#//But Traveler has earned his fondness and respect quite a lot

[dutybcrne]

Diluc likes to personally do the repairs and maintenance to not only his own weapon, but especially those of his most important people. He would always insist on personally handling Kaeya, later Jean's, weapons, throughout their time as Knights together, and even to this day gets salty if he happens to see either or even their weapons alone at Wagner's.

[harmonysanreads]

I've been thinking...

Since the Sumeru Hexagon Darling has traveled around Teyvat to learn more, that would mean they became acquainted with quite a few people, right?

So how would the boys react if an old friend, let's say Diluc, pays a visits?

I imagine the Darling became friends with Diluc while on their travels. They highly respect Diluc since he's the owner of Mondstadt's winery so he has quite the knowledge in business. We could say he's a mentor of sorts for them.

Not even Wanderer can mess with Diluc if he doesn't want to upset Darling.

Hmmm yes yes. It's funny because, initially when I was brainrotting the au I saw Diluc as a somewhat past love interest to Reader? But since they decided to return home very abruptly, his feelings would be left unrequited. However, in light of the recent event, I'm imagining Diluc as a more mentor/older brother figure (as you said) to Reader instead. In the mentioned scenario, while there is still drama, it's mostly passive-aggressive so, no injuries for anyone to deal with.

It wasn't necessarily easy to get on that ground with him but it was so worth it. Let's say, Mondstadt was the very first nation you decided to travel to. Lacking in both experience and expertise, it's expected that you'd stumbled quite a lot in the beginning. But thanks to a number of kind individuals, you made it through and Diluc just so happens to be at the front of that tier. From the history and ways of brewing wine, to the methods of handling drunkards, Diluc has surprised even himself with the extent of his care towards you.

It's in Diluc's nature to be protective of what he's fond of but it's different from the boys'. He, without a doubt, respects your independence and really just wishes the best. It just so happens that after some pestering, you managed to enter a partnership in the business and hence, his annual visits. The first thought that came to the boys was the same as everytime someone earns more than your politeness : is this a new rival? But they're soon proven wrong, very wrong.

It's almost comical how tame everyone becomes in Diluc's presence, if not for the Winery owner's, then definitely to remain in your good graces. Wanderer is a little less than half salty when he hears all the things Diluc has done for you (what? he could've done those too!) and half calm because he isn't another one of your suitors (good for him). He's pretty chill, for once. Tighnari and Kaveh actually get along with Diluc and he made sure to thoroughly interrogate Kaveh because his feelings are more obvious than everyone else. But, there's some weird tension when it comes to Alhaitham and Cyno. Overall, Diluc's big brother instincts disapprove of everyone but, ultimately, after a deep deep deep sigh, he tells you that, ultimately it's your choice.

[ au masterlist ]

[ibijau]

Oh, here's a prompt! Nie Huaisang travels back in time to ensure that Jin Guangyao stays away from the Jin sect. When he gets back, he's disturbed to find that not only is Meng Yao now his stepbrother (or has at least become a very respected disciple of the Nie sect), but is also now engaged to Lan Xichen. Cue screaming and/or fainting. But at least Minjue is still alive, right?

It was surprisingly easy to make it all happen, much to Nie Huaisang's surprise. In stories time travel was always so complicated to orchestrate, with so much to plan for... but Nie Huaisang had just done it, and it seemed to be working well.

His first stop had been to Meng Shi, shortly after the birth of her son. He could have gone back further and prevented her from ever having that son, but... but at the end of the day, he'd been impossibly fond of Meng Yao even if he'd grown to hate Jin Guangyao. The solution, then, had been to visit his mother and make sure she didn't fill her son's head with impossible dreams.

It had taken some money to get Meng Shi out of the brothel for a few days, and she'd been quite suspicious of him at first. But Nie Huaisang had been a gentleman, and she'd warmed up to him a little. She'd even given up on trying to seduce him once he'd explained that while not opposed to feminine charms on occasion, he mostly cut his sleeve. She'd acted quite sorry for him when he'd explained that actually, he'd just gotten out of a long relationship that had ended badly due to some trust issues and a the betrayal of a man they'd believed to be their friend. Meng Shi had shared a few stories as well, some her own, most her colleagues'.

By the time they'd arrived in Lanling, Nie Huaisang had become quite attached to Meng Shi, and decided he might change his plans a little, depending on what would happen in the next few days.

Meng Shi was not happy to meet other women who'd had the dubious pleasure of sharing Jin Guansghan's bed. She was even less happy to talk to them and learn that none of them, not a single one, had ever received money or attention again after he'd left them, not even those who'd had a child. One of them, the servant of a powerful family of merchants, had gone begging at the door of the Jin sect when her three years old daughter had fallen sick with something nobody understood. She'd been sent home under threats of a beating if she ever showed up again, and her daughter had died.

That had been nearly four years earlier. Jin Guangshan hadn't been sect leader yet, but he'd been his father's favourite and most spoiled son, so he would have had the power to do anything he pleased, including sending a doctor to his daughter, or having her brought into Jinlin Tai to make sure no dark spirit was attacking her. He wasn't even engaged to his wife at the time, so it was impossible to use her to excuse his lack of care. And he'd known about the child's sickness, because he'd happened to be passing by when the mother came begging for help. It was he who had ordered she be sent away, annoyed by her crying.

Meng Shi had gone paler and paler as that poor woman told her tale of sorrow, clutching her son tighter against her chest. When Nie Huaisang and her had returned to their inn, she had asked him why he'd wanted her to meet those other women.

“I just don't like what he's doing,” Nie Huaisang replied, a little embarrassed that he hadn't thought she might get curious. It was stupid of him. Meng Yao surely couldn't have gotten his brains from his father after all.

Meng Shi, sitting on her bed, rocked her infant son in her arms in silence for a moment.

“They were all weak,” she said after a while.

“Who?”

“Those other women. They were all weak.”

Nie Huaisang tensed, fearing that she might announce she was cut of another cloth, that she would persevere where they had given up, but Meng Shi only sighed and kissed her son's forehead.

“He picked them so they were young and would have no one to turn to. Servants and prostitutes and unwanted daughters... he picked us so we'd have no one to turn to when he'd abandon us, no one to defend our honour and force him to pay for the children he made us have. Women like us, it's our own fault for getting pregnant in the first place, isn't it?”

Nie Huaisang stared at her, and realised she was right. He'd been so busy collecting names, he hadn't paused to wonder if there had been a pattern to Jin Guangshan's actions.

“Are there any more you want me to meet?” Meng Shi asked.

“No, she was the last one.”

“Then I suppose we'll started heading back to Yunping City tomorrow. I'll have to make new plans for...”

“No, we're not going back,” Nie Huaisang announced, startling her. “It's too unfair if you go back, you deserve better. Both of you deserve better!”

She blinked a few times, and gave him an amused smile, still rocking her baby. She didn't believe him, of course. Nie Huaisang could hardly blame her for that. After her last experience with a cultivator...

But Meng Shi really did deserve better. Nevermind that in a future he hoped to have now prevented, he'd desecrated her body to get back at her son, this was a different thing. Meng Shi was not a bad person. He'd once thought her guilty of ambition at least, but after a couple weeks in her company, he realised she'd just been desperate for a chance to escape her lot in life. He couldn't really hate her for that, even if it had led to such tragedies after her death.

Nie Huaisang liked her now that he'd met her, and he couldn't condemn her and her son to a worse fate than what they'd have known without him.

He needed a plan.

He needed a smart plan.

He had a plan.

“So, I might have lied a little, you're going back to the brothel,” Nie Huaisang said, earning an unimpressed smirk. “But not for long! I'm going to try something but... would you be willing to lie about who sired your son?”

“Why not? At this point, the truth won't get me much.”

“Perfect. Then I'm going to warn my sect that I have fathered a child, and that I'm unable to care for it at the moment. I'll have to write to them but... but I know Nie zongzhu will immediately send for you. He'll probably ask after me, he hasn't seen me in nearly a decade, but I know he won't have forgotten his cousin Nie Xingyu, and he'll do what's right for my son and his mother.”

And there was no risk of the real Nie Xingyu ever returning to ruin that story, Nie Huaisang knew. His father's beloved cousin, who'd become a rogue cultivator after an argument with their grandfather, had actually died a year or two before Nie Mingjue was even born. A Night Hunt accident, one which Nie Huaisang had discovered by chance while investigating some of Jin Guangyao's crimes. But he remembered his father always hoped to see Nie Xingyu return, always speaking so highly of that cousin who had been almost a brother to him.

Nie Huaisang's father would be delighted to meet his cousin's son, and if “Nie Xingyu” asked for it he would buy Meng Shi's contract in a heartbeat. It would only be a matter of convincing sect leader Nie then, and Nie Huaisang wasn't worried about that. His father had kept all the letters his cousin used to send and read them to his sons, so Nie Huaisang was confident he could imitate his prose and handwriting, not to mention he too carried the Nie seal to mark that letter.

At worst, if it didn't work, Nie Huaisang could always find the money somewhere to buy that contract in person and try to find somewhere to leave Meng Shi, but he'd rather know that she and Meng Yao were safe and sound in the Unclean Realm.

Meng Shi, of course, looked unimpressed by his plan. She still thought he was lying, or trying to sell wonders like other men before him so they could share her bed for a reduced fee, or demand more of her than they'd paid for. Nie Huaisang didn't mind. If people's opinions of him mattered, he would have chosen a different way to avenge his brother, wouldn't he?

-

It took nearly a month after Nie Huaisang had brought Meng Shi back to her brother, but one morning, from the room he'd rented across the street, he saw a small group of Nie cultivators go in. His father was among them, and when they excited the building, he was carrying little Meng Yao in his arms and chatting cheerfully with Meng Shi who seemed shocked at this turn of events.

Unseen by her Nie Huaisang smiled, and went to activate the talisman that would take him back to his own time. Hopefully this would have been enough to save Nie Mingjue. And if it hadn't... well, he knew how to travel to the past now.

-

Nie Huaisang opened his eyes. He was in his room, and yet not. This was what used to be his room when he was young, before he became sect leader. A little smaller, a little more private, with a view on a small private garden where he kept his favourite birds. Hisroom, the one he'd always preferred, and had only abandoned in a desperate attempt to be the leader he'd thought his people would need. If he still lived in this room, then it meant Nie Huaisang wasn't sect leader.

Delighted by this apparent victory, Nie Huaisang sprung to his feet and rushed out of the room, only to run head first into someone.

He'd ran into that person enough times that he knew them instantly, even before seeing their face.

“Well someone is in a hurry,” Nie Mingjue said with a laugh.

A laugh.

Nie Mingjue was laughing. Nie Huaisang couldn't even remember the last time he'd heard his brother laugh like this. Not since the Sunshot Campaign, he thought.

“Your cousins haven't arrived yet,” said someone standing just a step behind Nie Mingjue, her voice also full of laughter. “You didn't oversleep, don't worry.”

It took all of Nie Huaisang's willpower to look away from his brother (Nie Mingjue, happy, laughing, healthy) but he managed it, because that other voice was a little too familiar.

It was odd to find Meng Shi in her fifties when just a few hours ago, Nie Huaisang had seen her in her early twenties. Her hair had turned grey, there were wrinkles on her face, and she had exchanged the bold colours she used to wear at the brothel for the muted tones the Nie sect favoured. It suited her. Growing old suited her, if only because she would never have had the chance, had Nie Huaisang not changed her fate.

“I think he's not quite awake yet,” Nie Mingjue teased when Nie Huaisang stared too long, poking his little brother in the shoulder. “But at least I don't have to drag him out of bed. Can I leave the rest to you, auntie?”

Meng Shi smiled, and assured him she'd make sure Nie Huaisang was ready for his cousins' arrival. Nie Mingjue thanked her and left. Nie Huaisang almost ran after him, suddenly needing to touch him, to hug him, to make sure this was real, that he had truly...

“Now it's finally you,” Meng Shi noted, earning a curious glance. “I've realised a few years ago that you looked oddly similar to the man who helped me. Too similar to simply count it as family resemblance. But until today, you didn't look quite right either.”

When Nie Huaisang could only blink at her, she laughed.

“I thought so. I've been wondering for years, but... you did something to change what was meant to happen, didn't you?”

“I did. I wanted... I needed to save certain people.”

“Your brother,” Meng Shi guessed.

Nie Huaisang nodded.

“And my son?”

He nodded again. “Where is he? Is he well? He learned cultivation, right?”

Meng Shi smiled proudly. “He's one of the best in his generation, people keep telling me. He's married now, and living with his husband, but they come visit often. They wanted me to come live with them in the Cloud Recesses, but it's too cold for me over there, and I like the friends I've made here in Qinghe, so I... is something wrong?”

Nie Huaisang nodded, then shook his head. “His husband?”

“A-Yao is married to Lan zongzhu,” she explained. “I would have preferred if he'd married a woman, but Lan zongzhu is a very good husband to him, and they always seem so very happy when they're together. It's all a mother can truly wish for, isn't it? To see her child settled and happy.”

Nie Huaisang said nothing.

He did not run back into his room, didn't hurriedly prepare some ink so he could draw another time travelling talisman and set things right. It was tempting, so tempting. But Nie Huaisang resisted that temptation, and forced himself to smile.

“I'm so happy for them,” he mumbled after a while, and hoped he would learn to mean it.

[saphirered]

Hi welcome back! Hope you’re doing well. Random question b4 my request, bc I want to give back as thanks for the great writing: are you a coffee, tea, or hot chocolate/cocoa drinker? I prefer hot chocolate and sweet tea.

How would the m9 respond to an SO/friend with a kid? Where the reader is a single parent with a child of at most 10 years old. Thanks :)

- 🐋

This took a while to write so sorry for that 😅. I'm so glad you like my writing! I love writing for you lot. I'm definitely a hot cocoa person. I hope this one turned out to your liking 😘.

----------

Caleb:

You never hid the fact you had a child from Caleb, if anything you’re proud of them. Though, you do know in certain company it’s better to keep that fact a secret for safety reasons. Caleb understands that fully he respects and admires you always put your child’s best interests first.

This is why when you began getting more involved with Caleb you kept your child out of it and took a good amount of time before introducing them to the wizard. You didn’t want to set expectations for both sides and wanted to protect and preserve them both should what you and Caleb had going not work out after all.

It’s no surprise Caleb is good with children. He takes a gentle approach when it comes to all things good in this world to the point of almost being afraid to ‘ruin it’. You assured him many times he was in the clear and how could his heart not warm at the curiosity and search for knowledge your child was already displaying.

With your permission Caleb began teaching your child some things here and there. The theoretics of magic and eventually simple spells. The smile it brought to their faces while they worked couldn’t make you happier. Caleb definitely earned your child’s approval to stick around.

Beau:

At first Beau is surprised. She knows children come from somewhere of course. She’s not stupid but actually tying a child to their parent let alone being very close to that parent is a whole new story. Especially learning you raised your child on your own and seeing you want to provide what’s best for them definitely earns you her respect, not having a parent with the same motivation herself and all.

The day of introductions came along and as expected Beau is the most awkward, trying not to be a terrible influence and be on her best behaviour, makes her very much on edge. An perceptive child picking up on this awkward behaviour calling her out leaving her cursing like a sailor, then apologising for said curses, even less of a surprise. You had to assure her many times it was fine.

Beau makes a promise that no matter what, she’ll make sure you’ll be returning to your child and make sure they get the love and support they deserve. Growing up without loving parents is one thing. Growing up an orphan another. She’d do everything in her power to keep you safe.

It may have began with joking comments such as ‘finish your homework’ to ‘do the dishes’ and ‘be nice to your parent while I’m gone’ but it didn’t take long before Beau was helping them with their homework or cleaning dishes after you cooked.

Absolutely treats your child as someone capable of making decisions of their own and speaking for themselves. No baby voices or cooing like too many adults tend to do even to a child regardless of their age. Your child has thoughts and opinions of their own and for the love of all that is sacred, can speak for themselves. You’re glad Beau treats them with a sense of maturity.

Fjord:

Fjord may have done what can only be referred to as a spit take the moment you said you had a child. Clearly didn’t expect it but giving him time to recover and process he’d ask all sorts of questions. What are they like? What do they like? And of course the dreaded question about your partner.

Supportive Fjord for the win. After finding out you’re on your own he’d always have your back, checking in with you and making sure you’re doing alright amidst the stress of the world and raising a child in the mix of it all. He’d open up to you about his past and being raised without any kind of proper parental figure. What he wouldn’t have done to have someone like you around when it counted for him.

Introducing them went rather smoothly. Fjord is surprisingly good with children. While some might find him intimidating, he nearly melted when your child embraced him as a thank you for looking out for you. Fjord was happy to answer any and all questions your child asked.

Whenever you’d be swept away for a while having to leave your child in the care of your trusted ones, Fjord would tell your child to ‘have the wheel, sailor’ which they would return with a salute before biding you both goodbye. Fjord slowly transcended into a bit of a father role and none of you minded in the least. You were happy.

Veth:

When she spoke of her boy she left behind you pitied her. A child shouldn’t be without their family. They deserved to be loved and sheltered from the darkness of the world until they are ready. When you told her you had one of your own Veth really felt safe to confide in you with her worries and troubles. You bonded over it really, drowning out all the sad stories and struggles with fond memories of both your families. Sadly for you, that would only extend to you and your child, the memories of their other parent perhaps somewhat painful to share.

You wondered what it would be like if your children ever got to meet in person. Then the day came. Nicodranas really had a way of bringing families together didn’t it? First time may have been a bit strange, your child being fully aware of Veth’s need for a disguise with her son, played their part well. Both you and Veth may have wiped away some tears when Luc claimed your child their big sibling from now on, and you his third parent.

Work and life are a difficult combination for Veth. She wants nothing more than to be with Yeza and take care of her boy but as long as the world’s in peril and her other family needs her just as much if not more, she’ll have to leave them behind. Knowing that you and your child are with her husband and son when she can’t be eases her mind a lot and she’s forever grateful.

It goes unsaid that Veth’s time away from children and in the presence of adults, specifically the Mighty Nein may have left her a bit out of the routines of raising a child as shown by giving Luc and your child fireworks, promising them to teach them how to shoot a crossbow and more. You did have to hold her back a little with the help of Yeza and keep things a bit more contained for their safety, but mostly yours.

Jester:

Of course upon learning you’re raising your child all by yourself Jester goes onto a rant about how her and her mom were always alone and how Marion used to read stories to her and do you read stories to your child and do you sing to them and draw with them and give them hugs and cuddles after nightmares and… You have no idea how that girl doesn’t run out of breath.

Jester couldn’t be anyone but herself when meeting your child asking about their interests, do they like to draw and sing and dance and… You ran out of breath just listening to her talk and your child replying in similar fashion. Everything went quite well and the two of them got along. Jester would be singing them songs and teaching them how to draw resulting in many dick drawings randomly appearing in your books, notes and other places, followed by mischievous giggles.

Having bought your child a lovely green cloak and letting them pretend they’re the Traveler here to spread mischief and fun and leave behind many phallic shaped objects drawn and carved wherever possible sent you all in laughing fits but you swore you heard a more masculine chuckle and saw a green cloak fade into the shadows. Odd.

What only can be summed up as the combination between big sibling, fun wine cupcake aunt and mom, remained a constant in your life and you couldn’t be more thankful to have that ray of sunshine be there for all of you.

Caduceus:

Caduceus is very calm and collected about learning you have a child. Less of a response than perhaps anyone else perviously unknowing. “That’s nice.” He’d nod. You’d almost start thinking he may have been able to read it off you for some reason. He confirmed he was, the tired eyes, and the recovery of exasperation at times but sense of accomplishment and reward was a look he had seen from his own mother many times.

“You’re weird.” A stare down ensued. “You’re weird too.” Eyes sharpened. “I like you.” The ice broke and smiles followed. For a moment you were afraid that maybe your child wouldn’t like the odd firbolg and thinking about how you would keep friends and family separate but a wave of relief went over you knowing that all was well between the two most valuable people in your life.

You’d be handed a fresh cup of tea by your child, a plate of snacks by Caduceus, all too innocent smiles on their faces but all it took was a raised eyebrow from you to have them come clean about the kitchen being covered in soil from the two of them potting new plants, turning your home and garden in what can only be described as a greenhouse and rather ask for forgiveness than permission. You weren’t mad of course, but did make them clean the mess they made.

You’re still unsure whether or not it was a good or bad idea introducing your child to the extended Clay family as you got some insight in the chaotic prank wars between the siblings and all together sibling rivalry among some of them. It’s all fun and games of course but some moments you were glad you weren’t the one pelted with mud pies by Calliope or pushed into the spring by Calliope herself. Instead you could just enjoy Clarabelle’s bug collection with your child while laughing at the other’s being covered in mud and soaked to the bone.

Yasha:

Poor Yasha doesn’t recall much of a family. In reality she never really felt like she had one until the circus, and after them the Nein. When she saw you and your child together, the unconditional love you had for each other, she felt like she finally realised what she had been missing, and something she perhaps would never have. She learned the value of such a relationship.

Yasha has no idea how to interact with children at any level and by default tends to treat them as either adults, or cute animals. No in between. It took her some time to get the hang of it but you couldn’t deny both you and your child rather enjoyed the unconventional relationship.

The wastes and hardships of Xhorhas may force a child to grow up quickly in the tribes but that doesn’t mean children outside of those regions have to learn how to wield a sword and what bugs you can and cannot eat or how to best skin an animal before eating it… It took some convincing why that was not a necessary skill to learn at the tender age of ten.

You compromised with Yasha on the fighting in the end, persuaded by the woman and your child to allow her to teach them some fighting basics because someone’ has to have your back when Yasha’s not there. You did manage to hold them off on purchasing a sword perhaps too large for your child despite the ‘they’ll grow into it’ reasoning and instead settled on training equipment instead.

Mollymauk:

Oh Mollymauk, nothing surprises this one. He felt rather sorry for you going through the struggles of raising a child alone. He may not remember his own family but he’s traveled far and wide enough to know the hardships. He knows poor Toya and he admires you for being able to do what so many can’t or won’t.

It goes unsaid that Molly is perhaps the worst of influences when it comes to people but you’ve seen him interact with Toya before and know well enough he’s a kind and caring soul who wants only the best for those who can’t just yet fend for themselves. It’s a good foundation that leads to a better person. He jokingly claims himself proof of that through the carnival and him ‘being an absolute asshole’.

Molly’s soft side really does come out whenever he’s around your child. He doesn’t deliberately censor himself but tries to contain certain words and avoid certain subjects that should never be discussed around your child knowing you’d appreciate it and if he does let something slip and your child ask questions he’d gently explain it as certain things should definitely not be described in gory detail to someone of their age.

This circus man is not afraid to put on a show in any circumstance and will happily do so to cheer you or your child up whenever you’re feeling a bit down or overworked. Whether he’s making a fool of himself, giving you bogus card readings, juggle his swords or tell the most ridiculous stories ever he’d do it without a second thought because it brings you and your child joy. You’re part of his family and he’d go to hell and back again for you.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin and Arthur bond like never before, and war preparations are being made

Morgana sees something... worrying

Part 3 of Merlin’s angry outburst.

Part 1   Part 2   Part 4   Part 5

The next morning, everyone is up early. Merlin pays a quick trip to Gaius, to inform him of his and Arthur’s plan for that evening (earning a raised eyebrow and a concealed smirk) before meeting Morgana at the castle gates, and heading off.

Everyone is busy, and no one in the gang crosses paths for more than a few moments the whole day.

Merlin and Morgana spend almost the whole day at the Druid camp, learning what they can, and asking for healers. (Morgana gives her own raised eyebrow and smirk when Merlin requests the ingredients he’ll need to forge a mental link, but doesn’t say anything.)

Gaius is busy bustling around with the servants he was provided, instructing them on what herbs to collect, where they would be found, and how to harvest properly.

Leon has Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot, lead small groups of knights in opposite directions, tasked with heading to the outermost villages, and warning them of the potential danger. Leon himself and Percival stay behind, and continue to oversee training and organisation of extra patrols, and intelligence gathering.

Arthur has meetings throughout the day, mainly focused on the public announcement that would take place the next day, as well as letters to be sent to the lower town. News travelled fast in Camelot, but they wanted to make sure that everyone knew as soon as possible.

Gwen spent the day moving between the forgery, Arthur, and Gaius, making sure everyone had what they needed, and pointing out flaws or missed opportunities wherever she could.

The council may have hated her when Arthur was first crowned (”She’s just a serving girl, My Lord!”) but Arthur had shut that down quickly, and made sure everyone knew that Gwen was a trusted advisor, and was to be treated as such. And even if he hadn’t made that point, no one could deny that she was quick witted, and always made good suggestions.

The Gang gathers once again in the evening, dining together. A small hall off to the side of the throne room had become their sort of HQ, the place they congregated for meals and meetings for just the ten of them. There was only one door in, and they each had their own keys (the only ones made).

Each of them updates everyone on their progress, one by one.

Leon informs the group of when Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot are expected back (not for a while, it was a couple days ride to the furthest villages, and they had plenty of places to visit), and how the training is going.

Gaius happily reports that preparations for the infirmary were going quickly, even more so when he was joined by all the healers that M+M had brought back with them from the Druid camp.

Gwen tells that, whilst progress was slow at the moment, the forgery was expecting a large shipment of materials by the end of the week, and work would speed up drastically once it arrived.

Morgana reports that the Druids have only seen what she has, but they’ve promised to spread the word, and try to gather any extra information. They would be sending a few more healers once some more of the Clans had gathered together.

All in all, it’s been very successful. Despite the Kingdom only being one day into preparations for a full scale war, things are going smoothly, and none of them are feeling the pressure of panic in their skulls.

The meeting only lasts as long as dinner does, everyone still having important tasks to complete before it was time to sleep.

Other than Merlin and Arthur, Gaius is the last to leave the room, looking back and saying (with a raised eyebrow, of course):

“I’ve left everything you’ll need in The King’s chambers, do you wish for me to join you and oversee it, in case?”

Merlin replies first (not quite sure why he’s blushing):

“No, no it’s fine. Thank you Gaius. We can always send a guard for you if we need anything.” With that, Gaius heads off, and with a deep breath, Merlin stands, and gestures for Arthur to follow.

They make their way to Arthur’s chambers quickly, the silence just a little uncomfortable. Both of them wondering if they should ask the other if they’re sure one last time. Neither of them say anything.

They enter the rooms to see that Gaius has indeed placed everything neatly on the table, one of his old books lying open on a specific age, and two pain relief potions set to the side.

“Merlin are you-

“I’m fine with it, but are you-”

Both of them speak at the same time, before chuckling quietly and pausing. Merlin is the first to speak again:

“It’ll only take a few minutes to put everything together, but then there’s a spell to be said by both of us-”

Arthur widens his eyes in slight panic at that, but Merlin interrupts before he says anything:

“Don’t worry, you can just repeat after me. You’ll have to copy the symbol as well, I’ll need to paint something over your heart, and then you’ll have to paint the corresponding one over mine, you can copy from the book.”

Arthur takes a deep breath in an effort to calm his nerves (it doesn’t work) before replying to a now busy Merlin:

“I’m not magic and I... what if I get it wrong?”

Merlin looks up from the table, and smiles gently before responding:

“Nothing. I mean we’ll probably still get a headache, but other than that... we’d just have to try again tomorrow. No big deal.” He shrugs before looking back down at everything on the table.

Arthur watches him with interest and sits on the opposite side of the table, trying to get a peak at the words or symbols in the book.

After a few minutes, Merlin has a sweet smelling paste in a bowl and two paintbrushes in his hand. He walks round the side of the table, pulling the book towards him, still open. He grabs a stool and stands it in front of him, where he puts the bowl and paintbrushes.

He gestures for Arthur to stand opposite him, and unlaces the loose tunic he’s wearing. He pulls it to the side, exposing the space on his chest over his heart, indicating for Arthur to do the same.

“Right. Our left hands go on the back of each others head,-”

(Arthur struggles not to swallow at that, and nods, pushing the blush down)

“-and they need to stay there the whole time. Our right hands need to be holding a paintbrush each. They need to be over the bowl, crossed over one another, yours on top. I’ll say the spell, bit by bit, you repeat after me. When we speak we need to look at each other. Once the vocal spell has been cast, it’ll get a little glowy in here, but just ignore it, alright? After that, I’ll touch my brush to the paste. You don’t need lots, and the symbol needs to be painted in one motion, so don’t panic if you run out, it doesn’t matter, just keep going. I’ll paint the symbol at the top of the page on your chest, you need to hold still though, keep your hand in place over the bowl. Once I’ve done, I hold my paintbrush over the top of yours, you lower yours into the bowl, and then paint the symbol at the bottom of the page, onto my chest. We don’t have to hold eye contact for that, so you can look down as much as you need to, to copy it right. After it’s done, both paintbrushes can be put down, and we touch foreheads over the bowl. That’ll be the spell done, and we can move back, the pain will only start after all that has been done, and it’ll only last a few minutes, before it begins to lessen. Gaius left us some pain relief. We can practice actually talking to each other later on. Understand all of that?”

Arthur thinks for a just a second, before nodding. He’s very much grateful for all his knight and noble training at this point, he has a good memory for detailed instructions, good enough that not even his nerves could make him forget what to do.

Merlin seems completely unfazed, I suppose because A) in the grand scheme of things, it’s a very simple spell, and B) he’s focussing more on the magical aspect than the fact that basically every step of this spell, was increasingly intimate.

Arthur tries to force his mind to do the same, as Merlin receives his nod. The Sorcerer picks up his paintbrush, and cups the back of Arthur’s head, nodding at Arthur to do the same.

Arthur follows his instructions to the letter. He concentrates so much on repeating exactly what Merlin said, and painting the symbol exactly like it was drawn in the book, that he doesn’t notice Merlin’s fond smile on him.

Arthur has always pursed his lips slightly when focusing, and it’s one of the many small mannerisms that Merlin struggles to look away from.

It comes time for them to touch foreheads, and Arthur takes a deep breath as he feels Merlin pull him forward (and he does the same to Merlin).

They hold eye contact, and Arthur has to hold in a gasp at the feel of Merlin’s magic flowing through him from the moment their heads meet. Merlin holds them there for a few seconds, before letting go and stepping back, Arthur following suit.

Within seconds, both of them are doubled over and groaning, hands clutching their heads as the feeling of warm, gentle magic is replaced by a splitting headache.

Like Merlin had said, it only lasted for a couple minutes at that high intensity, but it feels like forever.

At long last, the stabbing agony turns into a dull ache. Still in a great deal of pain, but not so much that they can’t open their eyes and head over to the table to down their pain relief potions.

At Arthur’s vague gesture, the both of them head over to the two armchairs in front of the fire, and they collapse in their respective seat, each holding their heads in their hands.

(Arthur had the second comfy chair moved to his chambers after a year or so of Merlin always sitting in his, when he first stated working for him. Merlin noticed, but never mentioned it, and the new chair, though it was never said out loud, became his.)

Arthur speaks (more like groans) after a few minutes:

“I thought those potions were supposed to help?”

“Well, it’s magical pain. Curing it isn’t an exact science. Plus the pain is sort of part of the spell, it’ll have mostly faded by the morning. I can always put together something stronger if it stops us from sleeping.”

Arthur looks up at Merlin for the first time as he begins to speak again:

“So... did it work? I feel a little odd but I don’t know if that’s the headache, or whatever happened when we touched heads, or what?”

Merlin looks up, and raises his eyebrow, before saying, wordlessly:

“Yeah. It worked.”

Arthur widens his eyes at that, before scrunching his face up (Merlin just about manages to not laugh at him) in concentration, and staring at Merlin intensely:

“Am I doing it? Merlin can you hear thiiiiiiiis? Merliiiiiii-”

Merlin laughs, before actually saying:

“Yes. Gods shut up Arthur, yes you’re doing it. It’s not exactly difficult.”

Arthur joins in his laughter:

“Sorry sorry, I just wanted to make sure. What now, is that?”

“I mean, yeah, we should probably-” he huffs slightly:

“We should probably practice. You need to get used to doing it over longer distances, and whilst we’re concentrating on other things, so you don’t get caught off guard. We can just keep each other updated across the day tomorrow, that should be plenty of time for you to get used to it.”

Arthur puts his “concentration face” on again as:

“Yes you’re probably right. Just don’t say anything stupid whilst I’m in a meeting, can’t be distracted by your idiocy.”

Merlin smirks slightly, but Arthur sits up straighter, and interrupts him before he can say anything:

“Can we do the same with images? Like could we show each other what we were seeing? I imagine that would come in very handy.”

Merlin furrows his eyebrows slightly:

“It’s headache inducing, and takes a lot more energy and concentration, but we could, if it was an emergency. I’ve never done it before. We’ll have to practice at some point, if we get a quiet day.”

Arthur nods in thought, and waves around the room, focussing on the window and the laid, but cold, fireplace:

“Could you...?”

Merlin nods his head, his eyes flashing gold as the curtains draw themselves and the fireplace bursts in to roaring flames.

“Thank you.” is spoken is Merlin’s head as Arthur once again puts his head in his hands, grumbling as he rubs his temples. The conversation had helped distract for a moment, but both of them still had terrible headaches.

“Something tells me it won’t take long, you’re already using it like it’s second nature. Though you’ll have to keep an eye on that, remember we have to actually speak out loud to other people, still.”

Arthur hums, but doesn’t look up. Merlin takes that as a cue to end the conversation, and uses magic to wave over the book he was currently reading.

The Sorcerer pulls his feet up on the chair (his chair), and settles in to read another chapter, opposite from the King, who stares into the fire, deep in thought.

Arthur doesn’t take anything that the war declaration said to heart, he knows he’s done right by his people, and on good days, he’s even proud of his accomplishments, as opposed to feeling like he’s still atoning for his father’s evils.

But still. The fact that someone was this opposed to Camelot’s new found prosperity was disturbing, not only politically, but personally. What of the people under this neighbour-tyrant’s rule? Are they suffering? They will surely feel the fallout of this war more than Camelot’s people.

Arthur was caught between guilts. It would be far too dangerous to offer refuge from this tyrant’s rule, it would undoubtedly be taken advantage of by spies and usurpers. But could he, in good conscience, leave those people to suffer under whoever would replace him? When Camelot inevitably prevailed?

These thoughts plague Arthur for a while, and he’s only broken from his spiralling worries when a thump to his side, has him look up rapidly.

He lets out a quiet chuckle as he realises Merlin has fallen asleep in the other armchair (in Merlin’s chair), the heavy book dropping to the floor.

Arthur gets up quietly, stretching his back, and noting that while his head still hurts, it isn’t nearly as painful as it used to be.

He wonders over to his bed, dragging two blankets back to the chairs by the fire.

One, he drapes over Merlin. 

Arthur stands over him, and gently strokes the hair back from his face, smiling fondly as his former-manservant shuffles slightly, leaning into his hand, and mumbles unintelligibly in his sleep.

The other, he wraps around himself before settling back into his own chair, resuming the contemplative staring into the fire. Though this time, he’s thinking on the gap between him and Merlin, and how small it had gotten over the years.

You’d think that such a train of thought would be focused on the big things: the battles, the near death experiences, the emotional speeches... the outburst in the woods. But no. They barely crossed his mind. Rather, Arthur was thinking on the small things: the small smile Merlin saved for hurt children when he called them brave, the fire in his eyes when he challenged an arsehole councilman, the pride on his face when Morgana succeeded in her lessons.

Knowing of Merlin’s magic had been an important stepping stone, but a stepping stone nonetheless. Since then, in the time that had passed, he had learnt all the seemingly unimportant things that made Merlin, Merlin.

His favourite colour was blue (blue like the sky and blue like Avalon and blue like the cover of his favourite book (blue like Arthur’s eyes, not that Arthur knew that)).

His favourite season was spring (spring with flowers and baby animals and the world breathing around you. Arthur could almost see Merlin vibrating in time with the world at spring, which didn’t surprise him, once he learnt how tied to nature his magic was).

His favourite holiday was Yuletide (Yuletide with family and dancing and singing and true freedom, all ending in a new beginning, the world getting to start again, in a small way).

His birthday was the first day of the new year (truly, a new year, and a new beginning).

His favourite food is blueberries (but really, he loves any sweet fruit. Never one for actual candy though, maybe he just wasn’t used to such luxuries. Arthur found himself wanting to provide Merlin with every luxury he could ever want).

His childhood was full of mischief and fear (running around pranking people with Will all day, and going home in the evening to find nightmares filled with red cloaks and smoke and a pyre just for him).

Arthur had spent the last nine months making sure that Merlin would never have such nightmares again.  He came damn close to changing the Pendragon colours when Merlin told him of the Red Cloak detail.

Before long Arthur also finds himself nodding his head, but moving to his bed means waking Merlin up and sending him away, and honestly? Arthur would happily wake up with a crick in his neck, if it meant he could fall asleep to the sounds of Merlin, gently snoring through the night.

With that final thought, he finally drifts to sleep in his armchair, warmed by the fire, and Merlin’s presence.

~

The next morning, King Arthur, flanked by his Court Sorcerer, his Court Seer, and his First Knight, announces to a large crowd the news of the impending war.

The people are worried, but he speaks to them honestly, and they respect that. Arthur tells them of the preparations being made: the outer villages already being warned, the partnership with the Druids, the preparations of both medical supplies and the tools of war.

As they thought, word spreads quickly. The city is bustling with people. No matter the war declaration, work still has to be done, but the air is abuzz with gossip and chatter. Arthur is thankful, for the lack of panic, and sends a grateful smile to Merlin when:

“You did good. They respect, and trust you. Be proud.” echoes in his head.

~

Time passes

After a week or so, the first refugees from the outer villages start arriving, and a few days later, Elyan, Gwaine, and Lancelot make it back, having delivered the notice to all of the outlying settlements.

Like Gwen had said, work in the forgery greatly sped up, and the armoury was being stocked up.

With the help of all the Druid Healers, Gaius’ preparation of the infirmary was going quickly, and he was pleased with the progress.

Morgana was seeing bits and pieces of what The Magicians (M+M and the Druids, named by Gwaine) interpreted to be the big battle, but weren’t seeing how it would start, or how it would end.

It took the people of Camelot (including Arthur) a while to get used to it, but Merlin also had Kilgharrah and Aithusa doing daily fly overs of the whole kingdom. 

Magic wasn’t illegal in the opposing kingdom, but was taken advantage of by the crown, and Merlin didn’t want to risk them sneaking up on Camelot somehow, without anyone noticing until it was too late.

Merlin did indeed check on the tunnels like he wanted. He made doubly sure that he knew where all the exits were, and the best ways to defend them. As far as he knew, no one outside the castle knew they were there, so they could be used as an emergency evacuation plan, hopefully with the opposition taking a while to catch on.

Though Arthur liked to remind Merlin that that sort of action probably wouldn’t be necessary. The fighting would hopefully take place no where near the actual city, and even if they did, Camelot was still stronger than their opponent.

Over this time, Merlin and Arthur continued to take advantage of their mental link. Unless in the presence of other people, they spoke almost exclusively in their heads.

Arthur’s poker face was getting much better as well. Merlin's constant snarky comments during council meetings was definitely the main source of practice.

It was during such a meeting, that Morgana burst in, and looked between Merlin and Arthur frantically, before saying:

“I’ve seen it. It’s coming!” Arthur reacts first, yelling at the council:

“Everyone out, right now!-”

He then turns his attention to one of the guards:

“Go fetch Sirs Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, and Lancelot. They should be on the training ground, hurry!” (luckily, this was a rare meeting that everyone else in The Gang was already attending)

With that the guard rushes out, and the remaining members of the council (Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, Merlin, Leon, and now Morgana) rush to their side room.

As they enter, Merlin’s eyes flash gold, and he waves his hand, pushing the table and all but one of the chairs to the side of the room.

The last chair he moves to sit right in the middle, and Morgana quickly settles on it, closing her eyes.

A few minutes later, the knights come rushing in, Gwen murmuring quietly:

“Morgana has seen something, I think her and Merlin want to try and show us.”

Merlin nods to Leon, and he locks the door behind him.

The Sorcerer thrusts his arm towards the floor, and mutters a spell under his breath. His eyes flash gold, and soon enough, the room is filled with steam so thick, no one can see even a foot in front of them. They hear Merlin speak through the fog:

“Alright Morgana, just like we practiced. Focus on what you saw, and push it out of your mind, and onto the steam. Keep your breathing slow, and try to keep things chronological, clear your mind and think of nothing else.”

Morgana hums, and the group hear her take a deep breath (certainly calmed by the fact that Gwen and made her way to her, and had placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, receiving a grateful smile from Merlin).

Within moments, everyone begins to see shapes moving in the fog, and hear sounds echoing around the room.

It takes a minute or two for things to come into focus, and the fog seems to sharpen. The Gang find themselves stood in the middle of a field, all in grey. Everything is slightly blurry, and if they squint, they can see the walls of the room around them through the illusion. Arthur speaks:

“This is where the battle happens?-” 

A nod from Morgana, who still sits in a chair with closed eyes, prompts Arthur to continue:

“Does anyone recognise it?” Gwaine speaks first, snapping himself out of the shock at what was happening:

“Yeah, I do. I rode through it on the way back from handing out the notices. It’s a huge meadow maybe a three days ride to the North?”

Before anyone can reply, figures, also in grey, start to fade in around them, the first to come into focus being Merlin, closely followed by Arthur stood next to him. The real Arthur stares, obviously slightly disconcerted:

“Ok... that’s a bit weird...”

The fog!M+A look serious, glancing at each other quickly and nodding, before walking in opposite directions.

Fog!Arthur fades, the scene following fog!Merlin as he stalks across the field, before stopping suddenly. He frowns slightly, before seeming to look straight at real!Merlin, and saying:

“I’m sorry. But it’s coming. I can’t stop it, I tried. This is the only way. Just... relax... it’ll hurt less. Four days.”

Real!Merlin frowns, but gasps and takes step back as fog!Merlin looks at him meaningfully, before taking a deep breath and turns away, continuing to walk.

The weather changes, beginning to rain, and if everyone wasn’t so preoccupied by what had just happened, they would’ve laughed at fog(future?)!Merlin going “Oh for fucks sake, why am I always right?” under his breath.

Suddenly, the scene changes entirely. 

On the floor lies a body, on his side, but face down, a sword through his back, poking out through his chest. Whoever it was had been attacked from behind. Rain still pours.

If anyone had looked up, they would’ve noticed the meadow completely free of other bodies. A battlefield that had apparently held only one fight.

The Gang jumps, as they hear a yell, and turn to see fog!Arthur race towards a figure no one had noticed.

Fog!Arthur cuts them down quickly, barely paying attention, before falling to his knees next to the body:

“No.... no no no, Come on Merls, don’t do this to me.”

Everyone apart from Merlin gasps at this, watching as fog!Arthur turns the body over.

A vacant fog!Merlin stares up at the sky, unmoving, eyes glassy, blood trickling from his mouth, as fog!Arthur continues to mutter to himself unintelligibly.

Before anyone can react, the scene fades again, completely this time.

The fog melts into the floor, the room around them revealed again, as Morgana slumps in her seat, breathing deeply.

No one looks away from the spot where Merlin’s body had been until Merlin interrupts the tense silence:

“That’s not... good.” He doesn’t look scared, despite finding out that he would apparently die at some point in the near future.

Everyone looks up at him in shock, tears in Arthur’s eyes, and fear and sadness in Morgana’s, but before anyone can say anything, he speaks again:

“There’s a storm brewing at the moment, it should start in about four days, that’ll be what he... what I meant earlier. No armies. That would explain why Morgana hasn’t seen the original Bloody Battle visions in a while... no battle? Hmm.” He seems to be muttering to himself, but looks up as Arthur grabs his shoulders:

“You won’t be going. You can stay back and help at the main infirmary.”

Everyone nods in agreement, but Morgana shakes her head, before saying (obviously tired):

“That’s not how it works. The more.... solid, my visions are, the more likely they are to happen. I’ve never had a vision that clear. And you heard what Merlin... or Future Merlin, said. This is happening.” She looks to Merlin with fear in her eyes:

“You’re going to die. In four days.”

The room once again looks to Merlin, all very confused at why he looks more thoughtful than anything. He shrugs off Arthur’s hands  and paces slightly. He let’s out a thoughtful hum before looking at Morgana:

“I don’t suppose you can remember anything about that sword? Did it seem strange to you or... just a sword?” At Morgana’s confused expression, he points absentmindedly to his own chest.

Arthur interrupts:

“What does that matter? It was a sword, Merlin, through your chest. I don’t care what either of you say. We’re keeping you away from that meadow. I’ll lock you up if I have to, you’re not going.”

Merlin looks at him apologetically:

“Of course it matters. Depending on whether whoever that sword belongs to has done anything funky to it or not, I’ll just wake up again-”

He waves his hand casually:

“-and besides. You have nothing here that I couldn’t break out of, Arthur.  There really are only one or two things that can tie me down properly, and I’m sure as shit not gonna tell you what they are now. Morgana? The sword?”

She looks shocked at his casual approach before replying:

“Uhh... it didn’t feel evil or anything. It just felt like a sword, but I wouldn’t bet on it. You’ve seen how my meditations have been going recently, not everything is in focus, I could have missed an enchantment easily. I would tell you not to risk it but.... I know you. And that vision was clear. Nothing is going to stop you from... that.”

Merlin nods thoughtfully, but Arthur seems to be getting more panicked, but before he can speak, Leon interrupts:

“Wait... backtrack a minute. What do you mean “wake up again”? Merlin there was a sword through your chest. That was very much a... killing, blow.”

Merlin sighs and looks around the room, finally seeming to notice how horrified everyone looked:

“You guys... remember that I’m immortal right? Unless someone stole one of my dragons without me realizing, and made another Excalibur type weapon, again, without me realising... then I should be fine.”

Arthur bursts, grabbing Merlin once again:

“Merlin that... that was not fine! The future me was freaking out, and you weren’t waking up! There has to be another way. I won’t risk it.”

Merlin ignores him, looking instead to Gwaine:

“You said it was a three days ride away? To the North?” Gwaine nods hesitantly, and Merlin looks towards Leon:

“Have the army gather outside the city gates, but tell them that they’re not going anywhere. It looks like me and Arthur are going to be able to sort this out without any... or... you know... without any permanent bloodshed. But they should be ready just in case. Morgana, take tonight to rest, and build your strength. You’re going to be staying here, the last line of defence, if it comes to it.-”

He’s interrupted by Elyan:

“NO. Look I saw it as well as anyone in this room. But we are not leaving you. We are a family, we hold Camelot in our hands, and we won’t leave you to do this alone. We’ll all be there. You want us to stand back and watch? Fine. But you and Arthur are not doing this without us. Not this time.”

Morgana forces herself to stand, with Gwen’s support. Everyone in the room gives a decisive nod as she speaks:

“He’s right. Nothing you can do, Lord Emrys, will stop us from following you to that meadow.” Merlin looks about to argue, but she narrows her eyes at him, and he deflates.

He looks around the room, at his family, and sees their faces. All set in stone. They had just seen his body, and they weren’t going to let him do it alone, not this time.

He nods slightly, pretending that his eyes aren’t filling with tears. He reaches up and squeezes Arthur’s hand, still on his shoulder, as he sadly smiles:

“...Ok. I... thank you. If we want to get there in time, we’ll need to leave today.” 

“We need them all distracted so we can slip away.” echoes through Merlin’s head, but before he can respond, Gwen speaks up, her voice strong and determined:

“I’ll go tell the stables to get our horses ready immediately, and grab some supplies from the kitchen. Everyone meet in the courtyard in half an hour.”

Percival:

“I’ll go to the stables, you head straight for the kitchens and I’ll meet you there after and help.” Gwen gives a firm nod, and the two of them leave. Gaius speaks up next:

“I’ll gather some medical supplies, and fetch some things from my chambers, and then let the infirmary staff know what’s going on.” and he leaves without waiting for a response. Morgana speaks up next:

“I’m going to grab a change of clothes for everyone. You (gesturing to Arthur) need to grab your armour.”

She looks to Elyan questioningly:

“Yeah I’ll help. I’ll grab spares for the knights, you grab something for yourself, Merlin, The King, and Gwen.” The two of them leave, exiting the room and heading in different directions.

Arthur speaks next, but directs it to Leon:

“Have the armies gather around the city, the bulk of the force on the North side. Tell them what’s happening. Hopefully we won’t need them but... if we fail, they need to be ready.”

Leon says nothing, but gives a firm nod, and marches out of the room, heading to ring the emergency bell at the training grounds.

“Well that wasn’t too difficult. What about these two?” Is what manifests in Merlin’s head this time, and he replies quickly:

“I don’t know, but quickly. If you take too long, they’ll know you’re just coming up with excuses to get rid of them.”

Arthur looks to Lancelot and Gwaine, but before he can say anything, Gwaine laughs and interrupts him:

“Absolutely not, princess. There’s nothing left to be done, you two just want to sneak off without anyone noticing, and we won’t let you.”

Arthur huffs at that, and Merlin raises an eyebrow at him:

“I told you they wouldn’t fall for it.” Arthur gives his Sorcerer a withering glare:

“Shut up, Merlin.” Merlin just laughs in response, ignoring the confused looks on Gwaine and Lancelot’s faces.

Lancelot drops the look, and speaks:

“Ok I don’t know what that was, but Gwaine’s right. ALL of us, are going to your chambers so you can get your armour, and then ALL of us are heading down to the courtyard.”

Arthur huffs once again before marching from the room, his Sorcerer and two knights trailing closely behind him.

~

As agreed, 30 minutes later, all of them are gathered in the courtyard. Morgana and Elyan had packed each of the horses with spare clothes, and the food that Percival and Gwen had bought. 

It wasn’t much, but it would do them for the first night, they would definitely have to hunt whilst they travelled, but that’s not unfamiliar to them.

With one last look at each other, they ride out towards the Northern City Gates, Arthur leading the way. 

After Leon had informed the knights of what was going on, he had called an emergency council meeting, and informed them as well. They weren’t happy, but Leon put his “in-charge” voice on, and told them to deal with it.

They reached the gates, and Arthur nodded at a grave Gwaine to take the lead. Not a word has been spoken since they met up in the courtyard, and they ride out in silence. 

Merlin glances at Arthur next to him:

“Everything is going to be ok, Arthur.”

He gets no response.

I feel kinda bad leaving it there, but just like I thought it would, it was getting a tad too long. 

THIS IS COMPLETED!! Part 5 (final part) has been posted.

If y’all want my thoughts on anything specific, let me know :)

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

Could I please get a matchup for The Hobbit?

My pronouns are She/Her and I'd prefer a male ship. I'm really short, like under 5 feet, but I'm actually pretty masculine and forward. I'm very blunt but can be nervous when I first meet people. I'm training to become a Metalsmith but instead of making jewelry my focus is on swords and armor. I also really like getting messy and being outside and all that (everyone thinks I'm strange because I don't mind wet clothes at all). Being totally honest, my motivation is 90% spite by volume, so I like to prove people wrong. I switch between a neutral and chaotic alignment. I've been told I have "older sibling vibes" which I absolutely love.

I go by many different names, so it’s likely that different people will call me different things. I'm really working to build muscle because I feel best when I feel physically strong. I really love my friends and like comforting them when they need it. I swear like a sailor too and tend to have a witty and often dirty mind. I like making jokes, but I know how to be respectful and kind too. I'm also a Norse and Celtic Pagan.

Thanks so much, keep being awesome!!

fifth christmas matchup this year! if you want one yourself, check my christmas special!! thank you to everyone who has requested already, i hold all of you very dear~ your asks will soon be answered, please have some patience with me

I ship you with...

Thorin Oakenshield! 

- You meet him at his worst, and to be honest, at that time he’s not the type to fall in love with. He searches for work in your village, a dwarf travelling, a blacksmith so talented one can barely believe his blades. You’re the only one in your father’s forge that day, tinkering around a bit, a finished sword on the table that you proudly glance at every now and then. You’re old enough to work, barely twenty-five, yet not old enough to run the forge by yourself. So when Thorin asks for work, you tell him he’s got to wait for your father. But he’s there already, standing around rather uncomfortably, and it won’t hurt anyone to test his skills. He’s good. And he works shirtless. Which is even better. But his blades... yours is nothing in comparison to it. Your father is an ornamental blacksmith, focused rather on jewelry, but you’ve always wanted to make something actually useful. You see your chance, and take it. Thorin is a great blacksmith, talented, a concentrated and ambitious worker. He knows how to form armoury. He can teach you. If your father hires him. And the only problem with that is - well, him being a dwarf. 

- Instead of asking your father on your own, you take Thorin with you when you go home. It’s an awkward, silent walk, but you can’t bring yourself to quite feel like it is as you smile, thinking about what wonderful things you will be able to create in a few weeks. As you’ve anticipated, your father isn’t too fond of the idea of hiring a dwarf, but he’s quickly convinced when Thorin shows him the sword he’s forged just today. He won’t earn a lot of money, but he takes that knowledge with a curt nod and soon excuses himself before your mother is able to persuade him to have dinner with you. 

- Over the course of the next few weeks, you speak to him rarely, continue your usual life, but watch his work closely, observing, learning. You become better, but barely as good as he is. Your father talks to him even lesser than you do, but when your mother comes, sometimes you catch Thorin smile at her and thank her for the food she brings. One day, you’re taking your usual run, going through your usual training routine as you do every day, when you spot him in the forge all on his own. He stays late often, but he’s rarely there before you arrive in the morning, and it is just after dawn, not a usual time for anyone except for you to be awake and about. Curious, you enter, only to find the most surprising sight there. Thorin is working, but not on a sword, nor on armour. Instead, there’s a necklace placed in front of him, missing its jewels, but gracefully made. You approach him, and when he looks up at you, all sweaty and dirty still, he smiles for the first time. 

- He warms up to you eventually. It takes a month or two, but he ends up sharing your training, meeting you at sunrise for a sprint across the fields almost every day. Work becomes study for you as he shows you his ways, teaching patiently. And sometimes, it even turns into competitions. He notices easily how competitive you are, and he teases you about it whenever you lose to him, which only motivates you further. Far, far further than he anticipated. Eventually you start to beat him. Never in quality, but sometimes in time. He begins to smile, to laugh and to open up. In fact, the two of you end up so close that you spontaneously invite him to the tavern one day. You know that he has his room there, and it’s the only place to find ale in the whole god damned village, which makes it easily the best and really the only spot. 

- You also end up awakening in his bed the next morning. It’s quite the surprise, but a rather pleasant one. The whole relationship is new to the both of you, every kiss, every touch, every word a different, a new, a wonderful sensation that you get to experience with him. It never turns normal, even if you soon grow to find a routine, form habits. Thorin loves the way you can keep up with him both physically and mentally - your tongue may be sharper, your chaos more prominent, but it’s never too much for him, quite the opposite. He hates when you’re quiet because he knows then something’s wrong, except when you’re working. You’re a concentrated worker, and often he catches himself watching subconsciously, and then he smiles to himself and turns back around. 

- He teaches you how to fight once he realises that despite all your training, you’re barely able to wield a weapon. He isn’t an archer, but he’s good with a sword, and he enjoys teaching you. You’re a quick learner, but only after he says that he’s not mad if you can’t do it. He’s well aware that all of your motivation comes from challenge, and he’s more than happy to provide that. Especially as he sees you concentrate, following his instructions closely, soon almost equal to him. You ask at one point why he can do it, and the silence that follows would have told you enough, but he sits you down and tells you about it. About him. About why and how and what. 

- He spends a year with you there. One whole year, with your mother and your father, who both aren’t too happy about your relationship but accepting of it. And then his people remember, and they need him. You know that it breaks his heart to leave you, but you know that he’s incapable of leaving the dwarves. So you decide. Against a life that could have meant good work, good money, good standards - but never actual happiness. Because you’ve fallen for Thorin, head over heels, and you know that without him, life couldn’t be fulfilled. 

- He has his objections to your plan. But certainly not too many. The hardest decision is leaving your parents behind, but Thorin promises to you that you’ll always be able to visit and that you’ll go back and that it’s not goodbye forever. And so you go. 

okay first of all: sorry this kind of turned into a whole ass story??? idk what happened there tbh. also CAN I JUST SAY THAT EVEN THOUGH YOURE A HUMAN IN THIS HES LITERALLY STILL TALLER THAN YOU WHAT THE FUCK LMAO- HES LIKE 5′2 THATS HUGE FOR A DWARF AND YOU SAID YOURE SO SMALL BUT I WAS PLANNING TO PUT SOME HEIGHT DIFFERENCE INTO THIS AND *IT WASNT FUCKING POSSIBLE* alsooooooo i wanted to write more because i got heavily invested but i’m very aware that this is like, way too long already, and there would be way too much plot left to cover... just know that you’ll marry him one fine summer evening in the company of your parents as well as at least a hundred dwarves you’ve grown to love if you want to

[sohotthateveryonedied]

No Matter What

Read here on AO3!!

Summary: 

Bruce figures out that his son isn't straight from an early age.

That doesn't make him love him any less.

- Eight Years Old -

Bruce is finally starting to get a hang of this parenting thing.

The first few months were rough, there’s no disputing that. Bruce lost track of how many times he panicked and called Leslie Thompkins whenever Dick burst into tears over something and Alfred wasn’t home. Not to mention all the times when Alfred would leave Bruce on his own for dinner, insisting that one must learn how to raise a child without a butler to help. Bruce fed the kid burnt chicken nuggets and garlic bread for two nights straight. Now, though? Bruce is immensely proud of how far he and Dick have come. He’s even taken to attending PTA meetings, if only for the free coffee and doughnuts. He hears the front door open right on time, then wet boots hitting the floor. Dick had a half day today to make room for meet-the-teacher night later. Bruce isn’t looking forward to spending two hours sitting in a chair made for eight-year-olds, listening to a teacher in plastic pearls talk about an elementary schooler’s oh-so challenging curriculum. At least he’s only got the one; he has no intention of having more kids after Dick. Bruce busies himself with his mostly unburnt slice of toast, one ear trained on the footsteps through the foyer accompanied by unceasing chatter that Bruce has grown quite fond of over the months. “—and then they let us outside for recess even though it was raining, and I went on the swings and my hair got all wet and it was so cool.” “That explains the muddy clothes,” Alfred says. “Sorry, Alf. I’m not immune to mud puddles.” “It would appear so, Master Dick.”

The two of them enter the kitchen, Dick working his elbows out of his yellow rain slicker to reveal the school uniform beneath. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes bright. “Hiya, Bruce!”

“Hey, champ. How was school?” “It was awesome. It was raining all day and at recess there were a ton of puddles all over the playground and a million worms. I didn’t touch them though, ‘cause the teacher said not to.” “What snack would you like, Master Dick?” Alfred asks, taking Dick’s discarded raincoat and folding it over his arm. “Can you do ants on a log?” “Coming right up, sir.” Dick heaves himself up on the bar stool beside Bruce, his sock feet kicking against the lower cupboard. Bruce spreads marmalade over his toast. “Tell me more about school. Any fights today?” “Nope,” Dick says proudly, flashing his gapped teeth. Dick and another boy got into a scuffle on the first day over a comment about whether Dick’s parents being from the circus meant they were part monkey. It’s a miracle Dick only gave the kid a nosebleed and didn’t break anything. The principal let Dick off with a warning since it was his first time at a normal school, but Bruce has a feeling the only reason he wasn’t expelled was because his guardian is the most powerful man in Gotham City. Bruce had a stern talk with Dick when they got home about the importance of controlling one’s actions. Traveling the world in a circus train car doesn’t do much to help one’s impulse control. He also banned Dick from watching television for the rest of the night, but Dick’s crocodile tears swayed him to balance it out by letting him have ice cream before dinner. That’s good parenting, right? “I even made a friend,” Dick says. “Oh? What are they like?” “His name is Caleb and his desk is right next to mine, so we talked during reading time. Then he gave me some of his chocolate during lunch and we played on the swings together at recess.” “Ah, the wonders of childhood friendship,” Alfred says from where he’s slicing up a celery stalk at the other end of the counter. He sounds relieved, and Bruce finds himself matching it. Dick has been at Gotham Elementary for almost a week and hasn’t made a single friend until now. Bruce can’t tell if that is more because of Dick’s circus background or because he is a tan-skinned boy with the barest of Romani accents attending a predominantly white private school. Sometimes (all the time) Bruce loathes being associated with Gotham’s high society. If you’re not white, straight, and rich, you are automatically shunned in their minds. “He sounds great, Dick.” “Yeah! And he’s got really pretty eyes too. I can’t tell if they’re brown or green, but they’re sparkly like glitter.” Bruce arches an eyebrow. “You must like him a lot.” He takes a bite of his toast, making eye contact with Alfred over the boy’s head. Alfred doesn’t react but for a twitch of his mustache. Dick nods, focus switched over to the plate Alfred slides in front of him. Dick takes a celery stick and picks off the first raisin coated in peanut butter, licking it off his thumb. “I hope he talks to me again tomorrow. Alfred, can I bring an extra snack to lunch tomorrow so I can share it with him?” Alfred smiles. “Of course. I will pack a second cupcake in your lunchbox tomorrow morning just for him.” “Thanks, Alf.” Dick goes right back to eating his ants on a log, cheerful as ever, completely unaware of the swarm of question marks buzzing around in Bruce’s head. Huh. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Eleven Years Old - Bruce gets home from a three-hour business meeting, his sandpapery eyes aching to close and stay shut for...let’s go with ten years? That should be enough. He loosens his tie and prepares to go upstairs to his bedroom where he’ll spend the next decade of his life hibernating, until he sees his ward on the living room sofa. Dick is lying on his stomach with his face buried in a throw pillow, as if he’s waiting for the sofa to swallow him whole. Must have been a bad day if he’s not sliding down banisters and flipping over chairs like usual. Sighing, Bruce goes over. “Dick? You alive over there?” “Mmph.” At least he’s conscious. Bruce sits on the arm of the couch, shaking Dick’s thin shoulder. “Come on, kiddo. Use your words.” “Mmph.” “Bad day, then?” Dick nods. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dick shakes his head. Bruce sits back with a frown. “Alfred?” he calls. Alfred pokes his head in. “Yes, Master Bruce?” Bruce gestures to their anguished preteen. “It would seem that our lad had a rough day at school. He wouldn’t tell me what, but I’m making his favorite casserole for dinner. Hopefully that will perk him up.” Bruce turns back to Dick, who hasn’t moved. “C’mon, Dickie. Sit up so I can see your face.” Reluctantly, Dick forces himself upright with one last groan into his pillow. His hair is mussed, standing up on one side. There’s a pillow crease on his cheek. He sits back against the sofa, miserable. “Better.” Bruce prods Dick’s ribs which earns him a giggle, goading the kid into sliding over a few inches so Bruce can sit beside him. Dick leans into his side immediately and Bruce puts his arm around him. “Now, tell me what’s got you down.” “I want to transfer schools.” “How come?” As far as he’s known until now, Dick has loved middle school. His childhood took a bad turn when his parents’ ropes snapped, but preteen life is at a good start. Until now. Dick’s gaze is trained on his sneakers, kicking them where they hang over the edge of the couch. “Some kids in my science class were talking crap about me.” “Don’t say crap.” “Can I go to a new school? Please?” “What did those kids say about you?” Dick picks at a dime-size hole in his jeans. “They called me gay,” he says quietly. Bruce tightens his arm around the boy, his heart panging. Of course someone had to bully Bruce’s kid. As if his life hasn’t already been hard enough without stupid teenagers making it worse. “I wasn’t even doing anything wrong. I was just talking to my lab partner, and the guys at the next table over started whispering about us. Then they started throwing papers.” “Did you tell the teacher?” “No. But I know she noticed. Everyone did. She just didn’t do anything about it.” That sets Bruce’s blood to a boil. Teachers have a responsibility to protect their students, no matter what. What gives her the right to turn a blind eye to bullying, just because a couple of students might not fit the agreed-upon standards of “perfect” upper class society? “I’ll set up an appointment with the principal,” Bruce decides. Dick’s eyes get wide. “Bruce, no. Please. It’s fine, really. I don’t want this to turn into a big deal.” “What did you do when it happened?” Dick shrugs. “Nothing. My lab partner stopped talking to me, so I just asked to go to the bathroom and didn’t come back until the bell rang.” Bruce sighs. Middle schoolers are the worst, every last one of them. (Except for Dick, of course; he is perfect.) “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Kids can be cruel—especially at your age, when they start learning new words that they don’t understand the way they should. They think some words are insults or something to be ashamed of when they’re not. Most kids grow out of this. Too many don’t.” “People suck,” Dick mutters. “I don’t even know why they were saying all that stuff. I’m not...I’m not like that” Bruce bites his cheek. He’s going to have to be careful about this. “Dick, do you know what being gay means?” “Duh. It’s when two guys date each other. I’m not stupid.” “I know you’re not stupid. But gay can mean a lot of things. Men can like other men, just as women can love other women. Like Kate, for instance. Then there are bisexual and pansexual people who love all genders, and asexuals who don’t like either.” Thank god Bruce thought ahead and read some LGBTQ+ research books all those years ago when he first began to suspect that Dick wasn’t heterosexual. “And transgender is when someone doesn’t identify with the gender they were assigned at birth. Sometimes people feel more like a man, a woman, neither, or both.” “...Okay?” “I just want to make sure you understand these things, because part of being a respectful person means respecting others for who they are. And if you don’t completely understand the label they identify as, then it’s your job to try and understand it the best you can.” “Why?” “Because too many people in this world judge others for things they can’t control, and that’s not right. No one should have to feel like they were born wrong. And I want to make sure you know this, that way you can be better than those who choose to hurt others for things they can’t control.” “Does that mean the guys who made fun of me are bad people?” “I’m sure they aren’t. They might just be confused because they don’t understand that being gay isn’t anything bad or dirty. The people in this part of Gotham...they don’t accept a lot of things. They think that being queer or a person of color means you don’t deserve respect, and that’s wrong. It was wrong of those kids to tease you and your lab partner the way they did.” Dick nods slowly. “I’m not gay.” “I know. I just want you to be aware of these things. And if you ever have questions or need to talk, you can always come to me.” He ruffles Dick’s hair. “Even when other people are nasty, remember that I love you no matter what, got it?” Dick shoves Bruce’s hand away and smoothes his hair back out, grinning. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Thirteen Years Old -

What’s the difference between a growth spurt and a shark? 

Dick doesn’t have any sharks. “We’re home!” Dick announces. He and Alfred stumble into the house, their arms filled with all kinds of shopping bags. With Dick shooting up half an inch nightly these days, he’s growing out of his clothes at a rate even Bane would gawk at. Bruce and Alfred can barely keep up with the kid. “Want to see what I got?” “Show me, pal.” Bruce sets aside his tablet and pushes his reading glasses up on his head. (He does not have poor vision, thank you very much. Leslie just made him get a prescription as a precaution, that’s all. He’s still young by anyone’s standards, just ask Selina.) Dick starts pulling clothing out of the boutique bags, showing off every one of his new sweaters and pairs of Alfred-approved jeans. After ten minutes that Bruce desperately tries to look interested during, Dick pulls out what looks like a t-shirt that’s been sliced in half horizontally. The fabric is bright pink with a chibi whale on the front. “This one is my favorite,” Dicks says. His grin is blinding. Bruce stares for a long moment, his brain a lagging computer drive. “What is it?” “It’s a crop top. You know, like a belly shirt?” Memories from Dick’s Kim Possible phase flash in front of Bruce’s eyes. “Alfred let you buy that?” “Yeah?” Dick’s smile flags. He lowers the crop top, suddenly self-conscious. “Do you not...like it?” “You were supposed to get winter clothes, Dick. For cold weather.” “So?” “That’s clearly something you’re supposed to wear during the summer.” Dick pouts. “But I like it.” He holds it up against himself, twisting this way and that like an amateur model. “Sorry, kiddo. You’re not leaving the house in that until springtime.” “Oh, so Robin can wear tiny shorts in the winter, but Dick Grayson can’t wear a harmless crop top? I smell hypocrisy.” “Yes, because Robin has thermal leggings and a built-in heater in his uniform.” He looks back at the pink monstrosity, at Dick’s pleading eyes. “I would be open to negotiations if you’re willing to wear a sweater under it.” “That’s not how fashion works, B.” “I don’t care. You can wait until it gets warmer out to wear it.” “You’re such a drag,” Dick whines. He lifts his dozens of shopping bags and goes to leave, then turns right back around. “What if I wear a jacket over it and promise to keep it closed whenever I’m outside?” Bruce considers that. “Fine. But not below fifteen degrees, got it? And if I see you outside for even five seconds without the jacket, I’m confiscating the Xbox. Deal?” “Deal.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Fourteen Years Old -

Something is different about Dick today. You’d think his boots were made of helium with the way he floats through patrol, and then smiles into his late-night milkshake like it did his homework for him. Bruce sits beside his Robin on the roof of Wayne Tower, silent for as long as he can bear before he can’t hold it back any longer. “Did anything interesting happen today?” “Huh?” Dick looks up as if Bruce pried him and his thoughts apart with a crowbar. “You’ve been...different. Happy.” “Am I not usually happy?” “No, you are. Just seems like you’re...extra happy, for whatever reason.” A blush dusts the kid’s cheeks. He sips his chocolate shake and shrugs. “Dunno. It was just a good day. Nothing special.” Yeah, and Bruce is a goddamn unicorn. Still, he knows better than to pry where Dick doesn’t want him. It’s a delicate thing. “If you say so.” “I got a hundred on my English essay,” Dick offers. It’s a start. “Was that the one on Grapes of Wrath?” “That was last month. We’re on Animal Farm now. It’s not my favorite.” “Yeah, I wasn’t a fan of Orwell either. Shakespeare was okay, but I preferred his tragedies over his comedies.” “Of course you did.” That makes Bruce laugh. He’s not worried; the two of them are high enough that no one can hear it. Bruce even has his cowl down, his face exposed to the cool air. “They had quinoa burgers at the cafeteria today.” “Mm-hm.” Dick is dodging something, beating around whatever bush he wants to talk about. Bruce can be patient while he figures it out. “And I spent some time with Barbara after school.” “Oh?” “Yeah. We walked home together and we took this old path through the park. Then we kissed.” Bruce chokes on his milkshake. He coughs, his sinuses burning and eyes watering. When he recovers, he says, “That’s...that’s great, chum.” “Yeah.” Dick can’t stop smiling, a true schoolboy in love. “And she asked if I wanted to patrol with her tomorrow night, but I said I needed to check in with you first.” “I don’t see why not.” It’s not like Bruce hasn’t patrolled without Dick before. Sure, he misses the company on the few days a week he’s alone, but he’s not about to deny Dick the thing he clearly wants. “You sure? You look...freaked out.” “No, no. That’s...great, that you kissed. Congratulations.” Awkward. He’s so fucking awkward. Stop being awkward right now. He doesn’t know why this is messing with his head so drastically. Bruce has listened to Dick moon over girls for the entirety of his pubescence, talking about them like they’re goddesses he’s forbidden to look upon, Barbara included. And Bruce has seen the way Dick and Barbara interact with each other in between muggings, always talking with their heads bent close like they’re the only two people in the world. Who would have thought Batman could be a third wheel? “I’ve liked her for a while now, but I didn’t know if she liked me back and I was too nervous to ask.” Dick’s face goes even pinker. “Kissing her was cool.” Part of Bruce’s brain jumps at the realization that, holy shit, Dick just had his first kiss, my little boy is growing up, what a milestone. The other part is far less happy about this new development. Yes, Bruce has seen Dick win brawls with men three times his size. He can fly the Bat-jet on his own, knows six languages, and is even leading his own superhero team. And yet, all Bruce can think is, no, not my little boy, he’s just a baby, Batgirl is corrupting his innocence and She Must Be Stopped. With great effort, Bruce holds it all back. He’s read the parenting books, he knows that it’s important to be supportive when they’re at this age. “Good to hear. I’m happy for you.” He pats Dick on the shoulder. “Thanks, B.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- Sixteen Years Old - “Hey, Bruce? Can I talk to you?” Bruce doesn’t look up from the metal flakes he’s testing. “What is it?” “I can come back later if you’re busy.” “No, I’m just analyzing some samples. I’m looking for residue from one of Zsasz’s blades.” Dick steps forward, tentative for once. “Need any help?” “I would like for you to come out with whatever it is you clearly need to tell me.” Dick snorts quietly. “Nice phrasing.” “What?” “I think I’m bisexual.” Bruce turns around, forgetting about the samples entirely. Dick’s arms are crossed over his chest, his eyes skipping between everything that isn’t Bruce’s face. At sixteen years old he’s finally tall enough that he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at Bruce anymore. “You...think?” “I am. I’m bisexual.” “Okay.” “Is that cool with you?” The question shocks Bruce. “Of course it is.” Did Dick honestly think this would change anything? Has Bruce done something wrong, made Dick think that he wasn’t loved unconditionally? Dick squints, appraises Bruce’s reaction. “You knew, didn’t you.” “No.” “Bruce.” “I knew a little bit.” Dick rolls his eyes. The tension slips from his shoulders. His arms uncross. “Of course you did.” “Well, you weren’t exactly subtle about it.” “What the hell does that mean?” “Language,” Bruce chides, more out of habit than anything. “And do you realize how often you would come home after elementary school complaining about stupid pretty boys?” “That was just me being dramatic.” “I’m not disputing that. But they were still crushes, pal.” “I figured you thought it was just a phase.” Bruce shrugs. “Maybe for the first few days. But trust me, I have known you liked boys since you were a kid.” “Then why didn’t you just say so? It took me years to figure this all out, and you’re telling me you’ve been sitting on this info the whole time?” “Because this is your truth, not mine. I knew that you would tell me about it when you were ready. And you have.” Dick is clearly fighting a smile. He bites his lip instead, runs a hand through his mop of black hair that not even Alfred can wheedle him into combing anymore. “Well, I’m heading to the tower for the night, so don’t wait up, ‘kay? Kay. Good talk.” He goes to leave, but Bruce stops him. “Hang on. Why choose now to tell me?” Dick stuffs his hands in his pockets—an obvious tell. “No reason. I just...wanted you to know. Just in case.” “In case of what?” “Oh, you know.” Dick waves his hand in a gesture that clarifies absolutely nothing. “Life happens. People meet each other. You know how it is.” Bruce’s soul implodes. “You have a date?” “I never said that.” “You implied it.” “Real detectives rely on evidence, not theories.” Dick winks. “Tell me who it is. Are they a civilian? A hero? Do they come from a respectable family?” If it’s Roy Harper, Bruce might have to bury a body tonight. Especially after learning about Harper’s drug problem. Dick is too pure for someone like that. Or—heaven forbid—that Wally West kid. Dick is already walking away. “See ya, Bruce!” “You come back here, Richard John Grayson! Do I know him? Does he know your father is Batman?” Dick’s cackle echoes around the cave. “It had better not be a speedster!”

[voidwerks]

Legiones Astartes: Rome 30,0000 - Electric Boogaloo - Part 1

It’s been several years since I did my informational posts on warp travel and threats to humanity in the 40k universe, and I was feeling particularly motivated so here’s a quick, dirty guide to where it all started. The bois that everyone in 40k loves (or loves to hate), the Astartes!

In the far off future of the 31st millennium, humanity has just recovered from nearly beating itself into extinction yet again, and the after effects of space elves blowing a permanent hole in reality after the biggest party the galaxy has ever seen. After thousands of years of plotting and planning, the Emperor of Mankind decided the time was right, sorted everyone’s shit out on Earth, and set out to make the galaxy a safer place for humanity. Whether anyone wanted it or not. To do this, he mustered tens of thousands of super soldiers, lead by men who were basically demi-gods, and sent them forth across the stars in what was known as the Great Crusade. This is the story of the sons of the sons, the Primarchs can have their own post another day.

Numero Uno, the the First Legion, the Dark Angels. Clad in black and silver armor, the Dark Angels were the first marines to be created. Between that and their assistance with retaking the Earth prior to the Great Crusade, they were allowed special permissions later Legions did not have. In particular, they had access to some of the oldest, strangest, and sometimes horrifying bits of technology that the Emperor had stashed away for a rainy day. Even 10k years later in 40k, the Angels still uphold that privilege, and if things ever get completely and truly fucked, they’ve got a few aces up their sleeves just in case. Owing to the culture of their adoptive homeworld, Caliban, the Dark Angels have a strong knightly aesthetic, as well as plenty of ranks, titles, and associated iconography so everyone can know what kind of badass you are. 

Second ISN’T the Second Legion. Something bad happened to them and no one is allowed to talk about it. It’s actually the THIRD LEGION, the Emperor’s Children! Among the Legions, the Emperor’s Children had the unique distinction of being allowed to wear his personal emblem on their armor and carry his name. This was the Emperor’s gift to them after a company of them serving as honor guards during a victory parade, where they protected the Emperor from an assassination attempt involving a black hole bomb. The Emperor’s Children were perfectionists: anything that can be done can be done better, and they could get a bit salty when their brother Legions out-did them. Beyond that, they were renowned for their artistic skills, as well as their interpersonal skills with ‘mortal’ humans. While many marines either didn’t care for regular humans, or straight up disliked them, the Third Legion got along quite well with people, to the point they were often sent as diplomats to introduce long-lost planets of humans into the Imperium peacefully.

The Fourth Legion, completely unrelated to Marvel, were the Iron Warriors. To the Fourth Legion, war is entirely a matter of numbers. While other Legions fight with spirit, ferocity, nobility, the Iron Warriors fight with a machine-like efficiency and calculated planning. Rivals of the Seventh Legion, the Iron Warriors were particularly fond of siege-tactics. They’d bombard their foes with massed artillery, push in with columns of tanks, and hit critical points with forces of marines, changing tactics along the way as the variables shifted. While they took pride in their accomplishments, cold personalities and a ruthless fighting style didn’t make them many friends. Combined with feeling like they didn’t get much recognition for their efforts, often being stuck with some of the worst fights, the Iron Warriors tended to resent most of the other Legions. But no matter how tough, no matter how ugly, they would not bend, for the Iron Warriors always completed a task given to them.

Next in line, we have the Fifth Legion, the White Scars. Possessed of free spirits and a healthy dose of superstition, the White Scars preferred style of combat was: as quickly as physically possible. Whenever possible, they would ride to battle on anti-grav jet-bikes or speeders. Lacking that, on traditional motor bikes. Reminiscent of Mongolian horse riders, the White Scars fought from their mounts as often as they could, enjoying every moment of it, even if death might come at them at a few hundred miles per hour. Considered odd by most of their brother Legions, the Scars’ aloof personalities and plans divined by seers often saw them tearing about the galaxy in smaller warbands. Never staying in one place for long, they roamed wherever the winds of fate would take them.

Continuing on, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: SKYRIM STILL EXISTS. But really, the Sixth Legion, the Space Wolves. It doesn’t take much to explain these boys, the Space Wolves were vikings in space. They could be a bit dense, were prone to showing off, loved getting into fights, and even invented a kind of alcohol that could get marines drunk. In peace, they could be a bit rough around the edges but were jovial types. Beyond that however, the Wolves had a much more notorious side. While their brothers would mock them at times for being a bit ‘simple’, they were also feared as the Emperor’s hounds. If someone fucked up somewhere in the galaxy, the Wolves were the sent to deal the punishment. Typically, this involved plenty of axes and other people’s heads. While unconfirmed even 10k years later, it is rumored that the Space Wolves were responsible for reaving both the Second and Eleventh Legions at the Emperor’s command. Whatever they did must have been horrible, for it resulted in the culling of tens of thousands of marines and two demi-god primarchs. So remember kids, tug on the wolf’s tail at your own peril.

Eternal rivals to the Fourth Legion, here comes the Seventh Legion, the Imperial Fists. While not as bitter as their brothers in the Fourth, the Fists shared a lot of similarities with them. Blunt, no-nonsense, analytical, monumentally stubborn, fond of hitting their foes as hard as possible, on the surface the two seemed quite alike. But while the Iron Warriors were frequently unconcerned with what happened after their battles, grinding entire cities into dust, the Imperial Fists would always build and fortify. Wherever they passed, they would leave their mark in the form of walls, repaired cities, and forts to ensure their hold. This earned them the distinction of being recalled late in the Crusade to oversee the fortification of the entire Solar System. The reclamation of the galaxy was nearly complete, and it was their task to ensure that Terra would be able to withstand anything the universe could throw at it from that point forward. At least, that was the idea...

What stalks the night, strikes fear into the hearts of the unjust, and has bat wings? Move over Bruce Wayne, it’s the Eighth Legion, the Night Lords. Among the Legions, the Night Lords were unique in the fact that they did not operate like a traditional army. Unlike other Legions, the Night Lords’ favorite method of fighting was to strike fear and terror into their enemies. Considered brutal and sadistic even in the early days, the Night Lords would ‘pacify’ star systems by cutting off supply lines, destroying infrastructure, terrorizing civilians, and savagely breaking their enemy’s will before finishing the job. Known for taking bone trophies, using blood as paint, painting their armor with skulls, and even fashioning people’s faces into tea cozies, there were very few in the Imperium that genuinely liked the Night Lords. In fact, late into the Crusade they were even risking censure or a visit from the Space Wolves. But as they maintained from their inception: they were a necessary evil. Not everyone in the galaxy was reasonable. Some didn’t even respect the immense might of the Astartes. There were some that would only listen to fear. And the poor buggers that wouldn’t even listen to that? They would be made into examples, slowly, painfully, and without any remorse. 

A breath of fresh air from the Night Lords, the Ninth Legion, the Blood Angels. Where the Night Lords were immensely cruel, showcasing some of the worst humanity had to offer, the Blood Angels showed some of the best. Kindness, nobility, flowing golden locks of hair with slight curls, using their strength to protect the weak, seeing the goodness in others, the Blood Angels were quite human for heavily augmented super-soldiers. Well, they did have one teensy little problem. Just a bit of casual bloodlust that could leave them going into a frenzy now and then (sometimes even drinking blood) if they didn’t keep their tempers in check. However, largely due to their own self-discipline they were able to keep this fact a secret for the most part. 

Last (for now, don’t want this to be the next Color of the Sky post), but definitely not the least, the Tenth Legion, the Iron Hands. While the Iron Warriors have a very mechanical way of thinking, and a strong affinity for tech, the Iron Hands take this to a completely new level. To them, anything could be improved by mechanizing it, up to and frequently including themselves. The Hands were notorious for heavily modifying themselves, and had more tanks than any other Legion, tied only with the Iron Warriors. Ironically for a Legion obsessed with machinery, the Iron Hands are also possessed of a volatility only shared by their brothers in the Sixth and the Twelfth Legions. In contrast to the cool, collected rationality of machines, Astartes of the Iron Hands were notoriously hot-headed and liable to making rash decisions if they lost their tempers. This alternating clash frequently manifested as contempt for their own ‘weakness’, but also as contempt for others, resulting in the Iron Hands keeping very few friends, even amongst themselves.

[triptuckers]

Letting it all out - Din Djarin

Request: no Pairing:  Din Djarin x reader Summary:  the first time Din truly realises he has to let the kid go at some point Warnings: sad Din :(, Mando spoilers if you haven’t seen Chapters 13-16 yet Word count:  2.4K A/N: sad shit! I don’t know what came over me lol. kind of a good ending tho? at least I hope so. reader and Din are married in this one! because I love intimate moments where Din has his helmet off enjoy reading!

Din is always quiet, preferring comfortable silence over small talk. But the past few days he’s been a bit too quiet. He had been quested to deliver the kid to his kind, so a Jedi could train him. 

Of course, it was about what was best for the kid, but you could tell Din wasn’t very fond of the idea of letting the kid go. They’d been through so much together, they cared so much about each other. 

Given that you travelled with the both of them, you care about the kid as well, and you love him very much. But you just know you could never care as much about him as Din does. He’s like a father to the little creature, and you know letting him go is going to be hard for him. 

Some time ago, on a planet you’d never been before, the three of you had actually met a Jedi. You know Jedi knights are rare these days, and you thought you could deliver the kid to the Jedi and Din would have completed his quest. But the Jedi, Ashoka, had told you she couldn’t train him. She did, however, give you the name of a planet where there would be an ancient Jedi temple. She told you the kid would be able to reach out through the force, and another Jedi could come to pick him up, and train him. 

Your meeting with Ashoka had gotten you to where you are now. You’re sitting in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, the kid’s asleep, and Din’s flying the ship. You want to talk about all of it, but you know Din doesn’t. Because talking about it makes it real, and you don’t think Din is ready for that yet.

Still, you have to talk about it eventually. There was a pretty big chance you’d land on the planet with the kid, but leave without him, if a Jedi showed up. You needed to talk about what you’d do after all of it. 

‘Din?’ you say.

He’s quiet, so you continue. ‘We have to talk about what is going to happen after you’ve completed your quest.’ you say. 

You can feel the tension, and Din remains quiet. You’re giving him some time to respond but when he doesn’t, you speak up again.

‘I know it’s hard for you, and you prefer not to talk or think about it. It’s hard for me too, I also care about him. But we’ve got to talk about this. We have to decide what to do after we’ve said our goodbyes.’ you say.

You know he’s listening to you, and you know you’ve touched a nerve. His shoulders tense up and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. You know all too well he doesn’t like any of this, neither do you, but you’ve got to keep pushing now.

‘Listen, what are we going to do when a Jedi shows up, takes the kid, and takes off? Are we going to just stand around, hoping he’ll say he made a mistake and that the kid can stay with us? We need to have a plan, we can’t just keep heading into situations like this without any plan whatsoever. I know that most of the times you just roll with it, but I need to have at least something I can hold on to.’ you say. 

When he still doesn’t respond, you sigh. You’ll try again in a few hours. For now, you get up and leave the cockpit. You make your way over to the sleeping area, where the kid is peacefully asleep in his little makeshift hammock above what Din calls a bed. 

‘I tried, kid.’ you mumble softly, fully aware of the fact he’s asleep and can’t hear you. ‘I thought enough time had passed for him to think about it, but apparently he still needs time. I just hope he has a plan, because that planet and that temple are getting closer and closer, and he needs to be ready to say goodbye. For your sake, and for his.’

Some time after you’ve fallen asleep, you wake up due to something pushing the bed down. You open your eyes and see Din sitting on the edge of it. His helmet is tilted up and he’s looking at the kid. 

You don’t know how much time has passed since you’d fallen asleep, and you don’t know if Din has already thought about everything that’s going to happen. But you decide he doesn’t need you bugging him again. Right now, he needs a warm embrace, and someone telling him everything is going to be alright. 

‘Hey.’ you say softly and you sit up, rubbing your eyes. Din turns his head so he can look at you. You smile at him and hear him sigh deeply. You’re about to say something, when you hear a sound you haven’t heard in a long time. 

It’s so soft, and if you hadn’t been sitting so close to him, and if you hadn’t known him for quite some time, you wouldn’t have noticed. Din sniffles very softly. You heart breaks at the sound of it. Maybe he did have time to think about it. 

‘Din.’ you say softly. His helmet tips down as he lowers his head. You move closer so you’re sitting right next to him. Slowly, you reach up and put your hands on the sides of his helmets, where his cheeks would be. 

‘May I?’ you say.

You would never take his helmet off without his permission. Though Din got used to you seeing his face, it could still be a very sensitive thing. You respect his choices, which is why you always ask if it’s okay for you to take off his helmet. 

Din nods and you move your hands to slowly take the helmet off. You swallow when you see his tear stained cheeks. You put the helmet next to you and let your eyes roam over his face. 

‘Oh, Din.’ you whisper. 

Besides never taking his helmet off without his permission, you also don’t touch his face without his consent. Sometimes looking at him is enough. But right now, you want nothing more than to hold him close and comfort him. 

The two of you are quiet for a while, both at loss for words. After a while, Din reaches out and takes your hands in his. He closes his eyes and raises your hands to put them on his cheeks. 

You lean in and gently press your forehead against his. Din sighs and you hear him swallow thickly. You pull back and gently tilt his head so you can look him in the eyes.

‘It’s okay, riduur.’ you say. ‘You can’t keep it all in, it’s okay, I’m here for you. Just let it all out.’

Din closes his eyes and you feel fresh tears running over your fingers. He bows his head and you guide him to lay his head on your shoulder as you remove your hands from his face and wrap your arms around him instead. He wraps his arms around your torso and you can tell he’s still holding back.

‘Don’t hold back.’ you say softly. ‘It’s just me.’

Slowly, Din starts to cry more, and his body starts to shake. You try to hold your own tears back as sobs occasionally escape Din’s mouth. He knows he can be vulnerable around you, but actually crying in your arms is something he hasn’t done before. 

You hold him while he cries, letting all of the bottled up emotions go. You’re glad he’s finally letting it all out. He has a habit of keeping everything inside him until it all comes out at once, like what’s going on now. 

Noises coming from the kid’s hammock make you look up. You see his big eyes looking down at you and Din. He looks confused and almost worried at the two of you. You smile up at him.

‘Don’t worry ad'ika, your buir is okay.’ you say softly to the kid. ‘He’ll be okay. Why don’t you go back to sleep, hm?’

The kid looks at you for a while, but he eventually eases back into his hammock and not long after it, he falls asleep. 

You can’t help but to wonder if this really is the right thing to do. Deep down you know it’s the truth, but you wonder if there’s an outcome of this in which you wouldn't separate Din and the kid. It’s hard for all of you, but you concluded a long time ago it’s for the best. And Din also has been quested, he can’t just ignore it. 

While you were briefly talking to the kid, and thinking to yourself, Din grew quiet. When you look down, you see he’s fallen asleep. Exhausted because of all of it. You sigh. It was good for him to let it all out, and now he can finally get some rest. 

Din’s quite a lot bigger than you, and especially now that he’s still wearing his armor he’s heavy. But you still manage to lay him down comfortably on the bed without waking him up. He’s earned a few hours of sleep.

You run your thumb across his cheeks, getting rid of the few tear stains that are still there. You then run a hand softly through his hair and lean down to kiss his forehead. After looking at the kid, who’s also still asleep, you leave the small sleeping area and head back to the cockpit.

It must have been hours later when you go down to check up on Din again. When you get to the little sleeping area, you find the kid happily cooing at you while Din is still asleep. You look at your husband for a while before you move to lift the kid up so you can take him back to the cockpit. 

Once you’re back in the captain’s chair of the Razor Crest, you put the kid in your lap and give him the little metal ball he likes to play with. You watch him play with it as he’s happily babbling away. You sigh softly. He has no idea he’s about to be given away.

What would it be like for him? You always thought he would understand parts of what you and Din were saying, but you don’t think he can fully understand you. The poor kid would probably be confused when you have to leave him behind so he can be trained. You wonder if you get to visit him. You really hope so. You don’t want the kid or Din to become unhappy because they’re not together. 

Still, the kid is happily babbling to himself, not aware of any of your thoughts. Of course, he did see Din upset but he could only understand so much. He understood his buir was upset, but couldn’t possibly know the reason why. If only you could put it out of your mind and go to sleep as the kid could. 

Sudden heavy footsteps startle you, and the kid stops babbling to look up at you.

‘It’s okay.’ you say, and you reach out to stroke one of his ears. ‘That’s probably him. At least he got some rest.’

Several moments later the footsteps grow louder until Din is standing behind you. You look over your shoulder. He has his helmet on again, and you decide not to push it.

‘Hi.’ you say. ‘Went to check up on the both of you and he was already awake. Didn’t want us to wake you.’ 

You get up to put the kid in one chair and sit down in the other one, but Din takes a hold of your wrist and gently tugs you to the captain’s chair. He sits down and silently asks your permission to pull you down to sit in his lap. You sit down and lean back against his chest, leaning the back of your head on his shoulder.

There’s no need to say anything, you know he’s thankful for how you comforted him earlier. And he knows that you know. You sit in a comfortable silence that’s only disrupted by the kid still happily babbling away. 

‘I know I’m going to have to let him go.’ says Din suddenly. 

You shift so you can look at him. You smile encouragingly at him, gesturing him to keep going.

‘It’s just hard.’ he says. ‘I know.’ you say. ‘I’ll miss him too but it really is for the best.’ ‘Yeah.’ sighs Din.

You lean in and press your forehead against his helmet and you close your eyes. 

‘I know it’s hard, I really do.’ you say softly. ‘I just wish we had more time.’ admits Din. 

You pull away so you can look at him again. ‘We just have to make the time we have left together the most wonderful you can imagine. And a proper goodbye. He’ll always have the memories.’ you say. ‘You’ll always have the memories.’

‘I just wanted to be a family.’ says Din. ‘We are.’ you say. ‘Look how far we’ve come. Look far you have come. First you were alone. Then you got the kid, you got me. We’re a clan of three now. I promise you he won’t forget you. And you’ll always be like a father to him.’ 

Din looks over his shoulder at the kid. ‘I’m gonna miss you, kid.’ he says. The kid looks up for a few seconds before the little metal ball in his hands gets all of his attention again. You chuckle. ‘You might want to think about giving him that metal ball as a goodbye present.’ you say. 

Din chuckles at your comment. You smile, because you haven’t heard that sound in a long time.

‘Let’s just get to the temple first.’ he says. You nod and get up from his lap, so you can sit down in the other chair behind him. Din turns around and looks at you.

‘Thank you.’ he says. ‘Really. I don’t think I’d be able to handle this on my own.’ ‘Of course.’ you say. ‘You’d do the same for me, right?’ ‘Yes, of course.’ says Din. ‘I love you, cyar'ika.’

Before you can answer him, the kid babbles loudly, looking at Din with his big eyes. Din chuckles and looks at him.

‘Yeah, kid.’ he says. ‘I love you as well. Very much.’

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Jo

[vanderlindemangofarm]

The Van der Linde Gang - Jobs in a Modern AU

I’ve been really inspired to write about this lately and I’d love to hear your takes! These are the occupations that I think each gang member would have in a modern AU. Some were more challenging than others, but hopefully you guys can see where I’m coming from with each! 

Arthur: Film location scout. His natural eye for photography and framing makes Arthur the perfect member of a pre-production team. His no-bullshit approach to everything means he keeps to deadlines, although he’s known to go wandering off into the wilderness for unknown amounts of time. He enjoys the lone working side of his job and finding exactly the right spots that would make the film come to life. He doesn’t always like the films once they’re finished (in fact he’s often bought cinema tickets and walked out half way through, grumbling that it wasn’t worth the popcorn) but he can’t deny the excited buzz he gets every time he gets hired. In his early years as an assistant he met Bertie Mason, a nervous but talented photography intern. Despite an ill-advised hookup after a week joined at the hip they have remained close friends and still go out on shoots together. 

John: landscape gardener. John? Flowers? Yes, alright, I found it hard to believe too. But look, it’s not about the flowers, even if he does get misty-eyed at the sight of a sunflower in the early morning light. It’s about the challenge, the outdoors, and solving problems. After all the renovations he did to his house and garden (some more successful than others) John found how much satisfaction he got from digging and reshaping and planting. Don’t get me wrong, he’s often without a shirt, even in the colder months, much to the delight of some and the horror of others. He always makes friends with the household pets and is wonderful with the kids, always dropping his task to throw a frisbee around for a bit or cheekily accept an ice cold glass of lemonade from their mothers. Whenever he drives past one of his projects he feels himself glowing with pride - “I did that!”. 

Dutch: philosophy lecturer. As always, late with Starbucks. Will he actually grade your essay? Will it mysteriously disappear? Keeps you on your toes, doesn’t it? Sitting precariously on the very edge of his desk, leather jacket hanging off his shoulders and losing his balance every 15 minutes, Dr Van der Linde is nothing short of a wonder. For the love of all that is holy, do not get him started on Kant. Kant has no place here. You want to talk about your precious Kant? Get your butt down to Dr O’Driscoll’s class, he has plenty to say about Kant. Perhaps a little too fond of Socrates. Plato who? Completely illegible handwriting and definitely sleeping with several members of the faculty. But somehow his students always walk away with excellent grades. At the end of each term Dutch takes everyone out to a local bar for drinks, insists on buying tequila which no one really fancies at 11am. Claims to ride a motorcycle called The Count which no one has actually seen. Impossible to hate, and he writes everyone great references for their summer internships. 

Hosea: social worker. In a crisis, there’s no one better to knock on your door. Hosea has seen it all and he’ll see it all again, but that doesn’t stop him from treating every single case he gets with the upmost respect and care. His no-nonsense approach to his work means he gets things done, but he never sacrifices his compassion. He mostly works with teenagers and has a way of being able to connect to each individual without coming across as patronising. He’s been in the field for over two decades and is an invaluable mentor for any newcomers, always willing to share a word or two of advice or be a shoulder to cry on. 

Javier: guitar teacher and music therapist. During his worst years, Javier’s guitar was his lifeline. And he wants to help others find their lifeline, too. He works on a freelance basis, mainly going into mental health hospitals, schools and prisons. He runs workshops focusing on guitar playing, but brings other instruments (mainly percussion) to try too. He’s a gentle teacher, always with a joke in his back pocket for when you need it most. He has nicknames for everyone and remembers everything they’ve ever told him. He’s patient and never lets anyone feel bad for making a mistake. Javier also runs an after-school guitar club at the local middle school alongside playing his own music at gigs whenever he can. No, he doesn’t reply to DMs no matter how thirsty they are. 

Sadie: self-defense instructor. After surviving an attack several years ago, Sadie used her ferocity to get her qualification in self-defense to teach other women how to fight back should they need to. Her husband Jake helps out in her classes, happily allowing himself to be thrown around and slammed onto the mat as many times as required. Her students are terrified of her in the best and nicest way. Sadie also volunteers at a women’s refuge, providing emergency care and taking phone calls. 

Charles: environmental campaign manager. Charles has always been drawn to charities and started doing voluntary work for Greenpeace when he was at university, securing an internship with them in Canada which led to a full time job. Whilst Charles mainly hosts meetings and organises events, he also works closely with elementary schools and runs workshops with outdoor activities, crafts and music. Last week they made bird feeders! It was awesome. He’s also a keen activist and regularly meets up with Javier to go to protests and community events, most recently for BLM. 

Micah: motorcycle mechanic. Micah is massively invested in motorcycle culture and treats his beloved bike better than his own mother, if he still spoke to her. Although he pretends not to care, fixing bikes is his greatest passion and almost looks...happy when he’s doing it? Maybe? He likes knowing more than the people who stop by his shop and makes sure they know it. Occasionally he leaves his number on a scrap of paper inside women’s handbags when they’re not looking but for some reason none of them call. Like it or not, he’s incredibly skilled and will have your motorcycle singing a tune if that’s what you want. Euphemism? Of course not. 

Abigail: nurse. She was so shy when she realised she wanted to pursue nursing - would people laugh at her? Was she too impatient, too nagging, too shrill? Her dyslexia always put her off going into further education and she was always discouraged by her parents. But with lots of encouragement from Hosea (who helped her to fill out her applications and other forms) and her friends, Abigail went to university in her 30′s to get her degree. She graduated top of her class and now works full time in her local hospital, based mostly in the emergency room. From drunken brawlers to tearful children and grumpy old men with lumbago, Abigail has learnt to keep her cool and to have faith in her own ability. 

Molly: holistic therapist and masseuse. It took years to get that bastard of a philosopher out of her head (and out of her bed - damn those happy hour drinks “for old times’ sake”), but she’s finally free. Molly radiates a kindness that few took to the time to see, and she wanted to take strength from her past struggles to help others who may need someone to listen, just as she did. Molly took a bunch of online courses in various holistic therapies, including aromatherapy and massage, as this was something she had always been interested in. She runs a tiny clinic on a quiet street, the rooms filled with sunshine and the scent of geraniums. She also has a quite popular ASMR YouTube channel, Emerald Eyes ASMR, which she shyly admits just reached 500k subscribers. Her most popular video, ‘Irish Girl Helps You Fall Asleep (soft spoken, tapping, mouth sounds)’ just reached over a million hits. 

Kieran: veterinarian specialising in equine care. Much like Abigail, Kieran didn’t like the idea of going back into education. He’d had a rough time of it as a teenager, dropping out of high school early and working a string of menial jobs for the next decade. They paid his rent, but he still felt poor. His favourite job, however, was working at a stable. The horses made him feel calm and he found that he could read them better than most people. He went to the library and read as much as he could about them. From there, he got himself an apprenticeship which paved the way for him to earn his degree in veterinary science. He smiled so hard in his graduation photo his eyes disappeared into his cheeks. He travels all over the local countryside, visiting farms and ranches to care for the horses. His confidence picked up after the first few blunders, and little by little he’s saving up to buy his own ranch one day. 

Lenny: political science student. You know that kid who always looks amazing, even in 9am lectures? Yeah, that’s not Lenny, but he’s sat just behind. See him? Yep, the one rubbing sleep from his eyes as he pushes through the effects of another all-nighter. It’s not due to procrastination, but from perfectionism. He spends hour agonising over references, appendixes and even titles. One time he was so tired he signed his work “Ynnel”. He’s completely in love with his course and relishes every class he takes. Oh, he’s taking Dutch’s ‘History of Western Philosophy’ module by the way. Sitting in the front row, middle seat, directly in front of Dutch, his eyes glinting wickedly. Poor Dutch. Lenny has a counterpoint for absolutely everything and can barely stifle his laughter as Dutch gets more and more flustered. He’s been dating Jenny Kirk, an English Lit student, for the past few months and it’s going well. So well in fact, that he might stop hiding his Doctor Who merchandise every time she comes to his dorm room. 

Tilly: business student. Tilly started university at the same time as Lenny and they still always go to the library together, rolling their eyes at each other over their morning peppermint lattes. Tilly is at the forefront of any and all on-campus activism. Think of Sam from Dear White People - that’s our Tilly. She wears her Ravenclaw scarf all autumn and winter long and posts scathing Instagram stories about the cafeteria food. But she’s powerfully kind and very ambitious, taking on a part time job tutoring kids with dyslexia in their reading and writing. 

Susan: midwife. Think having a baby is scary? Try crossing Nurse Grimshaw. She’s here now, and that baby is coming out of you one way or another. She’ll hold your hand through thick and thin but if you dare say “I can’t do it” one more time she’ll unleash hell. Susan will make sure everyone has a job to do. Partner just standing there like a lemon? Not on her watch. She’s harsh but kind to her trainees and will always offer a cup of coffee and a shoulder to cry on, but there’s a time and place for slacking and it’s not on her labour ward. 

Trelawny: talent agent. Our Josiah is cunning, infuriatingly charismatic and with an eye for the best of the best - what else could he do so effortlessly? He’ll wrangle you a 10 second role as a latrine cleaner in a non-profit film and he’ll still make you feel like the next DiCaprio. You’re a diamond, don’t you know? Of course you could nab Elphaba, we’ll worry about the singing later. How do you feel about cat food commercials? No no, it’s not pornography, it really is cat food this time - he double checked. On top of this, he knows everyone in the business. No, really. He can’t move 3 feet down Broadway without someone booming his name. The tone of said boom depends, of course, but who hasn’t been caught with his bottom out in that director’s wife’s en-suite? 

Sean: outdoor activity centre instructor. You mean you can actually get paid to swim in lakes, ride ziplines through the forest and eat roasted marshmallows?! Sean couldn’t believe his ears. But it was true, and he’s living his best life. He may be on his penultimate warning for unruly behaviour, but he knows he could never really get fired. How could they? Everyone loves him. And to his credit, he’s a fantastic instructor, especially with kids. Everything from canoeing to caving, wild swimming to climbing, Sean has mastered it all and he always makes it fun. No one is allowed to feel left out or silly for not being able to do something. Sean has a way of making everyone feel included, even if you can only make it up the first few rungs of the ladder. Hey, that’s still off the ground! He once knew this feller Bill who cried because a moth flew into his face. You’re doing fine. 

Mary-Beth: librarian and YA author. Sweet Mary-Beth, how could she be anywhere else but surrounded by books? She adores her job at her small, local library and is always looking for ways to make it even better. She often gets tangled up in the stories she reads whilst organising shelves, but it’s quiet enough most days that she’s rarely caught. She loves helping people find their books or recommending her favourites. She also runs the toddler storytime groups and a writing club for older kids. Of course, she’s also writing her own books. The first of her ‘Valentine Mysteries’ books made a modest profit and she’s excited to write more about the adventures of Leslie Dupont. 

Karen: actress. Realising that she had a knack for accents and even after an especially successful high school lead role as Roxy Hart, Karen didn’t really acknowledge her would-be passion for acting for a long time. But she used her talents to get herself and her friends into X-rated films, dive bars and successfully pull off dozens of prank calls. It wasn’t until one of her friends was going to an open-call audition for a short film and wanted someone to go with her that Karen had her epithany. She was cast on the spot, much to the dismay of her friend. Since then, she’s been in a handful of arthouse films, a commercial here and there, and recently enjoyed a short run as Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream at a small theatre downtown. Does she want fame and fortune? Honestly, she hasn’t really thought about it. Right now, she’s just enjoying the ride. And the phone numbers left for her at front of house from many admirers. 

Strauss: financial loan adviser. Oh boy, perhaps you saw this one coming. Then again, maybe not. Old Leopold isn’t quite the two-pronged-tongued eldritch horror people often mistake him for. In fact, he actually advises people against loan sharks. He had his fair share of debts y’see and he genuinely doesn’t want anyone else to go through the same thing. He’s not exactly sweet and cuddly, but he might let you have a free pen if you call by his office. I mean, technically they’re not free but...never mind, just take it. 

Bill: plumber. It was purely accidental that Bill bashed his way into his career. No, really. His sink was blocked and after an hour of poking and prodding the pipes he started hitting the poor thing with a spanner out of pure frustration, cursing all the way. To his shock, it worked, and he suddenly had running water again. What shocked him more is that he realised he wanted to know how. So, he bought a book. And he read the book. And one thing led to another, and now he’s the proud owner of Williamson Plumbing Inc. The money is very good, but for Bill that’s not it. You have to understand that for him, it’s the act itself of fixing something that brings Bill immense satisfaction. And Bill isn’t used to knowing more about something - anything - than those around him. For the first time perhaps in his life, he can sit down, solve a problem, and know that he’s done a good job. 

Swanson: AA group leader. After getting completely sober almost a decade ago and staying that way, Orville wanted to give something back to the people who had helped him out so greatly. Becoming a volunteer to help those who were trapped where he was seemed like the only path, and it felt so right. Orville is there in meetings, making coffee, handing out donuts and training new volunteers. If anyone wants to talk about their faith he’s all ears, but he never pushes it as a cure-all in any situation. Orville’s sobriety has also meant that he’s learnt to make the most phenomenal mocktails. 

Pearson: grocery shop manager and cooking teacher. Simon has his small grocery shop on the edge of town which has a wide range of regular customers. But he wanted to do more, so he set up a small class to teach fellow veterans how to cook. His wife helps out, and they grow the ingredients together in their garden and down at the allotment. It’s just an therapeutic for him as it is for his students, as he’s only just realising how much he wants to talk about his time in the navy. 

Uncle: unknown. For the longest time, everyone thought Uncle worked at one of the worst dive bars in town, as whenever they stumbled in for a nightcap he was there, behind the bar, happy as a pig in shit. Turns out that he just started going there one night and no one could get him to leave. And so every evening he’ll appear like a phantom, sit himself in the half-broken chair behind the bar (clearly labelled “not for customer use”), order the cheapest beer on the menu and sit there until midnight. No one can understand how he gets the means to live as he ragingly denies receiving any government handouts despite his lumbago. Claims to be a veteran but hasn’t fought in any wars anyone has heard of. 

[focsle]

Vendryth Bio

HELLO here I am with one of my Gigantic Character Bios.

Basics

Name: Vendryth

Nickname: Ven to friends. He also has a number of tacky nicknames in the various small localities he helped out over the years: The Golden Traveler, The Dragon, Trollslayer, Midwinter Hero, ET CETERA ET CETERA. To Neris he is ‘Grandpa’.

Age: Died at age 326. Born 1E 2594, died in 1E 2920. Is Neris’s resident ghost as of 2E 582.

Gender: Man

Race: Dunmer

Class: Battlemage and restoration master

Physical Traits

Height: 6ft

Weight: 210 lbs

Hair: Auburn, pulled back in a long braid.

Eyes: Red

Skin: Dark blueish grey

Distinctive features: Full Van Dyke-style beard. A lot of assorted scars from 300+ years of Fighting Things. Really big gaudy dragon tattoo on his chest.

Mannerisms: He has a confident ease moving and existing in the world, and he definitely takes up space in a lounging sort of way. He also tends to relate to people physically—SHOULDER SLAPPER sort of guy.

Voice: Friendly and booming. Bit gravelly but refined.

Fashion: He likes ornate armors and likes to keep ‘em shiny. In the day to day however, he dresses very simply...keeps his shirt collar as open as possible...

Emotional Traits

Personality: He’s very personable and very willing to help people, to the degree that he is prone to butting into situations that initially don’t involve him. He almost never turns down requests for help and can quickly shift to adapt to situations that call for his attention. He tries to behave honorably, though he hasn’t always done so in his interpersonal relationships in the past and is awkward in coming to terms with that.

Likes a good time. Is boisterous and rollicking and sometimes has an air about him that he doesn’t take things seriously, even though as said above, he can rapidly switch gears to handle grave situations. He’s chummy with everyone. A bit flirtatious & slutty. A pro at entertaining swaths of children. Good at calming horses.

He’s very vain, though not arrogant. He’s surprised if someone isn’t impressed by him, but not upset or offended. He does Heroics partly because he has the ability to and thinks it's the right thing to do, but also because he likes the attention. Likes being fawned over. Doesn’t wanna wear a helmet to cover his pretty face.

Religion / Belief system: He more-or-less adheres to the Tribunal (much to the chagrin of Grandson Neris). He doesn’t believe them to be Actual Gods and thus doesn’t ‘worship’ them, but does recognize and respect them as powerful leaders and has no problem serving their will when it comes to the defense of Morrowind. He later became one of Vivec's Buoyant Armigers, and was quite reverent to both Vivec and Almalexia.

He’s wary of all Daedra. Just expects them to be troublesome and either doesn’t involve himself or actively works against them. He’s pretty straight-laced about all that.

Lifestyle

Background: He was born into a minor family in House Telvanni. Despite his lack of Notable Lineage, he proved to be very magically adept, especially in matters of restoration magic. In his early 20s he married a woman named Tendreni Ilyiil. Their marriage was a strategic one centered more on solidifying future power than anything else—his skills, and her more powerful family connections. It didn’t work out, particularly as Vendryth’s interests turned more towards being a healer rather than the acquisition of knowledge or power. He wasn’t good at communicating that it wasn’t working out however. He decided instead to simply abandon Tendreni and their infant child and forgo any connections to his house. While he would come to regret that action as he got older, he never made amends, feeling too much time had passed for it to mean anything.

Over the decades he worked with both the Mages and Fighters guild, intensely studying Restoration but also battle techniques and becoming quite powerful through the ranks as a result. Initially he took contracts through the Fighter’s Guild to assist people. Then he became a bit of a Freelance Hero around Tamriel, chasing the high of Minor Glories in numerous regions. His mastery of Restoration magic enabled him to slow his aging considerably.

His work took on a more concentrated effort when he was a little over 100 years old, in defense efforts against the first Akaviri invasion that earned him recognition among his peers. He would continue to serve in Morrowind's military for a time, and then more specifically for Vivec as a Buoyant Armiger. Through this work he had the flexibility to continue his Pro Bono Heroics around Tamriel, but would respond to calls back home when needed.

By 2840 he was back to his military engagements, operating as a high-ranking healer during the Four Score War. While certainly not always on the front, he was involved for the entire 80 engagement and managed to live through it as a decorated veteran. Unfortunately when Mournhold was sacked shortly after, Vendryth lost his head to one of Mehrunes Dagon’s army while trying to heal someone.

He had an honorable burial in Necrom, though not in the Ilyiil tomb. However, simmering generational anger over his initial abandonment of his first family led to his ghost being tracked down by Ilyiil ancestor spirits who then bound him to protect the family tomb. He was there for 600 years, and lost considerable parts of his memory and identity as the notion of being stuck there for eternity became intolerable and his emotional and mental state deteriorated. He was forgotten by everyone, beyond a few obscure scholars of specific military history, as the people who remembered him died. He became a very angry and violent spirit until he ran into Neris who was reconciling with his own feelings about his family and sense of abandonment. Neris ended up helping to free Vendryth and established a shrine for him in his own house. Kindred spirits in many ways, Neris’s companionship helped Vendryth get a lot of himself back, and Vendryth also helps Neris take his final steps away from House Telvanni.

Place of residence: In life he lived in a fancy Hall just outside Mournhold. As a ghost he hangs out in a dedicated corner of Neris’s library in Middle Of Nowhere Vvardenfell.

Occupation: Local Hero™, Buoyant Armiger, battlefield healer

Habits: He’s very particular about his appearance...a Preener. Will absolutely fuss over his reflection in a breastplate he’s shining. Winds down with smoking assorted combos of psychoactive herbs in the evenings. Tends to touch people’s arms or has a hand on their shoulder or something when he’s talking to them.

Hobbies: Adventuring (and long walks through impressive landscapes), gathering up all the local rumors, fishing, musical inclinations, reading a small always-rotating collection of books he finds in his travels and then leaves at the last inn he stayed at once he finishes them.

Likes: Campfire stories or collective songs i.e. activities that include a lot of people, theater, retelling his adventures, being recognized, quaint little towns with warm rooms.

Dislikes: Having to be sneaky or anonymous in any way (he’ll DO subtlety and anonymity if it is required of him but UGHHHH!), having to constantly confront the mortality/death of people around him, feeling ‘kept’ by anyone, losing sleep for any reason, having to skip meals.

Goals: His interests move from ‘I want people to know who I am and I want stories to be told about me’ notions of fame, and as he gets older it turns more into ‘I want to do what I feel is right and will help people’. He always appreciates public admiration and relishes in it, but ends up feeling a greater responsibility over where he stands in life and how he can contribute.

Relationships

Orientation: Straight, ish. He’s attracted to women, but he’d be flattered and wouldn’t necessarily say no if propositioned by another gender. But the actual attraction wouldn’t be there.

Relationship status: Had a long string of romances and families across the continent, as well as one dedicated long-term partnership with a General in the Four Score War that was his last relationship. As a ghost…..he’s a ghost…

Notable Relationships:

He fathered 37 children (that he knows of) over his first couple centuries. While he was never completely absent, he definitely wasn’t involved in parenting. He’d write everyone, he’d make sure everyone was materially supported, he’d show up and stay for a few weeks at a time with gifts and stories, but wasn’t much of an Active Partner. He very much considered everyone family and had no personal sense of relationship decay over time; this was met with varying degrees of agreement, acceptance, indifference, sorrow, anger, and resentment across all the different parties.

He grew to be a more somber man once he realized he was outliving them all. Not just partners, but a number of his children too.

Tendreni Ilyiil: His first wife. Their relationship was one of circumstance, duty, and politics. They were quite formal with each other, and had differing senses of ambition. When Vendryth left Tendreni was furious about it, largely because of the principle of the thing rather than because she experienced much hardship without him (though raising an infant more on her own was something she was very angry about, though there was family help for her there). She didn’t feel a loss with him gone. She thought he was a childish coward and wrote him off almost immediately for it. She moved on, but her parents harbored a more significant grudge, as did her child to an even greater degree, especially as Vendryth’s name became more widely known and celebrated. These ancestor spirits, rather than Tendreni, were the ones who ended up binding his ghost to the tomb.

Neris Ilyiil: His great great great great grandson, of Tendreni’s line, who ended up saving him from his spectral imprisonment. Vendryth is very fond of Neris and sees quite a bit of himself in the boy. He loves exchanging adventure stories with him, even though Neris’s tend to be a bit different. He’s grateful for Neris’s help and is also more than willing to provide a sense of encouragement, family, and guidance to him. 600 years in a tomb means he lost the threads of all the rest of his family members and doesn’t know where any other descendants are. As a result he’s really close to Neris because Neris is the only thing that makes him feel like he still...Existed at one time.

Lady General whom we are still working on a name for: A General who Vendryth served under in the Four Score War. She initially thought he was underwhelming which he found…completely baffling and intriguing and his conclusion was ‘she is underwhelmed by me not because I’m NOT great, but because clearly she has done something greater and now I need to find out about it’. Was deeply curious about her from the beginning. Rather than his earlier relationships that were built on initial physical attraction and his usual ‘I am going to charm her with my Gallant Hero Energy’, he grew close to her out of circumstance first and then utter respect and admiration for her as they worked together. She was his sense of grounding through the whole war and was the first person he was actually In Love with. He hoped the relationship would continue beyond the war—that he kept thinking would end the next year, and then the next year, etc. It was unrelenting and he likely wouldn’t have stayed if not for this partnership. He felt it was worth all the enduring hardship. She saw to his burial after the destruction of Mournhold.

[alistonjdrake]

Part One: The Smiling Prince

Prince Cidro an’Frederick Harver Born: Year 1748 after the fall of the Saints Mother: Queen Isolde ana’Juliano Rios Wife: Lady Liliana ana’Ignacio Verona of Veron, Princess Consort of the Escana Empire

As first in line for the throne and Crown Prince of Escan, Prince Cidro was born in the months after King Frederick’s coronation and wedding and as the smoke cleared on the repairs to Graza city after the siege.

And he was born, as noted by contemporaries, scandalously early. 

Much of what is known about the trial of Queen Isolde’s birth comes from Lady Helena, King Frederick’s mother, as she was strictly attentive of her daughter-in-law in the early days of the Harver reign. 

The Queen Mother wrote in her diary that, “The midwife took Her Majesty the Queen to the birthing chamber in the early evening after a complaint of stomach problems and I followed soon after. I found the woman on her hands and knees and fretting over a little blood. The midwife assured her it was not enough to cause worry over the babe. I had not the mind to hear her complaints and, eager for her to get to the business, called for the physician to prepare a draft to ease the going. Our prince was born in the morning. A small and wrinkled thing but he had the same dip in his forehead that I recalled seeing on both of my own boys in their first days. The midwife seemed worried about his fragility but he screamed for life with powerful lungs and I made sure one of the servants went to alert Frederick, for now his claim was secure.” 

At the time, the court had been whispering about the timeline and the very evident animosity between the royal couple. Queen Isolde had had attentions to marry another before the treaty with King Frederick and the man had been in Graza during the duration of the pregnancy. There was also some speculation that Lady Helena threatened Queen Isolde, going so far as to hold a knife to her throat while the midwife cleaned and prepared the baby for viewing in case it was revealed that the child was not King Frederick’s. This event, true or not, later inspired a song and a rhyme often giving in warning from parents to their child’s spouse on the eve of weddings. 

Whatever the rumors were and if they were founded in truths, King Frederick and Lady Helena both accepted Prince Cidro as a member of the Harver family. And his birth came with great fanfare as it was likely used as an excuse to wipe the slate clean. In the months after his arrival, there were festivals throughout the streets of Graza, King Frederick minted a new coin and named it after him and had it given it out generously to the people, there were several ceremonies in which King Frederick simply displayed his son to the court.

However, as he got older few would say Prince Cidro was particularly spoiled. After the death of his mother, he was raised under the attentive care and strict scheduling of Lady Helena. She hired an array of tutors for the first born as she wanted him to be excessively well-read. It should be noted, King Frederick was the first worldly king of Escan, the first one that the rest of the continent paid any true attention to, and so they likely felt they had a lot riding on the reputation of the first son. 

However, Prince Cidro did not excel in much. He was not talented in arts, did not take to military stratagem or showed any signs of being a tactician, was not incredibly wise about politics, and never really took to learning languages outside of Escan, basic Oskyi, and passable Ceoye. And yet, the one thing all his tutors would agree on was that Cidro was marvelously charming. 

By the age of nine, people would say he could light up a room. He was very personable and people felt draw to the small prince. It was said King Frederick would sometimes have him tag along as a good luck charm. If the young boy had any talents, it was in diplomacy and carrying conversation. Those in his inner circle said he was never jealous, never bitter, always supportive, always kind. He did not shy away from his own ignorance on subjects and would make a point as he got older to invite experts to court to explain something when he did not understand. 

Prince Cidro was very fond of all his siblings and would often describe himself as a family man, but he was undoubtedly closest to Prince Leonides and they worked together on most things. While Cidro was the charming and personable one, Prince Leonides was the elusive and stern one, and one often complimented for his brain. Dissenters in Graza’s court would say that Prince Cidro was empty-headed who let his younger brother do all the thinking for him. 

Cidro was not unaware of these statements and he did establish himself in other areas. While he did not have the cunning and talent to earn himself the title as the youngest appointed councilman like Prince Leonides (in fact he would not join until he was twenty in contrast to Prince Leonides’ appointment at fourteen). Cidro placed most of his focus in foreign affairs and into their relationship with the nations underneath Escan’s banner. Most notably, and controversial, it was found in letters with the vicereine of Karri that Cidro was incredibly critical of Escan’s actions in the Rhine nations and wanted some sort of reform. This is often credited as one of the reasons he traveled to frequently during his twenties.

Speaking of, Cidro was famously romantic in his youth. He was a very obvious eligible bachelor by the time he was an adult as the heir to a rich nation. He was offered the hand of foreign princesses, influential aristocrats, and there was no shortage of suitable options at Graza Palace. Most of Cidro’s attempts at courtship were short-lived and there doesn’t seem to be any reason why. There was some talk of similarities between him and his father, but as far as anyone knows Prince Cidro did not have any lovers or hidden children. In fact, plenty of his romantic attempts would be later called quite juvenile. 

Although not often talked about, Prince Cidro did partake in Graza’s tradition of excessive drinking and partying but somehow avoided causing any long-lasting scandals from this period of his life. Prince Cidro was also at times a bit of a gambler and lost money easily to courtiers at card tables before needing to be dragged away. He was, at the very least, a courteous loser much to the point it was reported people would give him his money back because they felt bad. 

Before leaving court, Cidro always took time to spend with his siblings. He was famously the one who had to report the assassination of Queen Luca to Prince Argus. He was very fond of all of them, supporting their hobbies and at times funding some of their projects if their father could not fit it into the budget. He preached the importance of family time and occasional dinners. He gave them many gifts (both while he was in Graza and later he would shower them in souvenirs from his travels) and was always more than happy to offer brotherly advice. He has always tried to be respectful and accommodating to the many queens and stepmothers he’s had throughout his father’s reign and often quoted that he was not close to his own, and as many of his siblings did not have the benefit of knowing their grandmother like he did, took it upon himself to fill that space. 

He would eventually meet and marry Lady Liliana ana’Ignacio Verona in 1770 when the couple were twenty-two and would begin the aforementioned decade of traveling throughout Escan’s territories. 

Cidro would become a big supporter of Lady Liliana’s charitable endeavors and the couple would open schools and religious institutions together, although Prince Cidro’s dedication to Santivism was never strictly stated and at times he often treated convents more as convenient sanctuaries for Escan’s orphans than a place for the Saints. 

In 1782, at the age of thirty-four, Prince Cidro returns to Graza with the news that his wife is pregnant and eager to reunite with his beloved family. 

[so-i-dont-forget-again]

So I Don’t Forget Again: A Breath of The Wild fanfiction

Entry 151: Zora’s Domain

 After training and lunch Sidon and I went searching for history again. We would have brought Bossa Nova, but he had wandered off during training.

We went searching around Ruto Mountain. It reminded me of when we were just walking around the cliffs that faced the Akkala region. Just walking around and chatting. He did give me a scare though when he accidentally slipped on some rocks and slid down a shallow cliff. Thankfully it was not a long drop and he found some more history.

It’s rarer, but Sidon got embarrassed. He’s rather cute when sheepish, he has this little habit of scratching his cheek, even if he tries to hide being flustered, that gives him away. He apologized for worrying me, saying a prince ought to have more awareness of his surroundings.

It was about Mipha, her trident. When she was born the trident was made for her. From the start she was loved by everyone, she was even skilled in spearmenship, easily mastering the Zora’s form. After she died, everyone was devastated, it was like they all lost the most lovable, precious, strong person in the world. They tried sending her trident down the river as a funeral of sorts, but it began to glow, and they heard Mipha speak. She told them her and her trident were one, and to keep going on happily, to remember the past with fondness, it happened and not grief that it was over and to not cry. Since then, on the anniversary of the Calamity striking, they honor the trident as a holiday.

So, when I was given her trident, when I was told that with it she would be protecting me like she wanted, it wasn’t hyperbole or a metaphor, or whatever, they literally meant it. Mipha is literally with me.

Sidon asked me if I was alright. I told him I was the one who should be asking him that. The gesture of being given this trident, what had become my main weapon, the one I almost always go to for battle, something that is considered to be Mipha, it just means a lot. I can understand gifting me the armor she wanted to give me, but her trident, it almost feels to be too much. I just wish I could remember more about her. I want to know what our relationship was, and if she really was as great as everyone says. She honestly almost doesn’t sound real. Just perfect in every way. But then again, Sidon is here, so a person like that isn’t too far of a stretch. Sidon said he wasn’t perfect, but he strives to be, to be like his sister.

I asked Sidon if he was pressured to be like his sister. He admitted that at times, yes. Sometimes he felt he wasn’t good enough and couldn’t live up to her legacy, how when he was younger he would be compared to her often but that just meant he had to create his own legacy and be the kind of person everyone could love, but in a way different from Mipha. He said it’s like what I’ve done. I… didn’t understand. He seemed confused and asked to read through my memories, of the ones of my current time here. He told me there was something I hadn’t noticed.

It seems so blaringly obvious now.

I’m not being compared to the Hylian Champion from a hundred years ago. We are separate people. There’s the old, or I guess younger me, the me who fought with the champions, the one who Mipha loved, and the one who died. Then there’s me, a new champion. One who is more expressive than the one from long ago, one who’s made a reputation for being a troublemaker with an exceedingly kind heart. The new champion who gleefully plays with the children and help them with their pranks. The new champion who had such a big heart he searched across Hyrule’s waters for one single person. The new champion who fought along side their Prince to save them all, a person who rose from death itself just to help people. Someone who even when injured still wants to help by becoming a teacher. They see the old champion and the new champion as separate people now.

They haven’t talked about the past much being here this time, the old me. The old me exists, and is remembered, but I’m not him.

At times, it feels the Zoras speak of nothing of the past, but they live for so long, it only makes sense, it’s not history to them, they all remember it all, yet… Mipha and Sidon are both loved, but differently, and I, though the same person, am thought of differently, and now even treated differently.

That must be why it feels different this time, not as suffocating or sad. Its… like the feeling I have for Hateno, but different, like the love for Sidon and Mipha.

It’s nice.

We kept exploring around the cliffs.

We got a clear view of Mount Lanayru. There seemed to be this bluish-purpleish glow at some places. It’s not like the Luminous stones in the Domain, it’s something else. It’s odd. I never looked around there before. Maybe there’s some shrines to be found, maybe I could get some new equipment, hopefully something to keep warm in the snow since I’ll be going to Rito Village.

We had to do a bit of rock climbing and Sidon carried me the whole way. He slipped a few times but did very well.

We also walked along very tally, grassy areas and found a forest. I insisted we search around it. No matter how small or inconspicuous, I’m going to search every forest for the Master Sword. Sidon asked if this was what traveling was like. Sometimes, it really depended on the area and if I’m following roads or not. Sidon said he’d like to travel someday. It would be fun to have him and Yunobo tag along. Maybe I should visit him soon and see how Death Mountain is doing. Maybe he’d feel safe enough to travel now.

We found more history in the forest.

It was about a princesses Zora who fought alongside the princess of Hyrule and the legendary hero against a man who wanted to rule the world. The Divine Beast was named after her and it was believed to be fate for another princesses Zora to have been chosen to pilot it.

The sun was beginning to set, we should have gone back, but we decided to go searching for a little longer.

The Domain at night is beautiful. It reminded me of Death Mountain. I tried describing the gorgeous sight of that bright, hot lava against the stark darkness. Sidon said that usually if the Gorons and Zora wish to speak, the Gorons come to them, but perhaps, I could be his escort, take him up the mountain, and he could use a lot of potions to protect himself there. The Gorons respect strength so a Zora, a being who needs a cool moist climate, to go to their land, surely they’d respect that and make the ties between them stronger! Sidon wants his people to have good relations with everyone, working together would make everyone stronger than they are alone. The Hylians used to be more so the force that tied the Zora, Goron, Gerudo and Rito together, but with our power fallen, everyone has somewhat separated and Sidon wants to get everyone back together to be able to better help one another and fight against any more disasters like the Calamity. The visit could serve two purposes! If he was going to go there anyway with me, he might as well as get to know the Gorons. He spoke of it like it was certain we were going to visit one day. He told me that if he had the power, he’d do anything for me. He said that with all my travels, I’ve seen so many places, so if I specifically am fond of one area, it must be something more beautiful and unlike any other, he trusts my judgement.

We’ve been taking the river when traveling, but this time we just walked on the trail. Traveling by river and riding on his back is much faster than walking. We found another one. It was about his father and how he had defeated a guardian single handedly and saved the domain.

On the way back we found some blue nightshade flowers. He tucked them behind my ear and just said ‘adorable’, and then I was especially so when I blush and he did it with that toothy grin and why must he make my heart race so effortlessly! He’s doing it again even now just remembering it! AGAIN!

We found one last history piece one the way back, it was right by the road like the last one. Unlike the others, it was notably worn, decayed and uncared for. It was just barley legible, unlike the others. It’s close by town too, it’s almost impossible to miss it when coming and going from town via the trail. The others, some are nowhere near trails or water and were difficult to get to or to find yet were perfectly kept up. It was about me, when I defeated the lynel and earned the Zora helm.

Sidon just stared at it for a while. I couldn’t quite read his expression.

After a while he took my arm and lead me back to the medical bay. Before leaving me in my room, he kneeled down and just hugged me. He told me I am an amazing and sweet person. That I’m strong and courageous beyond belief. He told me I am such a marvel, how hard working I am is astounding. He was grateful he could call me his friend, and I deserved only the best the world had to offer. He asked if I knew I was loved. That people truly care about me and want nothing more than for me to be able to be happy and safe.

If no one else, I at least know without a doubt he cares.

Bossa Nova was asleep on the bed when I got to my room. He looked so comfortable I didn’t want to wake and move him.

Sidon asked if I thought I’d go to sleep. I’m too wide awake, I have too many things on my mind.

Sidon asked me to follow him.

He took me to the reservoir where Vah Ruta was attacking from. We were able to climb up it with a staircase. At the top there are several docks that line the top. Before the dock we were on there is this big, I think it’s called a gazebo? It has a roof and the framing for walls, but no actual walls. Along the frames there’s this counter that connects everything except for the entrance gap. On it are some trays, chalices, a jug and some tall thin glasses full of drinks. There are also a few seats by the counters. The back doesn’t have any pillars, not far beyond it though is the large wall we had to scale to get here. It’s a little taller than the reservoir itself. On the frames are the softly glowing stones, everything else is crystals. There’s also a large bed at the back. Sidon says it’s a water bed. The bed frame is like a cradle that holds this giant bag of water that’s the mattress. Because it’s water the mattress moves and readjusts when you’re on it. It’s so comfortable, and warm, the heat readjusts too.

Sidon told me we was not sure why this was here, maybe it was for entertaining the Hylian royalty when they came to visit the reservoir. Whatever the reason for it, he found it to be a nice spot. From here there’s a gorgeous view of the town and the surrounding nature. You can even see distant mountains and cliffs. It feels like it close to town, but also detached. Just me and Sidon, no one else. The night sky here seems endless. It’s a strange feeling being here.  Almost feel a little nervous being here with Sidon. Sidon is usually so calming which makes this even stranger. It’s not a bad kind of nervous though.

Its more windy here than it is in the canyon, more chilly too. Sidon and I hid in the bed, and it was so warm. Like standing in the morning sunshine in Gerudo desert.

Sidon loosely draped his arms around me and made sure he wasn’t touching my injured arm.

He wondered aloud if I could have my splint taken off for a while so I could take a bath, it might be relaxing if it wouldn’t hurt me. He wondered if we should visit Death Mountain before or after I face the Calamity.  He wondered if I’d take him everywhere across Hyrule, just go anywhere I wanted. He wondered aloud about us resting under the stars. He spoke very sweetly, just about us being together. Sidon kept talking, trying to stay awake, but he soon fell asleep. He’s hugging me in his sleep. Even when he’s not awake his touch is so strong and secure.

Bossa Nova can get food, and I’m sure Sidon will be able to wake me up, so maybe I’ll try to fall asleep tonight. No one can get hurt if I rest for now. The Rito need help, but I can’t go till this infection in me is gone, the doctors won’t allow me to go till I’m healed, so since I can’t help them anyway maybe I can rest for the night. Maybe it’d be okay, but I’m not sure if I even can.

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[pressedinthepages]

Wager

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: reader request: [Hello! What about Geralt being smug about his win streak in Gwent and Jaskier- who Geralt doesn’t know plays- decides to do something about it. ] I may have...gone all in on the Gwent here, folks.

also thanks to @sometimesiwrite​ for being a wonderful beta :)

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: fluff, ~yearning~, Gwent

Two idiots play a game.

    Geralt, with a flick of his wrist and a smirk of the brow, placed his final card on the table. Yrden. Reset the power of all units on a row. Devastating for his opponent, who had their Scoiatel units racking up boosts and vitality throughout the entire final round. No longer did their cards carry values of 30, 35, and 60. Oh no, they were returned to their original powers of 2, 4, and 5. The final score? Geralt had 38, and his opponent hung their head in defeat with 16.

    Geralt took a swig of his ale as his opponent gathered his cards before tossing him a coin from across the table. “You played well.”

    His opponent grimaced, rising to his feet. “Yeah, sure. That Yrden card is broken, it’s too powerful.”

    Geralt squinted, crossing his legs beneath the table. “It’s not broken, you just need to learn to anticipate it. Don’t line up all of your high power cards in a row.”

    The man rolled his eyes as he left, Geralt blinking in surprise. Ah well, he thought, some people just don’t want to learn.

    Geralt motioned to the barkeep for another drink, flicking the coin in the air and catching it repeatedly. But suddenly, instead of the cool metal landing solidly in his hand, it was snatched from the air and held between two slender fingers just out of Geralt’s reach.

    “You win this for me?” Jaskier tilted his head with a smile, toothy and bright. 

    Geralt grunted as his new ale was set before him, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. “Gwent. It’s been a good night.”

    “A glass of red wine for me, sweet thing,” Jaskier crooned at the barkeep, and she blushed her way back to the counter. “You’re quite fond of the game.”

    Geralt hummed, fiddling with a torn edge on one of his cards. It was one of the first that he collected, a Redanian Archer. Fragile, but powerful with the right defense. “It’s...nice,” he murmured, “to just relax for a night.”

    Jaskier didn’t even acknowledge the wine when it was set before him, his eyes trained solely on Geralt. “Would you play me?”

    Geralt actually laughed at that, the bastard. “Do you even have a deck?”

    “I will have you know, dear Witcher,” Jaskier patted the pockets of his doublet and trousers frantically, “that it is damned near impossible to travel across the Continent without amassing a wonderful collection of Gwent cards. I quite like my current deck, it has a lot of...character.”

    Geralt smirked, shuffling all of his cards back into his deck. “What will I get when I win?”

    “How very presumptuous, Ger-Aha!” Jaskier exclaimed, yanking out a vibrant purple pouch from the inner pocket of his doublet. “Terrible form really, dear heart, to assume you would best me so easily.”

    Geralt shrugged, drawing the top ten cards from his deck. He took a generous gulp of his ale as he looked over his hand. Nothing stellar, but he could work with it. 

    Jaskier shuffled his own deck, flicking the cards back and forth in an effort to ensure the most efficient spread. “Alright. IF you win, my Witcher, you may have anything. Whatever first pops into your mind, it is yours. Same for me, if I find myself victorious. Deal?”

    Jaskier’s eyes, so bright and blue and shining with mischief, caught Geralt off guard. He nodded and watched Jaskier deal himself ten cards as well. He traded two out, shuffling them back into the deck before holding Geralt’s hard-earned coin out in the palm of his hand. “Heads or tails?”

    Geralt glanced at his own hand and found that he doesn’t really mind whether he went first or second. “Tails.”

    Jaskier smiled and spun the coin into the air before it clattered back onto the table, heads-up. “Then I suppose I will go first.”

    And this is where, dear reader, things took a turn. 

    Geralt felt like he had whiplash throughout the entire first round. Thanks to the first card that Jaskier played, every subsequent card was near impervious thanks to the additional 2 armor provided. As soon as Geralt realized that he was bound to lose the first round he played a card with Resilience in an effort to secure the second. But then, Jaskier played Queen of the Night, instantly purifying his Vandergrift and rendering him useless. 

    And then, the next card from Jaskier’s hand, was that-

    “Wait, hang on. Eskel has a Gwent card?” Geralt blinked, reaching for the card on the table. 

    “Oh yes, he’s a lovely one. He boosts himself by one every. Single. Turn.” Jaskier polished off the remainder of his wine with a flourish, resting his chin on his hand and waiting for Geralt’s next turn. Geralt sighed and did some mental math before placing a Tridam Infantry. Next turn, he could place a Temerian Drummer, and there would be enough turns left for those two to damage Jaskier’s cards enou-

    “I think I’ll pass now, darling.” Jaskier smiled, folding his three remaining cards into his hand. Jaskier currently had a score of 23, while Geralt had 11. Shit. 

    Geralt sighed, folding his own cards into his hand. “Pass.” He knew that if he tried to outscore Jaskier on this turn, he’d only barely make a higher value, and it would put him an extra card short in the final round. 

    Jaskier smirked, drawing another three cards and motioning for Geralt to do the same. They cleared the board into their respective graveyards, and Jaskier perused his cards. 

    “Pass, dear.”

    Geralt hummed, cursing himself on the spot. It was an easy tactic, one that would leave him with two less cards than Jask in the final round. Well, at least I didn’t push it.

    And then Geralt was faced with another hard decision. His hand now only held valuable cards, and he’d have to waste one to win this round. Fuck. 

    He put down his Roche: Merciless, hating every moment of it. Damn, that’s a good card.

    Jaskier’s smirk only grew as Geralt then slid the card to the graveyard, each of them drawing three cards each once more. 

    Once again, Jaskier’s deck baffled Geralt. He started with Villentretenmerth, which cost Geralt his Donimir of Troy. Somehow, miraculously, as Geralt played his last card, he could see himself pulling away with the win. He had two Kaedweni Revenants, as well as a Vivienne: Oriole that had been boosted to 12. That put him at 18, and Jaskier was only at 10. Geralt couldn’t realistically see him closing that gap with his final card. 

    “Odd deck you have there, Jaskier,” Geralt finished off his own ale. 

    “Yes, it does have a bit of spice, hmm?” Jaskier frowned, scratching at the stubble on his chin. His hair flopped over his forehead and something in Geralt’s gut really wanted to reach out and push it back, to feel his hair between his fingers. Geralt shook the thoughts off, his toes bouncing inside his boot. 

    “You know, I think I may have saved the best card for last.” Jaskier sighed as he set the card in the melee row. Geralt: Professional. Damage an enemy unit by 3. If its power was a multiple of 3, destroy it instead. 

    Geralt’s stomach plummeted as Jaskier took his 12 power Oriole and sent it to the graveyard, his brain spinning with the math. Jaskier: 13, Geralt: 6. 

    “What the hell was that, Jaskier?” Geralt asked, breathless. Jaskier stood and held out his hand, waiting patiently for a final shake. Geralt gave it to him while his mind played catch-up, trying desperately to comprehend how his bard had beaten him so thoroughly at his own game. And, wait a minute, when did I start thinking of him as *my* bard?

    They collected their cards and returned to their shared room, Geralt still silently stunned. 

    “Well,” Jaskier clasped his hands together before shucking off his doublet, “I would like to claim my prize.”

    Geralt looked over at Jaskier, his chemise undone and a blush creeping up the solid line of his chest. His eyes had a nervous air about them, and his fingers flexed at his sides. 

    Jaskier closed the distance between them, standing just shy of Geralt’s grasp. “What would you have asked for if you had won?” 

    Geralt glanced down to Jaskier’s lips, finding them pink and plump and yearning for his own. “I-I would’ve asked...for you.”

    Jaskier bit his lip and slunk his hand up around Geralt’s neck. “Oh, Geralt. You have me. Always have, and always will.”

    Geralt pressed into Jaskier’s hand at the nape of his neck. “And you, Jask? What do you choose for your prize?”

    Jaskier smiled, his eyes watering the smallest bit. “You.”

    Geralt sighed as Jaskier’s lips pressed against his, warm and wet and so perfect that his knees felt close to buckling. He braced himself on Jaskier’s hips, his hands fisting into the delicate fabric of his chemise with fervor. Jaskier’s tongue licked into his mouth and Geralt moaned into him. Jaskier tasted of wine and flowers and summer and Geralt was intoxicated. 

    Jaskier parted first, resting his forehead on Geralt’s as he caught his breath. “Well,” he panted, “if I had known it would be this easy I would’ve taken up Gwent ages ago.”

    Geralt chuckled, pulling Jaskier back in for another kiss. For he feared that he would never be sated, not when Jaskier was right there with Geralt as his prize.

[bauslut]

as you are | v.

word count: 4.390k

warnings: cursing, sexual innuendos, angst, some arguing, references to murder, discussion of serial killers, references to violences, nc-17

a/n: hello! this is the fifth chapter of my hotch fic ! i’ve been putting a lot of work into this, so all feedback is appreciated !!! <33 let me know if you owuld like to be tagged :)) chapters three and four are linked below ! i hope you guys enjoy !!! 

| iii. | iv. |

(i don’t own this gif)

ding. 

the quiet chime of the elevator echoed through the compact space as the doors slid open. a brunette stood, her thumbs gliding across a dimly lit screen, her brow furrowed in concentration, teeth gnawing on the inside of her cheek, 

aaron hotchner stepped forward, nudging the brunette as he swiveled on his heel, “good morning.”

today, she was clad in a pair of black skinny jeans, the denim hugging the fullness of her thighs. on her top half, she bore a simple black sweater, the texture a cable-knit stitch. the neckline was a v-neck, cutting down only inches above her breasts. she wore her hair down, the locks falling lazily, sweeping along her shoulders. 

“morning,” aaron’s lips parted as his gaze wandered, admiring her for just a moment, “i like your sweater.” 

“i bet you like the hickeys too.”

aaron’s gaze traveled to her collarbone, the deep burgundy marks painting her pale complexion, scattered in a line, starting from her collarbone and flowing well into the hem of her sweater. a thin layer of powder concealed the severity of the plum and crimson tones, but they weren’t concealed. a blush spread, cheeks a slight tinge pink. yet, his lips curved into a smug smirk, satisfaction coursing through his veins.

he left those marks on her. 

and he more than pleased that it was his doing. 

“i sure do,” his voice was light, laced with a tease, “you look beautiful today, rowan.”

her head tilted up, a broad grin enveloping her features, “thank you. you look quite--”

the elevator whirred to a halt, the doors opening once more. aaron cleared his throat, dipping his head, “after you.”

dozens of eyes fixated on the pair as they strode from the elevator. morgan and garcia were gathered around the printer, their conversation ceasing as rowan and hotch strolled over to their respective desks, the door of hotch’s office nearly slamming shut. jj was perched at her own desk, springing to her feet the moment hotch’s blind’s were drawn. reid, nose deep in a novel, set the book down, spinning around in his chair to face rowan. prentiss and rossi sauntered over to the young agent’s desk, eyes blazing with curiosity, eager to bombard with a flurry of questions.

“so,” rossi took a sip of his coffee, “how was babysitting little hotch?”

“it was fine,” rowan shrugged, “i mean, hotch’s apartment is pretty cold and bare, a little like him. but jack was so sweet. maybe he takes after his mother. by the way, was hotch a little distressed yesterday? he seemed really tense when i spoke with him on the phone.”

“hotch was thinking about you all day!” garcia chirped, her head bobbing with every word, “god, he was so fucking distraught because you weren’t there. and the amount of times he called you just to check in? ugh he was so--”

“he was really worked up,” prentiss exhaled, “and part of that was our fault. we were tormenting him and we’re sorry.”

“why were you guys teasing--”

“he even lied about you babysitting jack,” morgan remarked, butting in, “when we met in the conference room to discuss the case, he kept saying your name while he was on the phone. we all heard but he was playing it off like you were some ‘shannon’ or something.”

“oh?” rowan arched a brow, “why would he lie--”

“wait,” jj stuck out a hand, her eyes flickering towards rowan’s neck, “is that what i think that is?”

as the pairs of eyes followed jj’s line of sight, rowan shifted uncomfortably, swallowing a lump in her throat, “it’s not what--”

“is that a hickey?” rossi licked his lips, “how in the world did you receive a hickey whilst babysitting? does jack have a biting problem or something?” 

“maybe it was big hotch,” garcia stated, prodding morgan, “not the little one, of course. that would’ve been weird if jack bit her.”

morgan glanced over to hotch’s office, folding his arms across his chest, then returned his focus to rowan, “don’t tell me that he paid you by--”

“i-it was nothing like that,” rowan stammered, tripping over her words, “i stayed at the hotchner residence until aa-hotch returned home from the case. then i promptly went home.”

“so why was your car parked at an open area?” garcia pressed, “when you didn’t come in yesterday morning, i pulled up your location on the gps of your car. it said you were at the park off north and second.”

“that was a halfway point for hotch and i to meet,” rowan bit her tongue, cheeks flushed, “i live forty minutes from here. he didn’t want me to drive.”

“that’s pretty generous for a man like hotch,” morgan mused, “i don’t believe a single word coming from your mouth rivers, i hope you know that.”

“if you guys want the truth,” rowan huffed, “i blacked out the other night, was so hungover i could barely move, and hotch told me he needed a babysitter. i took up the offer because i felt horrible that i couldn’t come in. now, are you guys satisfied or are you going to keep pestering me about a hickey like some stupid high schoolers?”

prentiss inhaled a sharp breath, poised for a retort when a door swinging open startled the mass huddled around the desk, “what is going on here?”

“we were just asking rivers if she was okay sir,” prentiss responded, her tone cool, voice smooth. 

“i’m afraid that we don’t have the time or resources for gossip,” hotch snorted, hands grasping the railing, “everyone, back to your desks this instant. rivers, i need to speak with you in my office.”

“now sir?” 

“now,” his voice rang through the office, eyes hardened into a fiery glare. 

a shudder coursed through rowan as she rose to her feet, shuffling towards his office. the team giggled as they retreated to their desks, unfazed by hotch’s statement. every step was agonizing under his intense stare, the agent nearly cowering in her boots.

yet, the second she was in the office with the door shut, his hands were on hers, intertwining their fingers together. his touch tender, voice lowered to a quiet whisper, “are you okay?”

“besides the relentless teasing i’m fine,” rowan muttered, careful to avoid eye contact.

“welcome to my world for the past twenty four hours,” fingertips brushed her forehead, “i was more concerned if you had a headache or not. i’ve noticed they flare up when you’re anxious or under stress.”

“if this is what’s going to happen every time i watch jack then i’m not doing it anymore.” she mumbled, breaking away from his touch. 

muttering a strand of words, hotch crossed over to his desk, “i mean, you’re not his designated babysitter anyway. you were drunk and i came and got you the night before. nothing more to it. it’s not happening again, anyway.”

rowan flinched, shocked at the venomous barb laced in his words, “but i would miss my new friend, he’s a really good kid, aaron. he’s so sweet. he reminds me of you.”

aaron hotchner nearly cracked, demeanor nearly crumbling down in that moment. 

but he couldn’t. not here. not now. 

clearing his throat, his voice hardened, edged with authority, “it would be best for the both of us if it never happened again.”

“but--” she pleaded, desperate to break him down. to reason with him. 

yet, the damage was already done. 

the unit chief slumped in his chair, not budging one bit, “no. we can’t do that again, okay? it wouldn’t end well.”

tears sprang into rowan’s eyes, her lower lip trembling, “i-i was thinking that i would stay behind with garcia today. after all, i don’t deserve to travel anyways. i lied about a sick day.”

hotch’s head snapped up, pure shock plastered across his features, “rowan it was okay that you--”

“i’m staying behind.”

david rossi sat on the edge of spencer reid’s desk, toying with a pencil, focused on the scene unfolding in aaron hotchner’s office. emily prentiss lurked nearby, pacing back and forth. 

“what could they possibly be talking about?”

“from the look of it, it’s not pretty,” rossi remarked, letting out a sigh, “i think they’re arguing. she’s standing a few feet away from his desk. he seems agitated. his jaw is clenched and he has that little glare when he’s upset.”

morgan took a swig of coffee, “maybe he didn’t use a condom,” 

“oh stop,” penelope swatted him with a stack of papers. 

“no,” rossi shook his head, “trust me, if aaron hotchner got laid, he would look a lot happier than he is right now.”

“do you really think that they hate another?” garcia whined, lips curving into a pout as she nuzzled her head against morgan’s shoulder, earning a peck on the forehead. 

“no. there’s this fondness in his eyes when he looks at her. it tells me everything that i need to know.”

“but rowan is far too intelligent for him,” reid butt in, his book thudding against the wood.

“i don’t think so,” rossi countered, “because i’m pretty sure if she was as smart as you say she is, she wouldn’t fall for a man twice her age. a man who’s going through a messy divorce, at th--”

the door of the office opened, rowan’s lower lip trembling, eyes tinged red with tears. garcia perked up, rossi remaining on the edge of desk, folding a piece of paper. the team was silent as rowan approached them, the brunette sniffling.

“garcia,” the technical anaylst’s name was a broken whimper, “uh, hotch wants me to stay behind with you today.”

“don’t tell me he’s punishing you--” rossi began, swiftly interrupted by garcia.

“okay honey bunny,” garcia chirped, shooting rossi a glare, “i’ll even let you borrow my chair. it’s a little bit more comfy than the others.”

“hey guys,” jj greeted, arms loaded with a stack of manila folders, “i just received the call minutes ago. a department in washington invited us onto a case. we’re about to meet in the conference room.”

garcia wrapped a comforting arm around rowan’s shoulder, “come on love, let’s go meet with the others.”

letting out a shaky breath, rowan followed the rest of the team, mustering every last bit of strength to not crack. to not shed another tear. yet, as she entered the conference room, she could practically feel the heat embedded within his burning stare.

“god,” his breath was hot against her neck, teeth grazing the flesh, “you’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?”

“a-aaron,” his name dripped from her lips as her fingers laced into his hair, tugging at the roots, “aaron, please, god. don’t stop.”

her back was to the couch, his body hovering over hers, one hand underneath her shirt, resting on her hip, the pad of his thumb brushing the hem of her jeans. every single part of her was hot to the touch, cheeks flushed, lashes fluttering, jaw slack as his mouth roamed, savoring every inch of her with his tongue. 

“you like this, don’t you?” he smirked against her skin, “you like when i leave my mark, don’t you baby?”

“god yes,” her nod was meek as he sucked harshly, “p-please don’t stop, aaron.”

“i won’t,” he was panting now, riled up from the heat of the moment, adrenaline pumping through his veins, “i won’t fucking stop.”

“rivers,” her name was spat out, cruel and unforgiving, “do i need to send you home? pay attention.”

blinking, rowan swallowed thickly, cheeks flushing as she noticed the pairs of orbs trained on her, “sorry.”

“jerk,” garcia rolled her eyes, the mutter barely audible. 

aaron continued speaking, discussing the parameters of travel, along with some brief victimology of the murderers. propping her head up with her hand, rowan doodled a few scribbles on the file, completely oblivious to any word flooding her ears, her mind wandering to the memory. 

“wheels up in thirty,” hotch announced, flicking his wrist to check the time, “and rivers, i would like to speak with you.”

“i’m all ears,” the agent exhaled, not breaking away from the doodles as the team filed out from the space, a vicious banter rising among them. 

the unit chief slid into the seat beside her, his hand inching closer and closer to her forearm, “are you okay?”

the brunette recoiled away from his touch, her tone icy cold, “i’m fine.”

“you’re more than welcome to join us,” his voice was gentle, “you don’t have to punish yourself for what happened yesterday. really, it’s fine that you babysat jack. i was more than happy you accepted the offer, actually.”

the brunette didn’t utter a single word, only leaping to her feet. pushing the chair in, she avoided any eye contact, gaze focused on the floor, boots thudding against the surface with every step. 

“well, i already promised garcia that i would be front and center for today. sorry, but i’m going to decline the offer, hotch. thanks though.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“so what’s up with you?” 

aaron hotchner drew in a deep breath, throwing his head against the leather, “morgan, i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“all right mr. dark and brooding over there,” prentiss’ voice was light with a mocking tone as she flipped through a page in a magazine, “you look like you saw someone step on a puppy.” 

hotch’s left eye twitched, “i’m upset because we’re missing a member of the team.”

“i don’t think you normally act this way when i’m sick.” a smug smirk painted morgan’s lips as he wrapped headphone cords around his phone, “but perhaps i’m not as important as rivers.”

“yeah, what about the time spencer was shot?” rossi interjected, drumming his fingers along the armrest, “you didn’t seem nearly as distraught then. the poor kid was shot in the damn leg.”

“i was distraught--” 

morgan snickered, taking a bite of a granola bar, “it’s okay to admit you miss rowan, loverboy. we can all tell.”

“we know you like her, hotch,” jj cut in, her voice smooth with satisfaction. 

“she’s annoying.”

aaron almost couldn’t believe the scene that was unfolding before him. 

his team, people he’s worked with for years, people he’s grown to love and care for, were teasing him over a coworker. people who loved to dish out snide and crude remarks constantly to one another but rarely to him, were beginning to catch on. they were nagging him over a coworker. 

a cute coworker, at that. 

a cute coworker who he was beginning to fall for, at that. 

“annoyingly cute,” rossi clasped his hands together, eyes alight with laughter.

“david rossi, so help me god, i will land this jet myself,” he growled, clutching the armrest with an iron grip, “and when i land this jet, i’ll write all of you up for insubordination.” 

“oh? he’s getting defensive now guys, so i must be pushing all the right buttons,” rossi called to the others, earning an eruption of laughter. 

the agent clambered out of his seat, crossing the aisle to hotch. mocha-colored orbs bore into his suit, rossi plucking a strand of hair off the shoulder, inspecting it in the light, “i didn’t know you were a brunette.”

aaron flinched, his heart lurching in his chest, “t-that belongs to jack.”

“the kid is fucking blonde!” prentiss retorted, setting the magazine down on her lap. 

“why don’t you just admit to us that you like her?” morgan pressed, eagerly anticipating hotch’s response.

“i don’t know what you guys are talking about. i can’t stand her,” hotch stumbled over the words, a crimson hue tainting his cheeks. 

“i’m sure that’s why you bring her coffee in the morning,” reid remarked, toying with a game of chess. 

“i’m sure that’s why you always assign her with you,” prentiss chimed in. 

“i’m sure that’s why you started bringing ibuprofen to work,” jj retaliated. 

morgan lifted a leg, crossing them together, “and i’m sure that’s why we have a photo of her sleeping on your lap.”

“w-wait, there’s a photo of that?”

“so he admits it happened,” morgan winked to prentiss, who stifled a giggle. 

“okay that’s it,” hotch tsked, thrusting an index finger at every single member of his team, “none of you are working on the case. you’re all going to wait in the hotel while i handle it all myself.”

“oh, come on hotch!” prentiss gasped, her magazine falling to the floor. 

“i hate to remind you all,” hotch cleared his throat, his tone firm as he spoke, “but we are on a case here. we’re not here to mess around and tease one another. i would appreciate it if you guys weren’t so nosy about my personal life. if i was involved with agent rivers in any way, i would let you guys know. but for now, let’s focus on the case.”

the team fell silent, returning to whatever it is that they were all doing. yet, rossi remained unfazed by hotch’s stern words, mouth curved into a mischievous smile, before dealing out one final blow. 

“i am well aware of the case we’re on. it’s the investigation of whether or not aaron hotchner harbors romantic feelings for rowan rivers.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

rain pattered against the roof of the police station, a huddle of individuals gathered around a singular white board, aaron hotchner watching intently as dr. reid spoke with the cops, providing a clear and concise profile of the unsub, pointing and referring to crime scene photos and the police sketch of the unsub. hotch was vigilant, composed and cool-headed, ready to speak when necessary. 

forks, washington was a quaint town, located off the olympic peninsula. it was a quiet, friendly, place, most commonly known for its deep roots with the logging industry. nothing but endless woods sprawled around the community, making it a perfect location for a serial killer.

there was plenty of space to dump bodies, lots of shrubbery for cover, and little to no interaction with locals. many of them were reserved, not willing to comply with the local police. however, hotch didn’t blame them. 

the bau was on hunt to apprehend a serial killer who happened to post his grisly murders online, for thousands upon thousands of viewers to watch. there were even points in time where there was a live feed, the killer masked, clothed in dark fabric. his motive was unclear, as he had no specific type of victim, and his reasoning for posting the killings online was a mystery. 

which, made it nearly impossible to even make any progress in the case. 

that was until rossi suggested that they fly penelope garcia out to forks. after all, the killer managed to flee his residence after leaking the address. computers was garcia’s niche, where she was most comfortable and knowledgeable. 

and that’s why they needed her. 

yet, hotch’s mind drifted, wandering to another matter. 

it seemed no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he resisted, rowan rivers was on his mind, filling his thoughts. 

the memory of their interaction merely hours ago left an awful taste in the unit chief’s mouth. aaron needed rowan in washington, more than she knew. her cool-head, along with quick-wit was a valuable asset to the flow of the team.

god, did he absolutely loathe the image that was permanently burned in his lids. rowan standing in his office, trembling as the tears streamed down her cheeks, pleading for him to reason with her, begging for him to stop while he was ahead. the aspect that haunted him the most was the hurt in her eyes, her voice cracking with every word.  

god, did he feel so fucking stupid. 

“do you think that they’re on their way yet?” rossi leaned over, the question flooding hotch’s left ear. 

“i’m not sure when they’ll arrive,” the unit chief’s attention traveled to the watch on his wrist, “we only called them a couple of hours ago. it’s a long flight from virginia.” 

“you’re not wrong about that. i miss the kid, really. do you miss her?” 

“is now really the time?” hotch choked back an exasperated sigh, careful not to raise his voice, not to disturb the briefing. 

“you miss her,” rossi affirmed, careful not to crack too broad of a smile, “i know you do.”

“you’re just gloating because we needed garcia,” hotch muttered, “and that meant rowan was going to tag along too.”

“you’re just lucky that we happen to have such an amazing technical analyst,” rossi elbowed hotch playfully, “they should be here any minute now. maybe you should greet her first, hmm? do a little bit of kiss and make up?” 

“rossi--”

“oh look,” rossi nodded his head towards the entrance of the station, “there they are now.”

the second his eyes fell on her, his heart skipped a beat, breath hitching in his throat. 

“excuse me,” hotch stuck out a hand, signaling to the officers and bau members that he was going to step away, “our technical analyst and another agent just arrived. please, continue dr. reid.”

“this place is so dreary,” garcia wrinkled her nose to rowan, whispering. 

the comment earned a quiet chuckle from the agent, “it’s washington penelope, what did you expect?”

“well even the inside of the station is just so--”

“good evening,” the unit chief couldn’t help but crack a smile, placing a tender hand on garcia’s shoulder, “how was the flight?”

“boring,” garcia huffed, whirling around, “and this place? absolutely horrid, hotch. there’s not a single splash of color anywhere! it’s just all depressing and dreadful!”

“well you’ll be happy to know that a lot of your work won’t be at the station. already, we have the unsub’s personal laptop. it’s currently at his residence, but we’ll get it to you in the morning.” 

“oh thank god,” garcia clutched her chest, “how are things going?”

“babygirl!” a gush sounded from a few feet away. 

“excuse me,” garcia beamed, brightening as morgan whistled, “there is a very handsome man waiting for me over there and i feel oh so compelled to greet him.”

rowan’s hands were behind her back, the toe of her right boot drawing lazy circles into the carpet, “hey.”

“hey,” aaron murmured, his hand gravitating towards her shoulder. his thumb flicked back and forth, tracing soothing circles into her shoulder, “are you all right?”

“i wasn’t expecting a trip to washington,” she shrugged slightly, “but i’m here now.”

“we’re finished for the night. reid just delivered the profile to the local p.d.”

“so what now?” rowan inquired, readjusting the strap of her bag. 

“dinner and then some sleep,” he replied, noticing the team trickling away from the conference room, heading towards the exit, “we should catch up. they’re about to leave us.”

“oh shit.”

aaron’s brow furrowed as he noticed the strands of hair clinging to her forehead, soaked and dampened, clothes darkened a shade, “did you forget a coat?”

“we were in a rush,” rowan protested, bringing her arms close to her body as a shudder ran through her body, “is it cold to you in here?”

aaron extended an arm, offering her a beige trenchcoat, “here.”

“what?” rowan’s lips parted with shock, “aaron, please. i-i don’t need a--”

“you’re going to catch a cold,” he took a step behind her, draping the coat around her shoulders, “you’re soaking wet and need to warm up.”

“no i won’t,” her mouth fell into a pout, the lower lip jutting out, “aaron please--”

“take it,” his hands grasped her shoulders, his head hovering just beside her ear, “you need it.”

“thank you.”

“you’re welcome,” his mouth drifted upwards, lips merely inches away from her temple, “let’s meet up with the rest of the team.”

the pair made their way out of the station, the hem of aaron’s coat sweeping against the ground as rowan walked, the arms draping against her sides. his hand lingered on her lower back, guiding her towards the chatter of the team as they loaded up the suburbans, discussing god knows what. 

“the turtle doves have reunited,” morgan taunted, throwing his bag in the trunk, “a lot of us were talking about the plans for dinner, hotch. we’re thinking about just ordering room service or ordering some pizza.”

“have you seen this place?” rowan piped up, “i don’t think the inn has room service dumbass.”

“my favorite agent has arrived,” rossi strutted up to rowan, holding out his fist, “how was the flight kiddo?” 

“i slept the entire time so i feel pretty good,” rowan answered, initiating an intricate handshake with the agent, “really though, what is there to eat around here?”

“i bet hotch has some ideas for dess--” morgan’s voice crescendoed into a grunt as garcia elbowed his side.

“there’s a local diner not too far from here,” reid chimed in, invested in his phone, “i don’t know about you guys, but i’m really craving some key lime pie.”

“i’m with you there!” rowan gushed, “come on guys, let’s go get something to eat.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“so what are we doing for rooms?” rowan turned to rossi, hotch’s coat still draped across her shoulders, “i was hoping that they could squeeze us in for an extra room but it appears that it was too late.” 

“well the plan was for reid and i to share a room, then morgan and hotch. the ladies were just going to be with one another. but it seems now that since you and garcia have arrived, there may be a change of plans.”

“are you serious?” the brunette rolled her eyes as garcia slipped into morgan’s room, “don’t fraternization rules exist in the bureau?”

“sometimes,” rossi’s eyes twinkled with amusement, “but not always in the bau.”

“so what now?” 

“well,” rossi gestured down the hall, “you have a couple of choices. you can room with the ladies, but you’d have to either sleep on the floor or cram into a bed with one of them. or, you have one other option.”

rowan’s focus shifted as she noticed hotch huddled with morgan and reid, his voice a low murmur, “rossi, please don’t tell me--”

“there is one person you could room with.”

“and who would that be?” the brunette deadpanned, her foot tapping against the carpet, arms folded across her chest.  

“the owner of that coat.”

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

tagged: @sapphicstars​​ @littlevodika​ @colorlessfl0wers​

[fullyfunctionalapprentice]

☮️- is my muse a “hippie” or are they more traditional/straight-laced? // 🍺- is my muse a drinker? If yes, what is their alcohol of choice? // 🗡- does my muse know how to use weapons? What purpose do they serve?

Bless you for sending the prompt description as well as the symbols, and thank you for your patience with me taking forever to answer! I may or may not have just now figured out how to get into my inbox lol

Are they more a hippie or more straight laced?

Neither of them is what one might call straight-laced - if nothing else because neither will come within a million miles of "straight!" Hippie doesn't quite fit, either, because they're both very practical people.

As Aleis would put it: magic is part of nature, and they approach it as such, with an eye to balance. Their approach to rules and social conventions is that these things exist for the benefit of the ruled, and that, if fear must enter the equation at all, it should be the government that fears its people, rather than the other way around; basic respect is innate, but authority-respect is to be earned.

Turel would say essentially the same thing, but as a far more concise "approach the world with compassion and critical thinking." Aleis draws a lot of their ethos from him, and from their grandfather, who was a friend of his.

Beer - is my muse a drinker, and if so, what is their drink of choice?

Aleis is extremely fond of beer and Scotch-style whisky. They have an island retreat, much like Asra's Nopal home, where they brew and distill a variety of stouts and a smoky, peaty, smooth Islay type Scotch. They don't like sweeter whisky, and they prefer their beer dark, but they'll try most styles, as long as it makes sense in context, which absolutely does translate to "they'll only drink pilsner on a hot summer day, if there isn't a hazy IPA."

They have one or two drinks most day, savored rather than swigged, because they Do Not Enjoy getting plastered. If they're hanging out with someone, they might get a bit tipsy, but beyond that...let's say the only one of the main 6 with a chance of keeping up with them is Nadia.

Turel, on the other hand, has a pretty average tolerance...proportionately. That's kinda key. He is also inclined to savour, and absolutely will NOT let himself get drunk. His tastes are versatile - he's always interested in trying what locals recommend and discovering new things, though he is profoundly unimpressed with novelty-for-novelty's-sake. Humans have been making booze for thousands of years; there is a lot to discover and enjoy, and absolutely no point in drinking swill.

Sword - do they know how to use weapons? What purpose do they serve?

Aleis is adept with dagger and hand-and-a-half sword, for both defense and competition. They do have genuine fighting experience, but no military past - as a sword-dancer and martial artist, they view a weapon as an instrument which can be used in a demonstration of skill or to shishkabob a motherfucker. Their fighting-as-art is powerful and graceful, while their fighting-as-defense is efficient and brutal, with or without weaponry. They are very careful to never point a sharpened weapon at someone they aren't prepared to use it on.

Turel usually wears a versatile hunting knife at his hip, and, as one might expect of a traveller, carries a hardwood staff the length of his body. It's good for safely investigating things, hanging wet clothes over a fire, catching one's balance on unsteady terrain, etc. It is also, no matter what Morga told Muriel to calm him down, absolutely a potentially lethal weapon, especially for someone of Turel's strength.

That is largely irrelevant, because he is skilled enough with it that, with a razor attached to the tip, he could shave a bee in mid-flight. Which is a super fucking weird way of putting it, but that's Turel for ya! The same could be said of damn near any weapon - once upon a very long time ago, he was a warrior-mage trained since childhood. After a long lifetime, it's instinctive to weigh how something balances in your hand, how it moves, how it shields and how it kills. From there, it's a short step to using it without *having to kill with it.*

He never forgets that killing is a weapon's ultimate purpose. Not ultimate as in best, but ultimate as in last. That means that any item which is a weapon *by design* is a potential escalation, and that's why he does not carry any thing that is meant to be a weapon. If he has to fight, he is likeliest to fight bare-handed. The body is the oldest weapon, and the one in which his skill is most consummate. He aims to finish a fight as rapidly and with as little bloodshed as possible.