to the normal security measures Dick had installed. 

Hours passed and Dick soon found himself sinking to sit on the floor of the cave, watching as Bruce found nothing after nothing after nothing. 

Dick could relate. He certainly felt like nothing.

-o-o-o-o-

Dick couldn't thirst or starve. He found that out on day three of this entire mess, slinking around from open door to open door, doing nothing but breathing and existing. Well, existing to no one but himself. He hadn't even realized he wasn't starving or dehydrated until Tim, Cass, Jason, and Duke showed up three nights later for a quick family dinner. Dick was touched that Bruce called them, and even more touched that they all came. But, as much as he was touched, he was also jealous of the meal Alfred provided. Frustrated that he didn't exist enough to join. 

Bruce filled them all in on what little they knew on the situation and then they all spent the night patrolling Blüdhaven for clues. Dick didn't get into the Batmobile in time to follow along, so he spent the entire night trapped in the cave with Alfred's silent company. 

He spent the nights wandering the hallways and avoiding everything he could walk through. He'd walk and walk and walk until he'd sit down in the middle of the dining room floor, where the carpet was short and didn't stab him like the shaggy carpet of bedrooms did. Where the animals were least likely to unknowingly fall asleep inside of him. 

On the fifth day, he thought Alfred the Cat was watching him. He cried for hours later when he found the cat was just watching a fly. 

Days ticked on. Dick was reported missing to the police. Damian talked less and less, smiled less and less. The others went back to their lives with "keep me updated" being mumbled before they went. 

Dick continued to not exist. 

When the second week passed by, Dick found himself sneaking outside when Alfred went to get the mail. He didn't know why. Maybe it was because it was raining and he was wondering if he'd be able to feel that. 

He didn't. It just went through him and he ended up being trapped in the cold air outside, exploring the wet grounds and not making a single splash, until night came and Damian let Titus and Ace out for a quick potty break. 

By the time the third week came around, things really started to change. It seemed Bruce was constantly talking to people. The police, the Justice League, Dick's friends, everyone who were trying to track him down… and it killed Dick to stand back and watch, clutching his stomach as nothing turned up and Bruce kept coming up with nothing. Dick wished he could leave some sort of message. A way to tell Bruce that he was right there. Just invisible and silenced. But there. 

Dick would love to tell Bruce that he was right there. But at this point, Dick really began to wonder if he was really there at all. 

What if he was dead? Living people didn't go for three weeks without eating or drinking and remain alive. Alive people don't walk through furniture or get trapped simply by closed doors. 

But he couldn't tell Bruce. Which was why when the third week came up and Bruce once again ran into a dead end, he wasn't really all surprised to watch Bruce angrily hurtle his phone across the room and collapse into his chair with his hands in his hair, dangerously close to ripping the fine strands from his scalp. 

The longer Bruce sat there, the more Dick was sure Bruce had finally given up. Batman couldn't find him. It was the waiting game now. Sit and wait and hope. 

Dick left the room shortly after, his mind racing, loneliness running like a poison through his veins. He went to find Damian, but when he found the kid cuddled in a giant beanbag in the library, Alfred the Cat on his shoulder watching him draw carefully, he knew there wouldn't be anything here to reassure him that he'll be found. He walked around Damian anyway, bending down to look at what he was drawing. 

His heart clenched. It was a portrait of Dick. Damian was carefully working on the details of his top lip, shading each little bump and pore with incredible accuracy. 

Dick didn't look more at it. He left the library and roamed the halls, looking for an open door that he can sneak into and get some alone time. Just to calm down. Just to reassure himself that there was no way his family would leave him like this forever. 

That they haven't truly given up on him. That the whispered words of maybe he's dead and he's not coming back, is he haven't actually been said. 

He finally found a room with an open door and he immediately squeezed inside. The room was smaller, which made his anxiety climb ever so slightly, but it was also close to empty with a clear enough space for him to sit down and meditate without touching and going through anything. The door must have been opened by Damian. The kid had been searching out silent places to be alone quite often recently, sometimes forcing Bruce to search the halls, calling his name loudly until Damian finally revealed himself. 

Dick sat down and breathed.

Of course, it couldn't be so easy. His brain immediately recalled back to Bruce looking defeated. To Damian painstakingly crafting every detail of Dick's face with a pencil like he was worried he'd someday forget what Dick looked like. To Jason not having been over in way too long; reports in Blüdhaven of Red Hood being spotted on multiple occasions. To Tim who accidentally referred to Dick in the past tense a couple days ago and looked sick with himself the moment he realized what he said. To Cass who would somehow stroll the same halls as him when she's over until they pass by his bedroom door and she would stop and frown and walk away. To Duke who looked at his portraits Bruce had on the walls and look like he desperately wanted to understand something that he'd never actually be able to now.

They've all given up. He knew it was only a matter of time before there was an empty casket funeral. 

He wondered if he could make that a reality. Death. He didn't need to eat or drink. What if he just… stopped breathing? What if he clawed out his own throat with his nails? What if the next time Alfred opened a window to air out an old, unused room on the highest floor he just jumped out? 

Or would the world be so cruel as to keep him like this for the rest of eternity? Forced to watch as he's given up on, buried, and forgotten? He didn't want to die. Not like this. Not in name before body. 

And not for the first time since Dick inexplicably became a ghost, he felt his throat choke on the beginnings of a sob. 

He curled up a bit, trying to staunch it because he had quickly become annoyed with the sound of his own voice. Why could he still hear it when no one else could? It was awful. Like his words and noises we're all just in his head and he was only hearing what he thought he should hear. 

He gasped wetly, wiping under his eyes and trying to stop this all from happening again. He had already cried enough these last few weeks. He couldn't keep crying every time he felt alone. 

He bent in on himself further, his arms curling around his stomach in such a way that if he imagined hard enough they belonged to someone else and he was in another's calming embrace. It didn't work though. He knew he was alone. He couldn't pretend. 

He was so deep in this attack of utter turmoil and unhappiness that he didn't notice approaching footsteps until he heard the sound of creaking door hinges followed quickly by a click of a door latch. 

Dick looked up with blurry, panicked eyes. 

The door. The door was closed. 

"No," Dick breathed. "No no-" he scrambled to his feet, all the blood rushed from his head and combined with the terrible spike of horror to make him perfectly lightheaded as he stumbled to the door and wrapped his hands around the knob. It didn't budge. "NO!"

He spun around, barely aware of his already panting breaths and frantically searched the room for a hopefully open window. 

The window was closed. He didn't know why he even looked. 

"Fuck," he gasped, grabbing his chest as it constricted tightly. More tightly than what he had felt in a long time. It felt so painful that it was all he could do to turn and bang a closed fist on the door. He wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like. "HELP!"

He didn't know why he was calling out. Hitting the door like he thought it might make noise. 

No one would hear him. 

"ALFRED!" Dick screamed. "BR-" he was forced to stop mid-word on that one thanks to a heaving gasp that curled dangerously in-between his ribcage. He swallowed. Or tried to. "BRUCE!"

He kicked the door. Covered one hand over his mouth and tried to calm down. Tried to not think about the solid walls and the solid door and how he was powerless to leave this room. Why did he come in here in the first place?!

He couldn't calm down. All he could think about was how screwed he was. How hopeless everything was. He kept his hand on his mouth as his legs eventually gave out. He brought his knees to his chin and laid on his side atop the carpeted floor, babbling cries and names and pleas until his throat was raw and everything woozy. 

He didn't know how or when he finally passed out, only that he woke up to a still closed door and a still small room, and it took every ounce of his will power to not immediately cry again right then and there. He stayed curled up on the ground and closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around his stomach and tried to pretend that everything would work out. Eventually everything would be okay. 

He was wrong. 

It took two weeks for the door to open for Alfred's regular airing out of the rooms to reach the one he was trapped in. 

By then, he didn't even know if he should bother to stand up and walk out. 

Not when he was surely no longer alive. Not when he felt perfectly content just laying here being dead. 

But the thought of that door closing again and him having no power over it eventually managed to force him stumbling to his wobbly feet and walking out. 

He didn't know what to expect when he shuffled slowly deeper into the manor. More than a month has passed since his disappearance. Most people don't keep a whole lot of hope for a missing person to return after this long. By this time, people normally began to suggest funerals quietly between each other. 

It didn't take long to find the family. What shocked him though was that everyone was together in the living room, even Alfred who must have finished opening certain doors and windows to refresh the stale air inside the rooms they belong to and walked back quicker than Dick. A movie was playing, some Pixar movie Dick hadn't seen before because of his busy lifestyle. 

And for some reason, this hurt more than if he came in here to find them alone, mourning, depressed. 

They're all watching a movie together. Bruce on the recliner, Damian squeezed between him and the arm of the recliner even though there was more room in other places. Jason sprawled over the three cushioned sofa, his legs resting over Duke, Cass, and Tim like a makeshift blanket. Alfred had his own recliner to himself, reading a book to himself but occasionally glancing up towards the screen. Steph was there too, but she had made herself comfortable on the floor with the entity of the living room's decorative pillows.

They're all watching a movie together. 

Dick had been trying to get that to happen for months. And they're doing it now, when he's gone with no foreseeable way to get back. 

Dick slowly sank to the floor and watched them poke each other and whisper quips to each other and laugh at the funny bits with each other. 

Was this the life he was doomed to have for the rest of eternity? Chasing open doors and watching people move on from him? Do things simply in his memory? 

If he had tears left to cry, he would have shed them.

Instead, he just sat there and watched. 

-o-o-o-o-

Dick's funeral was four months later. The gossip channels and media said they have finally given up. Dick thought they held on for longer than most. 

He didn't attend his own funeral. He didn't want it to feel final. He didn't want the undeniable proof that they've stopped searching. He didn't want to see them cry for him. 

So he walked the manor grounds opposite of the family graveyard. He kicked his feet as he walked, pretending that his footsteps carried weight on the grass and that he was solid enough to disturb the smallest pebbles on the stone pathway. 

Maybe he was dead. Maybe this was hell. He didn't remember where he went, if he went anywhere, when Lex Luthor killed him, but maybe this was it. He didn't know what killed him or what happened to his body, but he was starting to become convinced that he really was simply a ghost, cursed to walk the world and watch people move on and live on without him. 

Half a year ago, that would have settled horribly into his gut. Now? He was numb. 

He continued to walk, to let his mind drift. Pretend he was alive for a little while longer before he returned to the manor and the services and dinners and receptions were over. Decide what to do now that his life was now officially over. 

He sighed and ignored the feeling that he's just as trapped out here in the manor grounds as he was in that room all those months ago. Ho continued to roam.

Though, the sound of a humming voice had him stopping in his tracks. 

No one should be over here. They all should be back at the funeral. Dick immediately focused on the noise, not even bothering to step carefully or approach cautiously. It wasn't like Dick could be seen or heard anyway. He just wanted to see who had snuck into these parts of the grounds while his literal funeral was going on. It was strange and horrible to think about, but come on? A little respect please? He hoped it wasn't some paparazzi. It meant that they'd somehow gotten through Bruce's security… which also meant that Bruce was more depressed about this than what Dick initially thought. He'd seen Bruce get low these past few months, but never low enough to sacrifice the safety of the people he provided shelter to. 

Dick walked towards the grove of trees that the humming was coming from and frowned when he eventually saw the back of a person strolling through the controlled nature. The man was taller than Dick—which wasn't a difficult achievement—and was wearing a simple brown-orange hoodie with dark blue jeans. His hair was dirty blonde and styled up like someone glued a giant ball of cotton to his scalp. Dick didn't recognize him, which instantly set off alarm bells inside his head. The open house reception should be over but the rest of the services were all reserved for close family and friends of Dick's. But this man… he couldn't be someone that was invited. 

Not for the first time, Dick felt the crippling weight of helplessness wash over him. This man could be dangerous, but Dick couldn't do a thing. He couldn't warn anyone. 

He could just watch it happen. 

Or… ignore it. 

He shook his head and sighed, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the same pair of sweats he'd been wearing since that fateful night half a year ago. He almost began to approach further, because even though he was helpless to change anything or warn anyone, he was still curious… but then the man turned around and Dick was stopped in his tracks. 

He didn't... He didn't have a face. 

Dick gaped and watched as the bumps in the man's face that must be cheekbones rose ever so slightly. 

"Oh!" The man said, even though he had no mouth. Dick had absolutely no idea where the sound came from. "You are here!" 

Dick turned around behind him, and saw nobody. Something fluttered in his chest. A hope he didn't dare grasp at even though… even though… the man could only be talking to him. 

"We lost track of you after the convergence. Most people stick around where they disappear!" 

"Are you…" Dick tried, his voice barely recognizable even to himself, "are you talking to me?" 

The limited features of the man's blank face softened. "Yes I am, Dick Grayson. You've been lost a long time."

And Dick… didn't know what to do. This entire time he's had absolutely no contact with anything in the world. He couldn't move anything, couldn't touch anything, couldn't speak or make himself known. This scene before him, one where his voice was heard and he was answered… it was so foreign. Unreal. Dick almost reached down to pinch himself. 

"But luckily," the man continued, "after a long time searching for you at your home city, we figured you must have found a way to your family. That or began to aimlessly wonder like others like you sometimes do."

"Like… me?" 

"Yes," the man nodded then took a step closer. Dick stood his ground as his thoughts ran circles in his brain. What was going on? "You're trapped within the folds of reality, Dick Grayson. It's not something that commonly happens, but something that can be catastrophic if we cannot find you immediately." He paused. "You are Nightwing in this world, are you not? You must understand how the universes work in odd ways."

Dick wanted to nod. Laugh. Cry. Step forward and see if he could touch the man. But he didn't. He just stood there as the man continued. 

"You see," the man said, bringing a hand up to his featureless chin, "what happened was that this universe brushed sides with another one. One that's almost exactly the same in every aspect to yours. Normally, when universes brush, they're so different that they reject each other and go on their merry way down the time stream. The problem was, that because these two universes were so similar, reality as we knew it, well, it got a little confused. It tried to sort out what belonged to what. It gets it wrong sometimes, which is why you're like this. In the universe you brushed with, Dick Grayson was dead. Everything else was exactly the same, but because you were dead and alive the universe decided to make you both. This is why you're stuck here. The universe can't remember if you should be living or dead."

Dick never pretended to understand the multiverse. It always seemed the rules were constantly changing. Shifting to accommodate spontaneous things. It seemed the only one who truly had a grasp on the entirety of the universe was Bart Allen, but the kid was shockingly tight lipped about most secrets of reality despite his superhero name of Impulse. 

And really, Dick didn't care how he ended up like this. All he could really think was how this man could see him. Was looking for him. Something was finally going to change. Whether he was supposed to be fully dead or fully alive... He didn't really care.

He couldn't stand around, trapped in his own intangible body, and do nothing for much longer. 

"So… what does this mean?" Dick asked. "What happens now?"

The man's face squished oddly, and Dick couldn't figure out what he was thinking at all. "What happens now is that we make things right. Return you to the universe you're supposed to be dead in, and keep you in the universe you're supposed to be alive. It will be painful, but don't worry, neither of you will remember a thing."

"Neither-?" 

Dick's question didn't get much further, because in an impossible blink of an eye, the man was right in front of Dick, hand pressing against the side of his head with his thumb pressed above the bridge of Dick's nose. Lightning shot through him, and his vision whited out. Everything became too much and so little at the same time. Hot and cold. Loud and silent. He might have screamed or he might have sighed.

Either way, the sensation didn't last for long. 

Soon he wasn't feeling anything at all.

-o-o-o-o-

Damian hated this. He knew death and sorrow unlike most others. He had seen men and women fall in so many ways it was impossible to list them all. He had seen the way a corpse would slowly rot, and stink, and collapse. He had seen bodies feasted upon by wolves and flies alike. 

He knew death. Yet, for a number of reasons, he just couldn't comprehend this one. 

Because Richard couldn't be dead. He couldn't be. He was simply missing. Nowhere to be found. 

He wasn't dead. 

Damian didn't understand why everyone else insisted on believing otherwise. Father had said that he's searched, and for some reason that meant if Batman couldn't find him then he must not be able to be found. No one besides Damian argued with him. Even Timothy didn't believe him.

He at least had the decency to look ashamed when Damian called him out on it. 

However, it seemed Damian's thoughts and feelings on the matter didn't, well, matter. Even though he was the last one to speak to Richard. Even though he knew for sure that Richard was somewhere alive out there, doing everything he could to get home. Damian swore he would continue to believe in that. No matter what. Even if these months turned into years. Even if Damian no longer remembered every detail of his face by thought alone. 

Father wouldn't let him skip out on the fake funeral though. 

Which was horrible for a massive amount of reasons. All of Richard's friends were here, sobbing and blabbering like children. The empty casket sat above a deep hole with flowers piled on top, and one by one someone would approach, say something emotional out loud or under their breath, then leave the flower in the mockery of Richard's life. 

Damian was glad that his immediate family went first. That way he could slink to the back of the crowd and hold Titus by the leash. Watch from afar. Plan for the millionth time on how he was going to fix this. 

That speedster… Wally West was in the middle of breaking down on top of the casket with large tears cascading down his cheeks when Damian felt a tug on the leash. Damian frowned and looked down at his normally perfectly behaved dog to see the animal trying to tug Damian towards the unoccupied grounds of the manor. Damian tugged Titus gently back, tutting at him under his breath. 

Except, Titus didn't stay at Damian's side for long. The animal took one wide eyed look at Damian before turning tail and sprinting. The leash was yanked out from Damian's hand, and it was all Damian could do to not shout in surprise or outrage. 

He nervously shot a look at the casket, where Donna Troy was now saying her goodbyes while West leaned onto her for support, making sure no one was watching him, then turned to chase after his disrespectful dog. 

It might be a fake funeral, but it was a funeral nonetheless. 

Damian ran after Titus, jumping over shrubbery and flowers like they were the gaps between rooftops, diving for the trailing leash whenever he got close enough. 

He never got close enough. 

Out of breath and covered in grass stains and twigs, Damian watched with glaring eyes as Titus took refuge in a carefully planned grove of trees. Thankfully, Damian saw the dog halt on the other side of a bush, bending his neck down to sniff at something. Probably a wild animal. Even though Damian could have sworn he trained Titus better than to chase rabbits or squirrels. 

Damian stuffed his hands in his suit pockets and began to stomp his way over. 

"Titus! Quit this misbehaving!" 

Titus looked up from what he was sniffing, whined, then bent back down. Completely ignoring Damian. 

What was going on with that dog? 

Damian walked around the clump of bushes and between the trees, extremely curious as to what was so important that Titus would disregard orders for it.

When Damian saw what Titus was bent over, Damian felt every single molecule of air leave his body like he had been sucker-punched in the stomach. 

"Richard?" Damian breathed. Double took. "Richard!" 

He sprinted forward and Titus quickly jumped out of the way. Horrified and terrified and shaking, Damian grabbed Richard's shoulders and turned him around, for he was laying face down on the ground. 

Richard groaned, but didn't open his eyes. Blood trickled down the corners of his lips and nose. His clothes were filthy. He looked like death. 

But he was alive.

Damian turned to his good, good dog. "Go! Get father! Hurry!"

Titus didn't have to be told twice. He barked then sprinted back to the forest. 

Damian turned back to Richard, running his hands across his body, taking in the loss of weight, the eye bags, the stains of mud all over his clothes. He shook his shoulders, trying to wake him up, but Richard remained asleep to the world. 

It took a second to realize he was crying. 

Thankfully, he was able to wipe them away when a confused and worried Bruce Wayne busted into the grove of trees along with the rest of the family and even a few of Richard's friends. Gasps and shouts filled the air, and Damian soon found himself pushed back as Dick was rushed to by the adults. 

The ambulance was called not long after. 

The drive to the hospital seemed like a dream. 

The wait felt like it took years, but Richard only took about three hours to wake up, severely starved and dehydrated and not a single memory of the past five months.

And somehow, everything went back to normal. Richard was released from the hospital a few days later with a strict meal plan and physical therapy schedule. His memories didn't return, but sometimes Damian noticed things had changed in Richard since then.

Like his new and strange fear of small spaces and closed doors.

It didn't matter though. Damian was just… overjoyed that he was right and that Richard was still living a breathing, even if it seemed he had simply vanished and reappeared from thin air, with no trace of anything in-between. 

All that mattered was that the family was whole again. Richard was on the road of a full recovery. 

No one could ask for more. 

#dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #nightwing #robin #batman #dc #dc comics #fic #fanfic #jin writes #whumptober 2020 #no.8 #abandoned #isolation #panic attack tw #depression tw #suicidal thoughts tw #comic logic #hand wavey comic logic

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Destiny’s Pawn

Douxie wants to never meet his soulmate. Krel isn't about to go searching for his own soulmate. Despite not realizing the meaning behind the names on their wrists, they meet anyways.

*slams a 38 page word document onto the nearest flat surface*

Here you go!

Content warning: This fic is rated M on AO3 and FFN for graphic depictions of bloody violence, dissociation, and panic attacks. In addition, this fic also contains dismemberment, mind control, suicidal ideation, minor character death, sleep deprivation, stress positions, and descriptions of poor medical practices.

AO3

FFN

Douxie is fourteen and sitting at his kitchen table, eating a bowl of instant ramen. This month has been going well. He’s been making new friends, one of whom is even a fellow wizard, he’s adjusting to the new time period, he hasn’t gone into any states of eerie numbness where he suddenly has no control of himself and commits violent acts, and it’s been a while since he has last had any flashbacks to Camlann. So, naturally, fate decides to make itself known once more and curse him with another prophecy.

Douxie is able to set his ramen down without spilling or burning himself when his right wrist explodes into light. Cyan light, to be specific, not the exact shade of blue that Douxie’s magic always seems to take.

Douxie doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to look, and yet he does. He has a soulmate, and he doesn’t want one. He ran away from his kingdom (further than he had intended, admittedly) and changed his name because he was sick of being destiny’s pawn, and yet destiny is still deciding to use him. And he laughs, mirthlessly.

At least the name of his soulmate isn’t a name that Douxie can read. He’s not even sure if it’s a human language, and Douxie doubts that the Trollish script has changed so much since he learned it as a child. Douxie isn’t even sure if he believes that aliens exist, not when magic is real and everyone else thinks that magic isn’t real. However, if his soulmate is an alien then that’s a good thing. The chances of Douxie ever meeting his soulmate are impossibly low. Douxie won’t have to worry about one day meeting his soulmate and having to push the guy away so the two of them don’t get hurt.

Douxie gets up and walks from his kitchen table to his dresser. It takes a while to open his top drawer, but it always takes a while. The wood’s warped, which is probably why the original owners got rid of it. When he finally gets it open, it doesn’t take long for him to find the two leather bracelets he had worn when he was younger. They’re slightly small on him, now, and Douxie will want to find a better replacement if he wants to keep the blood flowing in his right hand, but they cover up the name of his soulmate quite well.

No one will have to know. Not his classmates, not the guys in the band who’s name they still can’t decide on, and not Zoe and her talking cat, who will probably ask three times as many questions as everyone else.

Krel’s not sure when he started being jealous of his older sister. Maybe it’s when they started using serrators and Aja took to them so easily, and Papa seemed to value Aja’s skill at fighting more than Krel’s engineering feats. Which, admittedly, weren’t that good at that age, but they were children back then. Krel was still a genius compared to everyone his age, and everyone who was Aja’s age. And yes, Aja isn’t that much older than him, but considering how much she tries to lord it over him it may as well count.

Krel will admit that in the past three delsons since his wrist exploded into pale blue light, he has gotten much more jealous of his sister.

Krel thinks that Aja is very lucky. Aja’s soulmate is an Akiridion, and that makes things easier for her. Sure, Aja’s soulmate isn’t an Akiridion from a royal house, and it would technically be a scandal if Aja married her soulmate, who would be an ordinary Akiridion. Or, it would be an even bigger scandal if Aja’s soulmate was a Taylon. That doesn’t matter to Krel.

Aja doesn’t have Mama and Papa talking behind her back in hushed tones that sometimes cut out the moment anyone comes near. Aja doesn’t have Mama and Papa talking behind her back, trying to find the planet where the strange symbols on Krel’s lower right wrist are actually a name. Aja doesn’t have Mama and Papa talking behind her back about how maybe Krel’s interplanetary soulmate can be a way that Akiridion-V and this mystery planet can have an alliance. Aja may be older than him and technically just as much the heir to the throne as Krel is, but Aja is less of a political pawn than Krel is.

Krel can’t help but wonder if Mama and Papa actually love each other, or at least, if they loved each other when they got married. He can’t help but wonder if their marriage is, or at least was, entirely political. His parents are soulmates, and their marriage ended the feud between House Ventis and House Akraohm.

Krel doesn’t want to have to marry his soulmate for power, or to put an end to a fight.

Douxie will readily admit, dubstep and dolphin noises aren’t his thing, when it comes to music. He prefers emo, alternative rock, alternative metal, electronic rock, hard rock, industrial rock, the occasional pop rock and emo pop, gothic rock, symphonic metal, and hardcore punk. And, of course, trying to recreate lute music from his childhood on an electric guitar.

But the guy on stage, the one making or at least DJ-ing the dubstep? He’s mesmerizing. And not just because Douxie knows that Ash Dispersal Pattern actually has competition for once. There’s the way his eyes light up, and the way his hair falls in waves all the way down to his chin. The way the lights bounce off the guy is beautiful.

Maybe, after the battle is over, Douxie can find the guy, and…

Right. Douxie’s never really known how to talk to people, and even though he’s been slowly trying to memorize the social cues of this century he still feels like he’s even worse at talking to people than he was as a child. And that’s all without factoring in the fact that Douxie is even worse at talking to cute guys. He’s been told that he apparently flirts with girls, which really isn’t how he wants to come off, and yet he doesn’t know how to flirt with guys. It’s frustrating.

Douxie tries to think of ways he can maybe talk to the guy. Talking about music will probably be his best chance. And talking about music will be even on topic, not just awkwardly rambling because classmates expect him to make small talk.

And then, a girl wearing purple armor walks onto the stage. It’s Claire. She looks better than Douxie can remember seeing her, though considering that their track record has put Claire as possessed, sick, or on the verge of a mental breakdown anything is better. But, while tense, she looks… assured. Powerful.

She looks like how a wizard should, which honestly makes a lot of sense in hindsight.

Douxie has never figured out how to use his magic to open a telepathic link, but as he whistles and gives Claire two thumbs up he tries to communicate as much as he silently can to her. He’s like her. He understands what she’s going through. He can help her to understand her powers. He can introduce her to people, well, a girl and a cat that are like Claire and Douxie.

Claire starts to speak, and Douxie realizes that Claire’s armor is familiar. Familiar, like the more important knights, knights whose armor was enchanted to be more protective. Familiar, like his aunt. Familiar, like Merlin.

Douxie can’t ruminate on what this could mean, because the sun goes dark and there are Gumm-Gumms.

When the battle (the real battle, not just the Battle of the Bands) is over, Douxie is aware of three things. His skills have deteriorated in the three years since he fought his – in the years since he last used his magic to fight anyone. He was also unable to talk to Claire or the guy who did the dubstep.

Well, Arcadia Oaks is a small enough town. Hopefully he’ll be able to talk to one or both of them over the summer.

Krel waits until his sister and the other Akiridions are gone. He waits until Steve and Toby and AAARRRGGHH!!! are doing… something else. He waits until he can be sure that Ricky and Lucy are so engrossed in unpacking that they won’t follow him down into his lab. And then, he lets himself cry. It’s stupid. Crying hurts, and it makes him feel weak.

Krel remembers what Mother had said about crying when it first happened to Aja, and he just cries harder. He misses his parents, and he misses Mother. He misses his sister, and Varvatos, and they’re not dead. They’ve just gone back to Akiridion-V, where Aja is actually attending her own coronation as queen. Krel knows that his parents would have wanted him to attend. They would have wanted a lot of things for him, and Krel isn’t sure if he’ll be able to fulfill any of them.

Krel wipes his eyes with his wrist. It’s funny. His human form doesn’t have a name on either of his wrists indicating a soulmate, even though Krel’s soulmate is human. Probably. His soulmate could be a changeling, but his soulmate being human is more likely. Krel’s almost sure that Mother thought that by not giving them soulmates, they’d be even closer to invisible on Earth, especially Aja and Varvatos.

Krel has a good feeling as to what the name on his lower right wrist sounds like, and he could probably hack into the various governments of Earth, searching until he found out just who Mordred Pendragon is. Krel doesn’t do that, though. He wasn’t in any rush to find his soulmate during the three keltons between receiving the name and coming to Earth, and he isn’t in any rush to do so now. He’s seen the way Aja and Steve act around each other, and he doesn’t think he wants that right now. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever want that.

“Hey Krel?” Ricky calls. “Ship’s no going to clean itself.”

“Not yet, anyways!” Lucy says.

Krel sighs and goes to help clean.

Douxie supposes that it was probably better to be safe than sorry when it comes to fighting off whatever great evil is going to attempt to end the world for the fourth time this summer. Still, he doesn’t like the idea of being involved in one of Archie’s prophecies. The only saving grace is that if he has to be caught between two different fates, then at least he can fight off the worse of the two. Still, it’s annoying. Toby keeps on pestering Douxie and Zoe, asking them about how magic works and why the two of them haven’t tried to help out more, as if they haven’t been busy at their own school.

Well, what is he supposed to say? “I helped make your friend’s amulet” may be true, but it’ll reveal too many things about Douxie’s past. Too many things that Douxie has been trying not to think about.

No matter how reluctantly, Douxie, Archie, and Zoe have been working with Steve, Toby, and AAARRRGGHH!!! for the better part of four hours. The past several minutes have been consumed by fighting the first of the many foes that Archie has foretold. Specifically, it’s a group of constructs, suits of armor made of wood, crystal, and metal.

The fight could be going much better. Zoe doesn’t seem to have much combat experience, or at least, she keeps on picking the wrong spells to use on the various constructs. Douxie himself has decided to just use simple shielding spells with his left hand and to manifest a sleek black dagger in his right hand.

Parry. Sidestep. Advance. Douxie scoffs as the wooden construct dodges out of the way. A part of him knows that using a sword like the ones he trained with as a child will have a better reach, but the mere thought of using one causes him to lose his footing. The construct lunges.

It is consumed by cyan light.

Douxie looks up, and his lips part slightly in a gasp. He, just like the rest of Arcadia Oaks, has been made aware that extraterrestrials exist. However, he hasn’t seen any of them up close. No one has told Douxie that they are so beautiful.

The boy jumps off the floating skateboard, and both it and the gun he is holding collapse into themselves.

“Sorry for being late, the Blanks wanted me to help clean and didn’t let me use my phone.”

“Just had to play the big hero, right?” Steve asks the Akiridion.

“No, without Mother the ship isn’t repairing itself the way it used to.”

Zoe gives Douxie a pointed look, and he stops staring at… honestly, Douxie isn’t sure what the Akiridon boy’s name is.

Something inside of him tells him he should be cautious. He ignores that feeling; it must be fear from the world being supposedly about to end.

Though, as he complains to Zoe, it’s really not fair that Krel is so beautiful in both forms.

“Hand me the ixvali,” Krel said. While they would never be able to replace Mother herself, the repairs on the mother ship were almost done after half a parson, give or take a couple delsons. Well, time and the unexpected outside help.

“That one’s the half-monkey wrench, half swage looking tool, right?” Krel looks over at Douxie. For the briefest of moments, they make eye contact, but Douxie looks slightly away before it can become uncomfortable. But he does not fully turn his head to look away like he often does. There is a soft smile on Douxie’s face as he looks at Krel. For some reason, this makes Krel’s digestive organs flutter in a way that is uncomfortable and confusing but not painful.

Douxie is holding out the correct tool. In his right hand, not through levitation like he often does when people who don’t know that Douxie is a wizard aren’t around. Douxie had once mentioned that certain textures make him tense, which Krel understands. He feels the same way around random sounds, sometimes, which is why he often uses headphones when working. But he isn’t using any today.

Though, Krel has no idea why Douxie thinks the ixvali looked like one of the less intelligent of Earth’s native species.

Krel takes the ixvali from Douxie, and his fingertips brush against Douxie’s skin as he does so. The places where Krel’s skin meets Douxie’s tingle even after Krel removes them, and as Krel turns away his face feels slightly warm.

“You’re pretty good at this. Engineering, that is,” Krel says, trying to distract himself from his thoughts. He watches Douxie from the corner of his eye. “Where’d you learn?”

Douxie’s smile falls into a scowl, and for some strange reason with it so does Krel’s core. “An old friend of my father’s taught me. I cut contact with him a long time ago, though. After he betrayed my aunt.”

“I’m sorry.”

Douxie blinks a couple times. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

Douxie doesn’t like fighting knights. Likewise, he doesn’t like that they’re fighting Merlin. It brings back way too many bad memories of death and betrayal. Then again, even the good memories are tainted by Camlann, so he tries not to think about his past in general. There are reasons why he goes by a false name, after all.

But, if he doesn’t fight Merlin’s knights then his friends will have to fight them without him. It could be hubris, but Douxie is pretty sure that without him his friends will be badly injured or worse. And they will wonder why he didn’t defend him, which will lead to suspicion and questions, and…

It’s better that he just swallows his bile and panic in order to stand at his friends’ sides and fight.

Advance. Parry. Lunge. Keep an eye out for Toby, who’s been slightly off his game ever since AAARRRGGHH!!! left to help the other trolls several days ago.

As he stabs his dagger between the knight’s rerebrace and pauldron, the knight swings his flail into Zoe’s unarmored stomach. Douxie winces as she goes flying; he twists his dagger so the knight’s pain will increase.

And a beam of water crashes into the knight. Douxie dismisses his dagger into the aether as the knight gets pushed back. Let the water stimulate blood flow, for all he cares.

Douxie looks towards the source of the water, and his jaw drops slightly. Zoe’s ears and fingers are webbed, and there are iridescent scales on her face and arms. She reminds him of someone he hasn’t seen in years. Technically over a millennium, if he counts the years he wasn’t around for.

The knight crushes an emerald between his armored fingers, allowing him to escape back to wherever Merlin is hiding.

“You’re not human, either?” Krel asks.

Zoe wraps her arms around herself, her shoulders drawing in like she’s trying to make herself smaller than she already is. Like she’s embarrassed about her appearance or scared of someone’s reaction. Except, this time she seems to be scared of Douxie and the others.

“No, I’m…” She looks at her feet. “Archie can probably explain it better. Shit, he’s gonna be so mad. I’m the Lady of the Lake. Well, the latest one, anyways.”

Douxie remembers the first Lady of the Lake. Personally, he likes Zoe better.

Now would be a good time to tell people about his past. To reassure Zoe that she’s not alone in having magic from a kingdom that no longer exists.

“Cool,” he says instead.

The stars are very different from home. It makes sense. It’s a different number of lightyears for each different type of starlight to reach Earth than it is for Akiridion-V. The two worlds also have different amounts of light pollution.

Krel and Douxie sit in a comfortable silence, staring at the stars and listening to the water in the pool lap against the walls. Not that talking to Douxie is uncomfortable. Quite the opposite. With both humans and Akiridions, there is always some barrier between Krel and communicating with them. While that barrier still exists with Douxie, it is so much lower than with most humans.

It has been three delsons since they and Toby and Steve learned the truth about Zoe and comforted her and told her cat that he could trust them, that unlike previous incarnations’ so-called friends they would protect her. It has been three weeks since Krel decided to stay on Earth and met Douxie. The only work left for the mothership is to wait for the new AI to install itself. It won’t be Mother. It’ll be less sapient, and it will take keltons for the AI to be anywhere near Mother’s level. But the ship has been rebuilt as it ever will be able to, in the aftermath of Morando’s attack.

Douxie inhales, sharp and loud, and grabs Krel’s hand. Douxie’s hand is calloused and slightly damp from sweat. The contact feels like when Krel has accidentally electrocuted himself, except for how it inspires no fear. If anything, it’s comforting.

Krel looks at Douxie. In the low light, Krel can barely make out that Douxie’s face is red.

“I, uh, I don’t know how to say this because even though I feel like I don’t have to adhere to a script and social cues as much around you both of those would be helpful right now because I have a crush on you and I understand if you don’t feel the same but I just wanted to tell you,” Douxie says quickly, glancing at Krel before looking around awkwardly, like he’s trying to find a way to escape.

Krel smiles and leans against Douxie, cherishing the way their arms brush together. He’s in his human form, so he can feel the blood rush to his own face, highlighting his cheeks in cyan. “I do. Feel the same the way, that is.”

It’s their first date. Or at least, Douxie thinks this might be their first date? Krel might not see it as a date, since his culture might have different rules for dating. He’s not even sure if he and Krel have technically been dating for the past less-than-forty-eight hours since they confessed their feelings for each other, or if dating starts with the first date. This is so different than what little he learned about courting when he was younger.

Last night he swiped a few mints from the bowl of them at the restaurant before leaving work. Really, it might’ve been more than a few, but the night was winding down anyways. He’s now crunching on one of them in apprehension as he waits for Krel to arrive. It’s a way to try and get rid of the nervous energy that fills his bones. Not for their intended purpose of making your mouth smell better and not taste like your last meal, for the purpose of talking or personal comfort or even kissing someone after the date ends.

Douxie feels himself blush at the idea of kissing Krel. Holding Krel’s hand is intense and Douxie isn’t ready for their relationship to go quickly. They haven’t even talked much about how they want this to progress, or if they’re going to do anything to make their relationship official – do Akiridions even have the concept of making a relationship official?

Douxie wipes his palms on his jeans again. It’s the end of July, and once more he is reconsidering his choice to have nothing in his modern wardrobe but the color black aside from three band shirts, one of which he uses for sleeping. At the very least, maybe he should have left his hoodie at home. He hates the cold, because the cold reminds him all too much of Camlann, but it’s almost never cold in July and August except for in air-conditioned buildings, and this one isn’t.

At the very least, if he wore less black, maybe his hands would be sweating less. Or maybe it’d be the same, because he’s nervous and Krel is running late. It’s only late by thirteen minutes, but Douxie is already anxious. At least no one is giving him a weird look for sitting here alone, not having ordered anything, like he knows that people

Douxie once more checks his phone. There’s nothing. No Krel changing his mind, and no frantic texts from friends who have been attacked and need backup. No magical notifications of knights or constructs, either. He sets his phone to sleep but doesn’t shove it in his pocket. He tries not to worry as he scans his surroundings.

The coffee shop is quiet. There are a couple other people, and some annoying pop song is playing, but other than that it’s quiet. It’s late morning on a weekday, and this coffee shop has never been as popular as the chain one a block away with a drive thru.

Douxie unlocks his phone again, and scowls down at it. Why did he make the pattern so complicated to draw when only using one hand to both hold and unlock his phone?

Someone taps Douxie’s shoulder, and he looks up.

It’s Krel. There’s a sheen of sweat on his face. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, but strands all over have fallen out. He’s beautiful.

“Sorry I’m late,” Krel says, out of breath.

“It’s fine,” Douxie says, his scowl quickly fading into a smile. He rises from his seat, and the two of them go to stand in line to order drinks.

Seven minutes later, the two of the are sitting once more. Krel is telling a story from his childhood as he dumps his third and final sugar packet into his otherwise black coffee. “And then Luug came running in and tripped up Loth Saborian. Oh, uh, Luug’s mine and Aja’s pet soolian. Well, he’s more Aja’s than mine.”

“I thought he was her dog.” Douxie took a sip of his chai to try and cover up his awkward expression as he realized what he just said. “Though I guess that’s what your sister called him to blend in when he got loose?”

“Yeah, plus his transduction is a dog, though he wasn’t transducted when he swallowed my prototype. Um, that was when she was chasing him all over town. Did you ever have any pets?”

“My father had a dog when I was growing up; his name was Cavall. Which I found odd growing up, since his name meant horse. And, like, he was a hunting hound? Or at least he was before I was born, but he was getting old. But, I had thought it could get confusing. Maybe it was just me, though. So, anyways, what happened after Luug tripped your parents’ advisor?”

Twenty-seven horvaths after their date, Krel still feels oddly buoyant. He wonders if Douxie feels the same way.

Douxie is off working at his job at the bistro, and the rest of them are hanging out with Zoe as she works at the record store. She had poked him in the shoulder and told him not to shoplift, with a smile on her face. Krel had rolled his eyes, and now he is looking through the various albums while the others talk. If he finds an album with an interesting title, or even a song with an interesting title, he plays it on his phone, the volume low and muffled by his hand because he didn’t bring his headphones and earbuds feel so weird. It’s like research.

Toby sighs. “I hope I get my soulmate’s name soon. I’m pretty sure I’m, like, one out of the only three, maybe four, people in our year who doesn’t have one.”

“I mean, does Darci have her soulmate’s name yet?” Steve asks.

“No, she’s one of the other three to four people in our year,” Toby says, “but we also haven’t spoken much in the past week since she’s on vacation the other side of the planet right now. And she’s a couple months older than me.”

Krel glances at his oddly bare wrist as he looks up a band called Starset on his phone. He doesn’t want to meet Mordred Pendragon, whoever or wherever he is. Krel is very happy with Douxie, and he doesn’t want to meet his soulmate.

“Dude, I doubt she’ll break up with you even if it turns out that she has a soulmate who isn’t a huge furry.” Toby punches Steve in the arm.

“I mean, does it matter if you have a soulmate?” Zoe pipes up. “I mean, I don’t have one. Though, I’m not sure if it’s because I’m aro, or well, I’ve already got a mark on my arm stating my destiny.”

“Okay, but like, aren’t platonic soulmates a thing?” Toby asks. “And multiple?”

“Yeah, but studies have shown that aro-spec people have a higher tendency to not have soulmates than alloromantic people,” Zoe says. Krel wonders if this is true across species, or if he’s in the minority of demiromantics. “Also, multiple soulmates are, like really rare. Plus, I don’t want one anyways?”

“Hey, if you get your arm cut off above your tattoo thing, would you lose all your magic?” Steve asks, rubbing at where Eli’s name is on his wrist.

Zoe blinks a couple times, her voice lowering in volume. “Don’t know, don’t let Archie hear you say that; why do you ask?”

“Well, there’s the superstition that if you cut off the wrist that has your soulmate’s name, they’re no longer your soulmate,” Steve says in a low voice

“I mean, are we sure that wasn’t just something made up to dehumanize people who’d lost hands?” Toby asks.

Zoe shrugs. “Trust me, I don’t specialize in soul-based magic, and if I try Archie will never let me hear the end of it because it’s dark. But, yeah, I have no idea what magic goes on when it comes to lost hands and soulmates.”

Merlin has sent another knight after them along with a trio of constructs. This knight does not wear a helmet, so Douxie can see the knight’s identity. It’s Caradoc, but he seems strangely younger than how Douxie remembers. Maybe it’s the lack of stress from no longer having to run a kingdom. Maybe Camlann and everything that came after had been good for Caradoc and the kingdom of Gwent.

Douxie remembers being told when he was young that Camelot protected the other kingdoms from Gumm-Gumms and dark wizards, and yet despite that, many opposed it because its king had grown up under the care of a minor lord. Caradoc had been one of those in opposition, and Douxie had been told to remain cautious about him. Except, he hadn’t yet been Douxie then.

“Hand over Mordred,” Caradoc says, “and I’ll let most of you kids go.”

Douxie is keenly aware of the way sweat drips down the back of his neck as Toby and Steve give each other confused glances, Krel raises an eyebrow, and Zoe narrows her eyes.

“Who’s Mordred?” Steve asks. The sound of distant traffic covers Douxie’s relieved sigh as he realizes that none of them associate him with that name.

Krel shifts his serrator into its gun form, and Zoe sends a wall of water towards Caradoc. Douxie summons a dagger and a shield before he charges towards Caradoc.

Parry. Dodge. Parry. Lunge. Parry. Thrust. Adjust footing. Douxie focuses entirely on the fight in a way that would be dangerous if anyone else wanted to attack him.

Parry. Thrust. Adjust shielding spell. Douxie focuses on the fight, because if he allows himself to think about anything else his mind will focus on things that are dangerous to think about. Things like Camlann, and the three hazy days that followed where Merlin revealed the lengths he was willing to go to fight the Gumm-Gumms.

As Douxie’s dagger clashes against Caradoc’s sword, their eyes meet. Caradoc grabs Douxie’s shoulder, prolonging the painful eye contact.

“Should I tell them, or have you already told them, Mordred?” Caradoc says in a low voice. Douxie feels pressure wrap around his skull and numbness settle into his bone. “And should the Lady of the Lake find out before she dies?”

Mordred doesn’t think as he releases the shielding spell and flicks his fingers in the right way to summon a burst of bright blue light to distract Caradoc enough that Mordred can escape his grip. It’s muscle memory to change his dagger into a sword. Before either of them can recover, Mordred rams his sword up through Caradoc’s chest, using magic to bypass Caradoc’s armor.

Mordred dismisses the sword and lets Caradoc’s body fall. He has forgotten what it is like for another person’s blood to soak into his clothing. It is warm, too warm, warm enough that an icy coldness settles into the rest of his body. He was able to forget, to think that every time he woke up screaming and soaked in his own sweat that it was as bad as when he was covered in his father’s blood, but this is so. Much. Worse.

“First kill?” Toby asks, and Mordred can’t tell if his voice is suspicious or sympathetic. This is not Mordred’s first time killing another human being. This is the first time he has killed another human when he feels like his body and mind mostly belong to him.

Mordred hopes his trembling approximates to the proper kind of nod. He takes a few steps towards his friends, but he then turns away so he can violently expel the contents of his stomach into a nearby bush. He appreciates the way Krel grabs Mordred’s bangs and holds them away from Mordred’s face, even if his boyfriend looks disgusted. Hopefully by the vomit and not the fact that Mordred just killed someone. He isn’t even sure if it was entirely to save his best friend or to save himself from everyone else’s judgement. Maybe he didn’t have to kill Caradoc. He could have incapacitated him. Maybe.

Mordred stands up, wipes his mouth on his sleeve, and grimaces. “I’m going to go home and get ready for work,” he says quickly. Hopefully not too quickly. His friends give him what he hopes are sympathetic looks, and he runs off.

He locks himself in his apartment and rips off his soiled clothes. He brushes his teeth to get rid of the taste of vomit as he waits for the water to heat up; while he wants to be free from the feeling of blood on him he doesn’t want to be cold, because being cold means the memories of stabbing through his father’s chest will feel so much more real because Mordred had been cold when he killed his father.

Mordred removes his watch and his bracelets before he tests the water’s temperature with one hand. As he does so, the cyan writing that has been on the inside of his wrist for three years catches his eye. He has spent enough time with Krel to know that the script is Akiridion. Something between a maniacal laugh and a pitiful sob bursts from his lips. He loves Krel. Krel can’t be his soulmate, though, because a soulmate is another prophecy, and the last prophecy involving Mordred didn’t end well. It ended in him dissociating into a state of eerie numbness where he couldn’t control his body and he killed his father by stabbing him through the chest. Just like he stabbed Caradoc through the chest.

But, but Krel had mentioned that while the population of Akiridion-V is smaller than Earth, the amount of Akiridions in the universe is about four and a half times the number of humans. And Akiridions aren’t the only ones who used the Akiridion script. So, it is entirely possible that Krel isn’t Mordred’s soulmate. It’s possible that fate won’t make Mordred kill Krel.

Mordred finishes undressing and enters the shower, twisting his body to soak up as much heat as possible. Because he hasn’t stopped trembling, he can’t tell if he’s sobbing or if soap has just gotten in his eyes.

When Douxie finally exits the shower once more, his skin is raw from scrubbing, heat, and in some areas just how much he had scratched at it, trying to escape the phantom feeling of someone else’s blood.

“Are you alright?” Krel softly asks his boyfriend as the two of them meet up in front of Zoe’s house. “After everything that happened yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Douxie says as he stares at the sidewalk. “Well, I’ve been better, but I’m doing better than yesterday.”

Krel squeezes Douxie’s hand once before dropping it as they step through the door. The two of them are the last to arrive. Steve, Toby, and Zoe are talking in hushed voices, but they stop before Krel can hear what they’re saying. Archie bats at one of Douxie’s shoelaces, nearly tripping them. They take their seats at Zoe’s kitchen table. It’s cramped, and the chairs don’t match, like normally there are only three chairs.

“Okay, so, Mordred,” Zoe says. “A basic Wikipedia search will tell you he’s the son of King Arthur, and he grew up to kill Arthur at a place called Camlann. But that’s where things start to go awry. Mordred practically killed Arthur in cold blood, and he was also Merlin’s apprentice, which means that he should be an enemy of ours. Except, we don’t know where he is, and I don’t think Merlin knows where he is either.” She turns in her chair towards Archie. “Uh, am I missing any details?”

Douxie twists his skull pendant on its string.

Archie raises his head from his bowl of cat food and swallows before speaking. “Mordred did everything he’s infamous for prior to my birth, so it’s not like I can provide you with fine details. Oh, stop giving me that look, I’m not that ancient. But, your memories from the first Lady of the Lake are more accurate.” Archie walks over to the table and hops on top of it. “The one thing I can tell you is that soon after killing Arthur, Mordred disappeared. In fact, until you came to me with this information, I had thought he was dead. And if he’s alive, then why hasn’t he come out of hiding until now?”

Krel flips the clasp to his watch back and forth, trying not to cringe.

“Okay, but why would that knight have thought he was with us?” Steve asks.

Toby shrugs. “Maybe Merlin thinks Mordred turned against him and took refuge with us? I mean, about half of our oldest troll allies – in terms of being on our side, mind you – all tried to kill me and… and Jim, at one point or another.”

Douxie sits up straight. He stares very intently at where some dishes are drying. “I mean, maybe we can use this against Merlin? I mean, maybe Merlin did something that made, er, Mordred turn against him. And maybe Mordred is so against Merlin that, that he’d be willing to work with. Us.”

Everyone stares at Douxie before Zoe clears her throat. “Are you forgetting the whole ‘killed his dad in cold blood’ thing? We wouldn’t be able to trust Mordred not to kill us in the hypothetical scenario that he hates Merlin.”

Douxie slouches down into his chair, twisting one of the white strings of his hoodie between his fingers.

“Hey, what’s Mordred’s family name?” Krel asks slowly, using his right hand to twist the watch on his left hand.

“Pendragon,” Zoe says. “Why?”

Krel sighs. “Mordred Pendragon is my soulmate.”

Douxie inhales sharply.

Toby makes a disgusted face that quickly turns into confusion. “Wait, but you don’t have a name on your wrist. Or is it under your watch?”

Krel pulls out his serrator and changes back into his Akiridion form. “It’s just not on my human form.” He rolls up his lower right sleeve to expose his soulmate’s name. Zoe, Toby, Steve, and Archie all lean in to stare at it with morbid curiosity. Douxie stays sitting the exact same way he has been, but one of his eyelids twitches.

“Could we, I don’t know, track him through Krel?” Toby asks. Douxie pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. Krel finds it sweet that Douxie’s home screen is a picture of Krel.

“Dark. Magic,” Zoe and Archie say in unison. Douxie opens his texting app but does not exit from the groupchat that five teenagers sitting at this table use.

“Hey, uh, my manager wants me to come in early today, I need to go,” Douxie says. He leaves too quickly for Krel to call him out on his lie.

Krel finds him hours later, during Douxie’s actual shift at GDT Arcane Books.

Mordred sighs. He doesn’t want to do this. He has to do this to save Krel’s life. Behind the counter, he casts a quick illusory spell.

“You didn’t need to come in early,” Krel says. “I saw your phone.”

Mordred stays silent.

“Why’d you lie about it?” Krel asks. “Are you – is this because you’re not my soulmate?”

“Yes.” No, quite the opposite. He is Krel’s soulmate. While unrequited soulmates do exist, it is far more likely that Krel is Mordred’s soulmate. Which means that Krel is in danger. Prophecy and Mordred put together is dangerous.

“Look, I knew you weren’t my soulmate when we got together, so why does it matter?”

“It, it does.”

“You’re being really petty. And shallow.” Krel’s voice raises with each word.

“Okay. Are you done?”

“Well, do you have anything to say?”

“I made a mistake.” Krel’s face softens, and Mordred forces venom into his own voice even though he doesn’t want to hurt Krel. “I should have never fallen for you. And had I known the truth about you and, you and Mordred, I would have never let myself fall for you.”

Krel’s glare returns with a vengeance. “I can’t believe you. When Merlin’s defeated, I never want to speak to you again!”

As Krel storms out of the bookstore, Mordred releases the spell that he used to hide the tears in his eyes.

Krel wants to just lie on his bed and read through old blueprints with a recording of the common sounds of Akiridion-V playing in the background. He wants to lose himself in engineering, so he won’t have to think about Douxie and Mordred. Technically, he had just wanted to lay on his bed face-down when he had gotten home, but Krel has found that doing so doesn’t stimulate his brain enough and without stimulation all of his thoughts go to his now-ex-boyfriend.

But his phone gives him an alert. He’s getting a call from Akiridion-V. And so, with a groan, he drags himself out of his bed and into the lower portion of the Mothership, where the video call center is.

“Hi, Krel!” Aja says. She looks exhausted, but she is still so cheerful that some of Krel’s own misery fades away.

“Hi. How’s life as queen?”

“Busy. So, so, so very busy. I wish I had listened more to Mama and Papa.” She looks away from him, face falling.

“Me, too,” Krel says softly. It’s not hard for him to believe they’ve been dead for so long, though. Aside from the few short moments, they had been reduced to their cores. They had been practically dead, and the mourning wasn’t as hard. But Krel isn’t constantly surrounded by reminders of his parents. He has other things to worry about, like –

No, Krel is not thinking about his ex right now.

“It doesn’t help that some of the lesser royal houses think that I’m not ready, considering that I ran away from the first coronation.”

“Yeah, you kind of brought that on yourself.”

“But, anyways, enough about me,” Aja says, her smile returning. “You had some non-urgent but important good news a couple delsons ago? And I’m sorry I didn’t have time before, but I do now!”

Krel feels his own face fall. “I… I had wanted to tell you that I had a boyfriend, but, he broke up with me two horvaths ago.”

“Oh, Krel, I’m so sorry. Do you want me to come back and beat him up for you?”

“No, I handled it. I just… before today, he’s never been so shallow. He broke up with me because he found out I’m not his soulmate.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to beat him up for you? Or send Varvatos to do so?”

“No, Aja. By the way, have you told Steve about your own soulmate? And speaking of him, how is Varvatos?”

Parry. Adjust footing. Advance. Shove phone back into hoodie pocket because that was a stupid place for Douxie to put his phone when he knew he was running towards a fight. Step out of the way for Zoe to get the finishing blow.

“Anyone else think that construct was oddly weak?” Steve asks. The five of them are crowded into one of Arcadia’s alleys, having gotten up relatively early to go fight it. Krel had given Douxie a murderous glare, and afterwards had just ignored Douxie.

Mordred is very tempted to beg for Krel’s forgiveness, but no. It’s safer this way. If they don’t spend time together, the likelihood of Mordred killing his soulmate goes down.

“Don’t you dare jinx us,” Toby says.

“I mean, Steve’s kind of –” Zoe starts before she gets blown back by a wave of magic. So do Krel, Steve, and Toby. Only Mordred is left standing.

Mordred, and Merlin, who drops the spell he was using to keep Mordred and the others from noticing him.

“Kneel,” Merlin commands.

A coldness spreads through Mordred’s limbs. He mindlessly walks forward, ready to follow this command and kneel in front of his master. Douxie shakes it off and breaks into a run. As he does so, his phone falls out of his hoodie pocket, but he pays it no mind.

Mordred attempts to stab Merlin with his dagger, but Merlin parries with the Staff of Avalon. Glowing green ropes force Mordred into a kneeling position.

Mordred looks behind himself. Scales are flickering on and off of Zoe’s skin, and the construct has come back to life and is trying to entrap her within it. Everyone else is trying to pry her out. Mordred fights against his bonds, trying to escape them so he can help Zoe.

“For all of his faults,” Merlin says, “your father never lost the humility that came with not having been raised a prince. Unlike you, Mordred.”

In the background, one of his friends – or at least, former friends, now that they know – gasps.

Upon hearing his name, Mordred tries to hang his head in shame. Merlin places the Staff of Avalon under Mordred’s chin and forces Mordred to look at Merlin. Mordred tries to avoid his former master’s gaze, but Merlin helped to raise Mordred. Merlin knows how Mordred will try to avoid eye contact by faking it, by looking at people’s eyebrows, forehead, cheeks, or nose. Merlin knows that Mordred finds prolonged eye contact painful, and so he’s using this against Mordred.

Mordred hears Toby exclaim something, and footsteps behind him, but he can’t make them out any further due to the ringing in his ears.

Merlin removes his staff from under Mordred’s chin and slams the butt of it into the ground, sending the two of them away from the battle.

They make their way to Zoe’s house. Krel gets the feeling that everyone else is also reeling from the battle, if for possibly different reasons.

“Are you alright?” Archie asks, curling his body around Zoe’s legs. She picks up her familiar. She looks like she wants to hug him, but she holds him in front of her instead.

“Did. You. Know?” Zoe asks.

Archie nods gravely. “Yes, I warned you years ago about how Merlin will try to bind you if he ever found you. He did so to… to far too many of your predecessors. I am so glad you’re not imprisoned.”

“I… no, did you know that Douxie is Mordred?” She then hugs Archie to her chest. Her arms shake as she does so.

“He’s what?” Archie climbs to her shoulder and looks around at the four of them. “Again, I wasn’t born yet. If what your saying is true, then you met him before I did. Then again, the two of you always did act like cousins, so it makes sense. But where is he?”

“Merlin took him,” Toby says, one of his hands curling into a fist. With the other he takes Douxie’s phone out of his pocket and places it on the table. “And it’s not like we’ll be able to contact him.”

“It doesn’t make sense, though,” Zoe says, not really looking at any of them. “Mordred’s supposed to be bloodthirsty and back during freshman year Douxie nearly had a panic attack while trying to take care of me because I accidentally sliced my finger open.”

“Well, maybe Douxie isn’t Mordred and Merlin made a mistake by calling him that?” Krel offers. Douxie can’t be Mordred, because Mordred is Krel’s soulmate and Douxie broke up with Krel because Douxie isn’t Krel’s soulmate.

“How did Douxie respond to being called Mordred?” Archie asks. “Did he try to refute this at all.”

“No, he just kind of collapsed in on himself,” Zoe says.

Toby smiles weakly at Krel. “Well, at least your soulmate isn’t some creepy old dude who likes killing people?”

“But, he can’t be. If Douxie is Mordred, and he’s known that he’s Mordred, then why did he break up with me yesterday?”

“Wait, he broke up with you?” Toby asks.

“I told you two that they had gotten together, pay up,” Steve says.

“We never actually made that bet,” Zoe says.

“You three bet on us?” Krel is in his human form and he isn’t sure if he wants to cross his arms or put them on his hips.

“We didn’t agree to it,” Toby and Zoe say almost in unison.

“But anyways, he broke up with you?” Toby says.

“Yeah. Douxie was mad that Mordred is my soulmate. And it doesn’t seem like him to be so mad that he’s not my soulmate, but it makes more sense than him being mad that he is my soulmate and lying about it.”

They teleport to a fort with stone walls and floors. Jim walks up to them, movements stilted like a puppet. His eyes are glowing green.

“Take him to the antimagic cell for now while I prepare,” Merlin says.

Jim grabs Mordred by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to his feet. Jim then pushes Mordred to start walking down the hall.

Mordred’s hands tremble with a nervous energy. He narrows his eyes and begins to try to do the hand movements inherent to the first spell he ever cast. It’s more difficult to cast it in a stealthy fashion, considering that the first time he ever cast the spell he hadn’t even been trying to cast spells. He hadn’t even known he was a wizard back then; he was just a three-year-old who would flap his hands whenever he got excited, and that day he had managed to flap them in such a way that caused his magic to ignite.

After slightly less than a minute, Mordred’s hands erupt into balls of blue fire. Unfortunately, Jim does not startle from this. Instead, he just pulls a dagger from his armor and hold it to Mordred’s throat. Mordred lets the fireballs dissipate into nothingness.

“Okay, I won’t do that,” Douxie says. “But seriously, Jim, you need to fight this. I know we don’t know each other that well, but surely you don’t want to be doing this?”

Jim remains mind controlled as he throws Mordred into the antimagic cell. Literally throws. Mordred knows he’s going to have bruises from the impact.

The cell door swings closed quickly, but an armored hand catches it. It’s not Jim. It’s the knight that had hit Zoe with a flail, forcing her to reveal the source of her magic. He’s not wearing his helmet.

“Agravaine?” Mordred says, forcing himself to sit up even though it will likely be more comfortable to continue lying on the floor. He wonders if he hit his head, because his cousin is apparently still alive after all these centuries. “You changed your armor.”

“You know, I thought you were finally starting to get smart, when you killed your father and all that,” Agravaine says. “Clearly you’re still a dumb kid.”

“Are Gawain, Gaheris, and Gareth still alive?” Mordred asks. Agravaine scowls, like it’s Mordred’s fault that he had found his other three Orkney cousins more interesting and fun to be around when he was growing up. Personally, Mordred had liked Agravaine better than their cousin Ywain le Fay, but if Agravaine is working for Merlin then Ywain is now his second-to-least favorite cousin on his father’s side.

“No,” Agravaine says. “Gareth and Gaheris were killed by Gumm-Gumms. Gawain, on the other hand, he made the mistake of opposing Merlin.” Agravaine lets go of the cell door, letting it continue swinging close. “But if it’s any help, I’m sure Merlin has a better use for you than death.”

“Just, why didn’t he tell us?” Zoe asks.

“I think he tried,” Steve says. Everyone looks towards him. “Yesterday, Douxie tried to get us to believe that maybe Mordred would be willing to help us.”

“He was stuttering a lot,” Archie says.

“Exactly!” Steve says. “I mean, without any proof his idea of Mordred being on our side sounded kind of crazy, but I think he was trying to, you know, test the waters? See if it was safe to reveal himself? Kind of like how Aja did with me. And we completely blew it. Now, him being weird and breaking up with you for being his soulmate while claiming the opposite, I’m getting a headache just thinking about it, but everything else? I think he was trying to get us to help and we didn’t help him.”

Zoe sighs. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

Krel nods in agreement.

“I’m going to call Claire,” Toby says. “Let her know what to look out for, see if she has any intel, see how she, Blinky, and my Wingman are doing when it comes to protecting the trolls from Merlin. See how she’s healing from Merlin cutting off her hand – I hope Merlin doesn’t try doing that to Douxie, especially since it might be harder to get his hand back than it was with Claire. By Deya, I want him to stop hurting my friends.”

And getting Claire’s hand had led to Merlin controlling Jim.

“We’ll save him,” Krel vows.

Douxie isn’t sure how long he’s been kept in the antimagic cell, alone with only his memories to plague him. Well, that, and one very stale piece of bread that Agravaine tossed at Mordred’s head.

Jim opens the door to the cell, and gestures for Mordred to come out. Jim never enters the cell. Douxie wonders if entering the cell will free Jim.

Maybe Mordred should feel guilty for having made the amulet. Sure, the amulet ensured that the Gumm-Gumms, the beings who killed two of Mordred’s parents and two of Mordred’s cousins, were finally defeated, but it’s also being used to control Jim. But he’s too exhausted to think about it. He’s exhausted from being completely cut off from his magic, so Mordred doesn’t fight back. He just goes to wear Jim leads him.

It’s a small room, but it’s larger than Douxie’s cell. Jim shuts the door behind Mordred, leaving him alone with Merlin. Merlin has his back to the entrance. A set of papers float in front of him. One set older, one set newer. Nearby, a sword is being sharpened with magic.

Mordred swallows down his bile. It’s Excalibur, out of its sheath. His father didn’t unsheathe Excalibur when he fought Mordred at Camlann.

In the center of the room is a stone pillar.

Merlin flicks a hand, and Mordred is dragged towards the pillar by magic. Ropes twist themselves around his arms, legs, and torso. His upper right arm is on the pillar. Mordred is able to twist his head to try and see the papers.

He’s seen the set of old papers before. He first saw them soon before he accidentally sent himself to the twenty-first century. Actually, they’re what truly inspired him to run away from Merlin. They’re the plans to the Amulet of Daylight.

The newer papers look like plans for an amulet.

Mordred remembers how Claire nearly lost a hand to Merlin, and how even now it’s still healing from the dismemberment.

“Please don’t do this,” Mordred pleads as he tries to force himself not to hyperventilate. “I can help you in other ways.”

Merlin grabs Excalibur. “You should have thought of that centuries ago. Besides, you’d be surprised by how hard it is to find wizard hands.”

Mordred glares at Merlin and tries to summon his magic. Lightning, fire, anything. But he hasn’t recovered from the antimagic cell, so he can’t fight back. He still strains against his bindings.

“Fine, have it your way and fight back,” Merlin says. “It’ll only hurt worse.”

As Merlin brings down Excalibur, Mordred’s last thought before painful oblivion takes him is that he can almost understand why Aunt Morgana turned on everyone.

But only almost.

It’s been a long two delsons since Merlin took Mordred. They’ve tried to cover up Douxie’s disappearance. Zoe with illusory magic, Krel with a hastily thrown together transduction, and Toby and Steve with a shared glamour mask. That, and the fact that Douxie’s phone got left behind. They’ve seen him unlock it enough times that it isn’t too hard to hack, though the pattern is annoyingly complicated.

Krel sighs. He’s supposed to meet up with Zoe in a few horvaths, to try and find a way to upgrade their weapons and armor. Well, everyone else’s weapons and armor, considering that Krel’s doesn’t need upgrading. They don’t know where Mordred, Jim, and Merlin are, but they’ll need to be stronger if they want to be able to ever fight Merlin to get their friends back. For now, though, he’s sitting in his room, sipping at a glass of juice that Lucy gave him.

An idea comes to him. It’s technically a violation of privacy, but Krel and the others have already been through Douxie’s phone. Krel’s desire to check Mordred’s wrist can’t be any worse. It’s just a selfish desire for Krel to see his own name on his ex’s wrist.

Krel activates the transduction that makes him look like Douxie. Krel’s name should be on Mordred’s right wrist, underneath the bracelets he always wears. The bracelets don’t budge.

Krel doesn’t get why he’s so disappointed when he returns to his Akiridion form. He should’ve known that the bracelets wouldn’t move. It’s a very basic transduction, only meant to fool people who won’t look too closely. People who don’t know Douxie’s mannerisms and won’t touch enough Douxie to notice that his clothes won’t move from his body. It’s meant to keep people from missing him.

It doesn’t stop Krel from missing Douxie. Krel frowns. He doesn’t want to miss Douxie. He isn’t fine with his ex being held captive by Merlin, but he also doesn’t want to miss him. He wants Douxie to be safe, and maybe a little miserable without Krel. He wants Mordred to be regretting his decision to break up with Krel. He wants an apology, and an explanation. But Krel doesn’t want to miss Douxie, he wants to try and ignore Douxie’s entire existence. Except, even when Krel and Douxie had just broken up, Krel hadn’t been able to ignore him. Krel isn’t sure if he’d be able to ignore Douxie like he wants to be able to, even if Douxie was safe and far from Merlin and not Mordred. Krel can’t stop thinking about Douxie, because…

Because…

“I love him,” Krel admits quietly to his empty room. Krel sits on his bed, one hand over his core. A single tear rolls down his cheek. Despite everything that Mordred has supposedly done, Krel loves him. Despite how much Douxie has hurt Krel by breaking up with him, Krel loves him. Or maybe that’s why he’s so hurt by the breakup, because Krel has never loved anyone the way he’s loves Douxie before.

Krel wipes his eyes with his lower right hand. He then rolls down the sleeve of that arm and presses his lips to where Mordred’s name has been on Krel’s wrist for three keltons.

Krel lowers his arm and chuckles a little, feeling silly for what he has just done.

He isn’t ready to forgive Douxie for how he hurt Krel, but maybe, just maybe, the two of them can go back to being on speaking terms after they rescue Mordred.

Mordred keeps his arms against his chest. Each time he hears footsteps pass by the dim cell that Merlin is keeping him in, Mordred finds himself switching which arm is crossed over the other even though doing so aggravates his injury. He can’t decide which arm he wants to be closer to any impending attack. His right arm feels useless, and it’d be better to use it to protect his left arm. However, he can’t bear the thought of his right arm getting any more hurt. He hasn’t been given painkillers, not pills, potions, spells, or even theriac, though the last of those might be hard to come by in this century. He certainly hasn’t been able to heal himself; an iron cuff has replaced his wristwatch and has locked away his ability to cast spells. The closest he has to a painkiller is the numbness that comes from having been locked in a small, dim cell for what feels like a very long time with nothing to distract himself with other than distant footsteps.

He supposes that the cuff better than the antimagic cell, because the inability to access his magic doesn’t feel as oppressive. Also, Jim has actually been handing the stale bread to him instead of just throwing it at him. But in the antimagic cell he wasn’t chained to a wall by his left arm. In the antimagic cell he could walk around more than two paces. In the antimagic cell he still had two hands.

Perhaps Mordred should consider himself lucky that he had been given bandages, not left to bleed out. Then again, luck is another form of fate, and fate is never on his side. Merlin probably has something planned for Mordred. Something horrible. Perhaps Merlin will harvest Mordred’s left hand as well, and then go on to harvest other parts of his body for spell components..

He can’t just be bait. Perhaps he thinks of himself as too important, but it doesn’t seem right. If Douxie is just bait, then Merlin wouldn’t have revealed Mordred’s identity to everyone else. Merlin would know that Zoe would hate Mordred and would lead the others in hating Mordred even if he had been their friend. If Douxie is bait, then he will fail at the role Merlin was forcing him to play. No one will come for him.

His friends hate him.

His soulmate is grateful that he doesn’t have to look at Douxie, if they’re even soulmates anymore.

His only living family are a cousin who’s never really liked him (and whom he’s never really liked back), and a genocidal aunt trapped in another dimension. Honestly, Aunt Morgana’s more likely to kill Mordred as she razes Merlin’s stronghold than she is to rescue Mordred. Never mind that once Mordred had found the list of ingredients Merlin had used for the amulet, Mordred had run away. He hadn’t been able to apologize to his aunt for everything involving her lost hand in a timely manner because he had accidentally sent himself forward in time about a millennium and a half, but she won’t take his excuses. Besides, she probably won’t recognize him; she hadn’t recognized him back when she had been possessing Claire. So why would she save him?

No one will save Douxie.

Mordred hears footsteps, and he recrosses his arms.

 “I am so glad you’re finally taking an interest in your past,” Archie says as he half reads, half lies on top of the plans that Krel and Zoe have drawn up.

“I’ve ‘taken an interest’ in artificing work before,” Zoe says.

“You wanted to make a magical flamethrower. Honestly, given that three of your uncles are firefighters and both your father and grandfather worked in a chemical plant, I wouldn’t be surprised if a mild case of pyromania runs in your family,” Archie says. “Really, you’re the Lady of the Lake, not the Lady of the Bonfire.”

“Some planets have lakes of fire,” Krel provides. Archie glares at him, stands up, and walks to sit directly in the doorway. Zoe just rolls her eyes.

“By the way, why does your armor need to have pink and blue ribbons?” Krel asks. No one else is getting anything as fanciful. Toby’s armor is being upgraded to be more like Jim’s in that Toby will be able to put it on in a flash of light. Steve is going to be getting a helmet and breastplate, and also an axe, all of which will be collapsible. He has broken far too many baseball bats when fighting constructs; it’s time for him to get a real weapon.

“Because in combination with the armor being silver, it’s trans rights,” Zoe says. “Also, I probably watched way too many magical girl shows when I was a kid. I mean, that was one of things that was actually cool about getting the Lady of the Lake powers. I thought I was getting a cool, supportive black cat that would actually be a useful and effective guide.”

“I can hear you,” Archie says.

Zoe ignores him. “That, and just the gender affirming part. By the way, Krel, are you sure you don’t want to do any upgrades?”

“I’m fine with just my serrator. I mean, it’d be nice to work on my portable wormhole generator, but we need weapons and armor. Besides, I’m more durable than the rest of you.”

Zoe frowns. “Sure, I just don’t want you to get hurt when we go to save Doux… Mor… ugh, I don’t know what to call him.”

“I’m sure we can ask him when we rescue him.” Krel hopes they can do so soon.

For once, it’s Agravaine dragging Mordred out of his cell. Literally dragging. At least Jim had left Mordred with some dignity left by allowing him to walk. Agravaine had taken the chain binding Mordred to the wall and is using it to drag Mordred along at a demanding pace. Or perhaps it’s a normal pace, and Mordred’s limbs are just not used to being able to move this long. Mordred does not know how much time he has spent shackled to a wall. He does not know how long it has been since he lost his hand.

He doesn’t dare to ask. When he was a child, Merlin told Mordred that he asked too many questions. Mordred doesn’t dare ask any now, for fear of punishment.

Agravaine takes Mordred back to the room where he lost his hand. Mordred tries not to hyperventilate as he looks around for a source of escape. Agravaine attaches the chain to the wall and leaves the room.

Excalibur isn’t in the room, but that does not give Mordred any comfort. Merlin might keep it with him. He might also keep it in some sort of pocket dimension. Not that Mordred can remember Merlin ever using that sort of magic. It had always been Aunt Morgana using magic inherent to alternate dimensions.

Then again, according to Krel there were more than three spatial dimensions, so maybe shadow magic isn’t needed to access them. Mordred misses Krel and everyone else so much. He doesn’t deserve to miss them, though. Especially not Krel. He doubts they miss him. They think he’s a ruthless, bloodthirsty killer. They hate him. Mordred doesn’t blame them. He hates himself, too.

Merlin enters the room. One of Merlin’s hands is empty. The other is clasped around something.

Merlin releases the shackle around Mordred’s wrist. Immediately, Mordred can feel his magic begin to return to his body. Before Mordred can attempt to cast any spells, Merlin’s hand wraps around Mordred’s throat. Merlin then places something circular and cold against Mordred’s chest. As Merlin removes his hand from Mordred’s throat, there is a flash of green light.

Mordred feels a numbness wrap around his skull and armor wrap around his body.

He doesn’t feel like Mordred anymore.

He doesn’t feel like Douxie anymore.

He doesn’t feel like a person.

He feels cold.

This feeling is familiar, and he is terrified.

The construct they were sent to fight was incredibly weak. Or maybe the upgrades to their weapons and armor are just that strong. Either way, after Merlin’s ambush Krel is nervous about weak constructs. He gets the feeling that the others are as well. All four of them look around, making sure there is no other threat.

It’s rare that any of them have seen one of the knights or the constructs actually teleport in front of them, but it always starts the same way. Smoke begins to swirl in the floor. As it rises, it glows with green light, and when it clears the knight or construct is there.

Mordred is there. He wears black armor. His helmet has a dragon with outstretched wings on it, and his pauldrons, knee-guards, and elbow-guards all look like wings. There are wings on the armor’s tasset as well. Mordred’s hands are completely encased in armor, and the guards on his knuckles are similar to the ones on his other joints. An amulet glows on Mordred’s chest plate with a poisonous green light, and the brightness of the carvings in his armor seem to correspond to how close they are to the amulet. The amulet looks like Jim’s, but the hands resemble wings. In addition, the amulet is about a third of the size of Jim’s.

His eyes are black and green and glowing.

Krel moves to take a step towards Mordred, but Toby puts his arm out and steps to the front.

“So,” Toby says. “You’re still too much of a coward to actually face us, so you’re going to keep using my friends as a shield.”

“I’m sorry,” Mordred says. His voice sounds pained and so very tired.

Toby’s expression changes from determined to terrified. Mordred’s hands open from the fists they had been clenched into. He waves his left hand in an arc, and five floating daggers appear in the air. He reaches out his right arm, and a sword appears in his hand. The crosspiece of the sword and daggers all have the same wing motif.

He lunges forward, and everyone has to scatter from formation to avoid the daggers.

Krel has fought Douxie before in practice spars. So have the others. Douxie rarely won, because he was always cautious while fighting them. Like he was afraid of hurting them.

The way that Douxie fights now is far more ruthless. It’s not the exact way that Douxie fights knights and constructs, because Douxie would be precise with his dagger and shield. He’d have to be, without armor and the reach of a sword. Worse, it’s not just an improvement to Douxie’s weapons and armor. He casts spells that create light and fire.

What Mordred loses in accuracy he more than makes up for in precision. Every strike makes Krel thankful that he and Zoe upgraded everyone’s armor.

But armor can’t fully save them. Sure, Mordred can’t pierce into the armor’s gaps because he can’t see them, but the armor doesn’t fully cover any of them. And too late, Krel realizes that Steve should have some sort of guards on his arms.

Right before Steve’s arm can be reduced to a bleeding mass of ribbons, the daggers twist so that the flat end hits them. And yes, being hit by them probably still hurts, but not as much as it would have.

Mordred places his left hand on his sword’s hilt. His jaw shifts, like he’s gritting his teeth.

Like he’s fighting back against Merlin.

Afterwards, the fight is slightly easier. Yes, Mordred now has more power to the blows, but he has more control. The fight is not easy enough for any of them to try and ask Mordred how to save him.

A single tear rolls down Mordred’s face as he stops himself from slashing through Krel’s chest.

An emerald floats up from some unseen spot in Mordred’s armor and crushes itself above him, sending Mordred away.

Krel isn’t sure which of his soulmate’s names he screams in frustration.

The cold numbness doesn’t leave when Merlin once more chokes Douxie as Merlin replaces the amulet with the shackle. Merlin then walks away, probably to summon Jim or one of the knights to bring Mordred back to his cell. Douxie doesn’t feel like a person, but he forces his lips to move and sound to escape his throat because he needs to know.

“You…” Mordred says, trying to force out the accusatory anger that he feels in some distant place that all of his emotions and everything else that makes him a person have been sent to. “You killed my father, didn’t you?”

Merlin glances over at him. “We both know that you stabbed him through the chest. And given how you’ve been fighting back against my control for the past several days, I’d say that you were more than capable of fighting back then, especially if you had truly cared about him. So, no. You killed Arthur. I just gave you the needed push. Unfortunately, you lack the discipline that you had back then.”

Merlin steps away, and some of that distant anger and shock is replaced by fear. Fear that Mordred is going to lose his left hand as well. Merlin continues speaking. “It’s really too bad. If your parents had just listened to the false prophecy I had given them, I could have stolen you away with the promise to kill you and instead raised you as my weapon since I had always known your magic would be powerful. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about any of this. But no. Without doubting the prophecy’s validity, Arthur, Lancelot, and Guinevere all thought the best choice was to raise you themselves and hope that I had misinterpreted the idea of you killing Arthur. Funny, that. When I created the false prophecy, I didn’t yet even have any intention to have Arthur killed. He had still been useful, then.”

The numbness is so intense that the entire trek back to Mordred’s cell is a blur.

Toby’s house is the closest, this time, so that’s where they go when Douxie is gone. Toby very purposefully avoids looking towards Jim’s house as they do so.

“That was Douxie’s voice,” Toby says as the four of them climb the stairs to Toby’s room. It’s the longest sentence he’s said since they heard Douxie speak.

“So?” Steve asks.

“Possessed people don’t have their own voice, they have the voice of the person possessing them. Draal spoke in Gunmar’s voice. Claire spoke in Morgana’s voice. Douxie isn’t possessed.”

“But he’s not the one in control,” Zoe says.

“No, but he was fighting back,” Krel says.

“The point is, how do we get him back? I’d go to Strickler for possession stuff since he was somewhat helpful with Claire, but like I said,” Toby says, glancing behind himself towards the direction of Jim’s house.

“Well, what if we cut him off from his magic?” Steve asks. Zoe winces at the idea. “Uh, cut him off from Merlin’s magic, anyways?”

“Wait, cutting Douxie off from his own magic might work,” Toby says. Zoe cringes away from him.

“How?” she says in a horrified tone of voice.

“Merlin’s tomb,” Toby says.

“I thought the entire problem is that Merlin is alive and none of us know how to kill him,” Steve says.

“It’s where me and the others woke Merlin up from in the first place.” A guilty look forms on Toby’s face. “Big crystal cave, weird rooms, the point is, Douxie won’t be able to use his magic there. Only Merlin’s magic works there, which is why I didn’t mention this to any of you for Jim. Plus, even though only Merlin’s magic working, that’s not where Merlin’s home base is. Don’t get why, though. But the point is, Douxie will only be using a sword. Maybe sword and dagger, by dual wielding. But he’ll be at a disadvantage.”

“But if he can’t use magic, then isn’t there a chance that Douxie will have a harder time fighting back?” Krel says as he sits on Toby’s bed.

“Merlin summoned Douxie back because he was fighting back,” Zoe says. “I think. Maybe? But I get the feeling that no matter what, it’s going to be a lot harder for him to fight back against Merlin next time he’s forced to attack us, no matter what.”

“How would we get Douxie to the tomb, though?” Steve asks.

Toby smacks a hand to his forehead. “Right. Forgot about that. We had to break Jim’s amulet to turn on the ignition for a gyre. I mean, Claire’s checked that place out with her portals, but I don’t want to ask her to do any portals. She’s got enough on her plate with protecting the trolls; I swear she has more white hair each time I see her.”

“I’ve been working on a portable wormhole maker, as a side project,” Krel says. “I need a power source, but I think it could work. The person operating it would have to stay behind, though.”

“I might be able to provide power?” Zoe says. “I’d have to see the schematics, though. But I think I’d be able to.”

“And then the three of us can save Douxie!” Steve punches a fist into the air. He winces as he moves his arm wrong; a bruise is forming.

“No. I have to go alone,” Krel says.

“No. You’re. Not.” Toby stands up to his full height so that he’s almost eye-level with Krel.

“All your weapons are at least somewhat magical. Same with your armor. It won’t work in Merlin’s Tomb. I’m the only one who will be able to fight him.”

Toby sighs. “Fine. But if you don’t come out after four minutes, then we’re coming after you.”

“Okay. Hopefully, the fact that Mordred’s my soulmate will help me in this.”

Mordred doesn’t really sleep after the revelation about the prophecy being false. He had a hard time sleeping in his cell before, since his left wrist was always restrained and there was always some amount of pain from his right arm. But it’s worse now.

Knowing that Merlin has been using Mordred since before he was even conceived makes it hard to sleep, eat, or walk the limited range his chain allows him to. All Mordred wants to do is stare at a single point in the wall and try not to think about, well, anything really, because everything leads back to the fact that Mordred is a weapon and always has been. He is a weapon, but if he had tried harder not to be he wouldn’t have killed his father.

His wrists ache constantly. His left wrist is constantly restrained. He is not sure how often the bandages on his right wrist are supposed to be changed, but they’re changed rarely enough that they’ve become dirty.

When he is able to try to fall asleep, he does not sleep well. Nightmares attack him constantly. They aren’t just the nightmares that have plagued Mordred for the past three years, not when some of them feature his friends being the ones with gaping stab wounds in their chests.

He feels so cold all over. Almost all over; his head feels so unbearably hot.

He is so tired. He is too tired to fight back when Merlin forces the amulet upon him again.

After all, Mordred has always been a weapon. It’s useless for him to fight back.

In that distant place where everything that makes him a person is being kept, he hopes his friends will kill him before he can kill them.

Four delsons are barely enough to finish the portable wormhole generator. Four delsons pass between the last time they saw Mordred and now.

Mordred doesn’t wait to attack them like he did before. He is silent. He doesn’t seem to be fighting back against Merlin. His eyes glow a brighter green, as do the carvings. His blows are meant to cause as much harm as possible.

A cut forms on Steve’s arm and another on Toby’s face as they shield Zoe, who’s channeling her magic into the wormhole generator.

“Are you sure about this?” Steve asks.

“Stick to the plan!” Krel shifts his serrator to its shield form to avoid the barrage of daggers.

Mordred is suddenly backlit by the wormhole’s cyan glow. Krel shifts his serrator into its sword form and charges. Mordred sidesteps him, parrying the blow. A line of blue fire forms between the two of them and the wormhole.

“Hey, Douxdred!” Toby shouts. For the briefest of moments, confusion cuts through Douxie’s blank expression. This gives Toby enough of an opening to slam his warhammer into Douxie’s upper legs, sending Douxie and one of his daggers flying through the wormhole. The others fall to the ground. Krel pulls out his hoverboard and flies over the flames and through the wormhole. It closes behind him.

Mordred walks towards him. He throws a dagger at Krel. Krel jumps off the hoverboard in order to avoid it. Mordred breaks into a run, sword pointed at Krel.

Parry. Dodge. Parry. Lunge. Parry. Krel grits his teeth as he adjusts his grip on his serrator.

Parry. Dodge. Thrust. Parry. Krel glances downwards to see if he could try and trip Mordred. Krel has to jump out of the way to avoid Mordred stabbing directly through Krel’s core.

Parry. Advance. Parry. Krel’s serrator gets caught on one of the wings of Mordred’s helmet, and he has to shift it into a shield to avoid losing it. Mordred’s sword clashes into Krel’s shield once, twice, three times before Krel forms a sword again.

Thrust. Parry. Krel wonders how quickly this fight would be over if he just shot Mordred. But Krel isn’t sure how to shoot Mordred and not kill him.

Advance. Mordred’s sword slices into Krel’s jaw, tearing the fabric. Krel parries to avoid any actual damage but loses his serrator in the process.

Krel pushes away at Mordred’s right wrist. Mordred howls in pain and drops his sword. As Mordred attempts to pull away, Krel’s fingers reach around the amulet and pull it out of the armor. Mordred’s eyes close and he falls backwards. Krel reaches for Mordred’s right hand, but his fingers slip through empty air. Mordred’s head slams into the stone floor.

Krel kneels next to him. All four of his hands shake. One of them is about to touch the bandaged stump where Mordred’s right hand used to be, but he decides against it. He doesn’t want to cause any pain. With his lower pair of hands, Krel texts the group chat so they know he’s safe. At the same time, he grabs his serrator and the amulet from where they’ve fallen and sticks them in his pockets.

Krel’s fingers ghost over Mordred’s cheek as he tries to remember where to check a human’s pulse. Akiridions aren’t as sensitive to fluctuations in temperature as humans are, but Krel is pretty sure Mordred’s head shouldn’t be so hot. Mordred leans his head into Krel’s touch, and Krel sighs with relief. His soulmate is alive. Mordred opens his eyes, and Krel realizes that something is wrong.

Mordred’s eyes are no longer green; they are the same shade of gold that Krel has missed more than he had known. But they are hollow, like Merlin has reached into Mordred and taken out everything that makes Mordred a person.

“Krel?” Mordred asks. He sounds so tired. Tired, and scared, and pained. His hollow eyes focus on Krel’s jaw, where the suit is ripped. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, it was Merlin’s,” Krel says.

“Not just for that.” Douxie trembles as he sits up. Krel reluctantly removes his hand from Douxie’s cheek. He doesn’t want to put any pressure on his soulmate.

The wormhole opens behind them.

“Let’s go home,” Krel says. They stand up; Krel catches Douxie as he begins to collapse. Douxie cradles his right arm against his chest.

“Here, lean on me,” Krel says, his voice more frustrated than he intends. He’s not frustrated with his ex. Not too frustrated, anyways. He’s angry at Merlin. Krel had known that Mordred losing a hand was a possibility, but the reality hurts.

The selfish part of Krel wants to push Douxie away. Douxie is sticky with sweat and blood, and his gait is just different enough to throw Krel off. But the heartbroken part of Krel cherishes the way Douxie’s body presses against Krel’s own, the way Douxie leans into Krel’s touch. He knows it won’t last, but he wants it to.

They exit the wormhole into Krel’s house. Krel isn’t always the best at reading other people’s emotions, but it is easy to pinpoint when his friends realize that Douxie is missing a hand.

“I, uh, I’m gonna go call Dr. L,” Toby says, darting off as he pulls out his phone.

“What happened?” Zoe asks as the four of them follow Toby upstairs.

“Merlin happened,” Douxie mumbles.

“He hit his head when I got the armor off of him,” Krel says at almost the same time.

Krel deposits Mordred into a comfortable chair. Mordred’s hollow eyes follow Krel as he walks away, but then he just starts staring at a random empty point on Krel’s wall. His eyes start to flutter closed.

Steve pokes Mordred in the cheek.

Mordred opens his eyes. “Why?”

“Sorry, but you might have a concussion. If you fall asleep, you might fall asleep forever.” Steve turns to Zoe as he removes his finger. “He’s burning up.”

“Hey, Lucy, where do you keep your towels?” Zoe asks, running off as water begins to coalesce in her hands.

“I doubt it’ll be forever,” Mordred says. “Just another millennium and a half, like last time. Maybe then I can stop being Merlin’s weapon.”

Zoe comes back with a damp towel, using her magic to keep it from dripping on the floor. She unceremoniously lays it over Douxie’s forehead.

“Cold,” he complains. He reaches up with his left hand to move it, but Zoe presses the towel against his forehead.

“Yeah, well, suck it up, you’ve got a fever. Towel stays.” Zoe bites her lip as she steps away. Mordred sighs and continues staring at the blank wall, expression completely blank.

Quietly, she says, “I’ve never seen him this sick before. And his eyes. They’re…”

“Hollow?” Krel provides.

Zoe wraps her arms around herself. “I was going to say voids, but that works better.”

Toby walks over towards them. “Okay. So, Dr. L’s driving over. She’s going to pick him up and take him to the hospital.”

Krel takes the amulet out of his pocket and hands it to Zoe. “Do you think you or Archie could do something with this?” Zoe shrugs, but takes it anyways.

“Thanks for fighting back,” Mordred says, startling the four of them.

“Well, what else would we have done?” Steve asks.

Mordred sniffles. “My father didn’t when Merlin made me kill him. I wish he had.”

Toby, Zoe, Steve, and Krel all look at each other, not sure what to say after that. Mordred just continues staring at the empty wall.

Toby pulls out his phone. “Oh! Dr. L’s here.”

Steve takes Douxie out to the car. Krel looks down at his right hands and realizes that Mordred lost the wrist with Krel’s name on it.

A day later, Douxie is released from the hospital with instructions on how to keep his right arm clean, a list of legal instructions to handle with his employers considering that he’s lost a hand, medical results revealing that he doesn’t have a concussion, and several prescriptions. One is for the infection, one is for the fever, and another is for the pain. He isn’t sure how his health insurance will pay for any of it, not with how hard it is to try and get flu vaccinations covered, but Dr. Lake says not to worry about it and how the city is trying to set up a fund to help with defense. It’s hard for him to worry, but not because of her reassurement. He feels better than he did yesterday, but he still doesn’t feel like a person with actual, non-distant emotions.

Getting re-dressed is a frustrating endeavor. He drops his belt once before he gets the hang of using his forearm. He has no idea of how to tie his shoelaces with only one hand, so he stuffs them inside his shoes. He can’t figure out how to roll his hoodie sleeves up, so he lets them hang around his wrists. It feels wrong. For nearly as long as he can remember his sleeves have been cut short or rolled up. Long sleeves were a fire hazard around a toddler who would make fireballs, so Mother, Father, Da, and anyone else who cared about Mordred would make sure to roll up his sleeves if for some reason his were long. Mordred hasn’t accidentally set fire to anything in a long time, but rolled up sleeves are such a habit that the way they are now feels wrong.

And yes, he can technically use his magic to dress himself, but his magic feels tainted now. Tainted and distant, just like everything else about him as a person.

He walks into the hospital waiting room, arms pressed to his sides. It is mostly empty, aside from the receptionist and three other people. Specifically, three of Douxie’s friends.

Specifically, Zoe, Steve, and Toby. He is relieved to see them, to see that they care about him enough to come here. He doesn’t allow himself to be disappointed that Krel isn’t there, not with how Douxie hurt Krel. Krel should hate Douxie. Krel deserves to hate Mordred even more than everyone else does. Yesterday was just a fluke when Krel had handled Douxie so tenderly. It may have not even been truly tender, it may have been the aftereffects of possession, infection, betrayal, losing a hand, and otherwise poor living conditions causing Douxie to seek out any source of comfort even when there wasn’t one. It wasn’t tenderness, it was just wishful thinking.

The three of them are talking, but Toby notices Mordred first. He taps Zoe on the shoulder, and she looks up. She stands up from her chair and marches towards Mordred, anger radiating off of her.

Mordred tries not to flinch away. Of course. They hate him. They think he’s a bloodthirsty killer. Merlin forced Mordred to try and kill them and so they should hate him for their own safety.

“I can’t believe you,” Zoe says. “Seriously? Why am I listed as your next of kin? I have to get my parents to approve of my own, but somehow I have to make the medical decisions for you. Is that even legal? Why couldn’t you have found some adult to trust with this?”

She then hugs him with enough force that Mordred has to adjust his footing. His left arm shakes as he wraps it around Zoe.

“I can change it, if you want?” Mordred says. He doesn’t understand why it’s somewhat-legal paperwork that she’s mad about and not everything else.

Steve and Toby walk towards them. Steve pulls Douxie’s phone out of the pocket of his khakis.

“You dropped this,” Steve says. Zoe pulls away from Mordred so he can grab his phone. His hand shakes less now. Steve continues, “Oh yeah, you should probably change your password, since all four of us hacked into it so we could pretend to be you so your jobs didn’t think you’d just skipped town.”

“Yeah, also,” Zoe says, “we were wondering if you preferred to be called Douxie or Mordred?”

“I… it doesn’t matter,” Mordred says. He can’t hide from his past anymore, so there’s no reason to continue being Douxie, but Douxie is an identity he claimed for himself when everything else was ripped away from him. He can be both. Maybe he can find a way to change his name to legally incorporate the name he chose into the name his parents gave him. Considering how he was able to falsify his legal existence; it shouldn’t be too hard.

“Okay, Douxdred it is, then,” Toby says.

“One or the other; don’t call me that,” Douxie snaps, then cringes. He isn’t sure how he earned their forgiveness, but he can’t be threatening or else they’ll hate him. “I’m sorry.”

Toby shrugs. “Hey, I get it. I still hate that Claire’s nickname for me stuck.”

“You don’t hate me?” Mordred asks, glancing between his friends. “Not with everything I’ve done? You don’t think I’ll betray you?”

“Why would we?” Steve asks. “It wasn’t your fault. You literally told us that in a kind of depressing way. I know a therapist, she’s really nice.”

“But I didn’t know Merlin made, made me…” Douxie looks away, lowering his voice so it sounds less choked. “I thought I was dangerous, that I was a time bomb before I killed someone I cared about again. I thought it was something engrained into me by fate, not Merlin. And I didn’t tell any of you.”

“And I didn’t tell any of you that Merlin and the knights had a very specific vendetta against me and thus my very presence probably escalated at least one fight more than it needed to,” Zoe says as she rolls her eyes.

Douxie sighs, a very slight smile forming on his face. He doesn’t understand why his friends trust him, but he’s thankful that they do.

Krel’s phone buzzes right as he hangs up after talking to Eli about math and technology. Krel pulls it out of his pocket and unlocks it.

Oh. Right. Mordred got out of the hospital, and the others were going to check on him. There are updates from Zoe, Toby, and Steve. None of the updates ask why Krel wasn’t there. None of the updates are from Douxie. Which makes sense, considering that they aren’t on speaking terms. Krel hasn’t blocked Douxie’s number, not when Merlin is a threat.

According to Zoe, Mordred’s eyes are still just as hollow as they were yesterday. Krel wants to hug his soulmate, to hold him until the emptiness goes away. But Douxie had looked at Krel with a bored expression when Krel had claimed to never want to speak to Douxie again. Which means that Douxie doesn’t feel the same way about Krel. Yesterday was just a fluke. The aftereffects of possession, infection, losing a hand, and anything else that Merlin may have just caused Mordred to find a way to seek comfort out from any source, even if he normally wouldn’t want it. Mordred wasn’t actually taking comfort in Krel’s touch; it was just Krel’s wishful thinking.

Krel types out a quick question, one devoid of emotion but polite, the way his parents taught him to be with dignitaries. He then holds down the backspace button. As much as Krel wants to see if his soulmate is okay, he also wants an apology and an explanation from his ex.

Douxie has less than a day to recover when Merlin sends another enemy. An alert shows up on his phone. It takes far too many tries to unlock his phone; he really needs to change it to something that can be easily unlocked with one hand. When he finally unlocks it, he checks the location of the enemy. Afterwards Douxie shoves his phone in his pants pocket, grabs his keys, and runs out of his house.

He does technically know how to use a dagger with his left hand. But he’s never really liked doing so. He’s trained himself into ambidexterity, so he can cast spells with his left hand and wield a weapon with his right. But he can’t do that anymore. He has to make a choice.

Fire is out of the question, unless he wants to deal with a burning hoodie. Just using shielding spells isn’t going to be helpful.

Douxie stops, several feet away. It’s a swarm of small constructs. Zoe, Steve, and Toby are all trying to smack them. Krel is trying to shoot them with his serrator.

Zoe’s armor doesn’t contain a visor. She gets hit in the nose hard enough to bleed. Blood drips from her nose across her face and onto her armor. Onto her armored chest.

Mordred can’t breathe, not with the memories are overlaying themselves on top of the present. This is all his fault. They’re all going to die and it will be his fault just like it was Mordred’s fault when –

It hadn’t been Mordred’s fault, back then. It had been Merlin’s fault. Or at least, the only fault Mordred had was not fighting back hard enough. He has to fight back now.

Mordred exhales quietly before he bites his lip. He summons a dagger, and then summons four more. He inspects them, makes sure they have a soft blue glow and the crosspieces don’t resemble dragon wings at all. He then swings his left arm like he’s trying to throw something, and he sends his daggers into the fray. He is careful. He doesn’t want to hurt his friends.

Steve stumbles as a dagger takes down a construct about to attack him, but he smiles slightly as he turns towards Mordred. “Oh, huh, you can do that outside of being controlled.”

Douxie tries not to wince.

Parry. Weave. Misdirect. Trying to focus on five different daggers gives him a headache that still doesn’t make him feel real. It doesn’t matter though. His friends are getting hurt less. And he will make whatever needed sacrifice to protect him.

He can see a construct trying to sneak up on him of the corner of his eye. He ignores it. He needs to keep his friends safe. It jumps, ready to pounce, and he does not flinch away because he needs to protect his friends.

The construct is consumed by cyan light. Douxie looks up, and his lips part slightly in a gasp. For the briefest of moments, Krel looks concerned. He then catches Douxie staring and looks away.

Right. They’re in the middle of a fight. But despite everything, Krel might still care about Douxie, or at least, not hate Douxie enough to let him be injured.

Parry. Slash. Stab. The fight finishes more quickly than started. Zoe’s nose is finally starting to clot, and she uses her water magic to clean the blood off of herself. Removing the armor means there isn’t much blood on her clothes. It still looks gruesome. Steve offers her a ride to patch up her face at his house, which she accepts. Toby needs to help his Nana. Krel starts to slowly walk away without a word.

Douxie wants to go home, to avoid everyone. But guilt gnaws at him, and so he jogs over to Krel.

“Can we talk?” Mordred asks, trying to make sure he doesn’t sound pushy, because he doesn’t deserve this.

Krel gives him a long look before speaking. “Sure. Let’s go to my house.”

Krel unlocks the door and steps inside, holding the door open for Douxie while shooing off the Blanks. He does not need Lucy to sharpen her paring knives or Ricky to practice juggling objects heavy enough to crush a human skull while Krel talks to his ex.

They sit on opposite sides of the couch. Krel folds both pairs of hands in his lap. Douxie is about to wrap his arms around his torso, left arm protectively folded on top of his right, but he then presses them to his sides instead.

“So. Talk.” Krel’s voice comes out harsher than he intends. He really needs to get better at talking to people.

“I’m sorry for how I treated you, when I found out that you’re my soulmate,” Mordred says. “And this isn’t an excuse or a justification for how I treated you, because I shouldn’t have, but please let me explain myself.”

Krel nods slightly.

“I… ever since before I was born,” Mordred says shakily, “there was a prophecy where I would kill my father. I didn’t want to kill him, but one day I suddenly was forced to do so, and I didn’t know why. And so, I rationalized it as that for some reason, the forces of fate hated me and wanted me to kill everyone I love. And it was really Merlin manipulating me all along, but I didn’t know that. So, I assumed that fate would make me kill my soulmate. And I was thankful, when I realized that my soulmate wasn’t human, because I thought that the chances of me meeting him, well, you, were so low that I wouldn’t have to worry about pushing… you away to keep you safe. And then I met you, and up until you told us about your soulmate, I just hoped that my soulmate was literally any other Akiridion. But then I found out the truth, and I was so scared I was going to kill you. I didn’t want to hurt you, so I pushed you away.”

Wait… Douxie loves Krel? Mordred loves Krel back?

Douxie gives a wet chuckle. He blinks harshly, like that will stop the tears from forming in his hollow eyes. Like he doesn’t want Krel to pity him, or for his tears to influence Krel. “I really didn’t think that through. Pushing you away that is. Because yeah, I was avoiding killing you. Or at least, trying to. But I still hurt you. And I’m sorry. I was wrong, and not just because it was Merlin controlling me instead of pure fate, but because I should have told you why. And you don’t need to forgive me, and I completely understand. I’m, uh, I can go now, and we can continue not speaking to each other if you want. Thanks for hearing me out, though.”

Douxie rises from the couch.

Krel has wanted three things ever since he found out that Douxie is Mordred: an explanation, an apology, and his soulmate. He has two of them, and he doesn’t want to let the third go.

Krel inhales, sharp and loud, and grabs Douxie’s hand between both of his lower ones. Krel then cradles his soulmate’s face with his upper pair of hands, using his thumbs to brush away Mordred’s tears.

“I love you, too,” Krel says. “Never lie to me again.”

Mordred smiles a half-overjoyed, half-broken smile. “I can do that.”

Krel hugs Douxie as he starts sobbing into Krel’s chest. Krel might shed a couple relieved tears as well.

When Douxie shows his face again, his eyes seem just a little less hollow.

Krel loves Douxie, and mostly forgives him. This keeps Mordred feeling buoyant and more tethered to his own body than he has felt ever since Merlin forced the amulet upon him. That evening, Douxie still feels rather real as he walks into Zimue Records, where Zoe is finishing up her shift. She asked him to come around at the end. If he squints, he can see faint bruises on her nose.

She pulls an amulet out her pocket, and Douxie’s regained sense of reality fades away once more. It is the same amulet that Merlin created out of Douxie’s hand, but the crystal inside of it is utterly clear.

“You didn’t destroy it?” he asks. He digs his nails into his palm as a twofold task: not hyperventilating and maybe regaining a sense of reality. He manages the former.

“Archie showed me how to take Merlin’s magic out of it,” Zoe says. “It has your hand in it, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I was thinking that, well, since your hand’s in it, I could use both of our magic to turn it into a prosthetic. It won’t be able to summon the full armor, but hey, the armor made you look like you still had both hands.”

“Merlin could take control of me again!”

“I won’t let him.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I… look. I don’t want you hurt again, and if you don’t want me to do this then that’s fine, but you’re my best friend and I want to help you. And if something goes wrong and Merlin manages to control you again – and I’d take precautions to make sure he can’t – I will save you.”

“If you need to, you should kill me.”

Zoe’s eyes widen. “What? No!”

“Zoe, I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself if I kill someone under Merlin’s control again. I’m not fully sure how I lived with myself after Camlann and coming to Arcadia.”

“Okay. But understand that killing you would be the last resort. And that we might have a hard time living with ourselves if we were to have killed you.”

“I understand. But, what are your plans for the prosthetic? And can you make it look a little less like armor I would’ve designed when I was eight?”

“So, after he lied to you, you got back together?” Aja scrunches her face as she says this.

“Yes, I’ve explained this to you multiple times.” Krel had almost immediately tried to call his sister and tell her the good news about him and his soulmate. She had called him back with surprising speed. He’s starting to regret it now.

“I don’t think you should.”

“Unlike you, my boyfriend has never caused an injury to my sibling, which means that you don’t get to lecture me.” She flinches slightly at his statement.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“I… look, I gave him an ultimatum. I can handle myself. How have you been?”

“Um. Fine.”

“Aja, I know you’re lying. What’s wrong?”

Aja mumbles something.

“I couldn’t hear you,” Krel says.

“I met my soulmate today.” The words rush out of her. She doesn’t sound happy. “Or, well, I found her name.”

“And?”

“She’s a Taylon. Much better than average at shooting, slightly worse than average at hand-to-hand combat. Her name was on a list of Taylon soldiers in training who were vetted as loyal.”

“I mean, that’s good. Does she know about you?”

Aja rolls her eyes. “She has my name on her wrist, just like I have hers on mine. I think she knows that I’m her soulmate.”

“I mean, have you talked to her?”

“Krel, I can’t. You know, I was jealous of you, growing up. There was a chance that you might get to have a relationship with your soulmate – and obviously I didn’t think your relationship would be so complicated, but you’d still get to have one. Mama and Papa would have never let me. I think they’d approve more of me and Steve, and well… I’m not sure how they would’ve felt about him. I mean, you didn’t like him at first. Ugh, I’m not even sure how to tell Steve about my soulmate.”

“Again, Steve punched me! Plus, I hadn’t found anything that made Earth worthwhile yet. But, I don’t think Mama and Papa would want you to be unhappy.” Even if they probably would’ve wanted to uphold the caste system. “So, you should probably talk to her and Steve, without caring what others think.”

Aja sighs. “Since when are you smart?”

“I always have been!”

“I meant about emotions. But also, the offer is still open to beat up your boyfriend if he hurts you again.”

Krel rolls his eyes as Aja transitions into talking about something funny Luug did.

Mordred takes his sword, and he stabs it directly through Krel’s core. A grin forms on Mordred’s face as he twists the sword. He grabs Krel’s shoulder for leverage as he then rips the sword out of the wound. The sword disappears, and suddenly Mordred is made very aware of what he has done, what he has been forced to do. He holds Krel to his chest and presses a hand to the exit wound on Krel’s back, trying to stop the blood from flowing out of Krel’s body and soaking into Mordred’s clothes. Redness stains across Krel’s body as he becomes limper and heavier in Mordred’s arms. Mordred stammers out apologies and pleas for Krel to live. The scent of iron burns his nose. He doesn’t know how to heal Krel, he doesn’t know how to fix this, this is all Mordred’s fault and Krel didn’t deserve any of this.

Krel dies in his arms, and a mournful wail breaks free from Mordred’s lips.

With a scream that could shatter glass, Douxie wakes up in his own bed, tangled in his sheets and soaked in his own sweat. While it is too cool of a liquid and it doesn’t have the same scent, the sweat feels too much like blood, and he is tempted to go take a shower and scrub until his skin is raw, but he left a window open and for once, a cold night breeze is blowing. He doesn’t want to have to leave the warmth of his bed. He fumbles around his nightstand for his phone and unlocks it, thankful that he has changed the pattern to something more accessible. It’s 1:03 AM. Without thinking, he calls Krel.

Krel picks up on the second ring. “Douxie?”

“Sorry I woke you,” Douxie says, suddenly realizing that he had been hyperventilating. He tries to banish the image of Krel bleeding out from his mind.

“Bold of you to assume I even need sleep.” Douxie is pretty sure Krel does need sleep, but he is too panicked to state this. “Are you okay.”

“I…” Douxie wants to lie and say it’s nothing, but he needs to be honest with Krel. “I had a nightmare. I killed you, and there was so much blood, and I just wanted to hear your voice to make sure you were okay.”

In the background, Douxie can hear Krel drum his fingers on the table, like he’s trying to think of something to say. “In your dream, what color was my blood?”

“What? Um, it was red.”

“And what form was I in?”

“Akiridion.”

“I don’t have blood as an Akiridion, and as a human my blood is cyan. So, next time you dream about my red and bloody death, hopefully you’ll remember that and realize it’s not real.” The reminder isn’t that comforting; the fact that Krel is trying to be comforting is.

They end up talking until it’s around 3 AM and even Krel has to acknowledge that he needs sleep.

Their first date after they get back together ends up being at the same coffee shop as their first one was. It’s louder this time and there’s more people, which is annoying. Still, they’re able to tuck themselves into a corner, even if they end up having to press against each other. Which isn’t bad, but there is a slight electric feeling to it that distracts Krel. It’s less intense and more comforting than the first time they held hands, but there’s more surface area.

“Did you know that our friends made a bet over whether or not we would get together?” Krel says. Mordred nearly chokes on his chai.

“Technically,” Krel continues, “Toby and Zoe never agreed to it, but they did speculate about us with Steve.”

“Hmm,” Douxie says, having recovered. “I wonder if they’re speculating about whether or not we got back together.”

“Should we tell them?”

“Not our fault those three are oblivious at times.”

Everyone is crowded around Zoe’s kitchen table. Her idea of collaborating on the prosthetic really boiled down to Douxie pumping magic into the amulet and giving design tips, and then her shooing him off. He’s used to it, considering how she is every single time there’s a group project assigned by one of their teachers at the Academy. Mostly used to it, considering that ever since the two of them joined the independent study track at the start of their junior year they haven’t ever had a group project, just homework they’d work on and gripe about together.

Zoe brings out the reconstructed amulet. The stone is now two separate swirling shades of blue; Douxie’s pale blue and Zoe’s cerulean blue. The hands are now daggers instead of wings. The amulet is attached to a black glove.

“Uh, Zoe?” Douxie says. “If I’m not mistaken, if an ornament is attached to a glove, then it goes on the back of the hand. Which means that that’s a glove that goes on the right hand, which, well…”

Zoe and Archie narrow their eyes in unison.

“Just put it on your right arm and twist the amulet clockwise,” she says. Douxie does as told. The amulet glows, and the glove turns to blue light. Metal shoots out from the amulet and forms a gauntlet. It looks like the armor his father, mother, and da both wore, aside from the fact that there’s an amulet and Mordred’s is completely black.

“You’ll probably have to wear a sock under it, to keep your skin from being damaged when the weather gets extreme, like when it’s really hot or the rare occasion that it’s really cold,” Zoe says. Douxie cringes at the idea of another source of cold. “Anyways, can you do a hand gesture or something, to make sure you can use your fingers?”

He feels clumsy. There’s a slight strain on his magic as he tries to correct the clumsiness. Douxie sticks his tongue out as he sticks his thumb, index, and pinky fingers up while curling his middle and ring fingers inward, much to Steve and Toby’s frustration.

Douxie has started working at the bookstore once more, and Krel is hanging out with his boyfriend. It’s nice and quiet. Then again, Krel’s pretty sure the bookstore only gets a few more customers than Stuart’s Electronics. Douxie is sweeping while listening to music on his headphones; Krel is looking at books and rolling his eyes at what random humans think the mystical secrets of the universe are. According to Douxie, only a third of the books here hold actual magical truths and the rest are new age material. The book that Krel is reading almost certainly falls into the latter category.

Krel puts the book back, an idea coming to him. He clears his throat. “Can you kiss me?”

Douxie takes off one headphone; Krel can hear his boyfriend’s music blaring through it. Krel will readily admit, metal growls and yelling about death aren’t his thing, when it comes to music, and this song is doing precisely that. “Did you say something?”

“Can you kiss me?”

Douxie’s face turns a shade of red similar to Toby’s sweater. His voice comes out as a high-pitched squeak. “I mean, I can but why? Uh, that came out wrong. I just, you never really indicated that you wanted to and I’m going to shut up now.”

Krel walks up to him. Embarrassingly enough, his voice is almost as awkwardly squeaky. “Scientific research? On kissing that is? I mean, unless you don’t want to, I was just wondering.”

Douxie cups Krel’s cheek with his left hand and kisses him. It’s an awkward feeling, but it’s nice.

Douxie then pulls back and looks away. Apparently it is possible for Douxie’s face to get even redder. Krel glances towards one of the bookstore’s reflective surfaces and realizes that his own face has a heavy cyan blush.

“So, um, how was that?” Douxie asks.

“Okay,” Krel says, “but inconclusive. I think I’ll need to perform more research.”

Douxie rolls his eyes, his blush receding by a small fraction. “You know, if you want to kiss me more, you don’t have to frame it as scientific research.”

“If I carve something into the prosthetic, will it damage it?” Mordred asks. The two of them are on their lunch break from their respective jobs at the books store and the record store. Zoe raises her eyebrows.

“I made it scuff proof.”

“Oh. Well. Darn.”

“You know, if you wanted it to have carvings, you should’ve told me before I made it.”

“I didn’t think of it until late last night?” It had been really late, considering that Mordred had been kept up by his brain replaying the memories of yesterday’s kiss.

Zoe groans. “What do you want carved into your prosthetic?”

“Krel’s name. I know I hid it before, but I regret doing so now.”

“Oh.”

“And, like, if that’s not possible it’s fine. I can just use markers or something until I can save up for a tattoo.”

“I’m guessing you don’t know any embroidery?”

“I know some. Oh, don’t give me that surprised look. You were a literal blacksmith in your first life, so you should know that gender roles in Camelot weren’t as strict as most of Europe.”

“I’ve got some enchanted thread. You can embroider Krel’s name into the glove, and then it shouldn’t be hard to make it engraved in the gauntlet.”

Merlin sent constructs to two different areas, so Krel and Mordred are alone with a pair of constructs that look disturbingly like overgrown soolians with extra-long legs.

There’s something different about Douxie. Krel can’t figure out what, though. Granted, he’s using a different fighting style than usual. He’s holding a dagger in his right hand and manipulating a cloud of daggers with his left. But that doesn’t feel like it’s it.

Krel blinks and focuses on fighting the constructs. As he slices the head off of one, he tries not to wince as the other one bites down on Douxie’s right arm. The dagger cloud stabs into the other construct’s eyes, and it crumbles. Krel helps to pry apart the constructs jaws so that Mordred can get his arm out.

“I’ve got bandages at my apartment,” Douxie says through gritted teeth. He takes his hoodie off of his left arm and awkwardly wraps it around his right arm to stem the bleeding for now..

“Do you need any help?” Krel asks.

“I can take care of myself, but I’d appreciate it.”

The walk back is thankfully a short one. Douxie hisses as he pulls off his hoodie. “First aid kit’s under the bathroom sink.”

Douxie turns on the water as Krel reaches underneath. As Krel stands up and opens the kit, Douxie rolls up his sleeve and sticks his injured arm under the faucet.

“So, what do you want me to do?” Krel asks.

“See the tape?” Douxie says as he dries off his arm. “I’m going to put gauze on the bite holes; could you please tape them in place?”

Krel undoes the roll of tape and cringes at the stickiness. The two of them tape up Douxie’s injuries, starting with the upper arm and working down. Krel finishes taping up the last of the injuries when something on inside of the wrist of the gauntlet catches his eyes. It’s an engraving that softly glows with the same blue light of the amulet.

“You carved my name into it?” Krel says. Douxie smiles sheepishly.

“I, this isn’t how I wanted you to find out, but yeah. Is that okay? I can undo it if you’d rather me not have.”

“Yeah, just, I didn’t think you really wanted a soulmate?”

“I… no, I didn’t. But after Merlin told me the truth, I realized that having a soulmate wouldn’t have been so bad. And even if I got to choose who I wanted to be my soulmate; I think I still would’ve chosen you.”

Krel beams before kissing his soulmate on the forehead.

Author's note: If you liked this, please reblog and/or go to one of the links and leave a comment! I worked very hard on this so I hope you enjoyed reading it.

#douxie #krel tarron #toawizards #tales of arcadia #3below #krexie #toa zoe #toa archie #toa merlin #aja tarron #steve palchuk #toby domzalski #jim lake jr #angst #whump #fluff #hurt/comfort #my writing #toa mordred #when fate plays chess

[hyungbean]

Hold On (pt. 2/2) | Jasper Hale X Wolf!Reader

Summary: It was too late for her. It was too late for him. Love was a game that they couldn’t beat.

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Jasper Hale x Wolf!Reader

A/N: I wasn’t going to make a second part because I was content with the ending so this is still angsty. Shout out to the anon that requested this though!

READ PART 1 HERE

“Breathe. Breathe! God damnit!”

“Paul stop... she’s gone.”

“I’m going to fucking kill him.” The mumbling started getting louder until it became clearer, like your head had just broken the surface of the water you were under. Though you felt a gentle tug, like the water wanted you to sink back into the numbing darkness.

You tried with all your must to snap your eyes open, to move anything. It felt too difficult, you were trapped in your own body.

“Killing the Cullen won’t do anything. We just.. we have to move forward. It’s what Y/N would have wanted.” You hear Emily say somewhere nearby you could almost feel her hand gripping yours.

“Doesn’t matter. Why should Y/N be the only one to suffer.” You hear Jared say

“ Damn right. That’s our god damn sister. And now she’s gone-” Paul’s voice catches at the end, surprising you a little. You and Paul were close but you had no idea he came to care for you so much.

“Paul. Jared. Where the hell are you guys going?” You hear Embry yell followed by two low howls, paws pounding against the dirt.

Suddenly it seemed that someone turned the volume down, the world you almost got back to fading into nonexistence again.

You could feel yourself slipping further. You weren’t dead yet somehow but you were about to be. Fighting with all your might, you try hard to fight against the force pulling you down.

But that was the last thing you remembered before your senses were dulled and you slipped out of consciousness, the water winning the fight. You sunk further down, meeting death’s scythe at the bottom.

Jasper Whitlock was not okay. Lately something hadn’t felt right in his gut. He was going insane. After the day in the woods, it felt like he should have gone back to you and held you in his arms. But he didn’t.

Alice no longer had that bright aura to her, and he could feel her guilt for causing you pain.

‘Jas. I think we should end things. We obviously love each other, that will never change. But we’re just not made for each other, we don’t love each other like that. I think we both also know that. She’s suffering... Jas.. I can’t see her future anymore.’

He recalled those words that she had spoken to him a few hours prior, and surprisingly he felt like a burden was lifted off his shoulders. Yet his ease was short lived as he tried to think of ways to fix things with you.

You imprinting on him had made him question reality. What was real, what wasn’t. Was his relationship with Alice ever real, or was it just a distraction for the both of them.

The Cullen household was solemn, the pack had been extra hostile and didn’t care to stay after the fight, howling loudly and running off somewhere. Jasper hadn’t seen you at the battle and his stomach lurched in circles.

He hoped everything was okay and that you just decided to skip because you were still hurt by his rejection.

The Cullens immediately ran outside when they smelled wet dog approaching fast in their territory. Soon the wolves they recognized as Paul and Jared broke through the trees. They growled menacingly. Dangerously stepping forward, teeth bared.

“Paul? Jared? What’s wrong? where did you go earlier after the fight?” Edward spoke softly, stepping forward.

After a few moments, the wolves growled and nodded in Japser’s direction. Edward’s face fell, his posture going rigid.

“Edward. What’s wrong?” Carlisle spoke, walking up to his son.

“It’s Y/N. They found her earlier. She’s dead.” Edward said stoically, trying to mask his shock and hurt. Everyone in the family knew how close he was with the girl.

Paul snarled loudly, stepping towards Jasper.

Jasper felt like the world had just fallen on him. He couldn’t seem to release the tight feeling in his chest.

No. This couldn’t be real. Could it?

“How?” Esme asked, stepping forward. She didn’t know the girl well but she was one of the friendlier wolves, getting along well with the Cullens during previous run-ins

“It’s the imprint. They said she got really ill after the day of training. They found her on top of a cliff, unresponsive.” Edward said bitterly, tears collecting on his waterline.

Alice looked down sadly, realizing why she couldn’t see the girl’s future anymore. There wasn’t one.

“Take me. Please. I need to see her.” Jasper heard himself speak, his throat dry and scratchy.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea Jasper. The pack is up there now. They will kill you.” Carlisle said gently stepping towards his son.

“Let them. I just need to see her one last time.” He swallowed hard, a single tear fleeing from his waterline and down his pale cheek, “please.” He gently pleaded with the wolves.

After a few moments the wolves seemed to make noises of agreement and Edward subconciously nodded.

“Okay..” Edward said firmly before racing off, Jasper hot on his heels. With the wolves’ help they found themselves atop a cliff.

Jared and Paul trotting up first, seemingly communicating with Sam who was snapping his jaws at the vampires angrily.

Once the alpha begrudgingly agreed, the pack moved away and Jasper could faint at the sight of your limp body, laying stone still. Even in death he couldn’t deny that you looked absolutely beautiful. He was clearly wrong for what he had done to you. He couldn’t deny the earth wracking beauty and gentle aura you emitted when he first met you. He was a coward, believing that him and Alice were really in love, even after your confrontation.

He hurried forward, collapsing over you. Edward behind him. He couldn’t get a grip on reality, gripping your cold hands in his. Your limp hands seemed to be the only thing anchoring his sanity at the moment. 

“Please darling. You have to wake up. Please... I’m so sorry. Just open your eyes, we don’t have to be together, I just need you to be alive. Please don’t leave me. I didn’t understand it then, but I’m growing to love you Y/N. Don’t slip away. We can be together, forever, I promise just please.. Come back to me.” He blubbered incoherently, tears streaming down his face and falling onto your cold cheeks. He was bordering on hysterically crying and having a mental breakdown.

Everyone held their breaths, looking at the girl’s body, expecting a sudden heartbeat or for you to sit up alive and well.

But nothing happened, they didn’t know what they expected anyway. This wasn’t some fairytale. His pleas meant nothing, life wasn’t always fair.

Your eyes remained sealed as your heart remained at a still.

The pack whimpered bowing their heads in respect for their fallen member. The Cullens had arrived and were watching sadly from afar.

Nobody could forget the heart twisting cry Jasper let out that evening, gripping you to his chest. He hated nothing more at that moment than the feeling of your cold, dead skin pressing up against his. He just needed your warmth. But it was too late.

Jasper let himself believe he was in love two times in his long life. Both times left him unimaginably broken but worst of all it always hurt the people around him more.

Life wasn’t fair. 

Y/N L/N imprinting on Jasper Whitlock wasn’t fair. 

But fate was a cruel bitch and life was no fairytale.

#twilight #twilight imagine #twilight fluff #twilight angst #twilight jasper imagines #jasper whitlock x reader #jasper whitlock imagines #twilight jasper #jasper hale x reader #jasper hale imagines #jasper hale fluff #jasper hale angst #twilight x reader #Alice cullen #rosalie hale #emmett cullen #carlisle cullen #esme cullen #bella swan #edward cullen #sam uley #paul lahote #embry call #Uley pack #Uley pack Imagines #angst

[hopetofantasy]

‘Wandering Romance’ - Part 4

- A future with child fic -

Square Filled: Future, Family, Past lovers Ship: Sander Driesen/Robbe Ijzermans   Trigger Warnings (if applicable): mentions of abuse, toxic relationships, self harm, rape/non-con elements, emotional manipulation, mental breakdown, panic attacks, self loathing Created for @skamevents

Summary: “A perfect, tight little family. But happy. Until one unfortunate day in May, in the year that David turned six.”

In the future, Robbe and Sander have a son named David. The only tie they have left with each other, actually. Because our lovers split up years ago, due to mistakes that were made in the past.

So is their love strong enough to sustain a healthy friendship? Will they find their way to each other again or break all connections for good?

Also available on AO3

SURPRISE: I’m going to add a FIFTH CHAPTER (EPILOGUE) TOO!

——————————————————

CHAPTER 4: 'No one sees myself like you do’

——————————————————

He knew he broke his heart.

Shattering the pieces everywhere. 

He knew they weren’t his to take, to glue together, to hold onto.

Yet, he did it. Again and again.

He caused pain, he felt pain, he gave the pain away. 

He hated pain.

But...

He loved pain.

He deserved it. He always deserved it.

Love was never his, love wasn’t there for him.

He didn’t deserved it.

Pain was better.

Breathe.

Why?

Breathe.

Why should he?

Please?

Pain was good.

Just once.

He wasn’t normal.

Come on, breathe for me.

Was he ever normal?

Oh god. Come on!

He was a monster. 

Goddammit, breathe!

He didn’t.

He didn’t do it.

He didn’t want to.

A cry.

Soft blurred halo.

Fierce light surrounding him.

Vaguely familiar blonde color in the corner of his eyes.

Deep pressure on his arm.

Harsh sound of a deep cry.

“Please, Robbe...”

The pain was enough.

But then...

After a century of darkness.

He took his first breath.

 -^-

 He didn’t remember how he got there. 

Slowly walking into his home and tracing the soft texture of the eggshell walls, he sighed deeply. He was welcomed back into the silence. As if he never left. As if they were never witness to anything else. Beautiful things had happened. Horrendous things had happened. But the walls would never speak of it. They kept their peace. 

Robbe liked that. 

The color was his pick, of course. As if Sander would have chosen boring beige, cold dark blue or a simple black. Come on. Get real. Back when they were together, he would have rolled his eyes at the suggestions the brown-haired boy would make. Arms crossed with faces close to each other, harsh veins popping out because of all the exertion of the shouting matches.

“Life is passion, Robbe. Don’t be the boring gay!” “Sander, we’re supposed to live in this, I don’t want to be nauseous of all the weird combinations!” “And what the hell is wrong with red and yellow?” “What’s right about red and yellow?” “God, are you serious?!”

Hours and hours of discussing splashes of paint, cataloguing each other’s taste, skipping the expensive brands and go into thrift stores to score beautiful furniture, to do it all over again. Yelling, kissing, making up. Falling out of bed, because of the fits of laughter. Mischievous eyes filled with what now?’s. Slight kisses to temples.

“Beige and brown!” “Orange and purple!” 

“Dark blue and light green!” “Salmon pink and aquamarine!” 

Soft Sander. Beautiful lover. His artist.

Always complying at a flutter of eyelashes, bending his knees at a sigh and holding him at one tear. Always there. Ready to take, to caress and to mend. Late night in bed with their little baby boy in their midst, whispering sweet words to let him catch on. Telling him stories about his day. About the weird accountant who wanted a beautiful portrait of his awful boss. Probably to throw darts at it, he figured. Why else? 

A cute giggle.

Oh, did he tell you about the elderly couple? Together for more than fifty years, alive and kicking. They wanted their love honored by making a beautiful portrait. “Yes, no problem”, he had said. After discussing the price, set-up and deadline, Sander had instructed them to sit down to pose. And that’s when they took off their clothes. “Ah, didn't we tell you? It’s a nude portrait!”

David had always been charmed by his papa’s life. Bowie was his hero, blonde hair and leather jackets was his forté. And the tiny boy was just following along. Worshipping every tiny piece. It ran in his blood, didn’t it? Being extraordinary? The artistry? His mother wasn’t conventional either. Noor was special, artsy and beautiful. So each day would pass and their son would be more and more like Sander. A light in the darkness.

And Robbe wasn’t.

He was cold, boring and hollow.

Like now, he was standing in his own home, not knowing what to do or say. He didn’t know how to get going, how to move along and change the course. It had all happened, but did it actually? Was he there? He could feel the ground beneath his feet, the musky air in his lungs, the color of the walls. But was he there? Had he ever been here? Was he truly him?

His hand immediately went to his arm, nails scratching the hardness of skin. And Robbe started to walk around. He needed to feel the space, to know where he was. Anxious pacing the wool carpet he had chosen to compliment the couch in their tiny living room. A space that had been filled with beautiful memories, that of Jens doing a handstand to impress his nephew and almost crashing into their new coffee table. 

His feet were slowly shuffling towards their dining room and kitchen. A small smile appeared at Robbe’s face, because he remembered how Moyo would make their regular tapas evenings happen here. Before they all had settled down with their partners and became too busy to organize them again. “I’m the best chef cook of the Western Hemisphere, Robbe! You’ll see!”, he said the first time. 

Right before the fire alarm went off. 

The next memory flashed before his eyes. Amber and Aaron coincidentally sitting in close proximity of each other. The one looking at the other, right when the other turned their gaze downwards. Jana subtly nudging her husband and whispering her observations. “They still love each other,” Robbe had heard from her. “Why won’t they go back together?” With a slight shrug from Jens as a response. “What can we do about it?”

He felt hurt.

Well, that was something.

A feeling.

A little red stain on his finger? Robbe huffed, looking down at the color. Red is a beautiful shade, isn’t it? So passionate, deep and yet, something that connected all of them. A thrilling feeling. Finally something that connected him to all his friends, his family, his own son. His ex-lover. He never truly felt tied to them all, especially in the later years.

A beep on his cell.

He was grey, as grey as the sharp steel in the kitchen. He wasn’t special. He never understood why Sander thought he was. Why his son would pick that exact song, the one which ripped his heart out and made him feel 16 years old again? Right then and there, at a beach town supermarket, a cute guy whirling him around on a supermarket cart. A feeling that went up and up, never coming down. 

A text.

Pain was inevitable, he had learned. With Noor. With Sander. With David. Because children were a blessing, they'd always be the good in the world. That’s why he needed to protect the boy, from all the evil. Why he would let himself be pushed off the stairs, so not one beautiful curl on his head would be harmed. Psychically or emotionally. 

- “I’m coming to talk to you” -

No other dark eyes filled with sorrow.

Only his.

 -^-

 “Come on, baby! Dance for me, you know you want to!”

“Wouter, please, stop it... You’re going to wake up my son.”

As if he cared...  Wouter just kept pulling at Robbe’s sweater, trying to discard it, so he could dug his nails at his bare arms. His response was to shut himself off. He wasn’t going to stop anyways, so why bother? Robbe liked it too, didn’t he? He was sure he did. When the other man nipped at his ear, slowly biting a trail down his neck and loosening his belt. He really loved it. Right?

“Rob- just do it for me. I’m too tired to move along!”, the man growled.

His breath filled with distain and mixed with the stench of cheap liquor. Eyes watered down to dimmed grey and clouds covering the sun. His hands were calloused, rough, manhandling him towards the end of the bed. The man named Robbe discarding his lover’s pants and hoping to shush loud moans by softly kissing his lips. His palm sweetly caressing, was met with a sharp pain in his wrist. Hmmm...

“I want it now. Don’t give me that bullshit about lubing it up and kissing gently. Just put a condom on already! I’m ready. You are too!”

Fear struck. Made him come out of the daze. Back into his mind. Robbe moved along to the other’s body, gripped the hip and pulled it from his orbit. Followed by a furious growl, whilst fingers formed a fist. He didn’t want it to happen. It would happen anyway. But still, he couldn’t say yes to this. This wasn’t what he wanted. Stop. Don’t do this.

“Wouter, stop it please...”, he whispered. “I don’t want this”

“What do you mean? You always say yes to this! It’s me your talking to, not some loser from the street, dumb-dumb.” Sickeningly sweet tone. A flower clearing through the greyish woods. An inkling of hushed love. Two bodies breathing together, bothered in various ways. But his head still screamed ‘no’. Greasy lips on his chest, licking towards his right nipple.

“I don’t want to, Wouter. Not tonight.”

Silence. 

Pull away.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, of course, Robbe. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want to. What kind of guy do you think I am? I’m not like that filthy know-it-all you call your ex. I mean, it’s not because you have a son with him, like you jump when he asks you to. You’re not his plaything... You’re mine. Right?”

Wouter’s face contorted in a cheap grin. He knew he shouldn’t fall for that, Robbe knew better. But did he? Maybe... Maybe his boyfriend was right? Sander did boss him around, when it came to their son. Always expecting to jump? But that wasn’t Sander was it? He didn’t know. He couldn’t think.

His thoughts were interrupted by his lover huffing out a short laugh. Seemed to be sobering up, a little. Maybe. “You shouldn’t worry your pretty head too much, darling. You’ll get wrinkles. But if we’re not going to do anything, I’ll need something to get the edge off. It’s been a long, hard damned week. I at least deserve a break. You want some?”

Oh, Robbe knew what ‘some’ meant. The brown haired boy didn’t like this feeling. Of not being in charge what was going to happen at this point of the evening. He shook his head, while his chest slowly closed up. The last memory he had of that stuff, was Wouter breaking his dresser. All because Robbe made a comment about his unemployment. A throw-away remark, that’s all it was.  He was going to shut his mouth now. 

It only took him a half hour. 

“You know, sweetie. I always wondered what so special about that boy of yours. He’s the apple of your eye, right? A spitting image of you both. And yet, he isn’t. The son of an unknown father and a dead mother. Beautiful that you took him in. That’s true. But what’s so special about those blonde curls?”

Ice.

His blood turned to ice. Is this how murderous anger felt? It felt really close. His body was too slow at first to follow his coked-up partner to the stairs. But caught him, before Wouter could step foot towards the child’s door. Hissing. He felt like a wild animal, a lion trying to protect its cub, when he spit out:

“Don’t. Even. FUCKING. Dare. Touching. Him. Or. I’ll. Kill. You. With. My. Bare. Hands.”

Dark storm clouds looked into his. Venom in the mouth.

“Does he know, Robbe... Does he know he’s not yours? That he’s a boy that’s neither made from love between two men nor out of a conscious decision by his true mother? Never knowing his real father, having two fakes instead. You told me that, you know. You might not remember, but I do. I know what you said about little David, sweet darling son...”

Robbe froze on the spot. His fight-or-flight-reaction going into full overdrive. The hair on his arms were standing up, senses completely aware of his surroundings. All while still having no shirt on, he now remembered. What a ridiculous thought. Him, a man, of barely 1.68m and bare chested, trying to fight someone without pants and at least one head bigger than him.

And yet... So tempting...

“I remember what you said, Robbe. You were blubbering all over me, crying about that beach blonde bitch again. Typical. But then you said it to me. Your real fear... That he isn’t yours. That he looks so much like Sander, beautiful unattainable Sander. Boohoo. And never like the boring you. That you blame your ex for that! That’s what you said, right? ‘I’ll never be good enough for sweet David, Sander seems to be’. That’s adorable. Truly. Adorable.”

Poison.

In his veins.

Deafening silence. 

“Maybe I should tell him, darling? All. Of. It. What do you t-”

Hard grunting. Hands everywhere. Red scratches.

Black irises taking over the grey. 

Pushing and pulling. 

Shouting. Screaming. Crying. 

Tilting worlds. Tumbling. Tripping. 

Falling. Falling. Falling. 

Pain.

Black.

And a few days later: 

“Don’t tell papa I broke my arm okay? It’s nothing to worry about, okay sweetie?” 

Followed by a soft:

“Okay, paps. I won't.”

 -^-

 “It’s better this way...”

“I know.”

“You know this is the only way.”

“I knów.”

Beautiful deep eyes. A pained expression. The back of a hand tracing his cheek. Wiping away the tears trickling down. A watery smile. This feeling of being left alone with all the responsibility on his shoulders, was somehow even worse than breaking up. But he shouldered through it anyway. He needed to. He needed to be strong for someone else.

“Robbe...”

“Sander, don’t...”, the other, tiny boy whispered. “Just promise you’ll take care of him. You’re the only one I trust with him.” His little hands still covering the man’s rosed cheeks. Fresh bandages wrapped around the fragile arms. Memories of closing, days of grey clouds and unspoken communication. Sander nodded his head. But he needed to say it, to get the feelings off his chest. 

“I’m so sorry, Robbe. I didn’t know. I was supposed to be there for you. In sickness and in health, right?” A pained smile of both. “I meant it, schat. I didn’t... I should’ve... We wouldn’t have...” Sander looked down. He couldn’t find the words to describe what he felt. 

“It’s okay”, his love answered. A fluttery kiss to his right cheek. “I’m still here. I’m not going away. Not for long at least. And then we can start again. We can start over... Maybe. Only... If you want to. I mean... If you still-”

“I still love you. I’ll always will. I’m never going to stop.” 

“Me neither...”

A ruffle through brown hair.

A featherlight hug.

A light giggle from him.

A cute wink he managed himself. 

“Chill...”

“Chill..."

Then he watched the brown jacket step towards the entrance, right into the arms of the welcoming nurses. All warmly tapping his shoulder, introducing themselves and trying to make him feel at home. Nodding at what he's saying. Already knowing why he's there, but listening anyways. They were going to be good for him. Just like they were good for Sander, a whole lifetime ago.

But before his life partner stepped through the door, he made a stop and turned around quickly.

With mischief on his face.

“So, what are we going to do in the next minute?!”

And a loud response for the artist, surprising even himself:

“In the next minute, I’ll wait for you!”

 And waiting he did.

#wtfock #wtfam #skambingo #skam events #part 4 of 5

[wayward-musings]

Weeping Willow

Noon was the laziest time of the day for anybody who lived in my neighbourhood. It was the time of the day when streets were empty, roads deserted and, instead of children, lizards lay on the small rocks in the park, basking in the sun. But had anybody chanced to stroll by churchyard street that windy afternoon, they would have seen a greatly dejected figure shuffling along the lane, under the bougainvillea. Shoulders sagging, gait heavy and a small bunch of purple wildflowers clutched in one hand, they would have seen Tom Wylde walking to the cemetery.

It was a peaceful place, the cemetery. Long stalks of grass swept across the lush expanse, dotted in neat rows with headstones of granite and marble. The sun did not glare as it did in other areas, and the wind itself seemed to stand still - A cool draught sometimes chanced to ruffle the stalks of grass.

A tree here, a tree there, a grave in the shade. Another under the willow tree.

Tom Wylde looked across the field and began pacing.

First row, second row, third and fourth. Sixth from the left.

He stood there, looking down at the smooth, simple marble stone, the only mark his mother had left on the mortal world. Etched into the stone were the words :

Jessica Wylde   

May her Soul rest in peace.

He brushed off a few stray leaves and sat down. Placing the wildflowers on the headstone, he began.

"Afternoon, Mother," he said, "It's exactly the kind of day you would have liked. Weather's fine, too. Except my day's gone all wrong. " - he gave a shaky laugh - "I got fired, which means I'm unemployed. Unemployed - do you hear that, Mother? I've got no money for food - the landlord's been demanding rent and I've got no money to give him."

He sat quietly, his head between his knees.

"What did you use to say, Mother? 'This too shall pass.'  Well, Mother, it seems that this damn well won't. I shall have died of starvation in a few days." He began rocking back and forth, veering on the edge of hysteria. Tears ran freely down his cheeks. "Say something, Mother! Why won't you? Where are you when I need you? You left me when I was so young." - voice faltering - "Come back - I just don't know what to do." He dissolved into tears, and shook fiercely as his body was wracked by sobs.

Anybody who might have chanced to pass by the churchyard that Tuesday afternoon would have seen a man, broken by grief and misery, shaking and drawing in ragged breaths amid heart-wrenching sobs.

Tom Wylde wept his heart out, and just when he thought that he could not produce any more tears, he felt a small hand on his shoulder. He looked up, startled.

It was a young girl - no more than twelve. Her shining golden hair was pulled back with a ribbon, and she wore a spotless pair of dungarees over a bright yellow shirt. Tom Wylde watched, entranced, as the girl smiled, dimples denting her rosy cheeks, and then proceeded to sit herself down on the grass next to him, as if it had been her spot all along.

"I'm Willow Hillman. I heard you crying," she began cheerfully, as if she had not just borne witness to a mental breakdown. "And some of the things you said. Although I shouldn't have been eavesdropping. Everybody tells me it's a bad thing to do. I'm sorry for that. Although I suppose it's a good thing I heard, though, probably, otherwise I wouldn't have come here to cheer you up. Anyway, don't worry. It'll all get better. That's what my mother says . Here," She thrust a large, fluffy dandelion into Tom Wylde's hands. He looked down at it, slightly dazed, wondering why this little girl had suddenly decided to talk to him, of all people. Hadn't he scared her off with his breakdown? All the same, what was a twelve-year-old doing in a cemetery?

He looked at the dandelion and then turned his head to thank the little girl, but she was gone.

***

True to Willow Hillman's word, things did get better for Tom Wylde. For once, he decided to quit moping around and actually get some work done. He sent out applications for jobs and ran various errands for people to make ends meet.

Each day he went to the cemetery, and each day he was greeted by the same toothy grin and the same small hands holding a dandelion for him. 

He learnt a great deal about his little companion, too.

"Do you know how to make a daisy chain?"

Willow and Tom sat on the grass, plucking bits of it and throwing it at each other. Willow flashed him a grin. The sunlight turned her hair to liquid gold, and she looked as if she were made of the woods herself - a little nature spirit. It was just in the way she looked wholly at home in the meadow - regardless of it being a cemetery.

Tom smiled as he laced daisy stems together - the first smile of his in many months.

And truth be told, anyone who would have passed by the cemetery that day would have seen a tall and lanky man, running after a little girl, who curiously resembled a wood sprite- in the way the sunlight illuminated her frame; daisy chains tipping precariously on both their heads.

***

"Do you like trees, Willow?"

"My favourite is the bougainvillea."

"Why?"

" 'Cause it reminds me of myself. It's sweet and strong and it can stand anything."

Tom remained silent.

***

"You know, Willow, my mother - she left me when I needed her most. She died when I was eight."

"Really? Mine too!"

***

"I don't like cars."

"Why?"

" 'Cause one killed my mommy."

***

"It'll get better, don't worry."

***

A warm day.

A tall man, sitting next to a pint-sized child.

A young girl, with hair the colour of the golden sun, silhouetted in the evening light of the waning sun next to her newest friend.

Daisy chains, strung with threads of friendship.

Bougainvillea trees - delicate, yet strong.

Wispy white weeds, laced with self-discovery and blown on with gratitude for the existence of Nature.

The silken bonds of Friendship.

Peace.

Affection.

Hope.

***

Days turned to weeks, the sun rose and set each day as the moon waxed and waned through the nights - and it all led up to that one day when Tom Wylde was once again seen striding to the churchyard, this time with a spring in his step, a white envelope clutched tightly in one hand.

Tom Wylde had had none to share his happiness and sorrows with until a few weeks ago, when a little girl named Willow had waltzed into his life like the sprite she was, and he was bursting with joy and anticipation.

His days of sending out job applications had paid off, and Messrs. Barn and James had replied in the affirmative, offering a top-notch managerial position, saying that they would be 'glad to have you in our company', and that he was to start on this Monday the seventeenth of August.

Spotting a field of wispy white weeds - dandelions- he stopped to pick one for the little twelve-year-old who had brought so much joy into his life. He would never forget this day - the fourth of May- when things in his life took a different turn.

However, the moment he set foot in the cemetery, he sensed something was wrong. The air no longer stirred with the cool draught, birds remained mute and immobile, hidden among the dense foliage of the tall, lush trees. The whole meadow seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation.

All was silent, and no sounds reached Tom Wylde's ears - except one.

The heartbroken, gut-wrenching sobs of an inconsolable child. 

Panic and fear filled Tom Wylde's heart. The lone dandelion clutched in his hand, he felt as if he was in a daze. He felt his legs move quickly towards the source of the sound.

Later, he remembered seeing the sunny face that greeted him every day twisted into an expression of profound grief. Some distance away, Willow Hillman had looked up at him with a tear stained face and large, wet blue eyes. Her golden hair had glinted as it always did in the sunlight, and with one last smile - and one last tear trailing down her rosy cheek, she had faded away before his very eyes.

He stood, stunned - entranced, as the only thing that had brought light back into his dull life faded into oblivion. He felt himself walking, running to the spot where he had seen Willow. His head spun ; his mind was reeling. He was shell-shocked, screaming her name until his throat felt hoarse and raw, as though shards of glass had been poured down it. He felt wetness on his cheeks, his eyes smarting, the sun brash and burning against his face, the very last remnants of hope ebbing away from his soul.

He had never felt so heartbroken in his life. His bones no longer felt like bones, his brain felt useless and unable to comprehend this strange reality; and the world collapsed around him as his knees hit the grass.

His eyes fell upon a lone headstone of pure white marble before him - the very one he had been weeping over. Etched into it were the words :

Willow Hillman

Beloved daughter and friend.

You shall forever live on in our hearts.

Taken from us on this the second day of May.

Anybody who might have passed by the churchyard that bright, sunny Sunday morning might have seen a tall, young man, collapsed on his knees, staring dumbstruck at the grave in front of him as a lone bougainvillea petal fluttered down to rest on his coat-clad shoulder.

***

Fin.

A note: This is something I wrote a long time ago, when I had just started seriously trying to improve my writing. I think I've developed in some ways since then, but I think this is a good starter piece when it comes to posting my originals on Tumblr! (I'm on Wattpad as TheWodehouseAddict). I'd really like to thank @parkerpeter24 and @kelieah for encouraging me to post this! (Thank you so, so much for helping me break out of my comfort zone 😅)

#my writing #mango writes

[infiniteoddball]

Whiskey and Blazers

I know that I haven’t posted any OC in a long time and I hope you can forgive me for that. I was recently inspired by a good buddy of mine, plus the return of Elliot Stabler to SVU. This is a one-shot and I hope that you enjoy!  If you would like to read it on A03, the link is here! 

The lighting was dimmer than she would have liked, but this was better than being in a club with a guy that wouldn’t take no for an answer. The last thing that she wanted to do was have to flash her badge in order to get a creep to leave her alone. So, instead, she sat quietly in the corner of this unknown bar, drinking her wine slowly. She knew she needed to talk to someone, but the person that she wanted to talk to wouldn’t even answer her phone call. Olivia sighed deeply into her glass of wine, before finishing it off.

“Would you like another?” The bartender asked as he flashed a smile at her.

Olivia bit her lip, truly debating her answer before nodding, “Yes please. Instead of wine, I would like a whiskey neat.”

He nodded wordlessly before walking to get her request. Olivia closed her eyes, dropping her head into her hands. Cragen’s words ran through her head over and over. Elliot, her best friend and partner, was gone. Just like that. She felt her stomach clench with anger. Olivia wanted to hate him, admittedly, a small part of her did. He just left! After seven years together with no explanation. How could he?

She thought that their friendship was more than a job. She knew that there were times where their friendship was stronger than their job. She knew that could have been detrimental, but neither one of them let it become that way. Mainly because she respected Cathy and his family too much.

Olivia heard the muffled sound of glass against wood before she looked up, giving a tight smile,”Thanks.” She lifted the glass before taking a sip. Olivia enjoyed the burn of the alcohol replacing the anger that was burning in her belly.

“Long day?” He quipped, leaning against the bar as he polished an already clean glass.

She felt her nostrils flare as she nodded, “The hardest that I have had in a really long time,” She felt tears spring to her eyes as she looked downwards again. She didn’t think it was affecting her this much.

“This isn’t something that I normally do, but my shift is over in twenty minutes. Would you like to grab a bite to eat with me?”

Olivia looked up, shocked by his kindness. This was not something that she was expecting, “Excuse me?”

“You just look like you need a stranger to talk to and the next guy that comes in behind me uses the same line all the time only to get people, that aren’t regulars, into his bed. I figured I might be a better option for a conversation cause I don’t have a motive.” He set his glass down, waiting patiently for her answer.

Olivia found his honesty refreshing, but also felt angry that she was getting more honesty from a stranger versus her own partner...well, ex-partner,”I don’t even know your name.”

“Ben,” He held out his hand with a barely there smile.

Olivia accepted his hand, “If you try anything on me, I will arrest you.”

Ben nodded, holding three fingers up, “Scout’s honor. I will not try any funny business.” He solemnly nodded. The last thing he wanted was to be arrested.

“Can I have my tab?”

****

Olivia had never had a better tasting hot dog in her life. She took another big bite, wiping the mustard from her mouth before looking at Ben enjoying his own hot dog, “What made you want to talk to me when you could go home and do whatever it is that you do?” She quipped. She was grateful the bun was soaking up the alcohol.

Ben swallowed his bite, seemingly contemplating his answer, “Well, you looked like you just needed a friend, so I thought why not? Would you like to tell me what happened?”

If she was being honest, she felt like a child as she stared at the anonymous faces surrounding them, “Honestly, I feel like if I say it out loud, then it is real.”

“It already is real. You’re feeling the emotions.” He held his hand out for her trash, pausing to throw their garbage out before falling back in stride with her.

“Yeah...Okay.” Olivia took a deep breath, glancing at Ben, before pushing on, “Today...when I went into work, I found out that my partner, and best friend, quit. He just left. He didn’t call me, and he didn’t leave a note...nothing.” Olivia swallowed thickly, as she realized that her cheeks were wet, “I...I thought we were closer than that. We always swore that we would retire together if we were still partners. Instead my Captain came and told me that he was gone. I felt-” Her words broke as she came over racked with sobs.

“Is it okay if I hug you?” Ben asked gently.

Olivia felt her sobs tightening her throat as she just nodded. She knew she couldn’t talk anymore. She was exhausted already. Every item that she had taken off of his desk felt like a thousand pounds as she had dropped it into a box. She was grateful that Cragen said that he would handle the rest because she didn’t think that she would have made it through the paperwork.

She felt this stranger's arms engulf her and she just melted into him. She knew how abnormal this was for herself let alone if someone she knew would have seen this. Then again, today had been anything but normal.

Ben gently hummed a song his mother would sing for him when he was distressed as he soothingly rubbed her back, “I can’t say I understand what you are going through, but I understand what heartbreak looks like. Friendship breakups will always be worse than romantic relationships,” He said soothingly.

Olivia didn’t know how long they stood there as she listened to his baritone voice before finally stepping back, “Oh shit. I am so sorry. I got makeup and snot on your shirt. I didn’t even pay for dinner.”

Ben threw his head back in laughter, “You’re the one having a mental breakdown after a hard day and you are worried about my shirt? This isn’t anything that a washer and some shout can’t fix. What kind of cop are you?” He grinned.

“The one that cares too much.” She looked down at her feet, momentarily staring at their feet before looking back up, “What kind of bartender takes a customer for a hot dog and a walk and talks to them as if they are best friends and didn’t meet an hour ago?”

“The one that cares too much,” He grinned, “Enough about me. How are you feeling?”

Olivia inhaled deeply, feeling extremely sober as she wiped the running makeup from her face, “Honestly? Like shit.” She turned, walking with him again as she walked towards her apartment, walking in a comfortable silence.

“Sometimes talking to strangers is the best relief that a person can get because there is no history or judgement.” Ben stated, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “If I help one person, then at least I know someone out there is going to make it to the next day.”

Olivia felt the corners of her mouth turn upwards slightly, “You’re a good person Ben.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Which is?”

“My Mom,” He answered with a smile as he glanced at her.

“A lot more people should be like you.” She said honestly.

“A lot more cops should be like you.” Ben shot back.

Olivia smiled to herself as they settled into another comfortable silence as they got closer to her apartment. Briefly, she thought about inviting him up, but decided against the better of that. The last thing that she wanted was to hurt such a kind soul because she was hurting. She dug her keys out of her pocket before turning to him, “Can I take you out for a cup of coffee sometime? As a thank you?”

Ben smiled, “I would like that.”

Olivia dug out one of her cards before handing it to him, “I will see you later Ben,” She silently admired the way his thumb careessed over her knuckles as she admired his rich brown skin against her pale white skin.

“Until later,” Ben promised.

Olivia gave him a real smile before climbing up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. She let herself in,hanging her keys before looking at herself in the hallway mirror. She looked extremely tired with smeared mascara all over her face, and red rimmed eyes that looked exhausted.

She felt her sadness hit her with another massive wave as she slid down her door, crying into her palms, How could you Elliot?! Was her last thought as she sank into the darkness of sleep.

*Fifteen Years Later*

“Noah! Go get dressed, Lucy will be here soon to take you to school!” She said firmly, clearing their dishes from the table before she padded into her bedroom. Olivia pulled on black socks before smoothing out her black shirt. She thumbed through her blazers, knowing she had a court date today as well as a meeting with 1PP for the new training to give to her team.

She thumbed her way through her blazers before finally deciding on a richly colored maroon blazer. She finished getting ready with a swipe of lipstick before she decided to tie her hair up, “Are you ready Noah?” Her shoes dangled from her fingers as he came out of the bathroom with toothpaste in the corner of his mouth.

“Yes mom! I just finished brushing my teeth!” He smiled brightly, “Is Uncle Ben still coming over for dinner?”

“Yes sweet boy,” She grinned as she dropped her shoes, wiping the toothpaste as there was a knock at the door.

“I will get it!” He smiled, running before she heard him excitedly saying hi to Lucy. She quickly slipped her shoes on before grabbing her travel mug, and heading towards the front door.

“Hi Olivia,” Lucy smiled as she took her jean jacket off.

“Hey Lucy,” She grinned before she pulled her own jacket on, “His lunch is packed and good to go in the fridge. Your check is on the counter. I will see you later, and have a wonderful day!” She smiled.

She turned, opening her arms to Noah before kissing his cheek multiple times, “Have a great day at school and learn a lot.” She murmured before standing again.

****

Olivia smiled, greeting everyone as she walked into the precinct. Olivia felt as though she was frozen, mid step, as she looked at the figure leaning against the frame of her door. She felt her throat constricting as she struggled to breathe. She knew that figure anywhere. She didn’t need an introduction.

“Hey Liv,” Fin said gently as he gently touched her elbow, “I tried to get him to leave, but he refused to leave without talking to you.”

“Now he wants to talk?” She questioned bitterly as she squared her shoulders, pulling her bag higher on her shoulder.

“Hey, I-”

“Don’t worry Fin, I will handle it.” Olivia cut him off before he had the chance to say how he wanted to kill him.

Fin stood, silently, in the middle of the floor with his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes followed her. He remembered how hard this was for her the last time and he couldn’t imagine how it would be for her this time.

Olivia walked past him, silently, into her office.

Elliot ran his hand over his thinning hair as he looked at her, leaving his hand resting on the back of his neck as he tried to give a relaxed smile, “Hey Liv, so you’re a Lieutenant now?” He quipped.

Olivia stayed silent as she placed her bag on her desk, next to her mug. She hung her coat before turning to him, crossing her arms over his chest to hide her shaking hands, “You lost the right to call me Liv the moment you left me in your dust. It’s Olivia.” She said calmly.

Elliot looked down at the floor, he couldn’t help but think how he missed the carpet that was in here, “I deserve that...actually I deserve a lot worse. Look, I know you’re angry and-”

“No,” Olivia cut him off, “I am no longer angry. I was broken. My best friend  disappeared off the face of the planet. Actively choosing not to return my calls or e-mails. Nothing! I got no explanation from you. Just Cragen telling me that you wouldn’t be returning to work ever again.” Olivia stopped as she realized how loud she was talking. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply before and exhaling before she looked at him. She stepped forward, nodding at Fin before she closed the door behind him. Olivia stared at the picture of Noah on her desk before she sat down.

“You weren’t the only one who lost something that day. Sister Peg died in my arms. I lost two good friends in the span of weeks.” Olivia could feel her nose getting itchy. She knew she was going to end up crying sometime today, “Instead of facing things head on, by my side, you chose to, instead, leave me to pick up your pieces as I struggled to pick up my own.”

She watched as Elliot sat in the chair across from her desk, “I can say I am sorry, because I truly am, but I know that will never make a difference for the time and trust that was lost. I owe you so much more than what I can ever give you. I knew you would be hurt, and I am so sorry that I hurt you so badly. But I-I had to leave.” Elliot stared at his hands, unable to look at her.

Olivia felt the nerves clench in her stomach as she asked the simplest question, “Why?”

Elliot sat silently for a moment before finally taking a deep breath, “I couldn’t do it anymore. I knew that I would always choose you. I would choose to save your life over anyone’s and when I killed Jenna. I would have done that again in a heartbeat, but it also broke something inside of me.”

Olivia felt herself wanting to soften with his confession, but the first night she ever met Ben popped into her head, “You come in here, after fifteen years? If you would have just talked to me, you could have saved us a lot of pain.”

Elliot looked up, staring at her in the eyes, “I wanted to confess everything, but I knew I was in love with you. I couldn’t do that to Cathy any more.”

Olivia swallowed thickly. After all these years, he finally admits that the feeling was mutual. This was not how she planned to spend her day. She glanced at her clock, already knowing it was going to be a late night, “I don’t know what kind of answer you are expecting from me, but I picked myself up. I dusted myself off and moved on. My life moved on when you left.”

“Is it bad to say a part of me wishes that you hadn’t?” He quipped.

“Yes. You didn’t give me a decision the moment you decided to leave.” Olivia grabbed a pen rolling it between her fingers.

“I deserve that.” Elliot nodded.

“There is a lot I want to say,” Olivia could feel her initial anger dissipating with every word she said, “I no longer care to say it. I worked my way up the ranks, adopted my son, and I am now in a loving relationship. I missed you. I missed your family. I missed Cathy. You chose to take it all from me, so I built my own family and moved on. I don’t owe you an explanation. Initially, I planned to say so much to you. I planned to punch you actually,” She admitted with a shrug as she stood, pulling her blazer straighter before she looked at him, “At this point, I realize I don’t owe you anything and I don’t want anything from you. I think you should go.” Olivia squared her shoulders as she watched him stand.

Elliot opened and closed his mouth. Cathy had been right. He should have known she would be right. He rubbed the back of his neck before making eye contact, “I really am sorry, look here is my number if you would like to talk anymore.” He said gently, dropping his private investigator card on her desk before he turned to leave.

“Elliot?” Olivia stared at his card on her desk before watching him turn, “I forgave you a long time ago because I learned that anger does nothing to fix anything. I hope you understand that.”

Elliot looked at her, hoping that they might get a chance to repair their friendship as he nodded, “I don’t deserve that, but thank you. Also, congratulations Olivia. Your son is beautiful.”

Olivia responded with a gentle smile before she watched him walk away. At least, this time, she realized how strong she was even with his answer.

#original content #fanfic #Law & Order SVU #svu #Olivia Benson #Elliot stabler #fanfiction #original character #whiskey and blazers #writing