#if this were a proper fic that panic attack would be a lot more evident in the writing

[starry-bi-sky]

Part SEVEN of "Clone Danny"

Red Robin, Danny recognizes, steps away from him as he sits up. "My name is Phantom," he signs, blinking the exhaustion out of his eyes. (From Red Robin's perspective, it looks like he has no eyes. There lacks his signature green glow.) "I'm not a gang member, just an out-of-town vigilante."

Red Robin frowns at him, an uncertain grip on the bō in his other hand. "Phantom?" He repeats, no lacking amount of suspicion in his voice. "How can I believe that?"

Right. Yeah, okay, that's fair. Danny shrugs at him, and slumps against the wall. "Google search?" He gestures, he's been out in the daytime before and he's seen the news articles about him.

Red's eyes narrow at him and Danny simply draws his knees up and faceplants into them, half-listening to Red's murmurs into his comm while also trying to get some extra-shut eye.

("Oracle, can you pull up anything on a vigilante named Phantom? The guy here is claiming to be one." Tim says.

"On it."

"Is this Phantom wearing a white mask?" Bruce asks, his voice gruff like an aftershock. "There's a vigilante who shares the same name, but he resides in Illinois."

"Is this guy from that Amity city you visited ages ago?" Says Tim, before shaking his head. "Don't answer that. Yes, he's wearing some freaky mask. I said it reminded me of Hood's helmet for a reason."

"I've got something," Oracle interrupts, "Bats' right. as usual. The Phantom of Amity Park, not much stuff of this guy but he's only been out for over a year. Apparently, his rogues' gallery consists of ghosts."

"Oh great.")

"Look tell the Batman that I'm sorry for trespassing on his turf," He signs irritably when Red Robin eventually starts talking to (re: interrogating) him again. "It's not like I want to be here."

"How did you get in Gotham anyways?" Red Robin questions, batman was on his way to help deal with the situation but Tim doubted he wouldn't get caught up on the way with dealing with petty crime. "Your turf is nearly a thousand miles away from here."

"Two words." Danny deadpans, "Teleport ghost." (Red Robin winces sympathetically.) "I'm keeping this bastard in the thermos for a month for this alone."

(Danny was ignoring the slow-choking anxiety growing in his lungs over how he was gonna get home. He never takes his phone when he goes out, the risk of breaking it was too high. He had no way of contacting anyone to get him home.)

(He swallows the growing lump in his throat, and buries the feeling in the back of his mind.)

"Thermos?"

Danny unclips his Fenton Phantom Thermos off from his belt loop and shows it to Red Robin. "My ghost-catching device," He says with one hand, tilting it carefully for Red to inspect. "I wish I could say I made it, but its a FentonWorks invention."

(He wasn't sure if it was a smart idea to say who it belonged to, but saying it wasn't his probably loosened up any tracks on him, right?)

"Do you work with these Fentons, then?" Red asks, and something dark and shadowy flickers from the corner of Danny's eye. He glances over, and sees nothing, and his hackles raise.

(Either that was Batman, or a ghost, or Danny's mind playing tricks on him. He couldn't feel his ghost sense building in his throat, so he decided it was either the latter of the former.)

Danny snorts, quiet and gruff. "No." He clips his thermos to his belt again, stifling a smile on his face. "The Fentons hate me actually, I prevent them from catching ghosts themselves. Their son gives me their tech."

He had a cover story, so he might as well stick with it, right?

Batman shows up at that moment, appearing atop the little roof where the door is, and giving Danny a heart attack when he speaks in his low, rumbly voice like thunder rolling in, "Why would they hate you for that?"

Danny shoots up to his feet with a startled yell in his throat, clutching his chest as he whirls around and looks up. He nearly runs into Red Robin, and signs a few choice swears at the Bat.

"wow you're scarier in person, asshole."

"you didn't answer my question."

"Of course I didn't, you scared me." and Danny takes a trembling step back when the Batman jumps down and lands on the roof in front of him. He's faced ghosts before, but somehow the living is always scarier.

"But, um, the reason is a bit.. complicated, I guess." He says, fingers beginning to shake as his adrenaline wears off. God is he tired. He wants to go home. "The Fentons are the local ghost hunters and local crazies. I don't know if I can call them mad scientists because they're harmless to the living."

"But they're extremely anti-ghost. I've heard from their son multiple times the very unethical things they would do to ghosts if they got their hands on one."

Danny 'talks' a little more before calling it quits, even telling Batman that he can't tell him more without putting his identity at risk.

Plus, its getting harder and harder to hide his bone-deep exhaustion and his growing fear of being stranded in the most dangerous city in America with no way home.

"I would love to tell you more, believe me I'm dying to." Danny signs, shaky sarcasm dripping from his fingers. His hands are visibly trembling and he's withholding a slowly growing panic attack. "But I would like nothing more than to figure out a way to get home."

"Do you have no one to contact?"

"Sort of. But only one of them could probably come get me and get me back to Amity by sunrise. And I have no phone."

That one person being Ellie.

=====

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 4.5 (Dani interlude) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.5 (Dan Interlude) Part 8

Taglist: @the-navistar-carol @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @gin2212 @youracearocroatneighbour @luckybyrdrobyn @deeplyconfusedbear @epilepticnerd @beautifulmomenttodrawblank @sara0055 @blusunkhild @letmesayfuxk (?) @latheevening226 @tkiesai @rosedasy @meira-3919

#dp x dc #dpxdc crossover #danny fenton is a clone #dpxdc #dp crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc au #it was either ellie comes to get danny or he stays in gotham Somewhere #and he's Only Just met the bats so they're prolly not gonna offer anything #danny's fear of being alone in gotham is prolly downplayed here #but if it were me i would ALSO be slowly driving up to. a panic attack the longer i was in an unfamiliar city with no way home #if this were a proper fic that panic attack would be a lot more evident in the writing #alas #not me looking up Batfam personality cheat sheets because ive never read the comics #dont trust my characterization of the batfam im winging it on google search and summaries of their personalityand out of context comic page #fun fact amity park is described as a moderately large urban city similar to chicago or san francisco which means i cant call it a small to #listening to Dark Arkansas Daughter while writing this #'you with the dark curls you with the watercolor eeyes. you who bares all your teeth in every smiiile' is so au danny coded #bullet point to prevent me from dragging #i need to stop writing these at midnight #im a very honest person and it shows in my writing and it sucks

[meowzfordayz]

(you and i) us

Author’s Note: anxiety/panic attacks are diff for everyone — this fanfic is simply guided by my own experiences. 💗

(you and i) us

Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader

Word Count: ~1,100

CW: anxiety/panic disorder, traumatic references

Emergency Request Fulfilled: I'm new to the page but omg am I absolutely in love with your writing, especially how you write Kyojuro 🥺♥️ If it woudn't be too much trouble, would it be possible to get a fluff/comfort fic about him helping Fem Y/N through an anxiety/panic attack? I've been having a lot more of them recently and Kyojuro is my comfort character. Hope you have a wonderful day ♥️

~faqs~

Sometimes, you wake up feeling soft. Hardly ever before Kyojuro, but rarely too long after — as though the faintest vibrations from his fluttering eyelashes were enough to rouse you. He’s loath to disturb you, familiar tangle of guilt clenching in his stomach when he notices you stir, but try as he might, your habits are inexplicably interwoven with his.

“Hm, c’mere,” is often the first thing you murmur, voice lowered with a comforting grogginess.

He usually acquiesces, pressing his leg—that had nearly escaped the kakebuton—against yours, tucking you into the broad warmth of his chest, chin nuzzling into your bedhead. He’s: reluctant to leave the blurry edges of your affection, your drowsiness welcoming and endearing; suspects he’s becoming less and less of a morning person; knows it’s entirely your doing; and doesn’t mind in the slightest.

“M’hungry,” is typically the next thing you mumble, nose crinkling as one of your eyes stares at him, fondness evident and bright, the other clinging stubbornly to sleep.

“You are half asleep,” Kyojuro remarks amusedly, “Shall I bring something to you?”

You pout, melting further into his distinctive scent—myrrh if he showered the night before, smoke and hickory if he crawled onto the futon in a hurry—“Cuddle.”

“How about I carry you?” he suggests, always happy to compromise. Not to mention, you’re kind of scary when you get too hungry.

You nod slowly, rewarding his brilliant idea with a delighted grin, “Please and thank you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, giggling to yourself as his fiery hair tickles your bare skin, waiting patiently as Kyojuro awkwardly—let’s be honest: picking someone up from a futon, a bed, a couch, isn’t the most graceful endeavor, regardless of strength—slides his hands under your bum, carefully standing once your legs hook around his waist.

“Love you,” you nip at his earlobe.

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles, “I promise there will be proper food soon.”

You bite cheekily at his chin, “But you’re delicious?”

It’s inevitable how he blushes, eyes narrowing, squeezing your bum in retaliation, unable to recover from how adorable you look, gazing up at him, the tip of your tongue poking at his chin.

“You are going to drool,” he states, flustered.

Releasing his chin with a pop, you wipe at the now shiny spot with a gentle rub of your thumb, “Oops.”

Arriving at the kitchen, he sets you down momentarily—It’ll be easier to cook with you on my back—humming contently as you resettle yourself, goosebumps pricking when you blow hotly behind his ear.

“You’re cute,” you declare.

“I love you,” he smiles, reaching for your hand, raising it to his lips, teeth tenderly grazing each of your knuckles, kissing your fingertips, resting your palm on his heart, your elbow secure over his shoulder, “I love us.”

Sometimes, though — sometimes you wake up feeling distorted. Sometimes your limbs feel heavy, too heavy, too distant from wherever your being should be. The perception of lacking physical control, of existing someplace else a terrifying, paralyzing reality. Sometimes it’s in your head, metaphorical bricks strewn haphazardly, disrupting your coherency, flaking shards of bitter dust into the suffocating cracks of your clarity. Other times? You’re too airy. Too floaty. In a tunnel of not quite there, muted flickering of something, someone, cutting through the surface tension above you. You’re sinking, sinking, sitting, at the bottom of a glittering, blinding well, the outline of an incomprehensible memory wavering frantically.

“[y/n].”

Kyojuro knows you have anxiety attacks. Their durations vary: five minutes to entire mornings — severity ranging from mild to incapacitating. He knows their telltale warning signs: your fidgeting, how your eyes dart, the almost indiscernible hunch of your spine. Occasionally, he can ease you from the precipice before you wobble too far: before your breaths shorten, hands clutched to your sternum, failing to exert more pressure outward than the constricting panic inward. Occasionally, he touches the small of your back in time: traces loving circles along your tensed jaw, pulls you onto his lap or into his chest—depending on your location—wordlessly encouraging you to bury yourself in his steadiness, to drown in the safety of his attention rather than in the cruelty of your disorder.

Usually, though — usually he’s too late. Not that you ever blame him, not that that consideration even occurs to you (it really doesn’t). You understand he’s your partner: his hands soothing as yours tremble, voice grounding as yours flees, skin hot as your cools, pulse steady as yours hiccups, stutters, rushes. But he isn’t your savior. You’d had a frank conversation at the beginning of your relationship, discussing boundaries, answering his questions, being straightforward about your fears. I don’t want to lose myself. And you never do as he nurtures, inspires, is patient with your greys. I don’t want to annoy you. And you never do as he protects, communicates, is forgiving of your yellows. I don’t want to hurt you. And you never do as he embraces, cherishes, is eager to learn about your blues.

“[y/n],” Kyojuro repeats, propping himself up with one arm, the other resting tenderly on your hip, his body parallel to yours as you lie on the futon: waiting, watching, guarding as your stare slowly, achingly focuses.

“K-kyo.”

He swears a fragment of his soul peels away when you whisper his name. That a sliver of his soul seeks, searches, surrenders itself to the fissure in yours. It’s never painful for him. He just hopes it’s enough — just wishes he could know for sure that he is enough.

“[y/n],” his palm moves from your hip to your cheek, cupping lightly, reassuringly, eyes warm with concern, not overwhelming — intimate windows into his tireless gratitude for you.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, gently tapping your knee, smiling faintly as you immediately lift your leg, swinging it over his thigh, scooting yourself closer, closer, close to him.

He doesn’t ask who or what or where. Knows it’s not about when he’s ready. Boisterous as he can be, he adapts easily, pleasantly, contentedly. As you curl into him, silent, fatigued, jagged, he doesn’t ask when or why or how. Knows you trust him. A fragile, priceless gift.

Instead, he draws random shapes, writes abstract stories, with his fingertips across your thigh. Tugs the kakebuton up to your collarbones, satisfied as your quivering gradually, naturally, finally dissipates. Tilts your face upward to kiss your forehead, peck your nose, nibble playfully at your eyebrows, coaxing the most beautiful echo of a giggle he’s ever heard from your soft mouth. 

“I love you,” he declares quietly.

He jolts as you unexpectedly caress the hollow of his throat — feels every stroke, every delicate letter, as you etch intangibly I love us.

#kyojuro rengoku #rengoku kyojuro #kyojuro x reader #rengoku x reader #flame hashira #one shot #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

[ak47stylegirl]

Hmm... sicktember, huh? Let's go for #10 and I'm going to be boringly predictable with Scott :D Your choice of caretaker.

This was fun 😁 I know you love Scott and Gordon, so the choice of the caretaker was easy lol 😂 I hope you enjoy it! I went with a little bit of a different writing style with this fic, so hopes it's good 😅

I'm doing this challenge by asks, so send in a number and a bro, and I'll get to writing 😄 Overload my inbox!! 😁

----

Glass crunched under his feet.

“Wow…this place was asking to become a danger zone...” Gordon muttered, gingerly tipping over an empty beaker with a finger. “What even was this place?”

It was hard to tell what was dust and what was rubble from the earthquake; everything was in some form of ruin or decay.

“The building is listed as an office complex, owned by lee frank industries, but….” John frowned, sounding perplexed, “something doesn't add up….”

Frustration was evident in John’s voice, because there was nothing that John hated more than a puzzle piece to a mystery being just outside his grasp.

That or false information, especially incorrect space facts…oh boy, does John go feral if you joke that the sun is just a planet that‘s on fire.

So does Alan, though he's more the barking puppy variety, Gordon thought with a smirk, oh that was a great mental image…

“You’re right about that, John….” Scott reported, stormy blue eyes scanning the room, back rigid. “This looks more like a lab than an office, and not one that reaches any legal safety requirements either….”

Gordon straightens unconsciously, becoming more alert and focused. He understood what Scott was implying and what that could mean…

The building’s stability may not be the only danger…

There was a tense pause on the comms before “I’m contacting the GDF….” John's voice filtered over the comms, each word heavy with the severity of the possible growing situation.

“Good plan, John….” Scott nodded, looking left and right down the long complex “in the meantime, Gordon and I should look for survivors….”

“FAB….just..” John’s professional mask slipped for a second, his voice softening, “be careful down there, okay?”

“Will do…” Scott nodded, with a small, confident smile, catching his eye, “Gordon will search the left side of the building, while I take the right, all agreed?”

“FAB”, Gordon and John replied in unison.

“Good”, Scott’s eyes hardened, his commander persona coming to the forefront, “comms stay on at all times, is that understood?”

Acknowledgement was voiced, and in Gordon’s case, in the form of a mock salute, and an ‘Ay, Ay captain!’

Scott’s eye roll could be felt from space.

----

So far, the left side of the building was devoid of life, a ghost town of broken glass and rubble.

And bodies.

“I found another one, John..” Gordon grimaced, crouching down next to a middle-aged female, who was crushed by a shelf, chemical burns making her unrecognisable.

“Damn it, Scott was right, this place was a safety hazard waiting to happen…” Gordon looked around the small stuffy room, bottles of chemicals stacked haphazardly, sharp objects just discard all over the place.

Brains would have a fit if he saw this…

“Had any luck on your end, Scott?”

“Not so far, but keep-” the sounds of harsh coughing could be heard over the comms, “-keep l-looking….”

Gordon frowned, “Scott, are you alright?”

There was more coughing before Scott replied, “I’m f-fine…I just-” Scott groaned, his words starting to slur, “-I just cau-caught my..my b-breath, I-”

There was more coughing and a thud on the other end, followed by Scott’s comm going dead. “Scott?! Scott, are you alright?! Answer me!”

Gordon started to run full speed, all thoughts of lab safety abandoned in his panic. All of the alarm bells in his head were ringing; something’s wrong, something’s wrong.

Something’s wrong!

“Gordon, put your helmet on now!” John barked over the comm line, causing him to halt and follow without question. “There is an unknown gas radiating from Scott’s location! GDF and Virgil are on route now!”

Gordon took off in a sprint again, helmet now secured. “Good! We may need it! Do you have eyes on Scott?”

Gordon flew around a corner.

“He’s still not responding; vitals show he’s conscious, but none of them are in a healthy range.”

John sounded worried. Not a good sign. As was the yelling he could hear as he neared Scott’s location, but something was off about it.

The only one yelling was Scott.

He slowed down his pace, not wanting to run into an unknown, possibly dangerous situation unprepared.

“No! No! Gordon! Please, wake up!” Scott could be heard screaming; his voice filled with pure anguish. “Please!!”

A shiver ran down Gordon’s spine, “John, you don’t have any clue what that gas does, do you?” He whispered tensely; honestly a bit freaked out by Scott’s cries.

“I’m working on it….” John growled, sounding beyond frustrated that vital information was alluring him. “Don’t engage Scott until we know what we’re dealing with, okay?”

Gordon scowled, hearing Scott scream and cry his name again. “Sorry John, no can do….” He turned the corner, finally laying eyes on his brother.

Scott was hunched over a body, screaming his name and begging the dead body to wake up, sob rattling Scott’s shoulders.

Scott thought that body, a young adult male, was him, Gordon realised in horror, his face going ash white.

“Scotty?” Gordon spoke softly, taking a cautious step forward, his hands held up in front of him in a gesture of peace. “You’re okay there, bro?”

Scott’s head snapped up at his entrance, blue eyes locking onto him. Blue eyes which were cloudy and glazed over.

Gordon grimaced, taking another step forward.

Yeah, Scott wasn’t in his right mind; that was plainly obvious.

The situation changed so fast Gordon barely had time to react as Scott launched to his feet with a snarl, yelling, “You!”

Gordon barely dodged Scott’s punch, his eyes going wide. “Whoa! Scott, it’s me! Gordon!” He pleaded as he dodged Scott’s attacks.

That seemed to just make Scott angrier, “don’t you lie to me, you bastard! You killed my brother!!” Scott jumped at him, finally managing to knock him off his feet.

This was bad! This was very bad! Gordon thought as his big brother started to punch him, pinning him down with a crazed look in his eyes.

Virgil and John were yelling at him over comms. He had to do something! Gordon thought as he struggled against Scott, whose punches were becoming more painful.

Gordon’s elbow stuck Scott’s cheek, stunning Scott long enough for him to shove Scott off, and put distance between them.

“Scott! Stop this! I don’t know what you’re seeing, but it’s not true!” Gordon yelled as he once again began to dodge Scott’s attacks, his ribs protesting immensely. “Please, Scotty!”

Scott’s attacks stopped, blue eyes clearing for a second, “Gordy?” Scott’s voice trembled, sounding so terrified.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me, Scooter….” He took a hesitant step forward, a plan forming in his mind. “We were on a rescue, remember?”

He took another step forward, seeing that Scott was staying still, slowly reaching for the emergency sedative in his sash.

Scott’s eyes latched on his hand movement, eyes going wide, and the anger returned. “Ahhhrgh! Get out of my head!” Scott shook his head, gripping his hair in his fists. “Your tricks won’t work on me, Hood!”

Well, that explains a lot…

He took another step forward, “Scotty, I promise I’m not-“

“Enough lies!” Scott screamed, tackling him to the ground, his head hitting the ground hard, being momentarily stunned.

“No!” Gordon cried out as Scott knocked the syringe from his hand, it rolling just out of his reach.

“It’s over, Hood!” Scott sneered, blue eyes devoid of their normal kindness and love, “you’re never going to hurt my family ever again!”

Gordon looked into emotionless eyes, and felt proper fear of his brother for the first time in his life.

Scott wasn’t going to stop; he was going to...

Gordon growled, his eyes hardening in detention as his fist met Scott’s nose. Scott cried out in pain, distracted for a second, and in that second, he was able to wrestle Scott under him.

While Gordon was quick and agile, a good fighter in his own right, Scott was stronger than him. The fight quickly escalated into a wrestling match, neither letting the other get the upper hand.

Gordon spotted the syringe near them, just as Scott got the upper hand, slamming him into the ground.

No matter how much he struggled, Scott had him well and truly pinned this time, one arm pinned above his head.

One arm was free, but mobility was limited by Scott’s body weight on his upper shoulder and arm. But he had to try!

“Scott! I’m just tr-” Scott pressed his forearm against Gordon’s throat, beginning to cut off his air supply “,-t-trying to help you!”

His fingers brushed against the syringe, it slipping just out of his grasp. So close! So close!

“Like hell you are!” Scott cried, tears of anguish and fury pouring down his cheeks. “What have we ever done to you?! What have my little brothers done?!”

Tears pickled at the corners of Gordon’s eyes, his vision darkening just as his hand finally gripped the syringe.

He didn’t hesitate, slamming the syringe into Scott’s thigh with all of his remaining strength. Scott cried out, the pressure on his throat disappearing as Scott leapt away from him.

“What did you-” Scott stumbled, falling on his butt, eyes starting to blink rapidly. “What did you just...just inject into me?!”

Gordon slowly sat up, wrapping an arm around his ribs. “Scotty, it’s okay….” He moved towards Scott, who tried to flinch away, but only ended up collapsing onto his side.

“No, no, this, this can’t be h-happening..” Scott whimpered in despair, unable to lift his head or stop Gordon from moving towards him. “P-please, not G-Gordy….”

“I’m right here; I’m right here, Scotty..” Gordon pulled Scott onto his lap, wrapping his arms around him tightly. “It’s alright, shh come on, go to sleep now….”

Scott’s eyes were becoming heavy, each blink becoming more prolonged than the last, “No, I can’t…I gotta…I gotta…“

Scott’s breathing evened out, eyes slipping close and not opening again. Gordon sighed in relief, slumping backwards, Scott’s head resting against his chest.

“You owe me big time, big brother…” Gordon whispered with a small pained smile, hearing Virgil’s voice in the distance. “So very, very much….”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #virgil tracy #alan tracy #sicktember2021

[leahseclipse]

More fear than harm

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Luke Alvez x fem!reader

Summary: Panic sets in when Luke and Spencer are told about a potential terrorist attack coming on a case, while their partner happens to be home with their child. 

Warnings: Mentions of case, usual cm stuff, all of them are worried asf messes

Category: Fluff/ a bit of angst

Word count: 4.4 k

A/N: hEllo!!!! I’m here for another fic :) It was @imagining-in-the-margins​ who gave me the original prompt, so I took it in!!! It’s my first Ralvez fic, so I’m really excited! Another one might come around soon!!! I hope everyone enjoys :)

          The peace and calm that they had finally managed to find in what seemed like an eternity quickly disappeared as soon as they took conscience of it, with a pleasant surprise known as: a case.

It kind of...ruined the mood of everyone, but after Luke and Spencer saw their partner’s reaction as they woke up at 5am after hearing the phone, they quickly decided to set aside their anger as y/n already had enough of it. 

Even if she was indeed quite mad, she tried to calm down, quickly helping them check their stuff within the few minutes they had, and before she could even say something, the door closed, and she just...stood there.

She’s been used to being alone with her daughter more than she can ever count with her hands, but when she finally thought that they’d be home for more than a few days, she couldn’t admit that she wasn’t upset about it.

She could handle it fine in general, but some moments, when it’d become too much, she couldn’t call them, have a proper conversation, because they’d either have no time, or just a few minutes, which wasn’t clearly enough.

Y/N was well aware of that when the relationship become more serious, she knew that it meant that she would be alone most of the time, even if they’d eventually call or send a text to try to ‘be with her’, she knew that she couldn’t do anything no matter how angry it made her, all she could do was hoping they’d both return as fast as possible and in one piece.

She had enough stress to deal with when they were away, so deal with the stress of knowing they’d gotten hurt, and not knowing right away if it was bad or not, she didn’t even want to.

They had given her enough heart attacks, whether they were hurt or not; various stories about it can be remembered. 

For example, when they didn’t happen to be hurt, both of their phones were out of battery, and she was there, calling again and again, she even went to JJ and whatever colleague that was with them, and they also told her that they went somewhere and didn’t answer.

Even if she really wanted to, she chose not to lash her anger on her, and...tried not to have a literal panic attack. 

Because after knowing them and their jobs along the way, she knew that the ‘not responding to the phone’ situation wasn’t always caused by a battery problem, a busy problem, but possibly them being in a dangerous situation.

She didn’t hear from them at all for half an hour (which, by the way, seemed like an entire hour), and they just called in like ‘Oh, hi, it all went well, we’re coming back soon’.

Oh, how she wanted to yell at them (which...she did) at this moment.

They were just there, calm as ever, as she was close to take the plates from the cabinet and smash them on the floor, so they clearly felt the anger all the way, it lasted a while before she could not yell.

Eventually, they still joke about it, but at least, it acts as a reminder to not let the mistake happen again.

After a brief moment of thinking, she just decided to return to the living room, not really in the mood to sleep anymore, it’s always stressful to see them go on cases. 

Especially when she has no idea what it’s even about, they just left in a hurry, and didn’t even have the time to talk a bit to reassure her, she just hopes that she’ll get to have a bit to call them.

She’s probably imagining stuff that won’t happen, and everything is going to be fine, she just can’t stop but worry after what happened with the previous cases.

*

*

Both of them were afraid that the car might crash on the way, they were told that it was local, but might have to go to another state, it kind of was...blurry.

They arrived around ten minutes later, thankfully. It would have been more like twenty with morning traffic and all of the joys of 9am rides. 

The main reason explaining why they were frightened about having a literal accident with the crash was y/n, they really didn’t like to be away knowing she was on her own.

Sure, she could protect herself, but, with all of the stuff that happened to their colleagues, their families, they couldn’t know in advance, hence, they wouldn’t even know at all if something would happen hundreds of miles away.

That’s what would get them stressed in most cases. That one was close to where they lived, but, at the same time, they couldn’t go there every minute because of the work, and also in case they happen to go to another state, all there is to do are phone calls, and hope she’ll be okay on her own.

Frequent work visits weren’t up either, they preferred her not to attend if a case was on, because of, again, all that happened, and security reasons.

As much as they wanted to just stay a bit more, other people needed their help and they happened to be the ones called to assist.

After rushing through the glass doors and walking in the direction of the conference room, only two members were missing, probably stuck in the traffic or called in in surprise like for them.

It didn’t take much for everyone to gather, in just a few minutes they had begun the briefing, which was quite short considering that not much evidence was there. But even if they happened to be limited, they were enough for them to have something to work on.

Once they had discussed a bit, a few orders were given as the one given a place to go exited the room, leaving the others in the bureau to work on what had been ordered to them as well.

Mainly everyone was less stressed, as they didn’t have to travel or anything, they could go straight to work and directly work which was a tad better than having to rush along with all of the directives that had to be done when boarding and all, which would cost a bit of time comparing to when the case was closer and only needed them to drive from a location to another.

But, the plane wasn’t ruled out yet, they couldn’t really know if they didn’t need to go somewhere else throughout the case, so, they just had to ‘enjoy’ their home-work moment. 

Not really ‘enjoy’, as...people had been killed, maybe on the work side for them, so, the ‘enjoy’ thing had to be kept to themselves and certainly couldn’t be said and heard by Hotch.

No one really wanted to upset him, he seemed upset enough when he stepped in the room, so...an inappropriate comment wasn’t up now, or even till the case was done.

*

*

Spencer and Luke have been the ones that had to exit the office to attend one of the scenes in order to meet the officers first present on the location, only a few minutes were necessary to be there, traffic wasn’t present in the roads they used for the ride thankfully.

This was always reassuring when they couldn’t allow themselves to take their sweet time, and in this case, even if they were only driving to the scene with only a few officers and evidence laying around, this wasn’t a reason to be slower than for another situation that requested immediate assistance before turning to dire.

More talking than observing stuff was done not long after they had arrived, presented themselves to the officers and made their way to the different evidences discovered.

Not a lot was to be seen, but each of the evidence was constructive enough to be discussed for long as they moved on a bit around the others, and possible history about the case and their possible witnesses, suspects, and everything that Spencer could spit out.

Facts included.

No matter how many times he’d do that, no one would expect it and would either, understand half of it, and kind of hesitate to ask for further explanation as they didn’t want to interrupt him, or just sit there as he’d deliver an essay.

This was funnier from everyone else’s point of view, at least the ones used to it, they liked reading the look on their faces. 

Even if it mostly happened in cases and no moment was to be found for fun, it still was something that’d quickly happen to brighten their mind before turning back to the ugly and dark stuff.

It isn’t always strict, they still happen to talk about ironic-ish stuff without making it sound offensive, but some situations are dark enough and certainly don’t need a fun comment to lighten the mood or something.

That’s why it’s better to think of the words about to be said, no one wants really to waste time for a stupid choice of words.

No one even noticed the time going by, they just talked about all that could be said from A to Z, and stood a bit outside as they briefly continued before Luke and Spencer headed back to the alley leading to the entry portal.

“Oh, I...didn’t even hear my phone, wait. Shit, I forgot to turn the silent mode off. Hotch’s going to kill me.” Spencer said, sighing as he walked further to take in the call. “Yeah. Oh, JJ?...I know, it was stupid and...what do you mean?” He asked, as the pitch of his voice was nothing but slightly alarming.

“What’s going on? Put it on speaker.” Luke asked, getting closer to the phone as Spencer displayed it in front of them.

“We just found out that there might be a potential...terrorist attack coming. We have no idea when it’s coming, and how important it is. We just know that it’s gonna happen at like...any moment.” JJ explained.

“Okay, normally, no offense- I would have thought it was a joke, but...it doesn’t really sound like one...anymore.” Luke admitted.

After a slight moment of confusion and panic, the phone call came to an end, as they just looked at each moment, not quite sure how to react, what to say, hence, even do.

“Um...in that situation, does y/n and the baby count as possible problems to count in? Because, even if they’re not involved in the case at all, they might be involved in the matter we just discussed over the phone. And I don’t think that I could...remain calm knowing they’re at risk...you know.” Spencer explained.

“Yeah, they might be.” Luke agreed. 

“Why does it have to be so...complicated? I really want to call her right now, but we can’t risk it. We could put them in danger before it even comes, that could worsen it.”

“We can’t let them, y/n doesn’t even know and won’t know until they discuss it and possibly do an announcement minutes after it could have begun. I don’t give a fuck if I get fired, I have to go. I can’t keep going with the case until they’re not somewhere safe.” Luke argued.

“Gosh, I...okay. You go, and make sure they’re okay, you do not let them by themselves until they’re somewhere really safe, even if y/n tries to play it stubbornly. Promise me that, you have to keep them safe, no matter what happens. I’ll find whatever Hotch can believe.”

“I promise, I can guarantee it to you.” Luke said, entering the car by the driver’s seat, not even wasting time to check around, he just turned the car on and began driving as fast as the car allowed him to.

They had to be okay.

*

*

Luke didn’t even care about counting the minutes,or whatever distance was between the scene to their place, because the potential twenty minutes ride had just turned to a thirteen-ish one, he doesn’t even think that he ever drove that faster than today.

Either him or the car would have ended with scratches if he didn’t take the time to think about being careful, it kind of was better to at least arrive in one piece to not stress her more than she would as no one could tell what was on.

Hell, they weren’t even supposed to be there until they could be told to in the first place.

They might end up with some problems, such as, a big talk, or in the worst case, a suspension, but, to be honest, none of them really had a fuck to give about it, not until they knew her and their child was okay.

Still trying to be careful, he parked the car in whatever space was free and seemed correct, and pushed the door of the building, going for the stairs as the elevator would be way too slow for his liking.

All of a sudden, the choice of settling at the 2nd floor wasn’t such a bad idea, in just a minute he stood in front of it, fidgeting with his keychain to find whatever key fit to the door.

That’s when he regretted putting so much stuff on it, he eventually found it, but as quick as he wanted to, nothing was going fast enough.

A rush of panic set itself in the whole place when he didn’t see them around, but both of them surprised the others when they faced each other.

“Gosh, you scared the hell out of me. What are you doing here? You barely left...five hours ago. Did the case miraculously end or what? Where’s Spencer?” Y/N catches her breath, holding her grip on the little girl.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t tell you, we have to go like...right now. Spencer will come later”

“What the hell is going on? You’re freaking me out. Is someone trying to kill me or what?”

“I still can’t tell you.” 

“Once all of this is done, you both owe me an explanation. It better be a good enough one.”

“I don’t have one yet, but I can guarantee you that I’m not pulling a prank on you, it’s serious enough that I had to rush here.”

“It better be. My heart is about to get the hell out of my chest.”

“Try to not have a heart attack, I promised Spencer to keep you safe, and even if he didn’t tell it...alive as well.”

“Easy to say, I have no idea what’s going on, and how dangerous it might be, as no one is capable of telling me how big I need to worry in order to possibly try to calm down if it’s not too bad.”

“It’s bad enough that none of us could wait until the end of the case, that’s all you need to know.”

“Okay, so I do need to worry, a lot. Right?”

“...you might, but not too much, don’t want you to have an attack, please.” 

“I’ll try.” Y/N admitted, as the same scenario that happened this morning repeated itself; they both hurried to get what was needed in a big enough bag, and after everything else was checked, he made his way back to the car with them.

After exchanging brief words, Luke started the car again, speeding up to the location, while trying not to cause an accident. He really had to be more careful this time, as he wasn’t alone at all.

The two most important persons to his eyes were with him, and not one single scratch was to be on them.

Not even a two millimeters one, nothing.

Even if Spencer wouldn’t have made him promise to keep them safe (which would have happened to matter what anyway), he didn’t need to, he was ready to protect them, even if from a bee flying in the room.

This example might be ridiculous, but he doesn’t need someone to tell him, he still does it when there’s absolutely no danger, even if there might be one in this case.

He just hopes Spencer’s safe as well.

*

*

What he didn’t give a single fuck about this morning had been bugging him off more than anyhting during the ride that seemed like an endless one rather than a quick ten minutes one. 

Traffic decided to mess up with him, and it wasn’t like he could just go and tell to the car blocking his way ‘Hurry up, a potential terrorist attack is coming’, because he wasn’t even supposed to be out in the street, he should be with his team and whatever people they called back in also whatever place they were at.

Normally, he should not be here, in a car with his partner and kid.

But he couldn’t leave them by themselves, waiting for a stupid announcement that would probably come too late along with it getting complicated for Luke and Spencer to reach out to both of them.

He didn’t care at all about getting fired. 

If y/n, his kid, and Spencer were safe, he didn’t care about the damn consequences, whatever Hotch had to say.

None of them could stand there while knowing they weren’t safe and sound.

They’d both have to come up with something to make up all of the panic that they caused, but the only thing she needs to know is that this action was necessary for their security.

...which wasn’t something she really wanted to hear, she was...really panicked.

Her face didn’t actually show it, as she didn’t want to worry her daughter and have to comfort two people, but when she doesn’t know what’s going on, it’s impossible for her to stay calm.

She doesn’t care about the whole, ‘don’t panic, take deep breaths, it’ll relax you.’, because the only thing you’ll get back after saying would be anything but a ‘Oh, thanks, I feel way better.”

They already did that with her, and...it didn’t go as well as they both planned.

It only got her more upset.

“Don’t you dare say the whole ‘deep breaths’ shit, I am not doing that. You know it better than me.” Y/N spat.

“...I’m aware of it, don’t worry.” 

“Can you at least inform me about Spencer? Since you can’t even tell me why you jumped in the apartment and why you brought me here, at least knowing if he’s okay would be...nice?”

“I can’t tell you either, because I don’t even know, I haven’t heard from him since I drove from the scene to our place.” Luke admitted.

“This is...great.” Y/N softly rocked the child in her arms, stroking her hair as she made a few noises. “It’s okay, shh.” 

“I can take her if you want.”

“It’s okay, thanks.” She gently answered, slightly raising her brow as the sound of a notification made itself heard easily. 

Luke quickly took the phone out of his pocket, turning it back on as he walked a bit further, still keeping his face visible to hers.

That was a mistake to do that.

His eyes revealed that the message was nothing but reassuring.

“This doesn’t sound good, tell me what’s going on. Luke.”

“Nothing, it was just….uh, a stupid twitter notification.”

“Who the hell reacts to a fucking twitter post that way? Tell me what’s going on, or I swear to god that I’m coming to take that phone from your hands right now.”

“Y/N, just let me explain-” He said, trying to get her to calm down, but she quickly set down her child on the couch, taking the phone from him before sitting on the couch, setting her on her lap.

[Prentiss]

“Alvez, where the hell are you??” read - 10:02

“There’s been an explosion somewhere.” read - 10:03

“Call me ASAP” read - 10:03

Y/N stared at the phone for a minute, staring back at Luke.

“Um, care to explain? I hope it’s not a joke.”

“...it’s not.”

“Where the hell is Spencer? He should have gone here with you.”

“I know, it’s just...complicated. I wasn’t even supposed to be here myself. Just try to calm down, he’ll call.”

“There’s no way I’m staying calm until I’m not seeing a genius standing right in front of me.”

“I happen to be in the same boat, I have no idea when he’s going to be able to come.”

“You better find out, because I’m not going to be able to hold that attack long.”

“Me neither.” 

He couldn’t even find the courage and right time to say that he had to promise Spencer to take care of them if he didn't make it home.

How could he even think of that? 

Spencer not coming back? It couldn’t happen.

He had to walk right through that door, safe and sound.

How could he ever think of having to announce to her that she wouldn’t see him again?

He couldn’t.

He had to be fine.

Spencer had to…

The loud ringing interrupted his panicked thoughts, sending a sudden rush of fear as he took the phone back.

Was it going to be Emily calling to say Spencer was hurt? 

Was it going to be Spencer calling to say everything is okay?

Please don’t let it be the first option, please let it be Spencer, it has to be him.

[INCOMING CALL - SPENCE]

If God even exists, he swore that he’d thank him a million times for that.

“Luke, I- I’m sorry I couldn’t call earlier, it was just...a mess. Is everyone alright? Please don’t tell me someone got hurt on the way.” 

“Is that Spencer?” She asked, receiving a quick nod from Luke before he had resumed the conversation.

Turns out none of them will be having a heart attack today.

*

*

After Spencer arrived, (as expected), y/n both had them sit down on the bed, while she was (nicely) yelling at them for...quite a while as long as they can recall.

“What the hell were you both thinking? Risking literal national security? What is that...madness?” 

“We’re sorry, really. We didn’t mean to...cause that much trouble.” Luke exclaimed.

“That much trouble? You could have gotten fired.”

“We know that, we just...loved you and just wanted you to be safe even if...we could have gotten fired.” Spencer said.

“I love you too, but if you ever do it again, I swear to god, your superior and the whole FBI, that I will kill you myself, okay?”

“Okay...we’re sorry, again.” Spencer apologized, as Luke kind of repeated what he had said.

“Stop being sorry! You guys have no fucking idea at how angry I am at you two.”

“I mean...it’s kind of romantic in a way, you were worried and now you’re-”

“Luke if you don’t shut your mouth right now-” 

“I shouldn’t have told that.”

“Yeah, no.” Y/N sighed, putting her hand on her forehead, firmly keeping the other around the baby. “I just...why did you decide to stay back there? Who the hell was...going to do the damn taxes Spencer? We don’t know anything about it!”

“...the taxes? Why are we-” Spencer looks at Luke, confused.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t know anything about that.”

“Why are you confused about the taxes? That’s why we married in the first place! You knew how to do the damn taxes!”

“I mean- It’s kind of easy...to me.” He admitted.

“Well it’s not to us!” She stage-whispers. “How could you think that it was smart to do that?”

“I didn’t think about the taxes first.”

“You should have!” She exclaimed, gently tapping on her baby’s back. “How the hell do you think we could have done them? I truly wonder if you really have a 187 IQ sometimes, because right now, it was more of a 60.”

“...60’s a bit low, maybe 90.” Spencer quietly said.

“No, trust me, it wasn’t close to that, I’m being…” Y/N stopped for a bit, holding back tears. “...nice with 60.” She continued, as she resumed her motions on her daughter.

“Okay; I did...not really think about it.” He agreed, suddenly getting interrupted by the baby, who had just let out a pretty...loud burp that kind of, gave the envy to laugh at the three of them; at the moment. 

“I’ll punch you right in the face if one of your laughs. I am...certainly not in the mood.” She warned.

“We won’t.” They both answered.

“Great. Now I have to change!” She yells, exhausted. “This is the worst day ever. I really like this top too.” She says, getting a bit tearful as the baby moves a bit, getting comfortable in her arms.

“Here, I’m gonna take her for a bit.” Spencer gently takes her from y/n’s arms, as she sniffles. “There should be one hoodie in my bag, can you get it Luke? I left it on the couch.”

“Sure.” Luke answers, as he briefly kisses his cheek, doing the same gesture to y/n, as he wipes her tears from her face before leaving the room.

“I’m sorry, I just...It’s been a tiring day. I just want to get home Spencer.” Y/N explains.

“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, we’re going back.” He reassured

“Are we going back?” She asked.

“Sure, sure. We are. We’re gonna get you changed, and then we’ll head back.”

“But, what about your work?”

“It’s okay. I...briefly got a talk. But, we’ll see later. Let’s get back home first.” Spencer explained, as he left the room along with them.

After a few words, Luke had helped her get changed, quickly checked on the baby, and once they had gathered the stuff left there, they all headed back to the car that had stayed in front of the building, starting it a moment after.

“I’m sorry about what I said. I...I didn’t mean it.” Y/N apologized.

“It’s okay, we understand. You don’t have to-” Luke answered as she cut her off.

“I know, it’s just that...I was really angry because...I was kind of, trying to process the fact that I could have...easily lost you both today. And, I wouldn’t have known what to do if Hotch had called to announce me that.”

“It’s okay, we’re here now. We know we scared the hell out of you, took a lot of risks, but, we’re all fine.” Spencer interrupted.

“I know, I’m really glad. I love you guys.” 

“We love you too.” 

*

*

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[iatethepomegranate]

Just a fic about Caleb buying a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, and coping with that kind of change and newfound stability (and becoming Professor Widogast). Angst and fluff are at war in this fic.

Content warnings: Panic attacks, Caleb's backstory

Chapter Summary: Yasha, Essek and Caduceus hit the garden. Caleb's meeting with Professor Alphira takes an unexpected turn, leaving him floundering. But the Nein come for him when he needs them, and they help him find his feet. Then they go shopping.

Notes: Chapter title is from "Venus" by Sleeping At Last.

****

Chapter 3: I was a billion little pieces til you pulled me into focus

Yasha got her garden started the next morning, with Essek and Caduceus helping her. Caleb watched them for some time, enjoying the quiet start to the day, before he headed deeper into the centre of the city to meet Alphira.

Caleb had known this coffee shop when it was a smutty bookshop he used to frequent with Astrid and Wulf during their explorations of the city. Alphira was seated by the front window, and waved to him through the glass. Caleb checked his surroundings, not bothering to be subtle about it, and stepped inside. A lute player sat in the corner, playing soft music.

“I have a confession, Mr Widogast,” Alphira said as Caleb pulled out a chair to sit.

He froze, leaning on the back of it. “...ja?”

“Do you remember Professor Bettina Weber?”

“Professor of Transmutation. I remember her.” Caleb had gotten along with her perfectly fine when he was a student, but he had been set on Evocation at the time. And then Trent had gotten his hands on him and ruined any chance of having a good relationship with any teacher at the Academy. “Why do you ask?”

“I mentioned your old name to her,” said Alphira. “She asked to come along. Is that all right?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow, watching Alphira hide her fidgeting hands beneath the table. “You are not a good liar, Professor.”

Alphira sighed. “I apologise. I should have been upfront. We intended to speak with you together, but we were not sure how you would…” She waved her hands around, evidently unable to conjure the remainder of the sentence. “Archmage Beck knows we are meeting, if that helps.”

“This is not the best start to our friendship, Professor.” Caleb forcibly relaxed his shoulders and slid very carefully onto his chair. “Do what you will.”

Alphira pulled a coil of copper wire from the component pouch on her belt and whispered into it. “Bettina, you can come in. He’s not happy, but he hasn’t walked out.”

A few moments passed, and then an older human woman, greyer than Caleb remembered, stepped through the doorway, setting off the bell. She sat in the third seat at the table.

“Guten morgen, Professor,” Caleb said, not bothering to hide the steel in his tone. He did not need to cower before anyone in this city anymore, save perhaps for King Dwendal. He was done tolerating the convoluted bullshit of the Assembly. Today, at least.

“Guten morgen, Bren.” Bettina at least had the grace to look sheepish. “I apologise we were not upfront with you. Ah, I did not check which name you prefer. Bren or Caleb?”

“I don’t mind.” Caleb did mind. More than he usually did. He couldn’t tell whether Bettina’s slip had been intentional or not, and that irritated him.

“Caleb, then.”

Caleb felt a strange wash of relief, not unlike how he had felt when Yudala Fon had come to the same conclusion.

Alphira flagged down a server and each of them ordered a cup of black coffee. “My treat,” she said.

“Danke,” Caleb replied. They sat quietly at a moment, looking at each other, and Caleb’s irritation swelled. “Forgive my impatience, Professors. Why did you ask me here?”

“Soltryce Academy needs a new Professor of Transmutation,” said Alphira. “Bettina intends to retire in a few years.”

“I am not a qualified teacher,” Caleb said. “I have no experience.” Well that was not entirely true; he did have experience teaching individuals. And he had helped Veth with the first iteration of her adventurers’ summer camp. “Well, no experience that a teaching institution would consider of benefit.”

“Archmage Beck put your name forward,” said Bettina. “The other Archmages were quick to agree with her. The Martinet himself wants you on the staff.”

“The Martinet wants a lot of things,” Caleb said flatly. This was too good to be true. It had to be. He could not afford to get his hopes up about this, even as one of his oldest dreams was presented to him on a silver platter.

The coffees arrived. Caleb wrapped his hands around his mug, letting the warmth chase the morning chill from his fingers. Bettina slowly stirred sugar into her coffee, chuckling softly.

“I know he offered you Astrid’s job,” she said. “Not many people say no to him. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.” She looked up from her coffee, smiling at him fondly in a way that sent Caleb into a state of utter confusion and mild panic. “Of the three of you, I would not have expected you to be the one to confound him like that. Well done.”

“I’m not here to fuck around,” Caleb responded, not wholly by design.

“Good. We need more people like you in the Academy.” She was working hard to disarm him, and Caleb was doing all he could to hold on tight to his distrust.

“We don’t want something like Trent Ikithon happening again,” Alphira said. “Archmage Beck is of the mind that you are well-placed to prevent that. Bettina and I are inclined to agree.”

That was a major reason why Caleb had chosen to remain in Rexxentrum, but it did rankle him that it was expected of him, after everything he had already been through. He did not like the bitterness that rose in him. Alphira and Bettina were offering him the power to keep children like him safe like he desperately wanted. And it was unfair to assume they would throw him to the sharks and leave him there.

Caleb took a deep breath and asked, “And where do you two fit in?”

“I have decades of teaching experience,” said Bettina. “My knowledge is at your disposal. I seem to recall you once told me you wanted to teach… when you were fifteen, I think. You were still new to the Academy at the time.” Before Trent got involved went unspoken.

“Did you know what Trent was doing?” Caleb asked. He had to know. He needed more information before Bettina’s persistent kindness wore down his defences and either made him meek or cruel. And if he sensed even the slightest inkling that she had known anything and didn’t lift a finger to help, he would walk out in a heartbeat. There were enough people associated with the Assembly who clearly had some idea and did nothing. He did not need to drink coffee with one of them.

“No,” Bettina replied. “I understand why you needed to ask, and I admit Ikithon always made me uncomfortable, but I genuinely had no idea he was abusing his students.” Her gaze bore into Caleb’s, mouth downturned and eyes sad. “I’m sorry. I wish I could have helped you.”

Caleb had to break eye contact, before he broke instead. He sipped his coffee, with shaky hands, and composed himself.

“We were at his trial,” said Alphira matter-of-factly. Caleb could not express how grateful he was that she kept emotion out of this. “Most of the professors attended. We were shocked, but not exactly surprised. He was always a creepy bastard.”

“We believe Alphira came close to being recruited,” said Bettina, quiet but far less intense than she had been a moment ago. “She’s a talented Evocation wizard. Trent had a few meetings with her parents, but she has a large, close-knit family spread across the Empire.”

“He realised you had too many connections,” Caleb said, and found his voice was steady. “He couldn’t isolate you. Too much time and effort, and he had many other… projects..”

“I believe you are correct,” said Alphira. “I came to the academy just after you had, uh, left. There were rumours about what happened to you, but nobody really knew for sure.”

“I take it the trial cleared that up for you.”

“Ja.” Alphira sighed. “Look. I am sorry I did not handle this meeting better. This is my fault. I wasn’t sure you would come if you knew one of your old teachers would be here. It was wrong of me to take that choice from you.”

Caleb hadn’t survived this long without learning how to get a read on people, and he felt confident he was reading her correctly. She seemed genuinely remorseful. “I will consider the offer.”

“Good,” said Bettina. “Of all my possible replacements, I am most confident you will do the right thing by the students.”

She was laying it on pretty thick, but it emboldened Caleb to speak a few things he had been toying with, in the event he did have an opportunity like this.

“If I were to accept the position, I have a few demands,” said Caleb. “I want the Academy to set up a proper system to report abuse. We also need the staff to be trained how not to abuse their fucking students, as that seems rather difficult for some of them. We need mental health support, and a better system for older or returning students to get an education. Most of all, every student who walks through those doors must be taught the ethics of magic and research, and understand their responsibilities to use their magical and social power responsibly. Most of the staff also need that lesson.”

“We want those things, too,” said Alphira. “We’ll pass them on to Archmage Beck and see what we can do. Unfortunately, we may have to push for some of those for an extended period of time.”

“We will work the ethics lessons into our transmutation classes,” said Bettina. “At this stage, I would suggest ethics remain integrated into pre-existing magic classes so students cannot avoid it. At least until we have established a culture of understanding around these things.”

“Can I count on your help?” Caleb asked. “Both of you?”

“We will help you,” said Alphira. “I would not drag you into this without offering assistance.”

“Danke,” Caleb replied, softer than he had intended. The fact she had thought it a foregone conclusion that he would have their help in this…

Trust was not easy for Caleb. And the trust he had extended had been broken many, many times. This was a lot.

Caleb finished his coffee and bid Bettina and Alphira farewell. And then he ducked behind the coffee shop, leaned against the wall, braced his hands on his knees, and tried very hard not to hyperventilate.

It was not going well. His hands shook as he fumbled for his copper wire, muscle memory kicking in to settle his fingers as he cast Sending. He decided the recipient at the last second. It had to be someone with some knowledge of the city, but most of his friends didn’t know the city that well. But there was one person who walked past here on her way to work.

“Beauregard. It’s Caleb.” He was out of breath, on the verge of hysterics one way or another. “Behind coffee shop. Come get me? Can’t breathe. Brain bullshit. I need you. Please.”

Beauregard’s voice filtered into his mind immediately. “Caleb? Ah, fuck. We’re coming. Hang in there. Don’t move. I’m bringing… lots of us. I don’t know. You’re okay.” She was panting now. “We’re running. Be there soon.”

Twenty-five words exactly. Nice. It distracted Caleb for about half a second, before he couldn’t breathe again.

Maybe if Caleb knew exactly what had sent him into a spiral, he could have handled it on his own. But he genuinely wasn’t sure, and his brain wasn’t working in any helpful way. It could have been any number of things, or maybe all of them at once. All he could do was bend over and try very hard to breathe. It was going poorly.

So on top of everything, he was frustrated, which did not help in the slightest.

Time was liquid. He was aware of its passing, and he could still count the seconds, minutes. He always counted things. It was one of the few things he could do when his brain felt like a handful of broken glass. And even if he lost count of everything else, he could still count time.

He knew it had been five minutes. He wasn’t sure if it felt longer or shorter than that, despite his knowledge of objective reality. His breaths were a little steadier, but not by much. He was still on his feet, but barely.

He felt dizzy.

“Hey, dude.” Beauregard’s face slid between the ground and Caleb’s gaze. “We’re here.”

Caleb’s arm felt like the bones had fallen out, but somehow he managed to grab her shoulder and squeeze. Beauregard put her hand over his, squeezing back. She gently pushed him upright until he rested his head against the brick behind him. He lifted his face to the sky, breathing deeply. It was already easier, knowing she was here.

“Caleb,” came Veth’s voice, hesitant. A small hand laced their fingers together. “What is it? What happened?”

Caleb’s voice game out even huskier than usual. “Not sure.”

“It just happened?”

Caleb nodded.

Veth squeezed his hand. “Can you walk? We’ll get you home.”

“Caduceus is making tea,” came Jester’s voice. “And we’ll give you lots of hugs if you want them.”

“Let’s hold off on that, all right?” said Fjord. “Let him breathe for a bit.”

Caleb dragged his eyes from the sky to take in who exactly had come. Beauregard, Veth, Jester, Fjord, Yasha. Everyone except Caduceus, who had remained behind to make tea, and Essek, who had to make a calculated risk every time he left the house. Caleb was glad he hadn’t come. He would have felt much worse if Essek had put himself in danger over this.

Yasha stepped forward, offering her arm. “Let’s get you home, okay?”

Caleb pushed off the wall, his legs far too wobbly, and leaned on Yasha. They walked home. Fjord took Caleb’s other side, with Jester bouncing ahead as an obvious distraction. Veth and Beauregard stayed closer, just in front of him. Caleb remembered the Nein surrounding him in Castle Ungebroch, trying to shield him from Trent. Remembering that did not help him calm down in the slightest.

He pressed his face against Yasha’s shoulder, trusting her to guide him, until he could compose himself. He loved them. A whole lot. And they showed him every day how much they loved him.

Fjord took his other hand. “You’re all right, Caleb. We got you.”

****

As soon as they were home, Jester made Caleb a blanket nest on the floor and shoved him in it. Then came Caduceus with chamomile tea. Essek emerged from the kitchen behind him, feet firmly on the floor, and sat on the couch behind Caleb, quietly brushing and braiding his hair.

The rest of the Nein sat on the floor around him. Veth wiggled into the blanket nest with him.

“That was one intense cup of coffee,” said Fjord. “How are you feeling?”

Caleb took a tentative sip of the tea; it wasn’t too hot. He took another sip. “Better.”

“What happened in there?’ asked Beau. “Do I have to murder Alphira?”

“Nein.” Caleb worked through half the tea quicker than Caduceus had probably intended for him. “She surprised me. I did not take it well.”

“Surprised you how?” asked Jester. “Was it a good surprise?”

Caleb shrugged. “Probably. She… misjudged. Invited my old Transmutation professor without telling me, until I was already there. Put me on the back foot. I should have handled it better. Thought I did, until after the meeting. Forgot how to breathe. My old professor was… she didn’t know what Trent was doing, and she seemed upset that she couldn’t help us. That was… a lot. I don’t know if that’s the reason I lost it… but I’m sure it didn’t help.” He closed his eyes and Essek gently tugged on the hair at his temples; he liked the feeling. “Beauregard, did you know Soltryce Academy wanted to hire me?”

“WHAT!?” shrieked Jester; Caleb flinched involuntarily. “Sorry, Caleb.”

“Astrid told me she Archmages were really fucking keen on you, yeah,” said Beauregard. “Did they send Alphira to do it?”

“And my old Transmutation professor, ja.”

“Do you like your old professor?”

“She never did anything horrible to me.”

“That’s really not an answer.”

Caleb shrugged. “I didn’t have time to establish a relationship. I wanted to be an Evocation wizard, and then Trent ruined my life.”

“We can still go kill him if you want,” Yasha said, with complete sincerity.

Beauregard swore under her breath. “I’m sorry, Caleb. I should’ve told you.”

“This is not your fault.”

“No, but maybe you would’ve… I don’t know. I feel bad.”

Caleb sighed. Opened his eyes. Stared hard at her until she looked at him. “Beauregard. Shit like this happens sometimes, even when everything is fine. We all know who is responsible. Please be angry at the right people. I trust you. You know how much that means.”

Essek’s fingernails grazed the back of his neck as he pulled Caleb’s hair into a ponytail, and Caleb had to stifle a moan. Even if it wasn’t a sexual moan (this time), the Nein would have too much fun with it. Or maybe he should have let it happen, just to make Beauregard laugh at him. Too late now.

“Oh, Caleb!” said Jester. “Is that your orgasm face?”

“No,” Essek said, with far more certainty than he had likely intended. If he had intended to speak at all.

Beauregard clapped both hands on her mouth to stifle a bark of laughter.

Jester grinned, and Caleb knew she was doing this very much on purpose to lighten the mood. “Oh, I bet you know what his orgasm face looks like, Essek!”

Caleb could almost hear Essek’s eye-roll. Essek calmly tucked Caleb’s two side braids into the ponytail, running his fingers through the ponytail itself to loosen any remaining tangles.

“I appreciate your keen interest in this area, Jester,” Essek said primly. “I am afraid I am not the type to--oh, what is the phrase in common?--kiss and tell.” He paused, but there was something the way he held his breath that indicated he was not nearly finished. “If you wish to find out for yourself, I would recommend you ask him nicely. If Fjord does not mind, of course. Or perhaps you could invite him along. I believe Caleb has experience in that area.”

Caleb knew his face was redder than his hair, because every part of his flashed burning hot. He had never actually told Essek he had a crush on Jester, or that he thought Fjord was hot, and Caleb was pretty fucking certain Essek would not have gone there if he had known. Caleb may have offhandedly mentioned his experience with threesomes, though.

Luckily, the Nein were distracted by Essek making possibly the crassest joke he had made in his life, instead of Caleb blushing so hard his skin was about to start sizzling.

“Holy fuck, dude,” Beauregard breathed.

“Who are you and what have you done with our Essek?” said Veth, waving a crossbow bolt in the air. “Tell us quick: what is your favourite food?”

“Well, I can assure you it is not soup.”

“I knew it! Essek’s an imposter!”

“Caleb, what did you do to him?” said Beauregard. “I know you’ve got some serious game, but what the shit.”

Jester, in the meantime, had collapsed on the floor, cackling uncontrollably at the whole thing. Fjord’s face was in his hands, and the tips of his ears were red. Yasha was snickering quietly. Caduceus calmly poured Caleb more tea.

“What can I say?” Caleb said, pretending he wasn’t burning up from embarrassment. “I’m a wizard magnet.”

Beauregard groaned loudly. “We know, Caleb. We know you’ve fucked more than anyone in this group except me. I hate this. I hate that I know this about you.”

“That is very sad, Beauregard. I was a teenager the last time I was in a serious relationship.”

“Yeah, awkward pubescent Caleb had more game than most of this fully-grown group put together. You’re not helping.”

Jester recovered enough from her laughter to sit up, still snickering. “I bet you were really handsome, Caleb.”

“Of course he was!” Veth screeched. “He’s always handsome.”

“I was a good talker,” said Caleb. “That helped.” He had never shared how he, Astrid and Wulf had come together romantically, and it would definitely kill the mood to tell them it was because they were locked in a freezing cold tower and had to huddle together for warmth. He kept that to himself.

“You’re still a good talker when you want to be,” said Beauregard. “It’s annoying.”

“It’s very impressive,” Yasha added.

“You’re very charming, Cay,” said Veth. “Fjord could learn a thing or two.”

“Fjord does just fine on his own,” Caleb said, because she was starting to exaggerate again. Her faith in him was eternally lovely, but he didn’t like it when it ran the risk of putting others in the Nein down.

Essek kept running his fingers through Caleb’s ponytail and adjusting the braids. There was no practical purpose to it. They both just liked it.

The room settled after the chaos of Essek displaying once again his unique sense of humour: fucking with the Nein. Beauregard crashed the hardest, already looking miserable again.

Caleb threw a cushion at her. “Stop it. I called you for a reason. I am not upset with you.”

Beauregard pressed her hands over the entirety of her face and screamed into them. Caleb threw another cushion. And then he telekinetically pulled them back and threw them at her repeatedly with magic. Childish? Yes. Effective? Also yes.

It was satisfying to watch Beauregard get annoyed and use her monk shit to snatch flying cushions from the air.

“Okay, fine! I don’t feel bad for you anymore!” And she launched herself at him, smacking him repeatedly with the cushions until he curled into a ball and begged for mercy.

****

Caleb was a little tired from his episode earlier, but not so tired that he would dare miss out on furniture shopping when Jester and Caduceus were so excited about it. He trusted them to balance each other out and come up with a good aesthetic after the outfits they had procured for the party in Nicodranas… where they ended up kidnapping a disguised Essek and forcing him to confess his sins. And Beauregard was high on True Sight. What a fucking night that had been.

Beauregard and Fjord headed out to the Cobalt Soul Archive to retrieve Kingsley from Nicodanas; he’d never been to the Rexxentrum markets before. It gave Caleb a few extra minutes to recover, though in truth he was as okay as he was going to be.

Now that he could think clearly again, he was able to dissect what had happened. The shock of seeing Professor Weber after so long, and with little warning, had rattled him from the beginning. And, of course, any talk of Trent ran the risk of triggering him, but then Bettina had expressed more remorse for not helping him than anyone else in the Assembly ever had the grace to do. Ludinus was notoriously full of shit, and Caleb had come to expect that from anyone even tangentially involved with the Assembly (except perhaps Pumat).

Caleb was not used to anyone in that place treating him with simple, unfiltered human compassion. Even Astrid and Wulf were a little detached from the pain they had suffered together, and what they had been through separately. He knew that detachment was a matter of survival for them, and he did not resent them for it.

Bettina’s raw grief for his suffering had affected him far more deeply than he could ever have anticipated.

Essek sat on the couch with Caleb’s head in his lap, playing with the baby hairs that had already escaped his ponytail, while the Nein prepared to head out. “You look tired,” he said softly.

“This morning was a lot. I’ll be all right.”

“Fine, but I am coming with you.”

“Essek.” Caleb had taken this tone with him many times in Aeor. It meant Essek, what the fuck? It had taken a lot for Caleb to say his name like that, given his own notorious lack of impulse control around magic items. Caleb had never gotten his hands on that fucking emerald. He was still bitter about it. But he was finding a new use for the tone, because Essek was normally a cautious person, except when he felt the people he loved needed him. Caleb especially.

“I am safer in a group than I would be here alone.” Essek smiled ruefully. “Besides, I have chosen a disguise already. You should not let my brilliance go to waste.”

“You make a solid argument.”

“I know.” Essek smirked. “You are, however, welcome to tell me how brilliant I am.”

Veth was on the floor nearby, slowly copying a few of Caleb’s first level spells into her own spellbook. “Is this how wizards flirt?”

“The part we do in front of other people, ja,” said Caleb.

Jester, lying on her stomach on the other side of the room, with her sketchbook, piped up. “What about the secret flirting that you don’t let us see?”

“We mostly discuss complex existential matters,” Essek replied.

“And dissect each other’s breakdowns,” Caleb muttered, not entirely meaning to voice it but not trying particularly hard to restrain himself. Well, it was out in the world now. May as well keep digging. “We have a lot of material.”

Yasha popped her head out of the kitchen. “That sounds very intense.”

“Yeah,” said Veth, “I just tell Yeza he has a nice ass and we get down to business.”

“Each to their own,” Essek said mildly, casting prestidigitation on Caleb’s hair to smooth it down after his fussing.

The door flew open, and Caleb sat bolt upright before Kingsley strutted inside in a way that was a little too close to Mollymauk for Caleb to handle in his current state. But he was used to it by now. It didn’t overtake him like it may have months ago.

“I can’t believe you almost went shopping without me,” Kingsley said, his tail swishing to slap Beauregard in the face. She batted it away from her.

“Ugh, we should’ve left you in the smutty book shop where we found you.”

“Find anything good?” asked Jester, taking the words right out of Caleb’s mouth.

Kingsley shrugged. “How the fuck would I know?”

“I would bring you to the one in Rexxentrum and show you,” said Caleb, “but they sadly turned it into a coffee shop.”

“Come on, Caleb,” said Jester. “This city is huge. There has to be another one. Ooh, you could ask Astrid next time you see her!”

Kingsley snickered at that.

“What’s so funny?”

“Astrid. Really.”

“Hey, Caleb’s really into smut,” said Jester. “He had to learn it from somewhere.”

“I am leaving this conversation,” said Caleb, heading for the door. “Are you coming?”

“Maybe if you find me some good smut, Magic Man.” Kingsley’s tail whipped around Caleb’s wrist, just for a second. Every inhabitant of that body had flirted with Caleb at some point. It was familiar, in a way Caleb found more comforting than most of Kingsley’s Molly-like mannerisms.

“Okay, who the fuck taught Kingsley about sex,” Beauregard grumbled as the rest of the Nein filed out of the house.

“He asked,” Fjord replied, his voice shooting up an octave as it did when he panicked.

Veth snorted. “Listen, King. When two people love each other very much…”

“Sometimes more than two,” Caleb added.

“Or sometimes when you love yourself very much,” said Veth.

Kingsley didn’t pay much heed to Veth’s final addition, dancing up to Caleb’s side and giving him an eyebrow. “Oh, that sounds like a story. Any advice?”

“Don’t trauma-bond and end up in a codependent relationship,” Caleb replied. “The sex is not worth it.”

“I mean, Astrid and Wulf are pret-ty hot,” said Jester.

“Ja, like putting your hand in an open flame.”

Beauregard slid up to Caleb’s other side. “Sometimes you worry me, man.”

“I am officially asking Caleb for relationship advice in the future,” said Kingsley. “I don’t know much, but I know I’d rather ask a man who knows what not to do.”

Caleb didn’t know what to say to that, so he circled back to the original topic. “I will ask Wulf about the smut shop next time I see him.” Wulf was just as awkward as Caleb most of the time. He only seemed smooth because he was built like a brick shithouse and had a deep voice. It would be less complicated than trying to ask Astrid. He wasn’t even sure Wulf read smut anymore. Or if Caleb wanted to know something like that about an ex he absolutely should not touch again.

Maybe they could just go to Zadash instead. Avoid the conversation entirely. Next time, maybe.

He kept walking towards the market.

#i'm both simultaneously sorry and not sorry for essek's joke in this chapter because i find it very funny and i don't know why #caleb widogast #critical role #shadowgast #fanfiction #my fics #the pomegranate's professor widogast fic #cr2

[bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture]

Horikoshi: This will probably not be super popular, but it’ll be fun!

Us: Oh, well that sounds nice!

Us, 290 chapters later: This Isn’t Fun Anymore Horikoshi

Horikoshi: :)

Anyways, welcome to the beginning of - hopefully - a long term and engaging project. I am basically aware of all of canon, and am up to date with the manga, but I haven’t actually read from the beginning of the series, and I’ve only watched the series up to the Deku v Todo fight in the sports festival. However, I’ve been curious as to how the manga portrays stuff that I’ve seen in anime gif form, and so I figured, hey, make this a project!

If you have questions or anything, the ask box is open for now. Meanwhile, I am going to head into the first chapter proper!

[No. 1 - Izuku Midoriya: Origin]

Wow, you’d almost think this kid would grow up to be a villain or something, with that kind of attitude, huh? No way that this kind of attitude would ever come to bite him in the ass and force him to reevaluate his entire character and kickstart his character development.

(Before you say anything, I like Katsuki as a character, but DAMN did he have to do a lot of growing up. I suppose when one is at the bottom, the only way to go is up… unless you have a pickaxe.)

One thing I actually noticed right away, and I dunno how much it’s used in other manga (seeing as I currently am not reading any other manga and the last ones I read were… a long while ago…) is the shape of the text boxes in order to convey emotion! It’s actually hella neat and a little detail I wouldn’t think about adding if I were in his position (not that I can draw all that well, but that’s not my point). You can practically hear the warbling in Izuku’s tone and the rougher edges in Katsuki’s!

(Also, question for the English sub while we’re at it, why the fuck does Katsuki sound like he’s a goddamned adult when he’s fourteen. What the fuck.)

Interesting little thing here, Katsuki not actually using his quirk here against Izuku; his hand is trailing smoke from his explosion, but it’s not a direct burn wound. Not that he should be doing this at all, but with the number of fics I see where Katsuki literally gives Izuku second or third degree burns, I think this is a reminder that canon Katsuki has some modicum of restraint, even this early.

Before I forget, hello winged kid who definitely has no plot significance whatsoever. No siree.

(If you are new to the manga/show and are reading this as among your first introductions to the fandom, first off, I am so sorry. Secondly, expect me to be… definitely making a lot of sarcastic quips to things in the future.)

Onto the second/third page, which is supposed to be a full spread, but is split up into two pages on the online reading site. RIP, but I will not complain about free access to the whole manga. 

Lookit this green bean. I love him so much. I can’t wait for him to suffer.

Izuku: wait, what?

Anyways, a few things to note:

Who the fuck is this guy? I looked into the wiki but he apparently doesn’t warrant a page or even a mention as one of the background faces of the series, but look at that fucking claw, man! And those boots and jets! He’s very obviously themed after a baseball catcher, so I’m going to guess that he has some kind of quirk that deals with either drawing projectiles to him, or perhaps in throwing projectiles… in either case, it’d be something like Snipe’s quirk, so maybe this is his less howdy-happy sibling.

Oh right, the chapter. The other heroes we see on the scene in this two-page spread are Death Arms, Air Jet, and Kamui Woods. 

Also, something I want to point out that I’m sure others have but just struck me while looking at this spread - multiple people are recording / taking pictures of this. I wonder if part of the reason for the villain industry to be as strong as it is is because the villains, even if they know they’ll lose, still get their own sort of fame in being in the news? That… might explain a lot about how there can be enough villains to even run an entire damn industry.

(Well, that and a lot of sociopolitical commentary on BNHA society, but we don’t need to get into that now. Maybe wait two hundred or so chapters first.)

Not gonna lie, I had to double take because I was like ‘wait, what is Ochako doing here?’ but then I realized it was just a random civilian; she doesn’t have those side bangs Ochako does. But now I almost wonder what sort of world we could have had, if they’d met a bit earlier.

Onto the fifth page (fourth is just a filler page, nothing on it), and we get treated to this gem:

Tag yourself I’m the guy who’s slackjawed because his kid is fucking glowing.

The first four examples of quirks shown in this flashback are the luminescence, telekinesis, ice, and that flame-headed(?) mutation. Of them, we actually see hints to the fact that quirks have drawbacks, as the girl with ice is drawn with the same frostbite backlash as Shouto, while the flame-headed kid is… well, I have no idea, but they do not look to be happy.

Also, I love the nod Hori does to the heroes of our era as silhouettes! This is just more evidence to me, along with the fact that the first quirked kid is born and presented in a modern hospital, that this series takes place sometime in the future. I… even calculated the years it could technically be, based on information we get in a few chapters, but I’ll save that for then.

Onto the sixth page! A nice shot of Kamui Woods getting into position, and man is that giant quirk unnerving.

What the fuck is with those feet, Hori. Those aren’t feet.

Next we see how the crowds are reacting, basically with no panic or concern. One guy is just casually letting his boss know he’ll be getting in late. And Backdraft! That is some serious water manipulation, but it seems like it has to be the water they’re in contact with? Also, is it just me or is that a portable pressure hose on their back?

And of course, Izuku being excited over hero stuff, as one does. He’s so babey faced, going back to current chapters after this is gonna be fucking wild.

Onto the seventh page, and here we are with the ‘you’re pure evil’ speech to someone who’s… just a robber. Seriously, dude? I get that you’re still fairly new to the scene (I think he might not be from a hero high school, but a late join program, but that’s another post), but like. You can’t just call random people ‘pure evil’ and correlate petty crime with like, actual mass murderers, or else people might start to see things in black and white and, you know, create the idea of ‘villainous people’ and so push even more innocents down the path of desperation and criminality.

Wait, sociopolitics later. Izuku being a hero fanboy now. Even able to utter Kamui’s attack call as he’s calling it out, with some seriously cool visual effects-

And on the eighth page, we have Mt. Lady crash the scene. Literally. She just fucking shows up outta nowhere and fucking leaps up and delivers a kick right to the villain’s chin, throwing him back through the train bridge wall and sending debris down to the ground below. Sure hope there weren’t civilians there!

Also, hello to that random guy on the roof watching this. I think in Smash they made that guy her manager or something.

I love how Izuku and the other guy are like ‘what the fuck’ while the press just shows up out of nowhere and is like. Hyperfocused on her. (I’ve heard some issues with the portrayal of media/reporters in the series, but since I have no experience with that sort of thing, I can’t say much on it.)

The last panel of this page shows that, fortunately, there were no civilians on that part of the street (even though it being rush hour and the huge crowds on the other side of the bridge should have suggested otherwise… but what do I know?)

With page nine, we get to see our first case of villain apprehension, which to note does not include any sort of quirk suppressors. Because those don’t exist. Otherwise Aizawa and the Eight Precepts’ erasure bullets would not be such huge deals to everyone. I mean yikes, though, the guy is fucking muzzled. And you can see the damage done by Mt. Lady in the background, both physical and emotional. Not to mention…

What the fuck is that face.

But yeah, this notes that performance in heroics determines not only what they’re paid by the government, but also how much fame they get. No way a system like this could backfire in any capacity, right? Right? (cough).

I love how Hori uses Izuku’s muttering habit as the border for the text bubble when the kid zones into his little world. Also, gigantification is noted to be a common and strong quirk, so we really should see more OCs with size altering quirks in fics in the future, you hear me? Honestly, with it being common, I would almost expect there to be entire buildings, or maybe even neighborhoods / blocks dedicated to catering to size shifters… wonder what those places look like.

Also aww, the guy saying good luck on the heroics dream to Izuku and Izuku just sparkling. What a cutie. Can’t wait for him to suffer. :D

Izuku: No seriously, what-

Anyways, I’m cutting off here since we then transition into the next ‘scene’ and this is a long chapter - 55 pages! Besides, this has already surpassed 1700 words, I don’t need to ramble on too long in one post. 

Lemme know what you think, and I’ll be back with more soon!

#opening arcs #chapter 1 #readthrough #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #kamui woods #mt lady #1800 words and only nine pages #buckle in this is gonna be a long project folks

[milesoffiction]

A Gift for Hibiki

Commission fic for @freezing-kaiju I finished literally a month ago but totally forgot to post!! Feature her characters Yui and Hibiki from her (fantastic) project We Cannot Rust. I ADORE these two young ladies and writing them was so fun, I just totally forgot to actually post this lol.

Thank you again for the commission Leanne!! I’m glad you enjoyed it!!

“Alright... I think... I’ve got this,” Yui said as she stepped back to admire her work. “It only took... 9 tries...” She adjusted the box of handmade chocolates in the the blue teddy bear’s arms. A note tied to the bear’s collar read:

To Hibiki:

Happy Valentines Day. Thank you for being my friend.

With love, 

Yui

“Do you think... she’ll like it...?” Valentine’s Day didn’t really seem like Hibiki’s “thing” now that Yui thought about it, and she wasn’t sure Hibiki would want to see her at all. “Maybe... I shouldn’t...” 

Kayako croaked softly. “No... She’ll... love it... chocolates and bears... are very cute...” She assured. 

Yui nodded and put the bear in the gift bag she had bought. She thought for a second that maybe she should let Hibiki know she was coming over, but she really wanted it to be a surprise. Hopefully she was home, and wouldn’t mind a guest. If not, Yui could always just leave the gift at her doorstep. “Okay... Let’s go.” She bundled up, picked up the bag and took a deep breath as she prepared to step outside. “She’ll like it... I know she will.” Once she had properly reassured herself, Yui went out to complete her mission. "I'm heading out," she called. Teya was probably just barely waking up, but it still felt fair to let her know. 

Winter felt never ending, almost as if the sun was taking a vacation from doing its job of keeping the world from freezing over. A light breeze blew snowflakes in Yui’s face, and she pulled her scarf up to act as a shield for her mouth and nose.

“Be... careful... stay safe...” Kayako warned. Yui merely nodded in response, knowing at this point how to walk without falling over and hurting herself on the frozen ground. She examined the scenery as she walked, not that any of this was new to her at this point. The plant life was as still as it was in December, and everything was coated in a familiar sheet of white indented with tracks that told the tales of humans and animals alike traveling along their way. If she didn’t have such an important quest at hand, Yui may have very well followed one set of those tracks to see where they lead. But no, Hibiki’s gift was more important. She could have her fun on the way back home. 

Time was of the essence for Yui. The faster she got this done, the less second thoughts she would have. Unfortunately she was not nearly fast enough to avoid any of the said second thoughts. Would Hibiki even want to see her? Maybe she hates chocolate. Or bears. Or both. She probably didn’t even really like Yui all that much. Maybe it’d be better to turn back. Why was she so set on only giving a gift to Hibiki anyways? It wasn’t like Yui didn’t have other friends. She recalled hearing that people give special gifts and chocolates to their crushes or loved ones on Valentine’s day, but that wasn’t the case with Hibiki! Or at least, she thought it wasn’t. She should probably mark that as a big old “maybe.” 

With all the time she spent in her own thoughts, Yui only barely noticed when she made it to Hibiki’s house, mostly thanks to Kayako’s groans alerting her that she was about to walk right past it. Then again, who could miss such a grand house? The size alone intimated Yui slightly. What did someone do with all that space? Just standing at the entrance was a bit intimidating, even more so while holding gifts that may very well be rejected. Yui shook off her nerves, gathered every last bit of courage in her heart and- 

A familiar scream came from inside.

Followed by a crash.

And another scream. 

Manners be damned, this was clearly an emergency. Hibiki could be hurt! Did someone break in and attack her?! Yui tried to open the door herself, but the doorknob wouldn’t budge. 

Another crash and a scream. 

Keeping calm wasn't an option. Yui rushed to find something. Anything. An open window. A spare key. Something. Kayako's panicked yells weren't helping her at all. "SAVE HER! SHE'S IN DANGER! PROTECT HER!" 

There was no way to get inside. The loud thud of something falling over only heightened the panic of both Yui and her persona. She did the only thing she could think of, and loudly knocked on the door. "Hibiki... It's Yui... Are you okay...?" Despite her internal panic, Yui's voice was the same level headed monotone voice she always had, though a bit louder to allow it to carry through the thick door. 

"Go the fuck away!!" Hibiki shouted, her voice coming off loud and clear even with the door between them. 

Another crash told Yui that was the exact opposite of what she should be doing. 

"I won't... I need to know... You're safe..." Yui insisted. "I'll break in... If I have to..." 

"Don't you fucking dare!" Hibiki shouted, her voice strained. 

"Then let me in... Let me help..." Her panic was beginning to show in her voice.

After a good 30 seconds of complete silence, Yui could hear Hibiki shuffle towards the door, unlock it, and just barely peek out from the now only slightly cracked door. Just from what little she could see, Hibiki was a mess. Face red and puffy, hair going everywhere, cheeks wet with tears... What happened...? 

"What the fuck do you want, Yui?" Hibiki muttered. Her voice was almost gone, as if she had been screaming for awhile. 

"Well now... To make sure... You're safe..." Yui took a step closer to the door. "Please... Let me help..."

Hibiki groaned. "Ugh fine, just stop lookin' all sorry for me. I don't need your damn pity." She opened the door the rest of the way and stepped aside. 

Yui froze when she saw the condition of the house. Lamps and furniture were overturned, glass scattered across the floor, framed photos laying on the ground with their glass covers cracked and even shattered... it looked like it had just been through an earthquake. Hibiki looked even more like a mess now that Yui could get a closer look at her. Her clothes and hair were completely disheveled, and long scratch marks went down her upper arms, as if she had been tearing at them for a while. 

Once she put the gift aside, Yui reached over to Hibiki. “Hibiki... Are you okay...?”

“Do I fuckin’ look okay?!” Hibiki snapped, flinching away from Yui’s touch. “I told you, I don’t want any fuckin’ pity! Just go home!” 

“I won’t. Not until... I know you’re safe...” 

“What do you care if I’m safe or not?! Why the fuck should I care if you want me to be safe?! I said fuck off, so fuck off! You shouldn’t be wasting your fucking time on me!” Hibiki’s voice shook as she spoke, and before long her whole body was trembling. “I don’t get- Why the fuck are you being so-?” Her legs gave out from under her, and she crumpled to the ground in a fit of sobs. 

Without a second thought, Yui crouched down text to Hibiki and slowly rubbed her back. “Hey... It’s okay... You’ll be okay...” 

Hibiki didn’t have the energy to reject Yui’s comfort anymore. She let herself cry for a few minutes until she had completely exhausted herself of tears. Once she got to that point, she turned to Yui. “Why... why are you still here?” 

“I want... to help you...” Yui replied gently. “You’re hurting... a lot... I want to help...”

“It’s dumb. You’ll just think I’m being a big dumb baby. You shouldn’t have to worry about me.” 

“I don’t think you’re dumb... or a baby... please talk to me...” Maybe she was being a bit pushy, but Yui absolutely needed to help. 

Silence fell over the two as each pondered what to say next. After a minute or so, Hibiki spoke up. “I just hate this fuckin’ holiday. No one ever got me shit growing up, and I had no one but my moms to give stuff to. But they never fuckin’ cared! It was just a stupid fuckin’ ‘this is adquete,’ and then the gift would be tossed aside somewhere! And now I’m here alone with nothing to give or get! I fuckin’ hate this shit!” 

“Well... I’m here aren’t I? And...” Yui got up and retrieved the gift she had brought. “I got something... for you...” 

 After giving Yui a brief wide-eyed stare, Hibiki took the gift. “You really didn’t have to...”

“But... I wanted to. You deserve it.” Yui sat back next to Hibiki and smiled gently. “Go ahead... Open it.” 

Carefully, Hibiki pulled her gift from the bag. She gasped softly as she held the bear in her hands, and new tears began to form in her eyes. “Yui... seriously... What the fuck is wrong with you? You didn’t have any reason to get me this...”

“You’re my friend... That’s why...” Why was Yui still nervous? Hibiki liked the gift... There was nothing to worry about. 

Hibiki didn’t think she could cry anymore, but here she was, crying even more than earlier. She put the bear aside and pulled Yui in for a tight hug. “Thank you... Thank you so, so much...” She whispered. 

A sigh of relief escaped Yui as she hugged back, letting Hibiki cry herself out once more. She waited for Hibiki to pull away before speaking again. “Do you... need help cleaning...?” 

A nod was all Hibiki could manage without crying any more than she already had. She got up slowly, and offered a hand to help Yui up. Yui tended to Hibki’s arms first (Hibiki making a joke about “kissing them better” earned a slightly blushy glare), and got straight to work on clearing the house of any evidence of Hibki’s breakdown. Furniture returned to their proper places, broken light bulbs changed out, glass swept up. Before long the place returned to... almost normal. 

“I’ll replace all the frames later,” Hibiki said as they finished up and put the broken picture frames in a stack on the coffee table. She paused in thought before turning back to Yui. “Hey uh. Do ya think you could maybe... stay the night? I mean, you’d have to go back to get yer stuff or have Teya drop it off here, but I could uh... really use the company.” She rubbed the back of her neck and looked away, and Yui could swear she felt some butterflies in her stomach. 

“I’d love to,” Yui replied with the best smile she could manage. “I’ll ask Teya... to bring my stuff...” 

Once Yui had her change of clothes and switched into her pajamas, the two retreated to Hibiki’s room to watch movies and play some games, eventually falling asleep together, with Yui wrapped tightly around Hibiki’s arm. Morning came, and the two had breakfast together (omurice made by Yui) before Yui decided she needed to get home. 

“Hey, Yui...” Hibiki muttered as she stood at her door to see Yui off. “Ya know, you could always come back next Valentine’s. Or hell, maybe even, I dunno, sooner than that? Like maybe we could go out for lunch or somethin’. I-I mean, if ya want to of course! I get if yer too busy or somethin’... Fuck, what am I sayin’”

Yui chuckled softly. “I’d... really like that...” 

“Y-yeah?! Cool uh, how about lunch next weekend then? Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” 

“It’s a date then! I-I mean... fuck...” Hibiki stammered and blushed as she tried to recover, but only made things worse. 

“A date.” Yui replied before giving Hibiki one last hug. “I can’t wait...” 

And as Yui walked home that day, somehow the late winter air felt a little more warm to her. 

#writers on tumblr

[angryinternetduck]

Good Years

1.7k words on Zayn in One Direction and potential inspiration for Good Years.  Warning: this fic deals with anxiety and also a little bit of alcohol abuse! Please stay safe!  Also - slight use of bad language.  When she was little, Walihaya Malik loved to sing karaoke. She loved to sing her heart out, and the only thing that made the whole experience that much better than a fancy microphone was singing with her older brother. 

Which meant Zayn was constantly roped into the singing festivities. And most of the time, it was fun. It was only less than wonderful when she asked him to play about every other night. Singing the same songs over and over again multiple nights in a row wasn’t exactly Zayn’s idea of a good time. 

It was exhausting. There was nothing worse than that heavy feeling of weariness that came with the lack of energy that it took to have fun. Or worse, to look like you’re having fun, which happened any time Walihaya gave Zayn the puppy eyes when he’d collapse on the couch after a song. 

Going on tour with the band was trying to look like you’re having fun constantly. 

Constantly meaning every single night. 

For a year. Straight. 

And then again. 

And again, and again. 

_____________________________________________________________

Zayn felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

He felt like his ribs were contracting, like his chest was caving in on his lungs. 

They had a show in a few hours. He didn’t think he could do it. He felt light-headed and sick and he had a headache. Liam kept telling him to eat, but Zayn couldn’t even look at Niall’s jumbo platter from Nando’s without wanting to hurl. 

All he wanted to do was go outside. He wanted to sit in front of a tree and draw and just be alone in the silence and the sunlight. He wanted to breathe, to feel the wind and the sun and the nature and watch the clouds and the birds and the flowers. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even open a bloody window without hearing the screaming masses. He loved the fans, he really did, but they got on his nerves when they stopped him from going outside and suffocated him. 

He went through the motions during rehearsals and sat in the toilets during the in-betweens, almost wanting to throw up just to get the feeling of nausea out of his stomach. It didn’t work, and Zayn wanted to call quits on the show. 

He didn’t. He couldn’t. 

_____________________________________________________________

1 AM, GMT+1 - 2 HRS. POST-SHOW

LONDON, ENGLAND, UNITED KINGDOM

ROOM 112, THE RITZ

“You think we’ve wasted all our good years?” Zayn asked quietly, staring at the ceiling of Niall’s hotel room. “No doubt about it,” Louis replied. There was a clink, and Zayn looked up to see his glass of whiskey magically refilled. 

“Ah, cheers,” Zayn murmured, taking a sip. 

“Bloody hell,” Harry sighed, reaching for the bottle himself. “We’re gonna be dead tomorrow.” Zayn gave a wry smile. “Wouldn’t mind that all that much,” he said, and Liam nodded. “Be a bit of a relief, wouldn’t it?” 

“It’s too late for this shit,” Niall murmured, and Zayn smiled, knowing that he was curled up in his bed, practically already asleep. “Go to sleep, Ni,” he said. “You’re just -” Niall cut him off with a pillow thrown in his face. 

“I’m trying,” he insisted. “You lot are too bloody loud!” 

“Oi!” Louis exclaimed. “You’re the one who invited us!” 

Niall groaned. “No, I didn’t! I said I had a few bottles of Guinness, and if you wanted to come up for a few minutes, you could! Not that we should stay up talking shit until two in the bloody morning!” 

“You should really know better by now,” Harry said through a yawn. 

“We really should sleep, though,” Liam murmured, but he didn’t make any moves to get up. “Maybe we should just… not,” Zayn said. “We could just… refuse.” That got a laugh out of Louis, who chuckled and stood up with a stretch. 

“That,” he said, heading for the door, “would be quite entertaining. Good luck with that. Night, lads.” Zayn yawned, shifting into the sofa he was lying on. “I’m not moving,” he grumbled, and Liam sighed. “You’ll get yelled at tomorrow…” 

“You know how many fucks I give?” Zayn asked, and Liam sighed again, evidently already aware of his answer. “How many, Zayn?” he asked tiredly.“Zero, Payno,” Zayn said. “Zero. No fucks. Nada. I could not care less if I tried. And I’m not trying.”

“Right,” Liam said. “Night, then. Harry? Comin’ with?” 

A clink. Zayn peeked an eye open to see the bottle of whiskey, empty on the table, and Harry dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” he slurred, and he followed Liam out of the hotel room. 

“Night, Ni,” Zayn mumbled. 

Niall gave him only a loud snore in reply. 

Zayn got in trouble the next morning. 

He still didn’t give a fuck. 

_____________________________________________________________

Zayn closed his eyes, gripping his mic tight and holding back the tears. Just an hour more, he told himself. One more hour, and he’d be in bed. No more people, no more screams, just him and the silence. 

The music began. The crowd roared. 

Zayn bit his lip as the tears threatened to spill over. 

A crowd of tears, he thought miserably, forcing a smile to his face. 

A crowd of a thousand tears. 

_____________________________________________________________

“Honestly,” Louis said softly, watching the crowd with a frown, “I would rather be anywhere else right now. Like, the North Pole sounds about perfect at the moment.” Zayn gave a weak attempt at a smile. “Imagine leaving, right now? Just… walking out? Think there’d be a scandal?” 

Louis laughed. “Oh, you bet. World would probably go up in flames, it would.” 

“If only,” Zayn murmured. 

“If only,” Louis echoed. 

And then he was smiling, running down the platform with all the energy in the world, and screaming and bouncing and jumping up and down and singing with all his heart like it was no big deal. 

As he walked down the platform himself, barely keeping a smile on his face, Zayn wondered how the bloody hell Louis could agree with his miserable notions one moment and be beaming and laughing the next. 

For the life of him, he just could not figure it out. 

_____________________________________________________________

MIDNIGHT, PDT - 1 HR. POST SHOW

LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA, UNITED STATES of AMERICA

A CLUB SOMEWHERE IN BEVERLY HILLS

Zayn felt like 

he was on top 

of the world. 

Everything was spinning, everything was blurry, he heard voices screaming loud as bloody hell and Zayn loved it because nobody liked silence after a good show. He was drinking some sort of alcohol, dancing with the boys, drunk off his face. 

He was a superstar, he kept thinking. 

He was at a club, in Beverly Hills, in the United States of America. 

Him. Zain Javadd Malik. That little boy from Bradford.  

Was a star. 

Who’da thunk?

Not Zayn, that’s for damn sure. 

 He wished he could feel like that forever. He was absolutely content, bouncing and laughing drunkenly but somehow completely calm and still and collected at the same time. He could breathe, he could think (mostly), he didn’t have a worry in the world. 

Nothing in the world could ever bring him down. 

He was sure of it. 

The hangover the next morning brought him down. 

It was rubbish. 

Zayn vowed never to drink again. 

He broke that vow the next night, after the next show. 

The next morning brought another vow, and the next night brought another broken one. 

It was a vicious cycle. 

_____________________________________________________________

A fan. 

Zayn couldn’t remember her name. 

She was nice, and proper fit, if Zayn recalled that much, and had a nice smile. 

And she asked Zayn, Are you okay?

And she said in such a way, in such a tone, that Zayn almost broke down and started crying right then and there. She’d touched his elbow, just a bit, and looked into his eyes, and asked, and it took all of Zayn’s strength not to collapse in sobs. 

“‘Course I’m alright,” he said instead. “Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Shows in your eyes,” she said quietly, “when you’re upset. If somebody holds pain, deep inside them, they can usually keep it off their face. But you can’t keep it out of your eyes, Zayn.” She paused, giving him a smile. “Don’t keep it all in, eh?” she told him. “Can’t have you dying on us.” 

Zayn swallowed back the tears and nodded. 

“I’ll do my best,” he said truthfully. “Just for you.” 

_____________________________________________________________

Zayn stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, a little drunk. 

He watched the ceiling fan spin round and let himself think.

He was done with One Direction. 

They’d go off, do their thing, and Zayn would do his. 

ZAYN. 

They were already starting the album process. 

Zayn hummed a melody they’d pitched, remembering that drunken conversation in the Ritz of London. He thought of all the crazy times he’d had with the boys, all the insane concerts and ridiculous fan experiences. He thought of the amazing fan mail and the countless compliments, of the trillions of Tweets and colorful signs. He thought of the kindness of the fans and the love they’d given, of their loyal support and unrelenting adoration.

But then he thought of the drugs and alcohol and hung-over mornings spent face-first in the toilets. And he thought of all the mornings spent face-first in the toilets not because of hangovers, but because of pressure and tension and fear. He thought of the panic attacks and stomach-wrenching stress and suffocating afternoons spent trapped in screaming-mass surrounded hotels.

Staring at the ceiling fan, Zayn realized with a start that he was already 22 years old; he’d basically reached his prime in life but was only just beginning his career as a soloist and - dare he say it - his career as a serious artist with respectable music. 

All he could do now, he thought tiredly, was pray he hadn’t wasted all his good years. 

_____________________________________________________________

Tell me: 

1. your thoughts on Icarus Falls 2. if any of the boys’ solo songs makes you cry  3. if you’ve ever been to a 1D or solo concert 4. your thoughts on panera bread or! 5. Tell me anything!!! Feedback is always much appreciated :) 

#zayn malik #zayn malik drabble #zayn malik blurb #good years #stream icarus falls #!!!!!! #zayn #zayn fanfic #zm #zayn drabble #zayn blurb #idk #one direction #fanfic #anxiety tw #kinda sad #protect zayn malik!!!

[hanhan156]

Revelations

The fic number 4 for my Stadium Tour series!

I got tired of writing short stories so instead, I wanted to write something longer and continue with the Stadium Tour series.

I tried something new in my writing and had these poems stuck in my head so I couldn't resist using them.

-

Chapter 1: Prelude

~***~

My weakness, my fragility,

My dream, my passion,

My lust for life, the reason for walking on this Earth.

You are my everything.

~***~

The chirring of crickets and the screams of psychedelic colored paradise birds were deafening as he tried his best to proceed in the lush jungle. He was swearing at himself - why he had chosen to wear these unpractical, tight clothes again and why on earth he hadn’t taken a machete with him? Even his dreams were referring to his fashion sense and a lack of preparation for harsh conditions. Richard was still determined: in his heart, he knew that he had to continue, at any costs, even though he wasn’t sure why he was here.

His attention was caught by a movement - an animal? No, it couldn’t be: he heard laughter so it had to be actually someone. Adrenaline rushed in his veins - he couldn’t even believe how fast he was able to run in the difficult conditions with the aid of the hormone.

“Wait!” he shouted when he got a glimpse of a silhouette vaguely, but the figure was still too far. He took a sprint - he couldn’t afford to lose him now when he was so close.

After wading his way through the bushes, Richard had scratches and bruises everywhere. He wondered did he got bitten by a snake as well while his left foot was swollen, but now it didn’t matter - he had something more important to think about.

The jungle ended to a cave and on the entrance of it was the figure he’d been chasing.

Of course, it was him.

“Paul, thank God you are here. What is this all about? What the hell is this lousy place anyway, let’s get out of here.”

The other man smirked but didn’t reply anything - he seemed like he had lost his ability to speak. Instead, he made his way to the cave.

Richard grabbed his fellow guitarist from his arm, refusing to lose him now when he was so close. “Paul, for Christ’s sake, give me answers!”

But Paul shook himself out of the grip and then he was gone - vanished like in thin air. Not a single word, or any kind of hint he had even noticed that Richard had been talking to him.

“Answers, I need answers…” Richard kept repeating. He didn’t even know what answers he wanted - it was like a fixation in his head. “I need answers…and I need you…”

The first dream ended, and it was followed by a brief pause - like a commercial break of his subconscious mind.

Now he was in another setting. Once again, he didn’t have any clue what place it was exactly, but it sure was pleasant with all the palm trees on a long white beach and sun shining brightly. He knew he was looking for something, but he couldn’t put his finger on, what or who - the memories from the last dream had vanished with the commercial break.

But he didn’t have to ponder that for very long when something caught his interest.

When Richard came closer, he saw it more clearly what was it about:  Paul was there with a company of a lot of men and to Richard’s horror, they were way younger - and in his opinion, way better looking - than him. He couldn’t help it but think that what kind of orgy was this.

“What’s going on in here?” he asked and didn’t want to admit the twitch of jealousy in his belly.

“Well, I’m just enjoying my life the fullest.” At least in this dream, Paul seemed to able to speak.

“That sure looks nice,” Richard said and looked around, “can I join you?”

Paul glanced at the other man with narrow eyes. “No, this is my life now, you get your own,” he burst out and laughed, with unusual cruelty. “You really fucking think I’d want to spend my precious life with you? Oh, Kruspe, how naïve you really are...”

Richard blinked his eyes. “B-but we have known for ages… I-I thought we were friends…”

“In that case, I suggest you think again, you lousy example of a human being.” Paul came closer and hissed: “You repulse me… get out of my life. I don’t need you. In fact, my life is much better without you. Our friendship was the biggest mistake I ever made.”

Richard couldn’t believe what he heard. “W-what about all those moments we spent together? The time we…we…kissed?”

“Don’t you even dare to remind me of that disgusting event.” Paul turned his back, leaving Richard sobbing alone at the paradise beach. ”You can still keep dreaming on, I don’t really care!” he shouted the one last time before he was gone.

“Don’t leave me like this…” Richard sobbed, but nobody could hear him. “I…love you.”

The torment ended when Richard woke up to his own screaming - he thanked God that he was alone. Panting heavily on the edge of a panic attack he sat up and threw the sweaty bedsheets away. It was annoying to admit that the nightmares were back but this time, they weren’t about the tour stress - it was something more complicated.

Always when he tried to bury something unpleasant to his subconscious mind, it kept coming back whatever he tried to do.

~***~

Oh how desperately I beg you,

To answer my call,

In the void of the darkest hour.

~***~

“Prost!” the six men yelled cheerfully, taking their tradition tequilas to soothe the nervousness of the upcoming concert. Sharing shots together was supposed to bring good luck - but as the legend told the luck was involved only if you remembered to look at each of your drinking buddies straight in the eyes.

But the one particular pair of eyes Richard desperately wanted to have contact with, ignored him.

“Okay, gotta keep going, we have a show to play,” Paul said and left the room in a hurry. Richard was sure that his friend suddenly turned busy on purpose because he was there.

It had become too familiar: all he had seen from Paul during recent weeks was his back, always heading somewhere.

Somewhere, where Richard wasn’t.

After all, it seemed that the stadium tour - with all its hardships and countless hours of groundwork, arguments and sleepless nights - had started out as a success. Even though performing was Richard’s natural element and he had been waiting for this eagerly, now all the fame and attention felt nonchalant - something was bothering him constantly, like an itch you couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard you tried.

That something was that they hadn’t had proper communication with Paul after that one faithful night - it was already several weeks ago. Richard didn’t even dare to recall how many weeks really.

They both seemed to become masters of excuses: either they were too tired, too busy or something interrupted them when things could have had a chance to get too deep. And what was the worst, was that how evidently Paul avoided him.

I can’t keep going on like this.

Blinking back upcoming tears Richard suddenly realized that he was the only one in the room. Why hadn’t they say anything? Maybe they had, but he had been so deeply in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed anything.

For fuck’s sake, try to concentrate now. You have a job to do.

Forcing himself to act, Richard walked to the backstage, grabbing his instrument on the way. His bandmates were already doing their pre-concert rituals when he arrived. Till was opening his voice, isolated in the darkest corner possible. It made him lose his focus if somebody stared at his awkward humming and stretching. For everyone’s relief, Flake had finished his walk already and was for once ready on time. Usually, he tended to take a stroll just in the last minute, losing the sense of time and leading him to arrive late back to the venue - it wasn’t once or twice when the keyboardist had gotten scolding from the others. Even though how modest man Flake was, he was irreplaceable - Du hast or Sehnsucht without keyboard effects would be a disaster. Schneider was doing push-ups - he claimed that exercising helped to handle the physical symptoms of stress. Oliver seemed to be deeply in his own thoughts in a yoga pose, being the calmest of them while Paul was simply being himself, sitting on the floor and smiling - he didn’t have any specific rituals. Richard did the usual: fiddling the fretboard, repeating over and over the riffs he could play even in his dreams. Still, he had all kinds of horror scenarios in his head from a broken string to a guitar being in wrong tuning.

The nerve-wracking waiting seemed to last forever and forever but when Duo Jatekok had hit its last melodies, the roaring audience was desperately waiting to see the reason they had come to the stadium in the first place.

Till appeared from his isolation back with the others. “Okay guys, this is it then.” They formed a circle together and held hands. “Let’s hope the muse is with us tonight and let’s kick some ass - let’s show them something they’ve never seen before. And most importantly, we’ll stick together and support each other, whatever happens there.

Amen.”

“Amen,” they all replied. The atmosphere was ardent - music was indeed like a religion for them.

They placed themselves on the line which had been rehearsed probably a thousand times already. The opening was supposed to be a dramatic introduction of the band, Schneider going there first to pierce the souls of the audience with his mesmerizing bass drum.

While Richard stood right behind their drummer, breathing shallowly, out of nowhere he felt a hand squeezing his shoulder gently. “Vielen Glück.”

When he turned, he startled when he saw who it was. “Good luck to you too…Paul,” Richard replied with a slightly trembling voice and hoped it wasn’t too noticeable.

“Let’s have a hell of a show and see you on the stage.” Paul smiled so adorably that Richard’s heart melted just a tiny bit.

“Yeah, same to you….” he mumbled when the other guitarist was already back in his own place.

The focus was once again gone. Richard exhaled and closed his eyes. Okay, now concentrate for Christ’s sake. Emotional shit can wait. Don’t let your feelings ruin your performance. Let’s deal with this later.

In his heart he knew that tonight, after the concert, he had to do something for this situation - it couldn’t continue like this, them both avoiding each other and just occasionally communicating awkwardly. It was far from normal when even Paul’s slightest presence alarmed him. Overanalyzing had already made him crazy.

Richard decided that tonight, he had to stop being a coward and drag Paul somewhere and tell him.

But what could he say exactly?  

It was difficult to tell but at least he wished from the bottom of his heart that they could be their normal selves again if it was even possible anymore.

I have to do it. Tonight. No lousy excuses anymore.

Richard wasn’t sure which one was more stressing: playing a concert for thousands of people or confessing his love and longing for his long-time friend.

In this case, perhaps, the latter.

After an announcement in Spanish, the atmosphere turned serious and nobody spoke or joked anymore. Even though how many times they had done this it was always like the first time - every concert acted as it’s own and you’d never know what was going to happen. That was the scariest, yet the most fascinating part of being a musician and this was the thing Richard knew he was born to do. He was totally hooked to the feeling music was able to give him - it was like a drug, but a million times better.

He also knew that he couldn’t get rid of this group of friends he had grown so attached to during the many years spent together. His destiny was bound to them - especially to the one for whom he was ready to do anything. Even throw himself into a lion’s den, if necessary.

When Royal Fireworks’ last notes faded, Schneider took a step forward and raised his thumb up, turning to his bandmates the one last time. “Let’s give them a night of their lives,” he whispered, before entering the stage with a smirk.

Richard squeezed his guitar with sweaty hands - only a couple of seconds was left for his turn. “Please, don’t fail tonight,” he muttered at himself. Give me strength for this and for the rest of the evening, whatever will happen, he prayed in his mind but didn’t know to whom exactly.

#rammstein #richard kruspe #paul landers #till lindemann #flake lorenz #christoph schneider #oliver riedel #Europe Stadium Tour 2019 #fanfiction #something poetic #my fics #my poems

[pick-a-paint-brush]

I wrote an angsty Lamen fic because I enjoy the occasional angst and the Captive Prince fandom is mostly filled with happy stories, not that I'm complaining! Our boys deserve their happily ever after. Any way this is just a self-indulgent story I wrote and I am by no means a writer, I just needed an outlet for this idea so don't judge. Also it kind of doesn't have a proper ending. Anyway I hope you maybe like it.

As soon as Damen learned of Laurent’s love for horses, he made sure private horse rides, in the dense northern Akeilon forests, were a weekly occurrence. Nikandros and Jord deeply disapproved, they were relentless in their arguments; that the countryside was unsafe, the people ready to rebel, not happy with the merge of the neighboring kingdoms. Damen and Laurent weren't worried, they were the best fighters in the two kingdoms, who could possibly best the pair of them? They didn’t expect the blow in the matter in which it came.

Laurent was leaning against the bark of an ancient oak, comfortable and calm; the way he was only when he was alone with Damen. Damen had his head in Laurent's lap, enjoying the sensation of Laurent caressing his hair. He talked calmly, recounting stories of his childhood, delighted every time he drew a smile or laugh from Laurent. The horses were tied a little way off, where they were resting. The pair of kings didn't realize, at first, that they were under attack.

'Ow!’ Damen exclaimed, hand shooting up to his neck, searching for the source of the pain, 'something has stung me’. ‘ Let me see’ said Laurent, urging Damen’s hand away with his own. Damen could feel the change in Laurent, his whole body tense where it was calm a moment before. ‘Damen it’s a dart! get to the horses now!’ he said, already getting up and pulling Damen with him. But Damen was already feeling the effects of whatever he had been injected with, he struggled to get up even with Laurent pulling him. The second dart hit Laurent a moment later, he made a startled sound and loosened his hold on Damen. The attackers charged, surrounding them and the ancient oak they had sat against. Damen struggled against the fog threatening to take hold of his mind, he grasped the sword strapped at his side but couldn't manage much more than pulling it out of the sheath. He fell to his knees, the urge to sleep driving out any thoughts of fighting. He could see, with blinking eyes, the attackers easily overpowering Laurent and he could feel, with the last shred of his consciousness hands grabbing him from behind. He faded to unconsciousness with the feeling of metal biting into his wrists.

He awoke, his eyes heavy, knees bent uncomfortably beneath him, hands bound with metal behind him. He could tell, from the faint light finding its way between the trees, that a couple of hours have passed. The sun was nearly down and most of the light was coming from a small fire to his right. When sense caught up with his waking eyes, he searched his vision frantically, for a flash of yellow hair.

Laurent was bound by his hands, lying to Damen's left. Like Damen he was just now waking up. As if this was the cue they were waiting for the captors sprung into action. Two of them hauling Laurent by the shoulder, a third grasping the hair at Damen’s nape, as if to make sure he was awake and looking. Laurent was dragged to the oak, where he and Damen had spent their afternoon. His hands, bound behind him, were jerked back and tied above him in an unnatural angle, Laurent Let out a gasp of pain. To just anyone it would have seemed minor, but Damen knew the extent of Laurent's control and therefore understood just how much pain he was in. Damen jerked forward, he found he was efficiently bound, but a faint rattle made him question the strength of the restraints. Laurent had found his footing, and immediately moved to relieve weight off his most likely dislocated shoulders. 'You fools’ he said, his voice only slightly faint. 'you have doomed yourselves in keeping us alive, how much time have you wasted? A search party will probably arrive shortly.’

Laurent Damen thought what are you doing. Damen couldn't understand, as always, how Laurent's words were helping but his clever mouth had never failed them yet and Damen trusted him to get them out of this, as always. He felt behind him and discovered that the metal cuffs were screwed tightly to a tree at his back. Not tightly enough though. He started slowly, quietly, unscrewing his restraints.

The captors seemed calm despite Laurent’s threat. One of them, probably the leader of whatever group they belonged to, came to stand before Laurent. 'Our plan wasn't to kill you’ he said in a northern Akeilon dialect. 'well at least not both of you. Our plan is to teach our king a lesson, in what the Akeilon people think of his allegiance with veretian snakes’.

Damen stopped fiddling with the restraints and looked up, blood rushing in his ears. The purpose of the mysterious assailants was now clear to him. His anger was a frightening thing.

'Watch yourselves, your king will kill you if you progress any further’ Damen heard his own voice, low and deadly. He could see Laurent thinking, his silence meant he did not have a way out of this. 'it does not matter, exalted’ said the leader. 'we are prepared to die in order to save Akeilos from Veretian venom’.

'You will scream like children when I will be done with you, you will wish you let us go’. One of the screws in damen’s restraints was now out but it was taking to long. The assailants weren’t taken aback from damen’s words, one was bringing a red iron rod from the fire toward Laurent. Damen could see in their eyes that they were fanatics, extremists, they wanted to hurt Laurent, they wanted to kill him in front of Damen while he watched helplessly. Laurent was still silent, evidence that he did not have a solution. Their only hope was the search party that was surely out by now, it could not take much more time.

Damen worked hard on the next screw but this one was much harder to pull out.

He was getting desperate, the man with the hot iron was now in front of Laurent. Damen was pulling at his chains again, though Laurent was sitting still Damen could see the pain and fear in his eyes. Time slowed as the iron was pressed to the side of Laurent's neck. Laurent made a sound that Damen did not yet hear him make. It was as if he felt the pain himself, Damen cried out and surged forward. That gained him a sharp pain in his shoulders and a slight give of the restraints.

He continued working on the second screw that was now a bit looser. His mind wasn’t on it though. He was looking at Laurent. He looked as if he were about to faint, his usual cool, detached act discarded. He was heaving, drawing infrequent breaths, whimpering with the pain. Damen was at breaking point, panic consuming his vision and thought. Through it he was trying to release the damn screw.

It took him a moment to realize that there was movement about the assailants again. The clan leader was admiring a dagger. Damen’s eyes locked on the silver gleam. He had to focus. Time was running out. The screw was turning quite easily now it was just a matter of finding the right positioning for his hands.

The leader of the groups was stepping into Laurent's space , the knife held between two fingers. He looked thoughtful , deciding where to inflict pain. The first swipe was at Laurent's cheek, immediately his face filled with blood. It seemed that through the haze of pain Laurent barely registered the new wound.

Damen pried his thought back to the task at hand, another minute, that's all he needed.

“Cut out his venomous tongue boss!” One of the mercenaries suggested Maniacally and received laughter and encouragement from the others. “No!” Damen yelled , “don't you dare touch him”. The leader took hold of Laurent's hair and pulled his head back, he held his chin in a rough grip and started to pry his mouth open.

Then, several things happened at once. Damen lurched forward with all his weight and this time the loosened bonds gave. Across the clearing damen could hear hooves and his name being called out- the search party had arrived.

Damen was now free to advance. His hands were still bound, but Damen with two  restrained limbs was still twice the warrior compared to any other. Especially with the hot fury thrumming through his veins. Three steps forward meant three of the assailants dead. Damen headed on towards Laurent. He  called out to the search party, he could hear them closer now.

He was but a couple of steps away from Laurent. He could see the moment the mercenary made the decision. Seeing his fallen companions, he knew overpowering damen was not an option. Quickly, in one sliding motion, he lowered the knife from Laurents face, where it had stayed, and buried it between his ribs. Laurent let out a gasp of pain. The man was dead as soon  as damen reached him, the knife now stuck in his neck.

Damen looked around for a key for the handcuffs, he found it on one of the bodies.

As soon as his hands were freed he hurried to Laurent's side. He released his hands and Laurent fell forwards in to Damens arm, as languid as a ragdoll. “Laurent” Damen said, his voice sounded strange, he was frantic. “Laurent talk to me, how bad is it, can you tell me? Can you feel?” Laurent was struggling to stay conscious “it hurts” Laurent whispered, Damen was shaking. “Describe it to me love, where does it hurt? Can you breath? Keep talking to me” he said in a strained voice.Laurent was wheezing “I can breath… but it's hard”. Damen pressed a hand to the wound, there was a lot of blood. “That’s good. Keep breathing, I know it's hard. Help is nearly here”

Looking up Damen screamed at the top of his lungs “Nikandros Help! Help we’re here”. He could see the search party, he searched for the physicians hat but did not find it. He looked back down. Laurent's eyes were open but all Damen could see was a sliver of blue. Damen grasped his face , “keep talking Laurent, I need you to keep talking”. Laurent nodded slightly “I'm with you Damen” he was speaking so quietly Damen could barely make out the words. “Good! Help is here, just stay awake!”. At the feeling of a hand at the nape of his neck damen looked up to see nikandros crouched beside them, he looked terrified. “Damen! What happened , are you hurt?” Damen answered him with what sounded like a sob “I'm fine! It's Laurent! Nikandros where is Paschal?”

“We split a little ways off, he’ll be here right away”

Damen could barely speak, his terror was a stone in the back of his throat. “ I need him here NOW!” he ground out. Nikandros was grasping his shoulder. Damen shifted his attention back to Laurent “did you hear that Laurent? Paschal will be right here, are you still with me?” Laurent was sweating and shaking, but still breathing, his feverish eyes still open. “With you… love you damen”. Damen closed his eyes and took a deep breath “you don't need to be saying that if you're with me, Paschal will be here right away, you heard it.”

And then he was. Damen had never been so relieved to see someone in his life. “Paschal! It's a knife wound, deep, below the ribs. I think he punctured a lung but I don't know maybe something more. There's so much blood!” The last part came as a sob. Pascal nodded to show he understood and started working at once - Cutting open Laurent's jacket and wiping away the blood. Damen could see the wound now, oozing blood, it looked so small.

And now there was no more for him to do but trust in Paschal. He tried standing up and tumbled into Nikandros’ open arms. He felt sick, he grasped nikandros to him like his life depended on it. Nikandros was whispering to him, ushering him away from Laurent’s lying form. Damen went with him. they headed to the edge of the clearing near the tree Damen had been chained to.

Damen sank to the floor. His mind was blank, he would not let himself think. One of his hands was still grasping nikandros as if his life depended on it. Nikandros seemed at a loss for words or actions. They sat like that, Damen couldn't say for how long but night had fallen at last.

Paschal came, his hands were covered in blood. It came up to his elbows. Damen could not ask the question in his mind. Looking at the blood again, remembering whose it was, he turned his head away and emptied his stomach. Retching, struggling to regain control. Paschal leaned in front of him. “Your highness, I cannot promise this but I think he will recover. I dressed the wound, the bleeding has lessened. He’s still alive.” Damen looked up into the wise eyes “still?” He asked.

Pascal answered that it seemed Laurent’s lung was, in fact, punctured. He assured Damen that he had healed wounds of the kind before but that it will take time, the healing process will be long and difficult. “He might never breath the same again” the physician finished. Damen let out a breath he had been holding since the knife had pierced laurent's skin.

The way back to the castle at Marlas was lost to Damen. He went where Nikandros put him, he might have even drifted off along the way.He felt shaken in a way he had never felt before. That sense of helplessness, of hopelessness. Not even chained to the floor in the castle of Arles had he felt as he did that afternoon, sitting next to Laurent's bleeding form. He had been so close to losing everything, on the verge of a bottomless depth. The quiet afternoon he had shared with Laurent seemed to have occurred eons ago.

At some point, they arrived at marlas. Laurent was carried out of a carriage and into the castle they had made their home. Damen followed the glint of blonde hair inside. Laurent was brought to the infirmary, Damen followed. He sat down on one of the empty wooden beds and watched Paschal. The physician addressed Laurent's less serious wounds. Cleaned the blood from  his right cheek, put a salve to his charred neck, relocated his shoulders. Laurent lay limp through it, still unconscious.

Damen thought of the days in the palace at Ios, after he had been stabbed by Kastor. He remembered Laurent fussing around him, rearranging his pillows and bringing him cold drinks. But that had all felt funny and playfull, Damen hadn’t been critically injured. Again Damen’s breath stopped at the thought of how close he had been to losing Laurent. To losing what they had between them. He wondered if it was like this for Laurent, when Damen was injured. He recalled that he had also lost consciousness for a time.

He hoped that Laurent didn't have to go through what Damen was feeling at that particular moment. His morbid thoughts were eating through him and he was sure he was going mad. The only person that he knew could calm him was laying on the bed in front of him. Skin white as a sheet, blonde hair tinged with crimson. He needed to trust in Paschal. There was no alternative - Laurent was going to heal. Damen made a promise to himself that whatever advice Nikandros and Jord gave him from that point on, he will follow it. He put his head on the white pillow and waited for sleep to, eventually, overcome him.

#lamen #damen #laurent #the captive prince #captive prince #capri #damianos #captive prince fic #lamen fic #lamen fanfic

[rose-of-pollux]

The Beast of Broadway Affair (MFU fic), part 2/5

Here is the full version of chapter two, and expanded version of this drabble.

Title: The Beast of Broadway Affair Rating: PG13 (for action/danger) Chapter summary: As Illya begins to figure out what has been going on, Napoleon, in a panic, makes a foolish decision in the hopes of preventing another transformation. Notes: This version of the fic (cross-posted to AO3) is slash; if you prefer reading gen, there is a gen version on ff.net, but I can’t link to it with tumblr’s new linking restrictions

                                         Act II: Both a Little Scared

Illya forced himself along inside Medical as Napoleon underwent blood tests.  He hadn’t revealed the nature of their concerns, only that he wanted an analysis on account of Napoleon “having had trouble sleeping,” and nothing more.  Having worked in Section VIII, Illya did the analysis personally as Napoleon watched over his shoulder, nervously.

“What’s wrong with me…?” he asked.

Illya exhaled as he looked over the results.

“I do not know exactly what was given to you, but it is clear to me that you have been drugged,” he announced.

“What!?”

“I do not have a proper sample of whatever it was that was given to you—it has metabolized, but there are still traces of it,” Illya said.  “Obviously, part of its function is to prevent your recollection of the drug being administered, as well as what occurs during your transformation.”

“And what is it that actually gets me to transform?” Napoleon asked.

“It would seem that the traces of the drug suggest that it reacts with adrenaline in your system,” Illya said.  “The drug is injected, and stays dormant until your adrenaline spikes; the ensuing reaction causes the transformation until the adrenaline levels reduce again—after which, you would immediately fall asleep due to exhaustion. Obviously, THRUSH was keeping a close eye on your during your excursions; once you returned to your human self, they would bring you back, put you in a new THRUSH prisoner uniform, and you would be unaware that you had left your cell as a monster, leading you to think that they hadn’t touched you.  When, in reality…” He indicated Napoleon’s sleeve, and they both watched as Napoleon rolled his shirtsleeve up.  Illya took a look with a magnifying glass and exhaled.  “See?  Needle marks—barely visible.  Some have already healed.”

“But it’s over now, right?” Napoleon asked.

“These multiple puncture wounds suggest that the drug needed to be repeatedly administered to you to keep the transformations going,” Illya said.  “They must have given you one more dose before they fled and left the facility.  But what puzzles me is what could have gotten your adrenaline to spike while you were sleeping?”

Napoleon cleared his throat, looking embarrassed.

“…Well, ah, you were… Sort of…  Doing that really cute snore thing that you do sometimes, and…” He blushed slightly.  “Well, ah…  You were really cute, okay, and I didn’t want to wake you, so I just… suffered internally.”

“…I see,” Illya said, keeping his expression neutral.  “Well, that would explain it.   But, at any rate, I want to believe that it is over.”

“…You want to…  Why? Is there a chance that it might not be?”

“Perhaps…” Illya said. “There could be a chance that, rather than simply being metabolized, the drug could have been stored somewhere in your body, such as in the liver or adipose tissue—in which case, if it were released, you could transform again if your adrenaline spiked.”

“That’s… not good,” Napoleon said.

“Not at all,” Illya agreed. “But in addition to finding an antidote to this drug, we also need to find out who in THRUSH is behind this, and why did they decide to do this?  The transformation is only temporary; what would they hope to gain by spreading panic?”

“There’s… one other important thing we need to find out as soon as possible,” Napoleon added, his face going even more grim.

“What’s that?”

“…Did I actually hurt anyone—or worse?”

“Oh, Napoleon…”

“Maybe that was what THRUSH wanted…” Napoleon said. “Confirm that someone got hurt by the Beast of Broadway, and then step forward with proof that I’m the Beast! Mr. Waverly would be forced to fire me—if not have me put away!”

“Napoleon!” Illya chided. “I refuse to even consider the idea that you have attacked anyone!  I would need documented evidence—a police report of some kind, and even then, I would still remain skeptical!”

“…You’re the only one in the world who would…” Napoleon sighed.  “And I’m grateful for that.”

“You would do the same for me.”

“Of course,” Napoleon said.

Illya nodded, and then sighed.

“I know you are concerned—so am I.  And I gave you my word that I would help you.  And I will.  But I need to find out all I can about this drug first,” Illya said.  “I need to run a few more tests on these traces.  Why don’t you go to our office and relax?  I will meet you there when I am finished.”

“And then what do we do?” Napoleon asked.

“Then, just to put your mind at ease, we will go over the incident reports about the Beast of Broadway—both here and with the New York Police.  You will see that there have been no attacks, and that will help to quell that fear.”

“Actually, why don’t I look at the U.N.C.L.E. reports now?” Napoleon asked.  “While you’re working on this?”

“I would rather we did so together,” Illya said.  “…And we should do so at home.  These reports won’t be classified; I can take them with us, and we can look over them there.” He paused, seeing the look on Napoleon’s face.  “Why don’t you stay here with me, then?  I know the work is boring, but I will keep you company.”

“No…” Napoleon said. “No, I’ll…  I’ll be at our office for a while.  Maybe I’ll just try to clear my mind and see if I can recall anything about what happened…”

Illya was beginning to regret suggesting Napoleon go to their office, but now that he had suggested it and Napoleon was wandering off, there wasn’t much he could do other than hope that Napoleon wouldn’t get too upset.

Napoleon was worried, even as he went up to their office and laid down on the couch, trying to recall. He concentrated, using some of the tactics taught in Survival School about retrieving repressed memories.

He could recall flashes of sights and sounds—faces and chatter, mostly in the THRUSH facility… But then…

Napoleon sat bolt upright as one flashing image was clearly of the top of the Majestic Theatre; he seemed to have been perched upon the marquee of Fiddler on the Roof, if his point-of-view was accurate—and there were numerous people below on the sidewalk and street, gasping and pointing at him, as growls and roars issued from his throat as he seemingly leaped from the marquee, over the people below, and bounded off down the street towards Sardi’s restaurant.

“I can’t let that happen again,” he murmured, recalling what Illya had said about the possibility of it occurring if his adrenaline spiked.

He broke and returned to Medical, requesting sedatives; they refused, claiming that Section II agents were not to be administered sedatives except under emergency situations.  Still too worried to think straight, Napoleon left a message for Illya that he was going home, and then proceeded to return to their apartment building—but knocked on the door of the apartment that belonged to one of the neighbors on their floor—Dr. Fisk.  He had seen him in passing a couple times, but, since Napoleon usually went to Medical, hadn’t requested his services—until now.

He spun a tale to Dr. Fisk about an elevated heart rate that was concerning him and requested a mild sedative.

“I really should be issuing this with a prescription,” Fisk was saying, readying a syringe with a pale, pink liquid.  “But you’ve never asked this of me before, so I know it must be an emergency.  Are you certain about this, Mr. Solo?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I am—it’s kind of important,” Napoleon said, realizing he was making an incredibly hasty and foolish decision, but was desperate to keep his adrenaline levels down to prevent another transformation.  He’d just ask for an extended leave from U.N.C.L.E. so that he wouldn’t be sedated on the job, he rationalized, as he rolled up his sleeve.  He exhaled as Dr. Fisk administered the drug.  “Thanks, Doc.  How much do I owe you?”

“No charge,” Fisk insisted.  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yeah,” Napoleon said, pulling his sleeve back down.  “Please, if Illya comes by asking about me, don’t tell him what I did.  He’d be furious and say I was stupid—and I probably am.”

“Of course,” Fisk said, and he nervously watched as Napoleon dashed out of the apartment, heading for the one he shared with Illya.

Fisk glanced at the carpet, where he knew the cold man from a few days ago had planted a listening device.  And, sure enough, his phone rang.

“Professor Gaston?” Fisk asked, flinching at the sound of the cold voice on the line.  “I did what you asked.  Please…  Just leave me alone, huh?  I could lose my license if this ever got out--”  He cringed.  “Yes, Professor Gaston.  I’m…  I’m aware that THRUSH could make me lose a whole lot more than that…” 

                                         ***************************

 Napoleon made it home and was on the couch petting Baba Yaga minutes before Illya stormed in.

“What were you thinking, running off by yourself like that!?” the Russian demanded.  “I am supposed to be helping you--!”

“I know, I know,” Napoleon sighed.  “But you know Medical.  They wouldn’t give me anything to keep my adrenaline down, and I had to get home in case I transformed again.”

Illya sighed, sitting on the couch beside him.

“Well, I brought home the reports. I’ve skimmed though them already, and there are no reports of the Beast attacking anyone.”

“Right, right…”

“We can look over them in-depth now.  And you should also try to remember what happened during your captivity.”

“I don’t really remember much—just being in a cell all the time…” Napoleon mused, closing his eyes.  “…And one moment when I was the Beast—just a moment, though.  I was on the roof of the Majestic, and I jumped from there to the street and ran towards Sardi’s.”

“…Then you are able to partly resist the memory effects of the drug,” Illya said.  “Can you recall anything else?”

“Mmh,” Napoleon grunted in frustration.  “I’m trying to think…”

“Just let it return to you,” Illya said, calmly.  “Even if it is in bits and pieces—any little thing will be helpful.”

Napoleon concentrated, and then frowned.

“Pictures…”

“Hmm?”

“I remember being shown pictures,” Napoleon recalled.  “A man showed them to me…  He wore a lab coat.”

“Do you recognize him?” Illya asked.

“No,” Napoleon said.  “But I think I remember one of the lab assistants calling him ‘Professor Gaston.’  They gave him pictures for me to see.”

“Do you remember what those pictures were?” Illya asked.

Napoleon tried to recall them, but shook his head.

“…No idea.  …Wait!”

“You remember?”

“Some of them!” Napoleon said.  “They showed me… centerfolds, at first.”

Illya gave a snort of disgust and then rolled his eyes.

“No, I’m serious,” Napoleon said.  “They tried to show me centerfolds—I guess to get my adrenaline up?  But it didn’t work.”

“…Didn’t work?”

“Nope.  I remember that Professor Gaston saying that I wasn’t responding to the models, and they had to try another approach.”  He looked at Illya and smiled.  “Guess some members of THRUSH still haven’t got the message that women don’t catch my eye anymore since I’ve been in a relationship…”

“Well, I am very happy to hear that I am successfully satisfying your romantic needs,” Illya said, smiling back. But his smile faded.  “But something did trigger your adrenaline to spike—they eventually showed something that did affect you.  Do you recall what it was?”

Napoleon concentrated again, and his face fell.

“…They eventually did get the message…” he recalled.

“…They showed you pictures of me…” Illya realized.  “Oh, Napoleon…”

“Not just pictures of you… Filmstrips, too—of them torturing you…” Napoleon’s breathing rate increased, and Illya’s face paled.

“Napoleon--!” he said, urgently, but was cut off.

“There was even one…” Napoleon said, clenching his fists as Baba Yaga fled from his lap to the coffee table, concerned again.  “Of them putting you in a coffin…  I… I just… couldn’t…”  He trailed off, his words disappearing into an animalistic snarl.

“Nyet!  Napoleon, listen to me!  Stay calm—you simply must stay calm!  It’s happening again—the substance hasn’t completely metabolized!”

“Illya…  Help me…”

Illya responded by hugging Napoleon, hoping his touch would be enough to calm him.  He could feel his partner shake violently once again.  Illya wasn’t a praying man, but now, he was begging for some sort of miracle. Thankfully, after a moment, it subsided as Napoleon calmed down.

“That was too close,” Illya said, still hugging his partner close. “We shall need to be careful as we figure this out.”

Napoleon managed a shaky nod. “Th-thanks,” he stammered.

He could, at least, be grateful that he wasn’t in this alone.

#Napoleon Solo #Illya Kuryakin #napollya #the man from uncle #mfu fic #The Beast of Broadway Affair

[ncfan-1]

What We Need Is a Distraction

Of everything Sabine might have expected to happen when Rau joined the Rebellion, her standing watch while he buried a set of armor wasn't one of them. [Coda to 'Imperial Supercommandos', and companion to the fics ‘Diplomacy is a Process’ and ‘Breaks in Routine.’]

--------------------------------------

Sabine couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so incredibly awkward as she did right now. Sure, she’d been in plenty of awkward situations, and sure she had felt awkward (The first time she had seen Ketsu after their long separation sprang to mind, as did her and Rex going to Kanan about modifying the mask he’d brought back from Malachor). Sure, there had been points in her life when awkwardness was more like something she breathed than something she felt. But the last time she had felt this incredibly awkward… Probably the closest was the first few months she had spent on the Ghost, what felt like a lifetime ago. But then, there had been the foul taste of paranoia clogging her mouth, the anticipation of an abandonment that never came, to breaking it up. Now, she just had unbroken, unremitting awkwardness to contend with.

The first thing that had been done once the powers that be decided that Rau really could be trusted was that they’d given him his armor back. This had taken long enough—even with Sabine and Ezra deciding it would be better if they just didn’t mention the “threatened to tell the Empire where their base is” part of the story, Hera was angry enough about the “knocked out Ezra and Sabine and hijacked the Phantom” part of the story that it had taken a while to sell her on the idea that Rau really was on the up and up. It had taken long enough, and Rau had been without it for long enough, that Sabine would have thought he would have wanted to hold on to it.

The first thing Rau had done when the powers that be decided he could be trusted was to start making plans to visit certain far-flung Mandalorian outposts where he had contacts. It seemed a reasonable thing to do. There was a chance some of the outposts might be willing to throw their lots in with the Rebellion, and the people there would definitely respond better to Fenn Rau than they would Sabine Wren.

“Oh, before you leave, you should know that the Empire’s put out a warrant for your arrest.”

“I suspected they would. I doubt that anyone where I’m going will try to turn me in, even if they don’t wish to break with the Empire.”

“…They’ve also put a bounty on your head.”

At that, he let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Oh? How much?”

“Enough that if your friends get hungry enough, they might just forget they’re your friends. Look, Rau; it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to go with you—“ for more reasons than one, several of which Sabine would rather not have to think about, let alone talk about “—but are you really sure you want to go by yourself?”

“You worry too much,” he said dismissively. “I know how to evade capture.”

Yeah, Sabine would bet he did. And yet…

(Sabine couldn’t quite manage to ignore the fact that it had been not diplomacy but a massacre and a firefight that had convinced Rau to throw his lot in with the Rebellion. But she didn’t care about reasons; he was one of them now, and that meant something. He was an exile, was someone who couldn’t go home, and that meant something too.)

He’d left for the first of the outposts he planned to scope out a little over a standard month ago. He’d come back late last night wearing a new set of armor, and bearing an odd request for Sabine.

For a few blissful minutes, Sabine had no idea what this was about. For a few blissful minutes, Sabine could look at Rau like he’d grown a second head and wonder why the hell he’d want to just get rid of a good set of armor, especially one that could still be worn or reforged. Though in her experience ignorance was often one of the worst dangers in the galaxy, in those few minutes, Sabine truly learned the meaning of the phrase “Ignorance is bliss.”

When those blissful minutes passed, Sabine just felt sick.

“Okay… so… so you need me to…”

“I’m not asking you to participate. I need someone to stand watch while I work, and there’s no one else here who…”

‘No one else,’ when he ought to have just said ‘no one.’ They might have both been the children of Mandalore, but they were outsiders to one another in this. Sabine didn’t know whether to feel a dull stab of pleasure, or to just feel even sicker than she already did. She nodded slowly. “I’ll see if anyone has a shovel they can let you borrow. There has to be one around here somewhere.”

“…………Thank you, Sabine.”

It was morning now, early morning. There was just enough light that they could see unaided, Sabine was still shedding sleep from her bones, and the air had only just begun to lose night’s dry chill (Sabine wondered when she had become so sensitive to the cold; she noticed it less than the rest of the Ghost’s crew, but just a couple of years ago she wouldn’t have noticed it at all). The krykna were, well… Sabine didn’t know if it was just the sensor marker she’d grabbed doing its work, or if this part of the wilderness just wasn’t part of their hunting grounds, or something else. It wasn’t like Rau could have just picked anywhere to stop and dig; it had to be a place where the soil was soft enough and deep enough to dig in. it was probably just dumb luck that the krykna hadn’t tried bothering them, and if it was dumb luck that there was a nearby rock about fifteen feet high for Sabine to perch on and keep watch from, it was also an unspoken source of relief for them both.

(They were both the children of Mandalore, but they were outsiders to one another in this, and there were things that were just too personal to be shared. Long shadows obscured sight, but not sound. If there was something that needed to be spoken, it was good that Sabine could sit out of earshot, if Rau spoke quietly enough.)

Funerals… Funerals were never a comfortable experience, were they? Sabine could remember too-vividly the last one she had attended. She was ten years old, and it was her grandmother they sent into shadow. Her mother struggled to retain her composure, and had slapped her father’s hand away when he had tried to wrap his arm around her shoulders. Her grandmother’s bones were to be buried in the graveyard with the rest of their dead kin, but it was winter and the ground was frozen solid, so hard that it took the better part of twelve hours to dig the grave deep enough. The short day of winter ran out, the gravediggers dug under starlight, and Sabine’s mother was shaking by the end, but not from the cold. Sabine had never been able to determine what it was that made Ursa shake so, distress or rage, both or neither. If she herself had been shaking, it had been from cold and from hunger and from the empty feeling pervading her bones, and she had found some small relief leaning into her brother’s side.

Rau was having a much easier time digging out a grave than the gravediggers of nine years ago had had. Only about fifteen minutes in, and he’d already gotten further than they had in two hours. He had his back turned to Sabine, and his head bowed. She couldn’t see his face, and didn’t particularly want to.

When they had gone back to that moon of Concord Dawn, when they had found the Protectors’ base a smoking ruin, Sabine hadn’t seen any corpses. The only physical evidence of the massacre was that bloodied helmet Rau had brought back with him, and he had finally scrubbed the blood off of it this morning before they set out, so it almost could have been anyone’s helmet. Somehow, she doubted highly that Saxon and his ISC goons would have thought it worth their time to give the Protectors proper funerary rites; more likely they’d just stacked the bodies up in one of the outbuildings like trash. There had been moments when Sabine had had trouble summoning any coherent thought in the face of her own rising panic, but she could remember wondering if she would notice a smell, or spot an arm or a leg through a door left ajar. If she had been thinking it, there was no way Rau hadn’t been thinking it, too.

Attacked without warning, killed without being given even a chance to negotiate or defend themselves. Killed just to lure out one man. Bodies left to rot out in the open. Killed for… Killed.

(Sabine had dreams, sometimes. Not so often now as she used to, and less vivid as memories of faces and voices started to fray around the edges. The faces and voices were different from the reality she had seen a month ago, but the themes were much the same. She wished she could forget. She hadn’t known these people, didn’t care for them as she did the family of her blood, but she couldn’t forget any of it.)

For now, they couldn’t go back to the Concord Dawn system. It was all too likely that the Empire, Mandalorian or non-Mandalorian, would we waiting for them if they thought to re-enter the system. Sabine liked to think that there would come a day when it would be safe to go back there, safe to do what needed to be done there, but for now, there was this, and it would simply have to be enough.

What were the Protectors’ funerary customs, anyways? Sabine wondered, as the sun inched a little higher in the sky, and Rau dug the proxy grave of his a little deeper. She knew they didn’t send deceased members’ corpses back to their clans, but that was about it; the Protectors were just as secretive in this regard as any clan would have been. Rau was going with burial, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. There was nothing you could do with armor that would mimic the effects of mummification or de-fleshing the bones. There were no bodies of water within two hundred miles of the base, so that was definitely out.  And the sort of fire you’d need to warp high-grade beskar, let alone melt it… You’d find that in a forge, and find it nowhere else, unless you wanted to shoot the beskar in question into a star, or put yourself and everyone around you at serious risk of burning to death.

Whatever it is, I’ll bet it calls for more than one person to perform the rites, Sabine mused uneasily. She turned her gaze away from the burial site, and gritted her teeth and winced as the wind blew dust into her face. Whenever her clan had held a funeral, there were eight official positions to be filled. Three were to de-flesh the bones, and three to dig the grave; one was to prepare the coffin, and the last was to act as chief mourner. The former seven could be any adult member of the clan, but the chief mourner was typically the deceased’s child, spouse, sibling or parent—the only exception was if the deceased had none of these, in which case Sabine’s mother acted as chief mourner instead.

But now, we’ve got one gravedigger-slash-mourner, one lookout who shouldn’t even be here, and no bodies to bury, because the Empire crushes everything that isn’t loyal to it, and no one knows how to hurt Mandalorians quite like other Mandalorians.

(With everything else that had happened there, there was one thing that kept coming back to Sabine’s mind, even over the massacre:

“Your mother is looking for you.”

It was a lie, and a bad one, at that. It had to be. It was a lie told to get Sabine to let her guard down long enough for Saxon to put a blaster bolt through her head. If her mother wanted her back, she had had years to act on that desire, and never had. But that sick lurch in her stomach when he’d said that, it kept coming back to her at odd moments. It was clinging to her even now.)

A quarter of an hour passed by. A convor wheeled in the sky overhead, letting out a single, keening cry before settling on another nearby rock formation. Sabine could almost smile as she watched the bird plump its pretty feathers and preen them, though the half-smile quivered and failed about five seconds after it crept into life. We are one gravedigger-slash-mourner, one lookout who shouldn’t even be here, and one bird. Hope Rau doesn’t think convorees are carrion eaters; he might shoot it out of spite.

Sabine bit back a sigh, her shoulders sagging as she remembered the way Ahsoka had responded to the convorees. Though Ahsoka had only been to Chopper Base the once, she had taken a liking to Atollon’s non-lethal fauna, the convorees especially. She had said…

Sabine couldn’t remember what Ahsoka had said, not without remembering gnawing ache of absence. She stopped trying to.

Down below, Rau had dug the grave as deep as he thought it needed to be—that or he’d hit bedrock, and simply couldn’t dig any deeper. He turned his attention to the large, cloth-wrapped bundle he had taken with them from the base, untying the knot. No easy task was that, if the curses that drifted up to Sabine’s ears were any indication, and even from up here, she could see his hands fumbling. But he got it open on his own eventually, and Sabine doubted that any help of hers would have made the task easier.

Rau laid a strip of cloth down over the soil in the grave (If he was ever to try and dig the armor back up, Sabine supposed it would go better for it to be wrapped in something). His old armor was lying in a heap on top of the cloth he’d transported it in, glinting dully in the early morning sun. He stared at it in silence for a long moment; once again, Sabine could not see his face, and was glad. Then, slowly, carefully, he laid the armor down in the grave, piece by piece. At last, he took the rest of the cloth and laid it down on top of the armor.

Packing the soil back down over the grave took about ten minutes. After that, Sabine looked away, letting the wind fill up her ears. She scanned the horizon for krykna, and saw none. That’s weird, she thought dully. Usually you can see a couple of them, even during the day. It was just as well that the krykna weren’t around—funerals might be uncomfortable, but that didn’t mean that a gate-crasher would be welcome. But still…

“Sabine?”

Sabine would like it to be noted that she did not jump, did not flinch, and did not hunch her shoulders. Instead, she merely stared wordlessly down at Rau, who was staring back up at her.

“You can come down now,” he called out, the wind distorting his voice until Sabine couldn’t make out tone at all. “I’ve finished.”

The walk back to the base was, at first, a quiet one. Rau seemed thoroughly uninterested in talking, and Sabine felt like her skin was going to jump right off her muscles, curiosity and concern warring with the desire to just keep her mouth shut, too. The convor took off, letting out another high, piercing cry, but it soon flew out of sight and out of earshot.

He seemed remarkably calm. In a way, it was a relief—probably the only way this could have been even more awkward than it already was would have been for him to be openly grieving right in front of her. And it had been over a month; surely, he’d already taken some time to try to sort things out in his head. But still, this dry-eyed, expressionless calm…

He was so angry, then. Distraught, too. Definitely wasn’t thinking straight to think he could have gone to the Empire without them blowing his brains out. And if he had realized they’d probably kill him after he told them about Chopper Base, Sabine was one hundred percent sure she could happily go the rest of her life without confirmation. That doesn’t just go away, not so quickly. I know it doesn’t.

“How did the meeting go?” Sabine asked when the silence finally got to be too much to take. “Did they agree to help us?” Her voice sounded faint and brittle to her own ears; she chalked it up to the wind.

Rau grimaced. “No such luck.”

You got that armor from them, though, Sabine wanted to say, and didn’t. That’s something. They might be more open in the future.

The style of the armor was unfamiliar to Sabine, and when Rau had first shown back up last night, she hadn’t been able to tell exactly how he’d gotten it. But now, under proper light? Forged, definitely; it fit too well to be a set he had bought, or someone’s spare set he’d just been given. So they’d said no to fighting the Empire, but had let him stick around long enough to forge a new set of armor? Yes, they certainly might be more receptive in the future. Maybe, some day.

For now, Sabine couldn’t do anything about that. She focused instead on the gunmetal gray of Rau’s new armor, and tried to remember if she had ever seen a Mandalorian warrior go around wearing unpainted armor.

“I’ve got paint back on the Ghost, if you want it,” she offered, keeping her voice as neutral as she was able.

Rau stared at her as though trying to pick up on some hidden meaning behind her words. Upon finding none, he replied, his voice just as neutral as hers, “I think I would, actually. Thank you.” He frowned thoughtfully, and added, “And tell that astromech of yours that I want another round of cubikahd.”

Now, it was Sabine’s turn to stare. “Are you serious?” she asked incredulously. “I’d have thought you’d be sick of it after all those games in the cell block.”

“Your playing is a travesty,” he told her severely, a bit too severely, in fact, if he really wanted to be taken seriously—and Sabine couldn’t help but notice that he was having to force back a smirk. “One I have every intention of correcting. If this should prove impossible, then at least you might be able to last longer than five minutes.”

Sabine rolled her eyes. “My playing’s not that bad.”

“I speak from ample experience when I say that it is.”

Sabine was getting the strong impression that this was meant as a distraction, and the reason why was the reason they were walking back home after burying a set of armor in the desert. If that was the reason… Sabine guessed she could understand it. To be perfectly honest, she could do with a distraction herself, and unfortunately, she could guess easily how much more she would have needed one in Rau’s place. Just so long as he doesn’t start asking questions…

“I’ll see if Chopper has any free time today,” she told him, carefully looking straight ahead. After a measured moment, Sabine added, “I should warn you that if Chopper doesn’t want to do this and I try to make him do it anyways, he’ll probably just zap us both and hide with AP-5 until the heat’s off.”

This got her a startled laugh, and Sabine was a little surprised herself when she smiled back.

#Star Wars: Rebels #Fanfic #Sabine Wren #Fenn Rau