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pricemarshfield · 3 years

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moments like these

A Figayda angst/hurt/comfort fic. Requested by @sapphic-tuesday even though they only requested it because I love Figayda. (ily bestie) Read on AO3 here.

Prompt: Figayda, angst, hurt/comfort, “You don’t need to stay.” “I don’t need to. But I want to.”

The forest is dark and damp and the worst fucking place Fig has ever been, and she's running as fast as she can to get away from herself. She'd point out how it's way too on the nose if she had any breath left, but as it stands, it's all she can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, slower and slower.

Eventually she has to just collapse into the nearest bush, hope somehow that's enough stealth even as the crack of the branches seems to echo out for miles and miles. There's a long, long beat, where she thinks, just for a second, that maybe she's done it. Maybe the other her isn't too perceptive, either.

She hears an oddly pitched laugh from right behind her ear, as though she isn't lying on the ground, and when did the branches tangle around her leg? Where'd her bass go? Why did none of her friends even seem to care that someone else took her place--

Fig wakes up with a start, sits up, hits her head against her ceiling which is, of course, the living room floor. Her horns scratch it a bit, but thankfully, her mom won't ever see it. Her crystal says it's 3 in the morning when she checks it, and fuck, she's gonna be stuck in here for awhile if she can't pass back out.

She could send a quick text to the Mordred group chat (the manorlings, despite Ragh vying for 'OWLBEAR HYPE HOUSE') and ask if anyone's up to let her out, but then there'll be questions about why she's up, so she just concentrates on mage hand until she nails the chord and the ceiling opens.

The house feels too empty with everyone asleep, too stifling when she can't make any noise, but there's not exactly anywhere else she can go. Her days of sneaking out in the middle of the night to go to concerts aren't nearly as fun now that she misses her friends the whole time. Also, now people recognize her for being one of Solace's biggest stars or whatever, and that's just kind of a hassle when she's not in the mood for attention.

The living room couch is an old, cracked leather thing, moved from Jawbone's apartment. It's not comfortable in any traditional sense, but there's a groove in it that fits her perfectly, and that's nice, in its own way. Sometimes she misses the couch in the old house. It got burned to hell in the attack on prom night, though, so. The whole house did, honestly; when she went home after everything, the window in her bedroom was shattered, glass all over her bed so that she had to pick up each piece, vacuum up what small pieces she couldn't see. She still woke up with a couple cuts on her legs that she didn't have before, but it was home, even if the posters and the pink wallpaper were both singed, even if the purple comforter she'd had since she was a kid didn't smell like it used to.

The old Faeth house never really felt like home after her horns, sure, but Mordred...

She does like it here. Loves it, when everyone's crowded around the table, Adaine arguing with Kristen about some minute difference in casting, Jawbone telling a wildly off-color story to a confused-but-interested Aelwyn, Sandra Lynn making sure Ayda has enough food on her plate while she blinks back fiery tears.

But it doesn't change the fact that she lived here for all of a day before spring break, and right now the hallways and secret passages and tall ceilings all feel ominous, not exciting anymore.

She turns on the light before her mage hand dissipates, scrolls through the games she has on her crystal. Most of them are things she's had on here back when she liked unicorns and glitter and all those girly things that she never got around to deleting.

It's something to do, at least.

The bright colors are nostalgic in just the wrong way, and she makes it through two minutes of matching pop rocks and cake slices before she's scrolling through the games again, on-edge for no goddamn reason.

"Fig?"

Part of her relaxes against the couch before she's even finished processing the voice as Ayda. "Hey! I didn't think you were staying here tonight."

"I wasn't," Ayda says, looking at her with an expression she can't read at all. She's in a deep blue chemise, like she'd been sleeping before she walked through the enchanted door into Mordred. "I--may I sit?"

"Yeah, of course," Fig says, patting the spot next to her. "Always, babe."

Ayda cries a little as she sits, and Fig wipes the tears away. The first time she tried, when she was a normal tiefling and didn't wear the title of Archdevil, it stung a little, like stepping into a too-warm bath. Now, it feels just like the hint of warmth against her hand, uniquely Ayda and not at all painful. (Which is also uniquely Ayda, to never freak Fig out even when she's in this shitty mood.)

"So," Ayda says. "I was in Leviathan, as I needed to--well, still need to, I've merely decided the task isn't as important--I'm getting sidetracked."

"Yeah," Fig says, and when Ayda stiffens, says, "Not bad! Not a bad thing! It's cute."

"Oh," Ayda says. "I--sorry," and bursts into tears again. Fig wipes them away, kisses her cheek just 'cause she can, kisses the other one because she can feel Ayda's face get even warmer.

"No worries," Fig says, too late, because she's not--this is still new to her. "So what's going on?"

"As you know, I am a divination wizard, though not an Oracle like Adaine, our best friend." Fig nods. "But sometimes my dreams have--not prophecies, but looks into the present, or even occasionally the past."

"Okay," Fig says. "Is there, like, a slumbering demon lord underneath Mordred?"

"No," Ayda says. "I asked a ranger I know in Leviathan to check before he left on a journey to Sylvaire. Unrelated to the Nightmare King. I checked, just to be sure, because I am sure none of us want to deal with that again."

"Mmhm," Fig says, willing herself to keep breathing slow and easy and not tense up like she wants to. It's just Ayda talking about preventing further Nightmare King stuff. The Nightmare King doesn't even exist anymore, they're Cassandra, they're cool. "So, uh, what'd you see in your dream?"

"You," Ayda says. "That isn't uncommon. I dream of you often. You're in more of my dreams than not. Is that strange? Should I not have said that?"

"Not strange," Fig says, sure her cheeks are red rather than pink. "Just--I'm flustered, okay, give me a second."

Ayda nods at her, not smiling but face relaxed in a way that suggests the same feeling. Fig grabs her hand just to ground herself, squeezes it once. There's a moment before Ayda squeezes it back, like she's thinking about whether it's the right thing to do.

"Totally normal," Fig says, just in case.

"Good," Ayda says with one long exhale. "I was worried."

"You know, it doesn't matter to me if what you do is 'normal'," Fig says. "I like you whether what you do is normal or not!"

Ayda nods. "I want to finish my thought, but after that I want to kiss you. That was the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"You could kiss me and then finish the thought?"

"I would forget," Ayda says, like she doesn't remember everything, like Fig is enough to distract her. Fig can't quite meet her gaze, then, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. She squeezes her hand again. Ayda squeezes back immediately. "Um. I'm distracting myself. What was I talking about?"

"Your dream."

"Right. Thank you, Fig. I dreamed about you, and I think it may have been--it was as though I was standing at your bedside. I know it was a dream and not sleepwalking, because I can't actually stand in your room--it's too short and I don't want to set your house on fire. But you seemed upset, and while I don't know if that was real or a dream or not, I couldn't--I couldn't just sit in my room and Leviathan without checking."

"Oh," Fig says. "Um. I'm fine."

"Hm," Ayda says. "You know, you were the one who told me that if people say they're fine, it very rarely means they're fine. I don't understand the logic of it at all, but I trust your insight."

"It's stupid," Fig says, and then, in a twist, bursts into tears herself. "God. It's stupid, I don't even know why I'm upset? Like, it's literally nothing, nothing is going on, I'm just dumb--"

"You are not dumb," Ayda says, and Fig hates herself all the more for the panic she can hear in her voice. "You have taught me so much, and if it matters to you, then it's not stupid. Fig?"

"Yeah," Fig says, voice embarrassingly choked up. She clears her throat as best she can, which isn't very well, since she's still actively crying. "Yeah, I know."

"I don't know what you know," Ayda says. "But I know that when I cry, you wipe my tears away, and I'm going to do the same for you, unless you want to stop me, in which case I won't."

Fig doesn't move, lets Ayda wipe away her tears even though it makes her want to cry more, someone being nice to her right now. "Thanks."

"Any time," Ayda says with the weight of a promise and not at all like the platitude most people would mean. "Do you want to talk about it? It's okay if you don't. I often don't want to talk about the things I'm going through when I'm still going through them."

"I don't," Fig says, because the idea of explaining the nightmare and Mordred and her old house being destroyed and feeling so, so unmoored and stuck all at once makes her want to tear her own hair out. "I don't--you don't need to stay. I'll be okay. If I'm not--if I can't talk about it, you don't need to stay."

"I don't need to stay," Ayda says, carefully, and Fig grips her hand tighter without consciously meaning to. "But I'd like to. If I can."

"I meant it when I said always," Fig says, still not looking at Ayda because she can't.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yeah," Fig says. "I always want you to stay."

Jawbone walks into the room on his way into the kitchen, sees two teenagers holding hands and crying and slightly-burning his couch, and decides he can just get water from the bathroom instead of the kitchen. He's not one to interrupt a moment.

#figayda #fig faeth the insatiable #ayda aguefort #fantasy high #dimension 20 #sapphic-tuesday #request #my fics

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littlekatleaf · 3 years

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The Dreams in Which I'm Dying

Well wtf, it's a new fandom for me. Unexpected! I started watching D/imension20 RPGs and fell in love with F/abian Seacaster and G/arthy O'Brien from F/antasy H/igh and P/irates of L/eviathan. This takes place 20 years after the events of the games.

And I find it kind of funny I find it kind of sad The dreams in which I’m dying Are the best I’ve ever had. ~ Tears for Fears, Mad World

It begins with nightmares - dark, heavy things Fabian doesn’t remember on waking. At least, not the first few nights. He’s left with nothing more than vague shadows and a lingering sense of unease. Everything seems wrong - his apartment simultaneously too big and claustrophobically small. He’s suffused with restlessness. He knows something’s coming, like a squall brewing just beyond the horizon. He might not be able to see the gathering clouds, but feels the barometric pressure plummeting.

At first he attempts to dance out of the way - to dodge and evade - but the dread wraps around him like his own battle sheet, tangling him tight. He tries to ignore the tension singing along his shoulders, the constant twist in his gut. It’s nothing, he tells himself, less than nothing. There’s no time for it to be something. Rumor has it the ship carrying one of the last pirates of the Crimson Claw will reach the mouth of Leviathan in mere days. If he’s going to meet it, he needs to pull together a party. Barely enough time remains to cement plans once he knows the group’s strengths and weaknesses.

As he paces his living room, trying to outrun the apprehension, Fabian’s eye is caught by a piece of red string, like Riz always used in his conspiracy boards. In that instant he longs for them. The Bad Kids. No matter how many years passed since any of them were kids, it’s still at the heart of who they are. (Isn’t it?) They fit together in their roles. Like that movie Kristen made them all watch once - a brain, and an athlete, and a basket case, a princess and a criminal. The others had bickered good naturedly over roles that night - specifically who was the basket case. Kristen joked it was Gilear. Ragh said it was her. Fabian didn't need to argue because he knew the truth - Riz was the brain, Gorgug the athlete, Adaine the princess, Fig the criminal, Kristen the saint. Himself the basket case. Even in all the intervening years, he’s never found a group that connects as well as they had, before they all went their separate ways. Even if they hadn’t lost touch, none of the others adventure anymore. In their absence he needs to choose alternatives, like he always does, attempting to fill the holes they left behind - and failing.

He picks up his crystal, turning it over in his hands. The group chat is saved, they are all still members, but no one has used it in years. Maybe he’s wrong; maybe he needs to let them go.

He knows there’s no time for self-indulgence. But he still stalls, the trepidation casting a fog of doubt over every option. He cannot decide on even one person to trust. Perhaps this time he should go alone. He can defeat one single pirate himself. The rest - crew and spoils alike - is irrelevant. The Maelstrom’s Maw will likely bring in the boat and then he can attack. He rubs his forehead against a growing headache and puts the decision off again.

Two nights pass, with only the lightest veil of sleep and even that torn by disquiet. The intervening days feel equally foggy with a mix of exhaustion and dread. Fabian drags himself through the necessary tasks by his fingernails until he’s done everything he can without a crew. A crew on which he still has not managed to settle. In the midst of circling the problem for the five hundredth, or five thousandth, time his crystal flashes an alert. The ship’s been sighted just a few nautical miles off Harroway Bay and will reach Leviathan before dawn. He’s waited too long, he realizes. It will be a solo adventure, then. Nothing else for it.

Fabian knows, almost from the moment he engages, that he’s made a deep mistake attempting the attack this way. Though he comes upon the pirate in the dead of night, alone as planned, he hadn’t considered that the pirate’s shipmates might still be within earshot. His blade only crosses the pirate’s once before he hears heavy boots closing fast.

The pirate thrusts and he manages to parry, but only just. His body feels strange and disconnected, as though he’s a half-beat behind in the dance, perpetually off-step. The pirate presses his advantage; Fabian retreats. Suddenly there’s a flash of light on another drawn sword and several more pirates surround him. At his best he can handle eight, maybe ten. He is not at his best, and light from the streetlamp falls on fifteen.

The pirate grins. “Yer goin’ down, boy.”

“Not a boy anymore.” At least he’ll die in battle, and if he’s very lucky he’ll take this scourge to hell with him. Make his papa proud.

“That remains to be seen,” another says.

The battle is fierce. Swords clash, lunge and dodge, strike-parry-riposte, movements Fabian knows in his sleep, but something is wrong. His body won’t obey. His lungs ache and he can’t catch his breath. Sweat drips into his eye, burning. And then - an opening - the pirate attacking leaves his flank unguarded and Fabian darts in fast - too fast to pull back when he realizes it’s a feint.

I’m fucked, he has time to think, as the pirate whirls. A sharp blow cracks across his elbow, his fingers go numb and his sword falls, clattering to the cobblestone. One of the crew kicks the back of his knees and he stumbles forward and drops. He grabs for his sword, but just as his hand closes around it, the point of the pirate’s sword is at his throat. Should have known it would end this way. Alone. On Leviathan. Fitting for it to be here, tonight - on the anniversary. The way it should have ended if he hadn’t run like a coward, abandoning Alistair to Captain James. Fabian fumbles in his pocket for his crystal, wishing for just enough time to send a last message to the Bad Kids. “Do it,” he says from between gritted teeth.

The pirate barks a laugh, but shakes his head. “Ain’t worth the world o’ hurt that would bring down on me head, boy. Chungledown Bim’s a right devil and yer marked as his. Can’t let ya follow for another go at me, though this has been a delight.”

A brilliant flash of pain blinds him. The crystal slides through his fingers. He falls… and falls… and falls…

through ropes that burn his skin and do nothing to slow his speed and his body hits water that closes over his head like he’s been swallowed whole and still he falls through freezing darkness until the ocean parts and he falls through fire and the flames crackle and whisper - What will you tell the Captain when you meet him in Hell? Have you written your name on the face of the world, Fabian? No, you have written nothing. Nothing to be remembered by. Even your friends have forgotten you. How does it feel to be a failure of a pirate and a failure of a friend? the whisper turns to choking smoke and

Fabian coughs himself awake, lungs aching like he’s been breathing water and smoke, but he still lays where he’d fallen, in some Four Castles back alley. His body’s not been hijacked. Not dropped here by imps. He blinks up at the sky for a long moment, struggling to orient himself. The sky is heavy with clouds, hiding even a sliver of moon. Fat drops of rain pelt down, edged with ice. He blinks the water from his eye and pushes himself to his feet. Once again he staggers through the streets of Leviathan, shivering hard enough to rattle teeth. This time, however, there’s no Cathilda to wrap him in a blanket, no Hangvan to disappear into. No Kristen to slap sense back into him. He wraps his arms around himself, but the rain soaks his shirt and finds no warmth.

Those he passes take no notice of him, perhaps assuming he’s nothing more than another drunken pirate. Even so, he needs to find a place to lay low. Given enough time someone will roll him just to see if he has any coin. Or simply for the fun of it. He’s not even sure, at this moment, that he could defend himself against a single assailant. His head aches where the pirate hit him and his throat is unaccountably raw. Then, as if to add insult to injury, he sneezes. Once, twice, thrice, smothered in the sleeve of his shirt. He always sneezes in threes. Riz teased him mercilessly about it.

“If you’d just sneeze like a normal person, instead of those pinchy things, you’d be done in one, Fabiahn,” Riz would say, drawing his name out like his elvish grandfather did.

“It’s called being polite, The Ball,” he’d reply. “And what do you know about normal?”

“About as much as you.”

They’d laugh together and Fabian’s embarrassment would ease. He would give anything for Riz to be laughing with him now.

Suddenly a door slams open and a wash of warm yellow light spills over the ground in front of him. He glances up. Maybe Kristen sent Cassandra to watch over him, because his meandering path has brought him to the Gold Gardens. The exiting patron brushes past with a muttered curse, but Fabian barely notices. As the doors swing shut, Bob’s voice slips through, full of dream and promise. Fabian checks his pockets and breathes a sigh of relief at the comforting feel of coin.

He stands straighter, raises his chin, allowing the light to fall on his face, scars and eyepatch and all, as the Goliath guard regards him suspiciously. Though it has been some time since he’s been on Leviathan and longer since he’s sought refuge at the Gold Gardens, he trusts the reputation he’s built in the intervening years yet holds. “Good evening. I find myself in need of a room for the night,” he says. “I have payment.”

The other guard, a half-orc he vaguely recognizes from previous visits, turns to him. Her face betrays no reaction to his disheveled state. It’s likely that she’s seen worse. “Ah, Master Seacaster. Garthy O’Brien has made it known there is always room for you here. Please, enter.”

Fabian sketches a small bow. The doors swing wide and the heat that flows out and envelops him is nearly as heavenly as Bob’s voice. But the change in temperature makes his nose run. He sniffs, presses the back of his wrist against the tickling itch, but can’t stop the inevitable. He’s barely inside before he’s sneezing again and wishing for something other than his sleeve to cover with. “H’tchsh! Chh! H’tsh!” He hopes the music and general merriment of the patrons is enough to hide the slight sound, but of course he is noticed.

“Blessings, Fabian, darling. Are you ill?” Garthy touches his shoulder gently and before he can stop himself, Fabian flinches away. His skin feels too tight, even the light pressure too much sensation. They take a step back, one hand raised in a calming gesture.

“I beg your pardon, Garthy,” Fabian says, attempting his usual charming smile. He’s not sure he pulls it off, because a small frown of concern still lingers between their brows. Somehow the expression does nothing to mar their beauty; the proprietor of the Gold Gardens is exquisite as always, the few silver threads in their black dreads the only indicator of years passing. “I’m fine. Just a little chilled from the rain. And you, my friend, are a sight for sore eyes. Eye.” His mouth quirks. “Might there be a room for a traveler seeking shelter from the storm?”

Garthy considers him for a long moment, gaze intent. Fabian resists the urge to look away, to avoid scrutiny. It’ll only make them more suspicious. He concentrates on keeping his expression vaguely flirtatious, his stance loose and easy. At last Garthy gives the smallest nod, allowing him his ruse. “I have told you before, lovey, you are always welcome here. You and yours. Come.” They turn down a hallway and Fabian follows.

Bob’s voice, the rattle of dice, the din of too much conversation fade and Fabian releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. The Bad Kids always stayed in a room just off the main parlor, right in the midst of the action. Fig and Gorgug would take over for the house band and practically blow the roof off. Kristen would try to outdrink that biggest pirate she could find, and usually ended up drunk-best-friends with everyone. If Tracker had to pull her out of a fight or two, well, that just kept things interesting. Ragh and Fabian would drink too much mead and take too much snuff and Ragh would challenge the wrong people to wrestling matches and Fabian would beat the wrong people at dice and sometimes fists would be thrown. Good naturedly, of course. Adaine would watch them all over the spine of a book from the Compass Points and shake her head. Sometimes she had to heal one or another of them, but she never seemed to mind. Riz would disappear into the crowd for indeterminate amounts of time, only to suddenly appear at their table with a sharp-toothed grin and clues to whatever mystery they were trying to solve that he’d gleaned from overheard conversations. Fig and Kristen, especially, never wanted the nights to end. Sometime around dawn, though, Kristen and Tracker would peel off, followed by Fig and Ayda. The rest of them shared a room, Fabian, Riz, Gorgug, and Ragh all sprawled on a huge bed while Adaine tranced on a chaise nearby. Somehow Fabian slept better those nights than before or since, even though the room was never peaceful, or silent. Ragh and Gorgug snored. Adaine muttered to herself in her trance. Riz, when he slept, was restless, taking up more room than a three and a half foot tall goblin should. When he didn’t, his pen would scratch across his notebook for hours. None of it ever bothered Fabian.

A door creaks open, startling Fabian out of his thoughts. The room Garthy offers is a small and simply furnished space, just a bed, desk, and fireplace. Fabian crosses the room to a large window and looks out over the edge of the city to the black ocean beyond. It’s still raining, drops pattering against the pane. He should say something to Garthy. Thank them for the room, make a joke about another Leviathan brawl gone badly. He can’t find the words. Any words.

“Would you like something to eat? Or perhaps a warm drink?” Garthy’s voice is quiet, as though they might be intruding.

“No, thank you,” he says. Kippers, Master Fabian? Cathilda’s voice in his head. I don’t deserve kippers. He didn’t. Doesn’t. Twenty men dead. Twenty innocent men. Worst of all, Alistair Ash. Still a child. Dead because he needed to prove that he was a true pirate, heir to his father’s fame. That he is worthy. Instead he left Alistair to the fate that should have been his. He rubs his hand over his eye as though he could rub away the ache. The failure.

Garthy whispers something Fabian doesn’t catch, and flames rise in the hearth, hot and bright, crackling cheerfully. “At least let me take your wet things,” they say. “You’re shaking.”

He hadn’t realized how cold he still feels, despite being out of the wind and rain, until Garthy points it out. He takes a breath to declare, again, that he’s fine, but a chill cascades over him, followed by several sneezes, instantly proving him wrong. “H’ngxt! Fuck. H’Ntch! Ngxt!” He straightens and Garthy offers a handkerchief. Abashed, he takes it, blows his nose. “Pardon me.” Before he can gather himself, he’s overtaken again. At least this time he has a handkerchief to mute the sound. The sneezes shiver through him hard enough to send drops of rain spattering from his hair.

“Bless you, darling.” Garthy draws him closer to the fire. With deft fingers they undress him, peeling sodden clothes from his body, then wrap him in a thick robe. He doesn’t resist, suddenly beyond exhausted. Everything feels like it’s happening at a distance. Or maybe through a pane of glass. “Come, have a lay down. Things’ll look better in the morning.”

Fabian nods, even though he’s certain things will look just the same. He barely slides between the sheets when his eye drifts closed. He feels the bed dip slightly as Garthy sits beside him and, seeking warmth, he curls close. They smell spicy and sweet, like cinnamon and sandalwood and orange blossoms. Garthy curves a hand over his forehead. It’s strangely comforting and he wants to bury his face in Garthy’s hair, but instead he drifts out and out and…

floats in a strange grey emptiness. He can only identify his surroundings by absence. No color. No sound. No touch. He thinks he lifts his hands, or tries to lift his hands, or what should be his hands, but there’s nothing. He tries to look down, what he might assume is down, only to find no body. Nothing. It’s like the Nightmare Forest, but worse because they defeated the Nightmare King. They defeated Kalina. Which means this must be real. This nought. Of course no one reaches out… you don’t exist.You never existed. You are not even memory. You are a nonentity. A nullity. He opens his mouth to argue, but there’s no mouth, no vocal cords, no lungs, no breath. No words. No thoughts. Just deep, endless cold. Bone aching cold, if he had bones.

“...safe…You’re all right. Wake up, Fabian, love.” Garthy’s voice coalesces from the cold, at first sounding sharp as ice breaking. But they know his name, beckon him back into form by shaping the word. “Come on, darling. You’re dreaming.”

“Should’ve left me; felt better there. Nothing hurts when you don’t have a body,” he mumbles, and even though he has vocal cords again, he sounds nothing like himself. He clears his throat, sniffs.

Garthy laughs, low and kind. “Let me help you feel better, here in your body.” They cup his cheek gently, then urge him up and through a door to a bathing chamber.

A large bathtub stands in the center of the room, steam rising in soft curls. It is surrounded with dozens of candles and in their light Garthy glows, irises and tattoos molten gold. Fabian reaches for them, hesitantly. As if touching them might dim their shine. They smile tenderly, allowing him to trace the Zajiri script, the flowers and leaves with one tentative finger. He wonders what the writing might mean. Their skin is soft under Fabian’s own calloused hands. He longs for Garthy to wrap their arms around him, to hold him close until his shivering stops, until he’s finally warm. He doesn’t know how to ask.

Instead he moves back, putting a bit of distance between them. “I’m not w…” he starts to say, but an unexpected set of sneezes interrupts and he only just manages to pull the handkerchief from his robe pocket. “Ht’ngxt! Heh...ihh… Nxgt! H’tchh!”

“Not well?” Garthy suggests, steadying him. “Blessings.”

Heat rises in Fabian’s cheeks and he coughs a laugh. “That either. But no.” He gestures broadly, including the room, the bath, Garthy themself. “Not worth this.”

Garthy tilts their head with a puzzled frown. “Oh, lovey, of course you are.” They press one finger to Fabian’s lips before he can continue arguing. “Shh. It’s all right.” They take Fabian’s elbow, guiding him into the bath.

Fabian sinks into the heat with a deep sigh as his muscles begin to relax. He slides down, submerging himself completely in warm darkness. The water closes over his face; he rests his head on the bottom of the tub, and the only thing he hears is the thump of his own heart in his ears, still beating, beating, beating. At last his breath runs out and he surfaces with a gasp.

Gathy’s pulled a stool up beside the bath and as Fabian wipes water out of his eye, they wet a cloth and begin to wash his back, humming quietly. The soap smells of eucalyptus and peppermint, cool and clean. Fabian shivers once, and only slowly eases into the touch, closing his eye as Garthy washes his hair, gently working his fingers over his scalp. A memory rises, unbidden - himself, in the bath, he can’t be more than five and he’s sobbing. His papa is away, his mama asleep in her room even though it’s not even dark outside and he’s sick and scared. But then Cathilda’s there, as she always is, and she’s cleaning him up and humming a lullaby. Tears rise now, before he can stop them, dripping into the water.

“What’s distressing you, love?” Garthy asks.

It takes him several minutes to gather his thoughts; they feel ephemeral as clouds floating through his mind. “It’s been twenty years, Garthy. Shouldn’t it have faded?” He coughs, trying to clear the lump in his throat. “I still see them, you know. My father’s warlocks.” He presses the heels of his palms against his eye sockets. Breathe, he tells himself.

Garthy hums a listening noise.

“I shouldn’t have gone alone that night. I just wanted a moment in Crow’s Keep - we’d gone there together, my papa and I. When I was little. It was the one time Mama got angry at him, for bringing me to Leviathan, when he wasn’t supposed to be interacting with pirates. But he’d taken me up to watch the sun rise. He said he’d bring me to the top of the world, that we could touch the clouds. If I was lucky, I might even bring some home in my pockets…

“He gave me cotton candy, told me it was one he’d harvested himself. I’d never imagined clouds tasted so sweet…” he licks his lips, remembering how the candy had melted on his tongue, just like a rain cloud.

“I thought, maybe… somehow… if I spoke to him from the top of the world, he might hear me.” Fabian laughs at himself, coughs on a sob but manages to swallow it back. “Of course, Papa wasn’t listening. He was busy taking over Hell and selling spells to pirates. Always on to a bigger adventure, even in death.

“When the warlocks came, I let myself get swept up. Figuratively, as well as literally. I told them about Papa. About what I’d done… and it wasn’t enough. I killed him and it wasn’t enough.” He takes a ragged breath and Garthy rubs his back in slow circles. “I thought we could take Captain James. I thought I could take Captain James. It would make up for… everything.” He sucks in another breath, on the edge of desperation. He can’t get enough air. When he blinks, he feels Whitclaw’s tentacles on his face, cold fingers gripping him tight, raw hatred pulsing in the air between them.

“It went so fast. So fast. If I didn’t run… if I didn’t… he would have killed me… with the others. I didn’t stop to think, I didn’t even grab Alistair and he was fighting for me. I abandoned him… and I didn’t die, but he did. Because I fucked up.” Fabian sits in silence for several minutes, jaw clenched, struggling to breathe and not cry.

“I thought the guilt would fade,” he finally says, voice rough and not much above a whisper. “I thought the good I’ve done since would make up for it. I thought the adventures I had with the Bad Kids would make up for it. But it hasn’t. It doesn’t. And they’re gone… I thought killing the last of Whitclaw’s men would be penance. But I fucked that up, too.”

The only sound for a long moment is the rain on the roof, thunder rolling in the distance. Then Fabian takes a breath like he’s about to dive into the ocean and turns to face Garthy. “Am I forgivable?”

“Oh my darling Fabian. Of course you are. You are already forgiven.” They lean forward and brush the lightest kiss across his lips. “Yes, dire mistakes were made. And you have repented of those mistakes, and made reparations. You did not follow in your father’s footsteps; you found your own way. You have made a good man of yourself. You help those who are in need. You do not take advantage of anyone. You are generous, kind, thoughtful. Tales of your deeds are not spoken of as widely as Captain Bill Seacaster, but I have heard them nonetheless. Be proud of who you have become, Fabian Aramais Seacaster. And you should know that Alistair Ash lives again.”

A warm breeze whirls through the room and the candles suddenly go out. It’s as though the light has been transmuted into a seed of hope in Fabian, gold as the irises of Garthy’s eyes. Back in bed, Fabian curls into Garthy and they wrap their arms around him, holding tight until his trembling passes.

#snezfic

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grumpyhedgehogs · 4 years

Text

tangled up in your old bedsheets

Summary: Fabian wraps Riz in his sheet a lot, The Hangman is strangely jealous all of a sudden, and Riz figures some things out on his own.

It takes maybe a lot longer than it should for Fabian to understand exactly what’s happening with the whole “wrapping Riz up in his sheet all the time” thing. In his defense, there’s a lot of shit going down when it first happens. Riz has just been revivified only to be kicked off a fucking cliff by Kalina and the world is in peril and Fabian is stretching, stretching, stretching, to reach Riz before he’s lost to him forever. So when the fire elemental snags the goblin out of the air and kisses his cheek and Fabian curls his best friend into himself, swaddling him like a newborn, the half-elf doesn’t think much of it other than thank the gods you’re alright.

But then it happens again. And again. And again. And no matter what, even when Fabian doles out gifts and aggressively supports all his friends, Riz is the only one who ever seems to end up wrapped in Fabian’s sheet.

Fabian realizes this the summer after sophomore year and then aggressively stops thinking about what it could mean.

When the Night Yorb is defeated, Riz dies again. Thankfully Kristen is standing right next to him when he goes down so their rogue isn’t out for long but Fabian feels it deep in his bones. He sees the light go out of Riz’s eyes, watches, like he had just last spring, as his best friend falls, limp, to the ground. He sees him die and is unable to do anything about it. Again.

That evening, they have a bonfire. The final showdown had happened on the beach, where the Night Yorb had been ready to extend its power from the shores of Solace to Leviathan to Fallinel and beyond until the Bad Kids stopped it.

Now, Kristen and Fig are teaching Ayda how to shotgun a beer with mixed results. Adaine and Aelwyn are curled together, Aelwyn already trancing after using every ounce of her abjuration magic to keep her sister from being completely obliterated in the last ten minutes of the battle. Gorgug had almost immediately been mobbed with invasive, uncomfortable relationship advice from the Seven Maidens, who had come to help in the last fight after Riz had cracked the code which revealed the location of the Night Yorb’s power source with Zelda’s help. The half-orc seems fine, if a little overwhelmed by their chattering--Zelda is at least acting as something of a buffer.

Fabian and Riz had been side by side to strike the finishing blow to the Night Yorb when it went down. He’d turned and looked at Riz and had seen the bruises and the blood and the lines of pain in his face and had pulled out his sheet without hesitation. Riz hadn’t even pretended to protest.

Now, as they sit in the shadows, the fire’s light flickering over the bags under Riz’s eyes and the hollows of his cheeks, Fabian doesn’t pretend to resist the urge he has to pull the fabric tighter around Riz, tucking it between his arms and chest so it can’t pull free when the goblin shifts. He’s pressed up against Fabian’s side, half on top of him as Fabian drapes his arms around him and pulls one knee up against his back. His other leg extends out towards the fire and they’d both kicked off their shoes like everyone else had a long time ago. He digs his toes into the cold sand and lets it remind him he’s alive. They have survived.

“You know, I’m not actually that cold,” Riz mutters. His ears are drooping with exhaustion. Fabian hums and leans his chin on the crown of his head. Riz’s hair smells like seasalt. “You could take your blanket back now.”

“Battle sheet,” Fabian corrects absentmindedly. “You uncomfortable?”

“No.” His voice is so soft. He wriggles one hand out of the sheet--Fabian feels an unhappy rumble begin in his chest--and curls his clawed fingers around Fabian's hand, splayed in the sand beside Riz’s sheet-encased hip for balance. Fabian tightened his grip immediately. The rumble dies in his throat. “No, I’m not.”

“Good.” Fabian tugs the sheet just a little more, secures it, and rests.

It happens when they’re not in mortal danger or coming down from a battle high, too. The first time Fabian notices it--and when he notices Riz noticing it--is movie night. All the Bad Kids as well as Ragh, Tracker, Ayda and Aelwyn are gathered at Mordred Manor, sprawled over couches and armchairs and across the floor. Fabian is cuddled up to Aelwyn on the couch, Adaine on her other side, when he is chosen to be the first sacrifice in the name of snack refills. Naturally, he tells everyone goodnaturedly that he hates them, and goes.

Fabian isn’t even really thinking about it when he does it.

He comes back and sets the popcorn in Tracker’s lap and hands the sodas out and then he realizes that his spot next to Aelwyn has been filled by Fig, who is sitting with Ayda in her lap and very much not paying attention to the crystal screen. Both Abernant sisters do not look like they appreciate this development, but neither are very likely to say anything in the name of keeping the peace.

So Fabian shrugs and begrudgingly lopes over to the cushy armchair with the winged back where Riz is curled up with his knees to his chest. The Ball looks up, startled, but doesn’t make a sound when Fabian picks him right up, plops down in the armchair and then sets The Ball down beside him. Without even really looking away from the movie, the half-elf digs out his sheet and unfolds it, letting the sparks settle before he spreads it over both of them. Riz is wedged between his left thigh and the armrest, small enough that he doesn’t have to fully sit in Fabian’s lap to share the space. He does have to lean into Fabian’s side to see the screen around him though; Fabian feels more than sees The Ball glance at him out of the corner of his eye. His tail slaps once, twice against Fabian’s side, and Fabian drops his arm onto The Ball’s back in response, quelling the detective’s squirming. The Ball leans harder into his side and mutters to himself.

“What?” Fabian asks, defensive and not really understanding why.

“You know you could’ve just asked to sit down,” Riz says. What he means is, what the fuck, Fabian?

“Can we just watch the movie in peace, please?” Fabian replies. What he means is, please don’t call attention to this.

Riz shuts up. They watch the movie in peace.

Fabian catches Aelwyn looking at him that night, a strange gleam in her eye; it’s the one she gets when she’s mastered an overly complicated piece of magic that’s been elusive for a long time. Fabian shifts, but doesn’t let go of Riz, who is tucked even more tightly into his side as the night wears on, his head on Fabian’s chest and the sheet tangled up between them.

He shakes it off; there’s nothing here for Aelwyn to understand.

Nothing.

After that, it’s just an easy way of keeping track of Riz. The rogue has such high sleight of hand and stealth; he’s really a menace to society. Fabian is doing the authorities a favor, honestly. It also helps him get used to how to whip the sheet in a non-lethal capacity, teaches him how hard to snap the fabric around someone’s ankle to send them careening back to their spot on the couch, or how to flick it around their waist to pull them back to his side without leaving bruises. He even gets good enough to snag Riz’s tail and yank him back from the curb when he went to step into the road without looking up from his clues, which is probably the coolest thing Fabian does that week.

Riz complains and pouts and never tells him directly to stop, which he would if it were a real issue. But since he is a gentleman first Fabian asks, just to make sure.

“I don’t--really mind, actually,” Riz says haltingly. The tips of his ears are slowly turning turquoise. Fabian is extremely interested in this development. For science, of course. “It’s nice, knowing--uh, knowing you’re there to, like, catch me. If I fall. Or something. And the elemental keeps the sheet really warm, so. It’s nice. I don’t mind.”

Fabian grins, and something strange and pleasant settles in his chest.

The first time he really has to confront the idea that maybe it’s not just Fabian being paranoid about the amount of time he spends wrapping Riz in a sheet is when Aelwyn breaks up with him. It’s been coming for a long time, so obvious it’s like staring down an oncoming train. Aelwyn is trying to be kinder now, has been working on being gentler with people, and so of course she comes to their meeting at the ice cream shop with a delicately worded bullet point list on why they can’t be together anymore.

“And really, we did both acknowledge exactly how unhealthy for each other we are when we got into this,” she finishes, looking up at him over the rims of her new catlike glasses. She and Adaine match now. “I mean, I very explicitly stated how bad an idea this was and you agreed.”

“Yeah,” Fabian says, because he did. It still doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

“Honestly Fabian, sometimes I--I wonder why you even said yes in the first place. It’s not like you don’t have another, probably better, option hanging around all the time.”

He has no fucking idea what that’s supposed to mean. “I have no fucking idea what that’s supposed to mean.”

Aelwyn looks at him, shrewd and calculating, and then sighs. “Men. You’re all so useless.”

“Hey,” Fabian says, halfhearted. She just broke up with him; it’d be nice of her to display a little consideration.

Her mouth presses into a thin line, and even though he knows she’s not happy about this either, Fabian gets the distinct feeling she’s laughing at him. Just a little. “How come you never wrap me in your sheet?”

“Wh-what?”

“You always wrap Riz in your battle sheet. Constantly. I’ve counted three times this week, Fabian, and it’s only Thursday. How come you never wrap me in your precious battle sheet? I was your girlfriend up until this moment, wasn’t I?”

“I have no idea what The Ball has to do with you breaking up with me,” Fabian tells her honestly.

“Everything, my dear.” Aelwyn says as she stands and tosses a five dollar bill on their table in Basrar’s. “Absolutely everything. Think about it.”

The Ball has nothing to do with this.

“You have nothing to do with this.” Fabian tells him when Riz rushes into his room in Seacaster Manor, armed with dvds and ice cream and a grim expression Fabian recognizes from the moment before he ate Kalvaxus’s face off.

“Well if you didn’t want me here why did you call me?” Riz asks, looking affronted. He takes a step towards the door but wavers, looking back and forth between the hallway beyond and Fabian’s teary, red face. “Look, I wanna help, but if you need some time alone--”

“No! That’s not what I meant.” Fabian flaps one arm at him frantically. “I just-- it’s just stupid, never mind, just get over here, The Ball.”

Riz dumps the items in his arms and bounds over, sympathy leaking over his expression. He stops by the foot of the bed which is too far away and Fabian would roll his eyes and whip the sheet out for him if he weren’t already wrapped up in it and trying not to look like he’s been crying for the past hour and a half. He has not. He has only been crying for an hour and twenty minutes, thank you very much.

“I’m really sorry, Fabian,” Riz says, soft and kind and what Fabian needs to hear and what he wants none of at the same time. “I know you really like Aelwyn.”

Something in The Ball’s expression shifts, a little, drops down and gets even more serious and Fabian feels that instinctive, commonplace need to know more about him. Fabian fails an insight roll though, and shakes his head. He reaches out again. “Just, just come here, The Ball, gods--”

“I’m standing right next to you--” is all The Ball can get out before he lets out a high little yelp and gets lifted into the air. He’s so light Fabian can manhandle him onto the mattress and into the sheet with one arm. Fabian wonders if he’s getting enough to eat, if he’s spiraling in his office too much, if he hasn’t been sleeping lately. After the Night Yorb incident, he and The Ball had slept in the same bed on and off, on the promise to wake each other up when they had nightmares. It was a terrible few weeks.

The only thing Fabian misses, he admits to himself as he sets The Ball down on the mattress next to him and drapes half of the sheet across his shoulders, is the warmth he woke up to every morning. Riz is a familiar, reassuring weight against Fabian’s side; he didn’t realize after the nightmares went away and The Ball started sleeping over on the weekends rather than every night how much he would miss this.

Riz is, as always, game once he realizes what the plan is. He curls up under the sheet with a familiarity that makes the pressure in Fabian’s cracked chest ease just a little. He wraps his arms around Fabian’s middle and his tail flicks up to curl loosely around Fabian’s wrist where his arm is hooked around The Ball’s shoulders. The sheet is soft as cream and silvery in the low light as it folds around them both; it is on autopilot that Fabian takes the edges of the sheet and tucks them around his friend, until they are nothing more than a weirdly shaped lump of fabric.

“I’m supposed to comfort you right now, not the other way around,” The Ball points out, humor coloring his tone even as he keeps his voice low. Fabian leans harder against him and Riz grunts.

“You are,” Fabian says. “You are.”

He’s not okay, but he will be.

Fabian gets over Aelwyn relatively quickly, which should probably be a sign of how serious he actually was about her. But there’s still something strange in not looking forward to meeting her now, after a year of striving to get information on her, a year of striving to get her out of prison, a year of striving to come off as anything besides an awkward teenage boy when she kisses him. It leaves Fabian at a bit of a loose end.

So, naturally, he makes it The Ball’s problem. Or not-problem. It’s more like a solution. He is the solution to The Ball’s depressing self-care mystery. The Ball, it is unsurprising to note, is terrible at taking care of himself. Fabian, on the other hand, has literally trained all his life to protect and fight for others; he’s gotten very good at turning this innate urge into making sure The Ball eats enough and sleeps enough and takes a goddamn break every once in a while.

Case in point.

“Come on, The Ball,” Fabian whines. “This place is honestly so depressing, you reek, and I know for a fact you haven’t slept in three days. It is time to go home.”

“My mom asked me to help her, Fabian,” Riz says. He doesn’t turn to look at Fabian when he speaks, nimble fingers spidering across a map of Elmville he has set up on the wall. There are strings of different colors connecting seemingly random locations together, but Fabian does not doubt they make sense to The Ball. It must be a serious case, anyway; The Ball only loses his hat and tie when it’s serious business. “I can’t give up now.”

“It’s not giving up. Why do you always have to assume that stopping for a little while makes everything worse?”

“Sure feels like it.”

Okay. Time to pull out the big guns. Fabian takes a deep breath and prays Riz won’t hate him for this tomorrow. “Your mom is worried about you. Again.”

Riz’s head jerks around sharply enough that Fabian winces. There’s a sharp crack and Fabian watches as the ink from the broken pen in Riz’s clawed hand drips to the hardwood. Ah, well. That’s the least horrible thing that’s stained this floor. When the detective turns to him Fabian takes a hasty step back. The slits of his eyes dilate wildly, shrinking and growing in size rapidly.

“Did you,” Riz asks deliberately slowly, “just try to use my mom against me?”

“It’s true,” Fabian protests weakly. “She sent me here when I asked where you were. She thought you were with me anyway and she got really mad when she figured out you were still working. You gotta learn to take breaks, man.”

Just like that, Riz deflates. His shoulders relax from where they’ve been hunched around his ears since Fabian walked in and his hackles lower. He scrubs a hand through his hair, leaving trails of blue ink through the strands; Fig would probably call it a look . “I hate when I make her worry.”

“You make everyone worry,” Fabian says without thinking, before backpedaling like a champ at Riz’s scandalized look. “Wait! No! I didn’t--it’s just that you make her-- and me-- but you don’t mean to so it’s fine. Is it hot in here? I feel like it’s hot in here. We should go. Let’s go.”

“You worry about me?”

It’s the quiet way The Ball says it, quiet in the way he hasn’t heard often since the Nightmare King’s Forest, that makes Fabian square his shoulders and set his jaw in determination. He rolls initiative on a surprise round and succeeds. Nat twenty.

“Right.” Fabian declares, and reaches into his jacket. “We’re doing this.”

“What?” Riz’s eyes widen a second later, though, because his insight is crazy high and even his passive rolls are ridiculous. “Aw, no, Fabian, you don’t need to get the sheet out. I don’t need the sheet!”

“It’s too late. It’s already over.”

“Oh come on man, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“It's inescapable,” Fabian flourishes as the sheet unwinds and dances before him, obscuring The Ball’s view of him. “You’ve brought this on yourself.”

Between one blink and the next, Fabian has thrown the sheet about his best friend, movements fluid and expert from so much practice. He’s sure to leave Riz’s inky hand free, but he takes care to bundle his legs into the sheet. Fabian wraps one end of the sheet around the unoccupied arm before pulling it across his body gently and tucks the other end over his chest in the opposite direction before securing the free edge between Riz’s back and his own chest.

Riz is still so light in his arms as Fabian hoists him right off the ground and into a princess carry. Riz squawks and waves his one free hand in Fabian’s face, which makes Fabian grimace and lean back. Ink splatter across the desk.

“Spring break,” Fabian says. He meets Riz’s dark eyes, something in his gut sparking and fluttering and warming him all the way to his toes. “I believe in you.”

“Spring break, I believe in you,” Riz repeats, laughing and accepting the bardic inspiration before rolling his eyes. “It’s nearly winter, you dolt.” It makes something soft in Fabian curl up tight in his chest to hear his best friend laugh, to feel it reverberate in his own arms, in his own bones, and Fabian grins right back.

“The sentiment still stands. Just because you mess up every now and then doesn’t mean that you’re a bad son, The Ball. You’re just so passionate and conscientious and you want to make sure you do your work right the first time so no one gets hurt on your watch. That’s a noble thing to do. Your mom and me worrying about your well-being doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person; it’s just a sign of how much we love you.”

Fabian takes the stairs down to the parking lot as he speaks, focusing more on his feet than Riz’s face, because if he does focus on Riz and his wide eyes and the way his pupils are really fucking dilated right now and how his dumb hair is slicked back with ink and the way his ears are twitching and how he smells like coffee beans and old newspapers, the something in his gut will come up to his chest and constrict around his heart and then he’ll do something really stupid like lean in and--

Nope! Not dealing! Fabian gets his kisses in-- got his kisses in--enough already. No need to deal with all-- this.

But then Fabian finishes his speech and The Ball makes a strange squeaking noise, and his hand comes to ball up under his own chin, and his eyes are still very wide and his face is so soft and he’s biting his lip, fuck.

Fabian’s hands are sweaty and he nearly fumbles his handful as he comes down hard off the last step, rolling a natural two on his athletics. He curses.

Sire! Are you alright? I will destroy the very stones which mock your footing until they are nothing but dust!

I’m fine, Hangman. Just tripped.

Shall we be escorting The Ball home, then?

“You can let me down now,” Riz says at that exact moment, just as Fabian goes to confirm with his bike. Whatever his expression meant before, the jolt seems to have knocked some sense into him before Fabian could roll insight, and the goblin shifts in his arms. Fabian tightens his grip reflexively, and Riz settles. “You don’t have to take me home.”

“Don’t have to?” Fabian repeats dumbly. Of course he has to! The Ball is his--his--The Ball is capable and brilliant, yes, but he is small and a rogue and Fabian is a martial class. He should be here, to make sure that The Ball is safe.

What do you mean we’re not taking The Ball home? The Hangman howls in the back of his mind. Fabian one hundred percent agrees with the bewildered sentiment.

“I have a bus pass now, I was going to take it home tonight anyway. You’re on the other side of town from me, so you'd just be going out of your way.”

Master! The Hangman exclaims, engines revving. The Ball must not stoop so low as to take the bus!

This is another development that Fabian didn’t really realize was happening until after the fact; The Hangman, for whatever reason, has gotten weirdly possessive of Riz. They’ve given more rides to the detective than the rest of the Bad Kids combined. The Hangvan has been the subject of more than a few arguments.

We are much more capable of protecting The Ball than this bus, Sire. With your battle sheet and my infernal soul, we will be an impenetrable defense!

Fabian isn’t sure what they’re defending Riz against, but he’s not going to disagree with The Hangman. They can protect Riz much better if he comes with them.

“The Hangman is right here, The Ball,” Fabian scoffs. “Don’t be silly. Just get on the bike.”

The Ball opens his mouth like he’s thinking of protesting but he’s also forgetting two very important facts: Fabian has eight points of Strength on him and has him wrapped in his battle sheet, effectively grappled. He hasn't got a chance unless he wants to take the fall damage from wrenching himself away from Fabian, which he would never do. Riz trusts Fabian.

A soft, golden glow starts up in Fabian’s chest at the thought. The Ball should trust Fabian. Fabian--Fabian wants to keep The Ball safe and warm and cared for, and like this, wrapped snugly in Fabian’s regard, The Ball is all of those things. It means a lot--so, so much--that The Ball trusts Fabian to provide this for him.

Okay, Fabian is getting off track again.

“You’re getting on the bike,” Fabian declares imperiously, and plops The Ball down on the seat before sliding on in front of him. He waits, The Hangman revving below them, until he feels The Ball curl up against his back. His arms worm their way around Fabian’s waist and his sharp chin digs into his shoulder; something in the half-elf loosens and expands and the warm glow gets brighter.

They’re silent on the drive home; he can feel Riz curl up tighter against the wind and the sheet flutters around the two of them. Sparks flicker across the fabric, retaining warmth against the night’s coming chill. Fabian purposefully drives slowly, lets the time tick by as Riz presses warm up against his back, safe and sound and wrapped in Fabian’s protection, with Fabian’s bardic inspiration flowing through him. He also purposefully does not consider why this is so very important to him.

It is only when they stop outside Riz’s apartment and he disembarks--The Hangman lets out a low rev of his engine, almost like a purr-- that they break the soft silence that’s descended.

“Back at my office,” Riz starts, faltering, as he hands the sheet back. “You said--you love me?”

Panic bursts like fireworks in Fabian’s chest. “Wh-uh?” He says. “Uh. Uh. You have ink in your hair.”

Then Fabian makes a tactical decision and runs the fuck away. It is not his best moment. (However, since Chungle-Down Bim isn’t there, it’s also not his worst.)

He is not avoiding The Ball. He is regrouping, coming up with a strategic return and possibly a retaliation for whatever weird, confusing, warm feelings Riz keeps setting fire to in his chest. This is strategy. This is war.

This, frankly, sucks. So much.

The Ball has called four times in the past week before giving up abruptly on Wednesday. It is Sunday afternoon. They usually spend Saturday night watching movies or going to Basrar’s together and then take Sunday to spar (for Fabian) and go over the latest town mystery (for Riz). They have done neither of these things; they also have not texted, spoken or passed each other on the street. Riz is supposed to come over for homework and hot chocolate on weekdays in the winter. He’s supposed to give The Ball rides home every day, to make sure he doesn’t have to walk home in the rain or snow. They’re supposed to be together--

And Fabian has no one to blame for their separation but himself. It twists his gut, seeing The Ball light up his phone so much before the calls stop and he’s left with nothing but unending silence. He can’t seem to stop trying to catch a glimpse of him in the halls at Aguefort, looking for a briefcase or a flat cap, anything, anything. But In the end, he’s the one avoiding The Ball. He’s the one not answering his phone.

He’s the one with weird feelings in his chest.

This cannot, Fabian realizes, possibly go on. He’s having trouble sleeping, and when he does he’s gone back to having nightmares about Riz falling during the Night Yorb debacle. He needs to sort this out, fast.

But Riz is a rogue and so his stealth rolls win out every damn time against Fabian’s perception, and throughout the next week there’s no time between classes to catch him and he’s nowhere to be found at lunch.

Adaine doesn’t seem too happy with Fabian either, and hasn’t since this weekend. Riz must have said something to her about him, but she relents easily enough when she sees his frantic expression.

“He’s been skipping class to work on that case with his mom for a couple days,” she says. “He--doesn’t really want to see you that much, Fabian.”

It feels like his heart breaks at that, but Fabian smiles winningly anyway. “Who wouldn’t want to see me? I’m Fabian Aramais Seacaster.”

“Son of Bill Seacaster, yeah I know,” Adaine finishes, and at least she’s got that fond exasperation back. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, Fabian, but you’ve got to fix it. I can’t take Riz moping around much longer. He’s been insufferable.”

“Leave it to me,” Fabian says with more confidence than he’s feeling, and peels out of the parking lot with a roar from The Hangman.

He thinks maybe things are going to be okay, somehow; he’ll make a suitably dramatic entrance, and he’ll say all the right things to get Riz to forget that Fabian had some kind of crisis for a week and change and didn’t bother to let his best friend in on it and they’ll go back to Seacaster Manor and watch dumb B-movies and everything will be fine and Fabian won’t have to confront this weird thing growing perilously close to his heart.

And then he steps into Riz’s office and faces reality.

“What do you want?” Fabian winces at the flat tone of Riz’s voice, the way his eyes won’t meet Fabian’s, the way he’s crossed his arms over his chest and hunched in on himself.

“I--well--uh, that is--” Fabian pauses, breathes. “I just thought I’d check up on you, since last time I was here you were about to fall asleep on your feet. I heard you were working too late again.”

Riz’s mouth is a flat, thin line. “That’s what you want to talk about? My work habits?”

“Well--I--work-life balance is a very real, serious thing, The Ball. Not everyone can be as healthy and committed to self-care as I am. I thought I would help you out, like always.” This is the part where the movie hero would puff out his chest and the girl would fawn all over him and they’d live happily ever after. Fabian doesn’t really feel up to puffing out his chest when Riz’s eyes go hard and flinty like that.

“It didn’t really seem like you cared about my self-care when you were refusing to acknowledge you loved me.”

Oh. Oh.

And that’s just it, isn’t it? The last piece of the puzzle slots into place, and Fabian is absurdly glad Aelwyn isn’t here to cast Detect Thoughts and laugh at his misery as he realizes what she knew practically from the start. Because he’d said it before--toxic masculinity is over. He’s in touch with his emotions now, and he loves his friends and he’d had a hard time showing it or saying it in the beginning but these days his affirmations roll off his tongue like so much honey so why has he had such a hard time with The Ball?

Of course. Of course he loves Riz. It’s--it’s not even that much of a revelation somehow; it’s like he always knew somewhere deep in his soul that they’d end up like this, with Riz being brilliant and brave and kind and Fabian loving him and loving him and loving him. Admitting it to himself, for how hard it has been to see it clearly in the first place, is easy. It’s like saying the sky is blue or Arthur Aguefort is insane. It’s just a fact. Fabian Aramais Seacaster loves Riz Gukgak.

He’s in love with this strange little goblin man and he’s been so dumb about it.

“Okay, okay,” Fabian says, more to himself than The Ball. What happens now? What is he supposed to do? Should he just come out and say it? Or, no, Riz might think he’s joking, or trying to smooth things over. He'd hate it if Riz thought Fabian didn’t mean it the very first time Fabian says those words. Besides, they’re having an argument--a real one, which he doesn’t think they’ve ever had--and this is so not the time. No, he'll tell him after this is over, when they’ve made up and Fabian has taken care of Riz because he does really look like hell, all bags under his eyes and stiff limbs. He needs to apologize, probably, and then get The Ball somewhere safe and warm and comfortable and then he needs to do something grand and dramatic and then he can tell Riz Gukgak he’s in love with him.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright?” It comes out sharper than he intends, but he’s dealing with wave after wave of astonishment and fear and love and he could use a bit of a break, to be honest. “Can we just forget it?” He has to get this over with to get to the next step of his foolproof, ten second plan to woo The Ball in which nothing can possibly go wrong.

“Forget it?” Riz repeats, incredulous. This is not at all going the way Fabian needs it to go. “You want me to forget the time you took back saying you loved me--when you haven’t even called me your best friend, yet--and drove off and then didn’t talk to me for a week? That’s something you think can just be forgotten? You left Fabian!”

“The Ball--Riz--”

“I’m not just going to let this go, Fabian. No. But if you think that I’m just something to be so easily swept to the side and then picked up again when you feel like it, then--then--great! Great. I see clearly now where I stand with you.”

“Okay,” Fabian declares, because enough really is enough, “it’s sheet time.”

“No, Fabian!”

Riz has never raised his voice outside of crazy group antics before. Not to Fabian, at least. The sheet flutters out of his fingers as Fabian stares, open-mouthed. His chest is cracking again, like it did after Aelwyn broke up with him, but this is worse now; this crack is not just a hairline or a fissure, but a damn canyon. It feels like someone reached inside his ribcage and scooped his heart out.

Riz’s mouth twists and he hugs himself tighter, looking as miserable as Fabian feels. “I don’t want your goddamn sheet, okay? I don’t--I don’t need you to act like I’m some kind of burden or--or--”

“A burden--The Ball--”

“Or calling me The Ball all the time!” Riz’s voice rises again. His fists are clenched now. “I’m--I’m sick of you wrapping me up like a little kid. I’m not a baby, okay? I can take care of myself. I'm fine on my own.”

“Riz,” Fabian tries again, weakly. This can’t happen. Not now. Not to them.

“I think it’s best if you leave now,” Riz says grimly, and turns his back. He doesn’t look around when Fabian closes the door softly behind him.

“I’m sorry.”

Fabian blinks.

He and The Ball only had their fight two hours ago; he’d got on The Hangman and ignored the bike's probing questions, and gone home and cried and then he’d gotten up and done what he’d thought Riz would do in his place. He made a clue board.

First on the board is the picture of himself and Riz taken the night the Night Yorb was defeated; Fig had snapped a shot without them knowing, of the two of them talking in the firelight, Fabian craning his neck to look down at a swaddled, comfortable looking Riz who was looking up at him, mouth open seemingly in mid-sentence. His hair is in his face and Fabian always looks at it and remembers how seconds afterward he’d reached up and pushed the curls out of Riz’s eyes gently. That was the end of the summer--it’s the middle of winter now. He’s been in love with his best friend at least since then, maybe before.

Next on the board is his half of the best friend necklace; he’d actually stolen it out of Riz’s briefcase on their way to fight the Nightmare King. It was after Fallinel, when he was getting back to himself, reinventing how he saw the world. He’d wanted to know--to have something, just a small thing, that reminded Fabian who really loved him. And Riz had been there.

So. Maybe he was a little in love with Riz back then, too.

The third clue was actually absent from the board, but Fabian writes it on a post-it note and sticks that there in its place; my old letter jacket. He’d gotten a new one when he’d been on the team in the beginning of sophomore year; he’d filled out too much, built up enough muscle from practice that he hadn’t been able to keep using the one his father gave him freshman year. He’d given it to The Ball because he was complaining of the cold one day and then just. Never bothered to take it back.

Riz wears it to his games sometimes. It makes Fabian--feel. Certain things. It’s fine.

The final clue is, of course, the sheet. He almost doesn’t bother pinning that one up either, since it’s pretty fucking obvious. Aelwyn could see it all just from the way he wrapped Riz up in his sheet, after all; he really doesn't need to rest of his clues to figure this out. But there’s something soothing in this, in looking at the world the way he knows Riz looks at it.

He’s just working himself up to maybe crying again when Cathilda knocks on his door and lets Riz quietly into the room.

“What?” Fabian says, because what?

Riz is biting his lip, which is entirely too distracting, when he speaks again. “I was--unfair. And a dick. And I've been--going through some stuff and I put all that on you, and I’m sorry, man. You didn’t deserve that.”

“No, I--I mean, I’m sorry too. I mean--you don’t need to be sorry, because I should be sorry. I just left you hanging and then spaced on you and I didn’t even tell you why, I just wanted to go back to normal. So I’m the one who’s sorry and you can’t take that from me. I’ll fight you if you try, just so you know. Stop being sorry.”

And just like that, the corners of Riz’s mouth turn up which is a relief because Fabian love him and just figured out that he’s maybe been in love with him for over a year, but he also knows that even before he knew he was in love he’d have done just about anything to make sure Riz never looked as sad as he does right now. He’d kill to put a smile on Riz’s face.

“I don’t think you can just have a monopoly on apologizing, Fabian,” Riz says and the way his name sounds out of The Ball’s mouth, gods, how did Fabian not realize this sooner? “I’ve just been--I’ve been dealing with a lot and you’re my best friend, man, and I just...It sucks not talking to you.”

“Yeah,” Fabian agrees. “It really fucking does.”

And then, opening his arms tentatively, “Can I?”

Riz’s face twists horribly then, and Fabian’s heart has just enough time to sink to his stomach before Riz throws himself into Fabian’s arms. Fabian holds him and holds him and doesn’t ever want to let go now, he’s got Riz and he’s pressing his face into Riz’s hair and lifting him up and holding him close to his chest and Riz is wrapping his arms around Fabian’s shoulders, claws scratching at the back of Fabian’s neck, he’s whispering into that twitching ear, “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’ve got you,” and he loves and loves and loves and he doesn’t know if it’s supposed to hurt so sweetly but it does.

“I’m sorry, gods, I’m sorry,” Riz babbles into his shoulder and Fabian wants to tell him to stop but he’d have to interrupt to do that and he can’t, not when he knows Riz has such a hard time with the idea that his friends don’t listen to him. He folds at the knees instead, takes Riz with him to the ground and cradles him like something precious because that’s what The Ball is and has always been, precious and so important and, if he has his way, Fabian’s. “I’m sorry I acted like you didn’t care, I know you do, I just don’t want to ever make you feel like you have to do everything for me, like I’m weak or less than or like I don't get that you have other things, other people to take care of--”

And then Fabian does interrupt because like hell is he letting this slide. “Stop it, stop, I know you’re strong and you’re brave and you’re so smart, Riz, gods, you’re brilliant. I just-- I wanna take care of you, I know I don’t have to but I want to, I love to, I love you, I'm in love with you and I want to take care of you, please.”

It’s only when Riz rears his head back that Fabian realizes what just came tumbling out of his mouth.

“Oh, shit. Uh--I wasn’t supposed to say that yet.”

“Yet?” Riz squeaks and fuck it, Fabian decides. Fuck it all. In for a penny, in for a dime.

“Yeah, yet,” Fabian rushes. His fingers clench and release the fabric over Riz’s spine rhythmically and he can feel the goblin shivering against his chest and without thinking Fabian pulls down his sheet and wraps them both in it. Riz’s skin stands out dark and forest green against the silvery material and he hopes he likes it, hopes it is soft and warm against the thin, fragile surface of Riz’s cheek because Riz is so good and Fabian loves him and he deserves nice things. “I--I was gonna make a plan and strategize and not tell you until I’ve done at least three heroic deeds in your name, dude. I had so many ideas.”

“Ideas?” Riz’s voice is faint.

Fabian nods solemnly. “There were also schematics for a dramatic duel on the clifftops, but we’ve already done that a couple times, so I scrapped it.”

“Too much of a Nightmare King-Night Yorb repeat.”

“Yeah,” Fabian nods. “Exactly. So uh. Just. If you could pretend I haven’t said that yet, I can get on the heroic deeds and we can revisit this. Conversation. Uh, later.”

“Right,” Riz says, nodding slowly too. “Or we could, like, do it right now. Since I'm in love with you too and everything.”

Fabian’s brain stops working.

“Oh.”

“'Oh?' That’s it?”

“I, uh, didn’t plan for this.”

“You didn’t plan for me maybe liking you back? Dude, everybody knows already.”

Fabian draws further away at that, blinking wildly. (His hands stay on Riz’s hip and back because he’s got him now, he’s got him, Riz is in his home and his arms and his heart and wrapped in Fabian’s protection and he’s never leaving if Fabian has anything to say about it.) “Everyone?”

Riz scuffs the back of his neck and his ears are turning turquoise again. “Uh, yeah, man. Adaine told me if I complain about how much I like your eyes to her one more time she’s gonna get Fig to hex me. I um, I thought maybe you were doing the whole sheet thing to, like, let me down easy. Make me see you didn’t think of me as more than like, a kid or someone who needs your help or something.”

“Oh my gods. That is so dumb,” Fabian blurts, because what the fuck, The Ball, seriously. “That is so dumb The Ball. You’re so dumb.”

“Gee, thanks. I really feel like you love me right now, just so you know. Just overwhelming amounts of love pouring out right now.”

“Oh shut up.” Fabian says, laughing. “I wrap you in my sheet because I love you, The Ball. Like, more than I think I’ve ever liked anyone. It’s how Aelwyn knew we were over.”

“Huh?”

“She broke up with me and told me I never wrapped her in my sheet because I was always doing that to you.” Fabian explains, not even bothering to be embarrassed. “Because I've been in love with you for like, forever, man. She just realized it first because I always wanted to use the sheet on you and not my own girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Riz replies, sounding breathless. All things considered, Fabian’s going to take that as a good sign. He leans in now, presses his forehead to the crook of Riz’s neck, and breathes. Riz smells like newspaper and ink and old coffee and Fabian loves him so much. He tilts his head, nosing at the detective’s collar, and slides his lips over warm skin. He lets his teeth catch there, just a hint. “Oh.”

And then, before Fabian can even move, Riz’s hand is in his hair, tangled up in the strands, and he says, very fast, “By the way I’m demisexual, it’s on the asexuality spectrum and I was also being weird because I didn’t know how to deal with how attracted I am to you!”

“Okay,” Fabian says easily, drawing back. “Do you want to have a conversation about it? Because I don’t think I’m your guy for that, but we could go to the LGBT group meeting with Kristen next week and see if they have any resources. Jawbone could probably help too.”

Riz’s pupils are dilating slowly and his mouth hangs open before he snaps out of it. He looks less miserable now but still unsure and it’s not a good look on him. Fabian desperately wants to erase it. “That’s it? You’re not--you don’t think I’m weird?”

“Of course you’re weird, The Ball, but not for that. Besides, I think starting a relationship--we are starting a relationship, right--” Riz nods frantically, the beginnings of a grin forming, and Fabian pauses to lean in and press his mouth to the corner of Riz’s, “with the only problem being you don’t know what to do with all the insanely hot attraction you have for me is, like, the opposite of a hardship, dude.”

He stops then, considers, and then something terrible occurs to Fabian. He pulls even farther back and splays his fingers across Riz’s chest, feels his heart rabbiting there under his fingertips, and says quickly, “Not that I need you to have any kind of--any of that kind of attraction to me, Riz. I’d be okay, you know, with just this. Although you may have to tell me how hot I am from time to time. For, you know, moral support.”

Tension seems to drain out of Riz, has been since Fabian first started speaking, and this time it’s his turn to lean in and brush his lips across Fabian’s mouth. Fabian lets out a breath, takes in the scent of old newsprint and coffee and realizes he could die happy here. “You are, in fact, very hot, Fabian. And--thank you. For understanding. I might--I’m not super interested in sex, but. It’s a maybe. If you’d like it to be, for the future.”

“Of course I would, you’re incredibly attractive. But it’s not that big a deal,” Fabian says, and he picks them both up off the floor.

The sheet comes with them, sparks playing along the skin of his forearms but never burning him as he sets Riz down on the mattress because Riz is good and perfect and loves Fabian and deserves better than to sit on the floor. He doesn’t hesitate like he usually would now, and curls up around Riz, pulls the sheet over them both, encases them and pulls Riz close, closer, closest. “I love you. I’m probably not going to stop saying it now, just so you know. I’m going to be very annoying about it.”

Riz reaches up and brushes his claws lightly over Fabian’s brow and his smile is so soft something in Fabian melts. “It’s a good thing I love you then, or I’d never be able to put up with it.”

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koalaaquabear · 4 years

Text

The 5 hour finale live stream just concluded and y’all, it was crazy. It has been a wonderful several months with all you guys and I am so excited for April 8th and Junior Year.

MASSIVE SPOILERS UNDER THE FOLD IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE STREAM YET. Here is my clusterfuck of a commentary. Enjoy!

Fantasy High: Sophomore Year Live Reaction -HOOT GROWL BABY it's time. I didn't react to part one but wOW that one was crazy. Get ready for EMOTIONS :'(( -SIG FIG RESCUE MISSION lol #ontour -well ok brennan that canopy shit is scary as fuck -murph is still looking like riz -Zaphriel and Ayda!!!!!!! -"HOLD ME BACK GORGUG" i love u emily -Brennan I stg -Ayda is Gorgug's dad lol -oh shIT they're totally in the cottage -heLL YEAH AYDA!! -oh GOD figayda kiss? exceptional. -if ayda dies i WILL throw dice at Brennan -ok brennan make me cry then -GET THE VAN GORGUG -gorgug truly is the greatest wizard of this age -#hugeblueguy -aww zac oyama i love you -"semi-fallen" oH dEar -gorgug texts zelda IMMEDIATELY i love him -amaZING thank you zelda -"ew, creepy, hate that" -zaphriel is the best character you guys, what a homie -i keep forgetting ayda can fly. like she has wings. i know that. -AELWYN! -nOPE someone is coming through the forest and if it's arianwen i will kill cry -HANGMAN???? -HANGMAN!!!! HIS DOG!!!!! -HANGMAN NO I LOVE YOU YOU'RE THE CUTEST DOGGY -adaine i love you baby -"the weak yogurt man" -what high ranking devil??? -fabian you're adorable -aww fabian has a puppy!! (i get that the hangman is eight feet long don't @ me) -that's the first "the ball" -lou can never have the highest roll -BARDY BOYS -oop kristen and riz time -tracker? i barely even know her -chills, brennan. chills -someone in the chat just said "so did skrank fuck zelda?" -intense muSIC -nononononononono -ragh, tracker, and sandralynn better be all right -ooo a sTICK -HELL YEAH RETURN OF THE RIBBON DANCE -"riz weeps" holy shit i love him -"something bad always happens when we go off together" -#RIZTEN -awwoOOOOOOO -ayda can fly too! -absolutely FUCK this bridge ABOUT 30 MINUTES -poor ayda -please say they're ok brennan -"put your tongue baCK in your mouth" -sANDRA LYNN NO -"what kind of arrows" "you know what kind" fuCK OFF BRENNAN -if baxter dies i will cry -wait faerie fire is a cleric spell..? absolutely fuck me -ok aelwyn let's fuck shit up -calling the bank in the middle of this nightmare forest lol -heLL YEAH ZAPHRIEL -luck check luck check luck check -"y'all are going to turn into dragons" -fabian straight up cries? what a fucking rich kid -NO WAY HE HAD T H E COIN??? -REMOVE CURSE BABY -"nnOOO!" lmao -ally and brennan are in the chat -kristen's religion is REALLY coming in handy -the name was turned into the night yorb lol -"how's that axe feeling?" "..pretty light ;)" i love him -ayda can lift the axe??? exceptional -FIG IS KALINA? ABSOLUTELY RAD -brennan has created a place where illusions are real and emily is holding him TO IT -"do you have a dongle?" incredible -EMILY I LOVE YOU! KALINA IS A YOUTUBER BABY -wretchrot is baCK baby -aelwyn i love that -"i am a low quality child" "yeah ayda you're a bad kid" -"hey bitch" emily axford is a goddess -im sorry cOURT OF ELDERS? -NO I WILL CRY -ROLL INITIATIVE TIME -go OFF hangman -ooo some high initiatives babyyy -zac oyama is my favorite ever -"trackerrr" -brian as soon as emily was threatened said "how dare you" -brennan you FUCK "i'm awake for all of this" FUCK YOU -fig and her mommy issues: an album -absolutely FUCK THE TREE GUY -kick that wood elf BITCH ABOUT ONE HOUR -fuck him UP fabian, shit in his gODDAMN mOUTh -"SPRING BREAK YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKER" -pleASE BRENNAN LET HIM SHOOT HER WITH THE TINCTURE -spRING break this is for the corn god -okay nevermind riz is holding his action -i love the intrepid heroes they're adorable -"ice feast" fucking love them so much -yES the ball thank GOD -brennan..? -"her rage ends" tracker = barbarian -FIRST NAT 20 BABY -"IT 100% WORKS BUT IT 50% WORKED" -that's the second "the ball" -bOOOOOOO BRENNAN -mad plans for the tree guy -sorry, is his name crAFTME ROOTDRINKER? -oh ok it's aelwyn we're fine -cone of cOLD baby i love aelwyn what a babe -you absolutely hate to see it -ragh my baby i love you -SPRING BREAK -tracker nO PLEASE -TRACKER JUST CRIT OH NO -brennan is really good at acting this btw -wait 14 on a crit??? i mean oH NO kRISTEN, bOO -disPEL MAGIC BABY -ALLY BEARDSLEY YOU ABSOLUTE GOD -aww kristennn is babyyy -tracker nooo don't cryyyy -you've sAVED your GIRLFRIEND -"some of us have already done that today" fig the sHADE -ally simply musT get new dex -absolutely fuck that brennan i don't need that vampire pixie -FUCK IT UP AYDA -FIGHT ME IN THE SKY! -"does a 29 hit?" daMN zac that absolute SHADE -53 DAMAGE?? CHEJ IS SO FUCKING STRONG -"goddamn paper lantern" -absolutely fuck you brennan -nevermind gorgug and adaine both passed the con saving throw -"i don't like you" lou really gets personally upset about this and i love that -nO NO NONONONO aelwyn and tracker are down -FUCK IT UP ADAINE -gdi brennan don't do this to us -ABSOLUTELY FUCK THE TREE -fig is straight up gonna kill her mom -this is scary as fuck -HANGMAN HAS A BREATH WEAPON AND YOU DIDN'T SAY SHIT??? CHOKE ON GRAPES BRENNAN -FUCK EM UP HANGMAN ABOUT 1 HOUR AND A HALF -wood elf is DOWN baby hoot growl -kristen thinks the elf is gak lol -23 DAMAGE??? AC OF 25??? ABSOLUTELY FUCK IT UP FABIAN -SHENANIGANS TIME FOR MURPH -HELL SECRET AGENT TIME -27??? RIZ YOU'RE THE HOTTEST -third the ball -imagine the ball is secretly SO HOT without the hat -YES BRENNAN GOT A NAT 1 EAT YOUR GODDAMN DICE -sweEET -fourth the ball (they've all been Lou cuz of course) -incredible turn murph -kalina is SO GOOD at skateboarding -#bloodphoto -KALINA HAS 23 WISDOM? absolutely fuck me -oh hELL YEAH FIG COUNTER THE COUNTER -emily is doing some SHIT right now you guys (fear spell) -DAMMIT that high as fuck wisdom -sorry WHAT she rips open sPACE??? -BABY BETTER SAVE THE GODDAMN DAY -let's go BABY -"mMMHHHHnnN leET ME tOUCh ItT" baby is fucking weird -"baby vs mommy" i love you siobhan -aelwyn better not DIE brennan -riz baby let's get it -trACKEr -nAT 1??? kristen is unCONSCIOUS?? -HUMAN DETERMINATION!!! THE GRIT BABY] -wait aura of life is badass!! they can't lose damage?? -okay scrap that we're gonna TURN UNDEAD and then MASS HEALING WORD? absolutely incredible -gorgug has so much goddamn health -FUCK THIS TREE DUDE -KILL IT AYDA LET'S GO -"her girl's side" *in lou voice* okAY bRENNNAn -second nat 1 but both of them re-rolled -GEM!!!! -LET'S GET GORTHALAX BABYYYY -"BIG DADDY" -ayda is so turned on lol -KILL IT CHEJ OKAYYYY -fuck this centaur -i'm so nervous -puT THOSE DICE DOWN BRENNAN -"you're gonna drop." shuT UP -riz is fULLY DEAD???? -i hate this. i hate this. i hate this. i hate this. i hate this. i hate this. -sHUT UP BRENNAN -baby is DEAD oh my GOD you absolutely hate to see it ABOUT 2 HOURS -nO NO NO NO NO NO NO PUT THAT CROWN AWAY BITCH -absolutely fuck me, the nightmare king is totally fucking back i hate myself -aww fabian is baby -hELL YEAH FABIAN SPRING BREAK -"i've lost one friend, that's too many" fabian is adorable -"that's a full ass miss, my guy" -sandra lynn just crit on chej :(((((( -14 damage is not very spring break of her (she did 28 but it was halved because gorgug is such a strong boyyy) -LET'S GO LOU -almost all of them are spellcasters wtf (only one who isn't is riz but he has a daily misty step) -fuck em up hangman -fUCK EM UP HANGMAN! d8 + 2d6 +8 i think -figaroth the unfaethable baby -THOSE ARE SOME SHENANIGANS FIG I LOVE IT (she's shattering the rubies to get a revivify diamond) -casts teleport??? aelwyn came here to FUCK -"i would love to teach you this spell" aww the abernant sisters liking each other is my new aesthetic -fuck em up adaine -you can hit the tree on a 12 babyyyyy -heLL YEAH 44 DAMAGE ADAINE IS STRONG NOW -kalina is not even that cool she just said "that's enough of that" in the most uncool way -2 down 3 to go! -omg wait it would be so badass if they could just remove curse on kalina -"Mr. The Insatiable" -ayda is such a sweetheart "i don't care if you want me to date your daughter but i do hope you love me" -"I LOVE THIS SONG" yes siobhan me too -on a DC 20 she got a 31!!!! consider my jeans creamed -SHRED BABY GIRL!!! -KILLIAN IS DEAD! RIZ IS ALIVE! -ayda is so turned on AHHH -I LOVE RIZ SO MUCH "am i interrupting something???" -fuck him UP chej! 3 hits, no crits -hell yeah mr. march!! oh sorry wrong series -a gROUP PROJECT i'm DEAD -someone in the chat called him "snac oyama" and you're rigHT -siobhan's straight fucking this tree UP -the spellcasters are like all out of spells at this point -fuck OFF arianwen. KILL YOUR MOM -"where's your father, aelwyn?" "last i saw, adaine killed him so *shrug*" i lOVE HER -FUCK THEM UP GORTHALAX -abolutely fuck the nightmare king -waIT GORTHALAX IS GONNA KILL THE NIGHTMARE KING -sidenote: fig calls gorthalax pops -dO IT BRENNAN kILL YOUR OWN BIG BAD -this treeant has GOT to be dead -NAT 1 on that attack?? SPRING BREAK BABY -no we haven't seen kalina in action brennan, and we do not want to -OH SHIT THE TIE! YOu just got FUCKed bRENnan eaT youR DICE -yeS AYDA ROAST HER -"GOTTEM!" -i'm sorry i just hallucinated, did you say 6 ATTACKS? -time to go VIRAL BABY -19 intelligence, 23 wisdom, 20 charisma for kalina? absolutely fuck me -riz just got kICKed! you absolutely hate to see it -GODDAMMIT -KALINA IS HOMOPHOBIC CONFIRMED ABOUT 2 AND A HALF HOURS -brennan be like "im about to kill this bird" -absolutely fuck me i hate this -let's go FIG -time to caTCH the bALL -murph has the same thinking face as riz and it's adorable -this is not very spring break brennan -DC 25 acrobatics check? c'mon faBIAN -29????? -fifth the ball (from the hangman) -"there's just something endearing about him" fabian loving his friends is adorable -absolutely fuck me that fire elemental is adorable -absolutely swaddle the ball -well hot take but fuck the nightmare king you guys -absolutely NOT brennan do NOT kill adaine you PSYCHO BITCH -PLEASE ADAINE LIVE -STRAIGHT DEAD? FULLY DEAD? FUCK OFF WITH THIS INSTAKILL SHIT BRENNAN -hell yeah ayda is back and kristen has the revivify diamond -aelwyn FULLY banished that unicorn -it's good to know ragh really doesn't want them to die -YES RAGH IS BACK BABY -fuck em up kristen -s/o to DND Beyond btw absolutely banger website -hell yeah mass healing word is awesome -clerics are GOOD you guys i should play more clerics -FUCK IT UP AYDA -SANDRA LYNN IS BACK BABY -skater chej is my favorite thing -aBSOLUTEly fuck the tree -i have no idea wHAT is happening ABOUT 3 HOURS -fuCK YOU nightmare king -i absolutely hate this battle but at least gorthalax is still standing -gorgug better split this gd tree -"what if we just kill kalina?" yeah zac it's that goddamn easy -brennan almost just fucked everyone -"does she want to borrow my teddy bear?" the SHADE -"MAKEOVERRR" i love you siobhan -this tree SUCKS -battlemaster is cool as fUCK SPRING BREAK -BARDY BOYS also i think that was a nat 20 -i can't imagine the thistlesprings watching the battle livestream and like worrying if gorgug is going to die -FUCK HER UP THE BALL -ABSOLUTE SHENANIGANS FROM MURPH! -with ADVANTAGE BABY -"has anyone seen my hat!?" keep it off baby you're HOT now -"mirrors negate mirrors" "i think oscar wilde said that" i love them -#hotrizweek? -holy shit fig is FUCKING THIS BATTLE UP -HELL YEAH KALINA ROLLS A NATURAL 2!!!! -hell yeah adaine is back and SO MUCH is happening that i'm like forgetting to write down my reactions -kill this woody motherfucker baby -the music is too lOUD -ok it's normal now -fuck em up gorgug -i'm sorry the chat is saying he did 90 DAMAGE?!?!?!? -KILL IT CHEJ ILY -fuck off brennan, absolutely fuck off -ABSOLUTELY FUCK OFF BRENNAN -gorthalax is FULLY DEAD? absolUTELY FUCK YOU -SAINT KRISTEN APPLEBEES -adaine has SOLVED THIS SHIT -god all the abernant names are confusing -fuck you kalina ABOUT 3 AND A HALF HOURS -BRENNAN I STG IF RAGH ENDS UP DEAD -hellish rebuke that bitch -c'MON faBIAN HIT that BITCH -wait is kalina a rogue and a druid? absolutely incredible -FUCK IT UP FABIAN -OMG THE HANGMAN BETTER FUCK THIS UP -YES THE BALL 31 DAMAGE -so the stream just ended. i'll say it again: absolutely fuck me -ok so we're back and kalina got fucked up -WHAT THE FUCK A NAT 20???????? YOU ABSOLUTELY LOVE TO SEE IT -ALLY WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THIS -I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS AND NEITHER CAN BRENNAN -MAGIC IS REAL AND SO IS MY ALLY -i can't believe this. eat your GOD damn DICE brennan! -OMG ARE THE NIGHTMARE KING AND THE GODDESS ONE AND THE SAME? -THEY ARE! THE NIGHTMARE KING IS THE NIGHTMARE QUEEN -brennan is CRAZY AHHHHH -brennan absolutely stop this tension -28 insight. brennan is fucked -GO TOWARDS HIM KRISTEN -YES!!!! PLEASE SAY THIS IS A GOOD THING -ALLY GOT A NAT 20 THEY BETTER BE RIGHT -fear. is. not. real. -this is just like the ending of moana -NO WAY BRENNAN I LOVE YOU (you wouldn't believe it from what i have said but it's true) -this is intense i'm about to cry -you're meeting god and you say "is it too early for this?" -LMAO 5'9" -Moral of the story: IDK and that's OK -ok ally make me cRy -HELL YEAH NEW SHIRT BABY -i'm so emotional -"well oBVIouslY cASsAndRa" i wish every deity had names as normal and human as cassandra -fuck them UP cassie -i love that tracker's just like "uh... babe?" -love having god in your corner -no more hangman puppy :((( -RIZTEN are the CUTEST i love them "i love all of them, riz the most, we know this" -"we still need the crown for our grade" FABIAN I LOVE YOU -"counselo- former counsel- i'm an assistant :(" why do y'all think this man is hot -KILL ARIANWEN -"she tried to hurt me in my shattered state?" "that's her MO" aww adaine my baby -HOLY SHIT PLEASE GIVE GILEAR ALL OF ARIANWEN'S MAGIC -GORGUG YOU SWEETHEART I LOVE YOU -cassandra throwing SHADE -ThE vANdS -aelwyn throwing SHADE -AWW RAGH I LOVE YOU BABY brennan lives another day -"a big bug gave me a riddle" that is NOT what happened -aww the hirelings are all crying and i DO NOT stan -hell YEAH cassandra OH I STOPPED KEEPING TRACK OF TIME IT'S BEEN OVER 4 HOURS -hELL YES HANGVAN -i love you fabian -nO IS CHUNGLE DOWN BIM REAL? -maybe the real chungle down bim is the friends we made along the way -GARTHY i love them -arthuR aGUEFORT - absolutely wild -ayda and arthur is crazy -"snOGGING THE HEADMASTER'S DAUGHTER ARE WE?" -awww that is so smooth fig "you don't need to make me the most magnificent creature because it seems you already have" -ARTHUR PULLS THROUGH -garthy is a cutie i love how they care so much for ayda -oH FUCK ME garthy is ayda's child from her previous life -"your girlfriend's daughter fucked your mom!" goddammit siobhan i can't handle this -if they fail i will cry -CHRONOMANCY!? absolutely fuck me -"professor principal headmaster aguefort" -hell yeah arthur you're killing it -faelwyn? absolutely can't handle it -aww kristen is baby -jawbone and sandra lynn are ok? amazing -jawbone is the best character -"our parents are great" kill me why don't you siobhan -AWWW FUCKING STOP BRENNAN WITH THESE GIFTS -i just cried he wants to adopt her -"you're easy to love" jawbone is fUCKING me up -LYDIA BARKROCK what a badass i love her already -"a pheonix whom everyone she touches is reborn better" fuck off emily -gorgug is a cutie <3 <3 -ABSOLUTELY KICK SKRANKS BIRD ASS -GORGUG CONFIRMED FUCKS -riz is a dork i love him -who knew "you're so much like your father" could make me feel like that -GILEAR IS MOVING THE FUCK IN BABY -GILEAR WITH SELF CONFIDENCE IS MY AESTHETIC -aww jawbone gave ayda autism books? jawbone is the sweetest to ayda cuz OF COURSE HE IS -AYDA GETS HER SPELL!!! -Ayda's Comprehend Subtext is the cutest spell ever -adaine and fig's friendship is too cute -craig has always been down for everything. i don't know craig but i love him -YES HOOT GROWL HOOT GROWL I'M SO PROUD OF RAGH -"BAD KIDS FOR LIFE" RAGH IS A CUTIE -NO FAELWYN IS REALLY HAPPENING I CAN'T -fabian's laugh is so cute -i love how nervous fabian is -WAIT FABIAN AND AELWYN ABSOLUTELY WILL FUCK? -fabian's gonna get his KISSES IN -aww i get how hyped figayda is but they are truly so adorable -weLL EMILY AXFORD I WILL LET YOU HURT ME LIKE THAT -they said i love you :((( -tracker only deserves the best -TRACKER'S GOING TO FALLINEL? I LOVE HER -ragh is going too? gay road trip! -that's adorable -ABSOLUTELY NOT BRENNAN FUCK OFF DO NOT SAY THE NIGHT YORB IS GONNA BE THE NEXT VILLAIN -BRENNAN NO YOU BITCH I HATE YOU THE NIGHT YORB IS THE VILLAIN OF JUNIOR YEAR? -that was crazy. i cried, i laughed. i am fuCKING HYPED FOR CROWN OF CANDY AND JUNIOR YEAR GANG!

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rubyofhouserocks · 4 years

Text

sundays, starlight, and other small magics (4/?)

Fic Summary: At age two, Aelwyn learned how to say the incantation required to cast the Light cantrip. At two and a half, she learned how to say her little sister’s name. At seventeen, she’s still learning how to say she’s sorry.

part i is here || ao3 link here

part iv

It’s about a month into her stay at the manor, now, and Aelwyn makes a habit of disappearing into the background. She��s trying her damnedest to become just another spectre haunting the winding halls of the house, to be another ghost lingering imperceptibly near the dominion of the living. If she treads lightly enough, she hopes, then maybe she won’t kick up the light film of dust that’s starting to settle on her history.

Tracker doesn’t even look at her twice anymore, eyes settling on Aelwyn only long enough to register her presence and then sliding away, back to Kristen or Jawbone or someone else who actually deserves her attention. It helps Aelwyn breathe a little more easily, but she’s miles away from any kind of sense of belonging; she’s pretty sure her presence is an acceptable inconvenience at best. She knows that her feeling of displacement is only exacerbated by her inability (unwillingness) to connect with her housemates, her conversations with them largely limited to pleasant banalities. Rectifying that problem seems a herculean task, however, when Aelwyn knows how off-putting most people find her genuine personality. It’s safer, she thinks, if she sticks to discussing the weather over the dinner table.

Still, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t efforts to include her.

“We’re about to watch a movie,” Jawbone says, standing in her doorway. Aelwyn already knew this information—it’s Sunday, and movie night is a Sunday tradition in Mordred Manor. Everyone usually piles onto the couch at first, but slowly they devolve into a giggling, squirming pile of entangled limbs on the floor that somewhat resembles a gibbering mouther. Rarely does the movie actually get watched. Aelwyn never comes to movie night, but Jawbone always takes care to invite her, looking so sincere that Aelwyn feels a pang in her chest. “We’d really like it if you’d join us.”

She’s about to respond, her mouth open to tell him I’m okay, or I’m a little busy reading, but maybe next time, or please just stop trying, when Jawbone cuts her off.

“It would mean a lot to Adaine,” and, well, Aelwyn is barely treading water through her guilt as it is. She just swallows and nods mutely, silently following Jawbone down the winding hallways to the living room like a woman walking toward her own execution. It’s going to be miserable—she knows it is—but she owes it to Adaine to try to be the sister Adaine asked her to be.

When she actually reaches the living room, however, it’s so much worse than Aelwyn imagined. Her heart rockets up to her throat, panic tightening her chest in a way more characteristic of Adaine than herself, because she is looking at a minefield of volatile seating possibilities.

Adaine is already sandwiched between Riz and Ragh on the couch, because all of the Bad Kids and their assorted sidekicks are here. All of the Bad Kids who Aelwyn either tried to kill personally, or otherwise almost killed through her actions.

Fuck.

She’s weighing the merits of sitting next to Fabian (who doesn’t hate her, but. Well.) against the more appealing option of just bolting out of the room when Adaine nudges Fig, who is already sitting on the floor in front of her, with her foot. Fig scoots over, and there is suddenly space on the nest of blankets directly in front of Adaine’s spot on the couch.

“Sit here,” Adaine says, eyes hard and determined like she fully expects Aelwyn to say no. Like she hasn’t—not to be dramatic—just saved Aelwyn’s life by making the decision for her.

“Sure,” Aelwyn says, and folds her legs delicately under herself on the duvet. She rests her back against the couch and tries to take deep breaths without anyone else noticing, mouth barely open as she tries to gulp in air to calm herself down.

Jawbone, meanwhile, beams at the full house and curls up in the cozy armchair he’s sharing with Sandra Lynn (despite it being far too small for two people). He pulls up Fantasy Netflix and selects something, probably a movie that the group chose earlier that Aelwyn lost her opportunity to vote on. She resigns herself to two hours of being unable to pay attention to the movie. Really, she doubts she will be able to pay attention to anything other than her own body. She feels too big for the space she’s in, feels gangly and awkward when her elbow brushes against Fig’s, or when Adaine’s bouncing right leg brushes against her shoulder.

She’s wondering how long she has to wait until a bathroom break would be a believable excuse to escape for a minute, or how many times she can get up for a drink or a snack without arousing suspicion. Oh God, what if this is the kind of movie where she’s expected to make fun of it, and she’ll have nothing to say, and—

and Aelwyn feels hands in her hair. She jumps out of her skin at the contact, trying to pull away until she hears Adaine say, “calm down, dude, I’m just gonna braid it.”

The hands continue moving in her hair and Aelwyn forces herself to sit still, even though she’s sure Adaine can feel the way tension is knotting up her shoulders. It’s a nice gesture, after all. A sisterly gesture. Aelwyn owes it to Adaine to be patient and accept this for what it is, however ill at ease she may be.

Soon enough, though, Aelwyn feels herself relax at the sensation of blunt nails running over her scalp. It’s tender in a way she isn’t used to, and that alone makes her uncomfortable, but it’s also…nice, in a strange way. No one has ever done this for her before, and there’s something in the repetitive motion that feels like being cared for. Once Adaine reaches the ends of Aelwyn’s hair (which took a while, Aelwyn guesses, but it didn’t seem like it), she takes the hair tie that’s holding her own ponytail up and uses it to secure her work.

“Can you pause it?” Adaine asks to the group at large as she smooths her hands down the sides of Aelwyn’s head. “I have to use the bathroom.”

“Of course!” Jawbone says, grinning the way he always does, “I could use a snack break myself.”

When she comes back, Adaine says, “let’s switch places, and you can do my hair.”

Adaine moves to sit on the floor, and Aelwyn’s hands shake a little as she realizes that she’s only ever braided her own hair, that she isn’t quite sure how to replicate the motions on another person’s scalp. But she isn’t going to deny Adaine this moment, so she nestles herself on the couch between Riz and Ragh. She carefully angles her body so as to minimize any contact with them and tries her best to do to Adaine what she does to her own hair.

“Ouch!” Adaine yelps immediately, leaning forward out of Aelwyn’s reach. “Pull a little harder, why don’t you?”

“Sorry,” Aelwyn says, but she has to smother a snort at Adaine’s indignation. She must not do a great job, because Adaine slaps her leg lightly.

“Whatever, just make me beautiful without the sadism, please.” Aelwyn can’t see Adaine roll her eyes, but she knows it must be happening as Adaine relaxes back against the couch.

“Aye, aye, captain.”

It doesn’t go great, but she does, technically, braid Adaine’s hair. She’s much more careful with the force she uses, trying her best to be gentle with her sister’s head. It leads to a loose, messy final product, which isn’t particularly stylish and probably is not the look that Adaine was hoping for. In any case, though, she doesn’t complain about Aelwyn’s too-harsh hands a second time, and the room is dark enough that Aelwyn’s handiwork isn’t really visible to anyone but Aelwyn.

“All right, thank you,” Adaine says as Aelwyn takes a hair tie from her wrist to hold the braid. Then, she looks sternly up at Aelwyn. “Now gimme my spot back.”

“You think I’m going back to the hardwood? As if,” Aelwyn scoffs as she relaxes into the cushions. Something in her chest unwinds when she realizes that it came out the way it was supposed to, light and teasing and silly. She realizes, too, that at some point she stopped being so aware of her limbs in relation to the boys on either side of her, her knee now casually resting against Ragh’s thigh.

“Fine,” Adaine shrugs. “If that’s how you want to play it,” and she proceeds to lie down on top of Riz, Aelwyn, and Ragh. Riz squawks and almost fumbles the bowl of popcorn he’s holding; Ragh just laughs and starts petting Adaine’s head. Aelwyn goes silent with shock, initially, but at Ragh’s cue, she starts laughing too.

It’s not particularly comfortable, but Aelwyn finds herself enjoying the second half of the film. After the credits roll and the yawning teenagers stumble off to find places to sleep, she finds herself thinking, maybe I could do this again.

#fantasy high #dimension 20 #d20 #aelwyn abernant #fh #fhsy spoilers #fantasy high sophomore year #fantasy high sophomore year spoilers #adaine abernant

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annablosssom · 4 years

Text

dream a little dream

He's alone.

He'd lost sight of Gorgug and Fabian, and now he's alone.

((a look into what Ragh's experience in the Forest of the Nightmare King might've been))

(((read on AO3)))

"Fabian!" He yells, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Gorgug!"

He waits, listens, but when no reply comes save for the faint rustling of leaves, he calls out again.

He wanders on for a few minutes more, hackles rising the longer he stays in the forest. He starts calling out for the rest of the Bad Kids.

“Adaine! Fig! The Ball!”

Five minutes more, and his voice has turned hoarse with shouting, but he continues nonetheless.

“Sandra Lynn! Tracker! Kristen!”

Five minutes more, and doubt starts to creep into his mind. Doubt that they’ve forgotten him. Doubt that they’ve left him. He isn’t sure which one is worse.

"Ayda! Fabian! Gorgu--"

"Ragh, dude," a familiar voice drones somewhere behind him, “chill out for a sec, man. You’ve been shouting for a while.”

He draws his glaive and turns in one smooth motion, baring his teeth, muscles tense. “Whoever you are, you better be prepared to have your ass kicked!”

“Hey, hey, I said chill, dude. It’s just me.”

From out of the foliage, Dayne Blayde steps out, hands up. He walks towards Ragh, wearing his letterman jacket. He grins in that crooked way Ragh found attractive a lifetime ago, before Jawbone.

Before the Bad Kids.

Before the black eye.

“Stay back,” he warns, brandishing his glaive, “I beat you during prom. I beat you in hell. And I’m gonna beat you here in this forest if you try anything.”

“Ragh, my man,” Dayne scoffs, tilting his head as he leans back against a tree, “ you didn’t beat me. The Bad Kids beat me. There’s a difference.”

Ragh growls, that same doubt coming back twofold, “Shut up!”

“Dude, you’re only mad because you know I’m right. I mean, look at you,” he nods at him. “Sandra Lynn’s a cool ranger, Cathilda’s a badass maid, Tracker’s magic keeps everyone safe at night-- I mean, they even talk to Gilear more than they talk to you. So, let's face it," he shrugs, "you’re worthless to them, dude.”

His knuckles whiten around his weapon. “If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m gonna kill you!”

"Dayne laughs, saying, “You’re not a Bad Kid, Ragh. You never were.”

Ragh charges at him, blood pumping as he falls into a rage.

The glaive sinks into nothing tree bark as Dayne flickers out of sight.

“Shouldn’t have done that, man,” he says, reappearing behind him with raised fists.

Raghs growls, yanking on his glaive but then the tendrils of vines wrap around the weapon from where it remains embedded in the tree. Danger sense kicks in, and he lets go just in time to jump back from the thorny vines that whip towards him.

He turns, weaponless, and takes a direct hit to his sternum as Dayne lunges forward and socks his chest. He feels something break. Breath escapes his lungs, and he falls to his knees.

He tries to take a breath, and again, but his throat closes up each time. He reaches up, clawing at his neck.

Dayne kicks him in the ribs, the force sending him to the floor, lying on his side, struggling to breath. Another kick, in his stomach. And another. And another. Another.

The lack of oxygen and pain makes him lightheaded, but he hears Dayne’s voice insulting him crystal clear despite it. Pure vitriol fills his ears, makes shame burn low in his gut. His ears ring. He tastes blood in his mouth.

A hand grabs the front of his jacket, forcefully putting him face to face with Dayne. Still grinning that crooked grin. His mind starts shutting down from the lack of air.

“This is what you get, you fucking fa--”

Ragh flinches at the slur, black spots appearing in his vision.

Dayne raises his fist one last time, and punches him in the face.

Ragh Barkrock walks home with a bruise around his right eye.

It throbs dully with each step. It distracts him enough that he trips over a tree root jutting out of the sidewalk. He blinks, brow furrowed, because there are no trees in his neighborhood.

His eye throbs, and he looks back and sees a crack on the sidewalk.

Ah, he thinks. That makes more sense.

So he continues walking down the familiar streets of Elmville leading to the only home he's ever had. He passes by the old park his mother used to bring him to when he was younger, the old swing set rusted, the ground covered with foliage. Forest foliage.

His eye throbs.

He continues walking. He doesn’t know how he got back to Elmville. He doesn’t know what happened in Sylvaire. The details become fuzzy right after Dayne punches him into unconsciousness and right before he started walking. But he does know he has to go home to his mother.

So he continues walking.

And walking.

And then he stops.

A familiar burgundy door. His childhood home. Somehow, the paint seems fresh.

He swipes his hand across it and it comes back smeared with red.

He opens the door.

Inside, he hears his mother in the kitchen. He goes there.

"Mom?" he calls out as he steps through the open archway.

Lydia Barkrock is seated in her wheelchair, facing the lowered stove and away from him, humming a little tune to herself.

"Mom," he approaches, but then his black eye flares with a sudden pain, and he gasps, knees hitting the floor as he clutches his eye.

The humming stops.

"What's that on your face, Ragh?" she asks without turning to face him.

He blinks through the searing pain, "Mom, wh--" the pain intensifies, sending him prone on the floor. It feels like a dagger constantly stabbing into his right eye, twisting in the socket as it exits and enters. “It… it hurts, mom--”

"Dayne Blayde gave it to you?" She says, cutting him off, "Why? What for?"

He tries to stand, to ask for help, but he can only scream in agony.

"Oh, you stupid worthless boy," there's mocking affection in her voice, and through the haze of pain, he sees the wheelchair turn. "Did you really think he would love you back?"

"M-mom, please--"

"Did you really think ��anyone would love you back?"

The smell of burning wood and smoke reaches him. Panic makes his guts twist.

The house burns, flames licking at the walls in his periphery. Have to get her out, have to save her--

"Mom, w-we have to go!" He manages to push himself up on his elbows.

"Look me in the face, son."

He urges his body to move despite the pain lancing through his eye, managing to kneel, hands clutching the sides of the wheelchair to keep himself upright.

"Look at me."

He doesn't look, a deep sense of fear telling him not to look. The smell grows stronger, and he feels heat. Have to get mom out, keep her safe, away from the flames--

"Ragh," her voice softens, a tone of voice he rarely heard from her. "Look at me."

Slowly, he looks.

The vision of his mother's burnt face forever imprints itself in his mind.

"You killed me, Ragh," she whispers, tongue falling to ash as she speaks, her piercing eyes pinning him in place. The smell of cooked meat and singed hair fills his nose as he lets out choked sobs.

"No. No ." Tears build up in his eyes as he tries to remember, "Principal Aguefort said--"

"He lied," she leans in, voice still whisper-soft. "You told your friends something you shouldn't have, and you killed me."

"I didn't," he whimpers, knuckles white from clutching the wheelchair. He tries to move, to twist his head away from her, but he can’t . "I didn't kill--"

"You killed me!" She screams, the gem in her scorched chest pulsing with light. "You little snitch! You killed me, you killed me you killed me killed me killed me killed me--"

Charcoal hands wrap around his throat, and the paralysis loses its grip on Ragh. Instincts kick in, and he shoves her off him and into the flame.

His mother’s corpse falls to the ground, wheelchair clattering.

Ragh turns, and runs, the glow of his burning home elongating his shadow.

He runs.

He doesn’t know for how long, but he continues to run.

Exhaustion seeps into his bones, but the memory of his mother’s burnt corpse spurs him on.

So he keeps running.

Eventually, the smell of smoke fades, and he finds himself back approaching Aguefort Academy. He slows to a stop by the gates, legs shaking, feet aching.

He closes his eyes as he leans on his knees, panting with exertion.

A whistle blows, and his eyes snap open.

He’s sitting on a sideline bench. A dozen players stand in the bloodrush field, the stands filled to capacity by a boisterous audience, flood lights turned on as the evening game commences. He sees the Aguefort team playing against an unfamiliar opponent, their team colors unfamiliar to him. He hears a clapping sound beside him, and he turns to see a huge demonic entity wearing a tight white shirt and a tiny blue cap, holding a brown clipboard.

Gorthalax cups a hand around his mouth and yells, “Line, use your hips when you push!”

He turns to the field, He spots Gorgug in the line, pushing against a player much larger than him. The opponent pushes him down, a loud snapping of bones audible across the field as he lands on his arm. The enemy runner rushes past Gorgug and scores. A chorus of gasps and boos.

Ragh watches as Gorgug slowly gets up, fingers digging into the bench, expectantly darting his eyes towards the medical team on standby, but none of them go out into the field.

Horror fills him as he sees Gorgug stand and get into position, his arm twisted. The referee blows their whistle, starting the next play. The audience cheers.

“Coach! He’s hurt!” Ragh shouts, on his feet as soon as he realizes what’s happening, “You gotta get ‘im out of there!”

“‘Fraid I can’t do that, bud,” Gorthalax says, nonchalantly writing down something on his clipboard, before raising a hand to adjust his cap. “He’s our only shot at winning the line.”

“His arm’s fucking broken!” He yells, desperate, before pulling on Gorthalax’s sleeve. “Put me in! I’ll play! I’ll win the line, just get him out!”

He realizes his mistake the moment the coach turns to fully face him for the first time. Not Gorthalax, but a demonic Coach Daybreak. He snarls at Ragh, pushing him down on the ground.

“You’re gonna win the line?” he snarls, pointing a thick, meaty finger at him. “You can’t even win against a bunch of fucking freshmen! You’re worthless, Ragh!”

Another wave of cheers erupts from the crowd, and Ragh glances just in time to see Fabian get tackled to the ground. His attacker stands, leaving Fabian lying limp on the ground. Another blow of the referee’s whistle.

Ragh tries to run towards the field, but Daybreak grabs his arm and pulls him back.

“You can’t do anything, boy,” he growls, “so just sit tight and watch them die.”

Gorgug falls once more with another violent push from the enemy line. He lands next to Fabian, unconscious. Another round of cheers. Another whistle.

Filled to the brim with desperation, Ragh turns and punches Daybreak across the face, shocking him enough to make him lose his grip. A glint of metal catches his eye, and he sees his glaive lying against the bench.

He grabs it and charges into the field and stands in front of his collapsed friends, teeth bared. He feels strength come back to his arms as he goes into an aggressive stance. Opponents start rushing at him, and he tries his best to hold them back. The roar of the audience doubles out here in the field, cheers and taunts and jeers and applause overwhelming his senses.

He gets into the rhythm of the fight-- dodging the hits he can and withstanding those he can’t with rage. He slashes at the approaching attackers, uses his weapon’s reach to keep them at bay.

His entire being feels clear in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. Battle ready and out to kill. Every single hit that lands causes the audience to scream with delight, blood spilling into the grass. The sound exhilarates him.

Keen eyes spy a slight figure clad in that unknown team’s colors crouched next to the unconscious Gorgug, and he roars. He swings his glaive high to come down on them, but they dodge out of the way as it does.

The crowd boos, insults falling from their lips with Dayne and Daybreak’s voices overlapping with theirs.

So he tries again, putting even more force behind the second blow, only to be rebuffed by a spectral shield.

Even more jeering from the audience, slurs and mocking laughter. He thinks he hears his mother screaming.

He moves to attack once more, but then another figure grapples him from behind, forcing him into a headlock.

A voice comes through, shouting above the crowd.

“Ragh, Ragh! This is not you!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpses brown skin and dark hair.

“It’s not you! ”

He looks up, and the moon gleams, before flooding the sky with its light. The world turns white around him, and the bloodrush field vanishes. A cool and gentle magic floods into his mind, dispelling the possession and the fear.

His knees immediately go weak and he collapses, the weight of exhaustion coming back all at once. He collapses to his hands and knees, gasping and sobbing.

When his sight comes back, he sees Aelwyn kneeling on the forest floor, crouched protectively over Adaine’s body. His guts twist at the hole in her chest, her denim jacket tacky with gore. Bile rises in his throat.

“Hey,” Tracker says, putting a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes are bloodshot but determined, mouth set. “Head in the game.”

He takes another gasping breath, and nods.

He looks up.

He sees Kalina, claws out and razor-sharp. He sees Adaine’s mother, floating as she readies another spell. He sees the real Gorthalax, grappling with the Nightmare King.

He sees his friends, bloody and bruised but not backing down.

Ragh stands, glaive in hand, muscles protesting and body shaking with the effort, but he stands nonetheless.

This nightmare's not over yet.

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #ragh barkrock #my writing #hey listen #i love ragh barkrock with my entire being #like how brennan loves the bad kids #if hes allowed to make the bad kids suffer i am allowed to make ragh suffer #its the angst

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