#and don’t even get me started on how his battle fatigue will make him finally fucking snap and beat shit up at school

[flowercrowngods]

thinking about hopper who suddenly has two kids in his grandfather’s hut that he’s not entirely sure how he acquired them. thinking about hopper who tries to get steve to talk, and even after he relents, keeps asking steve “how are you?” which he knows is a loaded question but might be the only offer a boy looking right through him might accept.

thinking about steve who spends days unmoving except for when he accepts food or reaches for el’s hand — the only offer he does accept. thinking about steve who gets nauseous at the idea of driving because what if he gets me and makes me get behind the wheel until i’m unable to stop the car. thinking about steve who stares at the phone on the wall not quite recalling robin’s number anymore because his thoughts have stopped taking shapes that aren’t about death and destruction, but he’s sure he could never forget the muscle memory of dialling her house phone. thinking about steve who tries to have mental conversations with robin that always end with the memories of her death, so he tries and fails to think about her, crying silent tears that won’t stop running down his face.

thinking about steve who always gets uncomfortably warm because he knows el feels safe like that, but also remembering will’s screams of agony as the mindflayer was tortured out of his body with heat. thinking about steve who goes outside in winter wearing only a t-shirt to see if it’s still cold, to see if he still shivers, to see if it’s still bad when it’s cold. terrified that the lightning scar in his arm means something other than the remnants of pain.

thinking about hopper who finds a hypothermic steve shivering and stuttering through a barely coherent explanation of “i wanted t-to see if he— if he’s s-still not there”

thinking about steve who flays his own mind, thinking he’s a monster

[cuddlepilefics]

SKZ Season Greetings - 18

Little sheep

When Jisung and Minho went to check on Hyunjin, the dancer turned restlessly in his sleep, groaning hoarsely. Taking a seat next to him, Jisung felt his forehead and hummed: “His temperature is up. Wouldn’t be surprised if he was trapped in a nightmare.” – “Should we wake him?”, Minho wondered, taking in the younger’s sweat-damp bangs and flushed cheeks. Jisung shrugged, brushing a strand of hair out of Hyunjin’s face. “I’ll run this under cold water”, Minho announced, collecting the damp washcloth and making his way to the bathroom. While he was gone, Hyunjin startled awake and gasped weakly. Cupping his chin, Jisung whispered: “You’re okay. It was only a dream, don’t worry. How do you feel? Your fever went up again….”

It took a moment for Hyunjin to realize where he was and when he had finally deciphered Jisung’s words, he whimpered: “W-Water ple-please?” – “Be right back”, the rapper promised as he got to his feet. He was quick to trade places with Minho, who gently dabbed the sweat off Hyunjin’s brow and shushed: “We got you, Jinnie. Close your eyes for me.” By the time Minho was finishing up, wiping his dongsaeng’s face, Jisung returned with a glass of cold water. “I go you water. Do you think you can sit up?”, he asked softly. Hyunjin nodded but it seemed to take unspeakable effort as his sore muscles protested the movement.

“Thanks”, Hyunjin rasped, his voice slowly returning after a few sips. Minho was still steadying his trembling hand, so he wouldn’t spill the water on himself. Handing the glass back, he dropped his head in his hands and muttered: “My head’s killing me. How long did I even sleep?” – “I think you were out for two hours at most. Didn’t expect you to take a downturn again. Thought we were all slowly on the mend”, Minho hummed, rubbing Hyunjin’s back, “Is there anything we can get you or do you want to try sleeping some more?” Laying down once again, Hyunjin pulled the blanket up to his chin and breathed: “I really don’t wanna be awake. Not sure I can sleep but I have no energy for anything else.” – “Do you want someone to stay with you?”, Minho offered as he folded the wash cloth and draped it over the other’s forehead.

Though Hyunjin had insisted that he’d be okay on his own and would feel guilty for trapping his friends in bed now that they were finally better, Minho had settled in next to him and Jisung brought a bowl of cool water, so Minho could periodically refresh the cloth on Hyunjin’s forehead. They’d try their best to get their friend’s fever to break soon too but in the end, all they could do was support the boy while his body fought its battle. A small smile spread across Minho’s face when the bedroom door creaked open and Jeongin slipped into the room. The maknae had come over to help them take care of Hyunjin when Jisung texted their group chat to retract his former statement of them getting better.

“You should go and rest too, hyung”, Jeongin whispered as he poked Minho’s arm, “I got him for the time being.” – “You wouldn’t have needed to”, the older sniffled. Shrugging, Jeongin smiled: “True but I’m better and have some time on my hands, so I’ll gladly help out. We can take shifts, I’m not completely sidelining you but you should focus on recovering yourself first, hyung.” – “I’m better”, Minho argued but he could deny the headache still pounding behind his temples. “We know you are”, Jisung whispered from the doorway, “But you’re not fully recovered. You remember how I relapsed because I started pushing myself to early? Take it easy for a little longer, yeah?” – “I guess”, the older sighed, getting up with a wince, “Is there any news from the others?” – “Chan-hyung’s fever is gone but he’s still pretty sore and fatigued”, Jeongin mumbled as he stroked Hyunjin’s hair, “Seungmin is so sleepy, it’s adorable. We’re the most worried about Felix because he has some difficulty breathing, especially after his coughing fits. He’s coping well but his recovery will probably take the longest.”

Minho eventually allowed Jisung to drag him to the couch to rest and was already starting to drift off when the front door clicked. “Hey”, Chan smiled as he kicked off his shoes. He made his way over to Minho and felt his forehead, nodding in approval. Sitting up, the dancer winced: “What are you doing here, hyung?” – “I live here?”, Chan frowned. He had wanted to check on Hyunjin but also grab some fresh clothes that actually belonged to him because he felt like he hadn’t been home for ages though it only were a couple of days. It was nice to be back but knowing that some of his dongsaengs were sick at the other dorm stressed him out, so he wasn’t all that happy about having the group split up in two dorms again.

Sneaking into Hyunjin’s room, Chan made eye contact with Jeongin and the maknae gave him a small smile. “How is he?”, the leader worried, crouching next to the bed. Shrugging, Jeongin muttered: “Asleep for now. I think his fever is slowly going down again.” – “Alright”, Chan hummed, brushing the backs of his fingers against Hyunjin’s flushed cheek, “Just needed to come over and see for myself.” The youngest gently patted the mattress at the foot of the bed, an invitation for Chan to join them. “You’d prefer having all of us in one place again, don’t you?”, Jeongin whispered worriedly, “You get all tense and uneasy when you don’t have all your little sheep within your sight.” – “Is it really that obvious?”, the leader sighed, rubbing his face. It was true. Now that he couldn’t monitor how Felix and Seungmin were doing, he was just as stressed as he had been when he got Jisung’s message about Hyunjin. How could he not worry about his sick dongsaengs?

“Why don’t you go to your room and change your clothes, hyung? I’ll sit with Hyunjin-hyung and when he’s doing a little better, we can talk to him and the others about going back to our dorm. I get that a change of scenery is nice and all and we could just as well come over here but all our sick supplies are there”, Jeongin offered quietly. Rolling his shoulders to rid himself of the lingering soreness, Chan yawned: “I don’t wanna force anyone to stay away from home when they’re already not feeling well, so it’s not my place to tell anyone where to rest.” – “If they knew how anxious you feel with the current arrangement, I doubt they would mind”, the younger hummed, “Besides, we grew together like that. It feels nostalgic and though I do remember all the hard times we had, I still look back at it fondly.”

While Chan went to his room, Jeongin continued to change the cold cloth on Hyunjin’s forehead, smiling when the dancer woke up. “What’re you doing here, Innie?”, Hyunjin rasped, mind still muddled. His dongsaeng handed him a glass of water when he sat up. Watching the older force down a few sips, Jeongin explained: “Chan-hyung and I came over to check on you when we heard what happened. How’re you doing?” – “I feel tired an’ wrecked buh more like myself than I did earlier”, Hyunjin mumbled hoarsely. “That’s good, I guess”, Jeongin smiled, picking at his nails, “What do you think about going back over to our dorm? It’s mainly you, Felix and Seungmin, who are still sick, so we could all take care of the three of you together.” Hyunjin tensed when he realized that multiple members were here to take care of him, though Felix was much worse and needed far more care. Nodding, the dancer agreed: “Sounds like a good plan, Lixxie needs cuddles.” – “Mhm, and Chan-hyung needs all his little sheep within his sight”, Jeongin giggled, “I think hyung has separation anxiety when it comes to us….”

“Hey”, Hyunjin rasped, when him and Jeongin joined Chan, Minho and Jisung in the living room. The leader had already talked to the pair about going back to Minho’s dorm and they were both onboard with it, as long as Hyunjin would be well enough to make it over there. Chan was on his feet in an instant, cupping Hyunjin’s cheeks before resting his hands on the dancer’s shoulders. Studying the boy’s glossy eyes, Chan breathed: “You okay?” Hyunjin nodded, putting on a smile. “Can we go over to Lixxie and Seungminnie”, he asked softly. He didn’t want to humiliate Chan in case the leader really had separation anxiety and he truly did want to cuddle Felix and Seungmin. Well, mainly Felix because he doubted the vocalist would tolerate it but he could try.

Chan’s shoulders sagged, tension visibly melting off of him. They’d all be together once again. Felix too would be happy to have Hyunjin back for cuddles, his fellow dancer always a source of comfort. Coughing into his sleeve, Hyunjin winced: “Lets get going while I still have the energy.”

[codcosplayer]

Jeopardy

Grims Pov (Second person)

“John- Hurry p-please” “Sh!t, I’m almost there just hold on for me, Alright?” John called over the comms, You groaned, ‘It’s all my fault.’ And it was your fault were a sniper, not a battle ram. You were supposed to be at your post on top of the building not on the ground backed up against a wall with a shot of lead in your abdomen and a stab wound in your thigh. Let us back up, You were up at post for a mission when you saw two men getting uncomfortably close to your team’s backup vehicle, and you couldn’t shoot and give up your position, so you jumped down of the building quietly and within seconds the first man was choking on his blood, they were about prices size, maybe an inch taller. You grabbed the knife out of your left leg holster this guy was quicker than the first, he jumped at you wrestling the knife out of your hands and stabbing you in the thigh, you let out a small scream as the blade pierced your skin, you hear your name over comms but don’t have the time to answer, stabbing the man three times in the chest. Another man came around the corner, he heard your scream no doubt. He was bigger than the other two and you struggled to fight this one with a stab wound in your leg, you screwed up one move and you were on the ground with this man over you strangling you, fighting for breath you wind up a punch and hit him hard in the center of the chest winding him. He loosened his grip enough for you to get out of his grasp. Unfortunately, you end up in the same position you were in a couple of seconds ago at this point you aren’t able to breathe and you were seeing black spots that you were trying to blink away. A shot finally rang out and the man fell on you putting his complete weight on you, you pushed him off of you and sat up, that's when you felt it. The sharp white pain in your abdomen. “Grim, how copy?” Ghost asked over the comms but you didn’t answer you were in too much pain, someone said something over comms but you couldn’t hear over the ringing in your ears, you grunt putting your hand to your stomach, “‘m hit..” you said, “Sh!t the bullet went through the guy and shot you, yeah?” Ghost asks, all you can manage is a nod, you know he saw you though. “Stay still, what's your location Grim?” John said sounding frantic-ish “Just below my post-'' You wince. “John their going out, pick the pace up.” John then started jogging, you started listening to his heavy breathing to keep your mind off the blinding pain. John started sprinting as he heard your breathing turning into gasps for air, “John- Hurry p-please” “Sh!t, I’m almost there just hold on for me, Alright?” John called over the comms, you groan and look around sharply as you hear heavy footsteps. John rounds a corner and sees you, “Sh!t” John says as he picks you up putting you in his lap and applying pressure to your abdomen with one hand and to your thigh with the other only letting go to make a call over the comms, “We've gotta go, everyone get to the getaway vehicle, over.” a whimper leaves your lips as he applies more pressure, John looks around at the men you killed in awe, you had just put yourself in danger for the team to be safe. He looked at you with admiration as the team finally arrived, “John” you whimpered as he set you in the back seat, “how are they doing?” Gaz asks softly, “You know they would be a lot f--king better if your lazy a$$ would get a move on and hit the f--king gas sergeant,” John said in a harsh tone that Soap knew not to take to the heart “Mm- Joh-'' you whine as you cough harshly leaning on John, who was still applying pressure. “Am I ok?”

 You ask, “Of course, you’ll be fine. This is nothing you can’t handle.” John replied reassuringly. “Am I dying..?” Your wobbly voice made even John worried, “Like I said this isn’t something I can’t fix.” John said it trying to reassure himself along with you. “Mk,” you say as your eyes flutter, you give into the blood loss and fatigue, “No, No, No- Stay with me. Open your eyes for me- DAMIT! Please open your eyes!” John says, and you tried, you tried so hard but your vision had started fading and the ringing in your ears got louder as you shut your eyes. Part 2…?

[hellogoodbye741]

Hi! I was just reading your work on AO3 and I was thinking that I would love to see anothtake on a sun Cb nt prompt!

I was thinking a similar society like the one in “I don’t need a sub” but Culson knew he was a sub and pre New York battle he used to be a very bad handler and a mean Dom to Clint. (Not sure how dark you could make Culson but l love darkness)

After NY and with Culson dead Clint breaks down and one of the Dom of the team takes care of him. Would love some misunderstandings of Clint expecting punishment and the Dom or Doms pampering him instead! (I’d really like a Tony/Clint but I’d really be happy with any paring!)

Hello!! Thanks for the prompt, I haven't received any in forever haha. Took me a bit, sorry for the wait. Hope you like it!

Also read it here at: What is This Feeling? or under the cut below

"You better call it Coulson, I'm starting to root for this guy" Hawk said the words, and then immediately bit his tongue.

He forgot that Coulson wasn't in a good mood tonight. Sassy comments were sure to send him over the edge again.

Not that Clint complained about that. Coulson had a lot going on at all times, and he didn't need a subordinate sub sassing him over comms.

Clint would apologize when they were alone together and take his punishment like a good boy. Coulson had a certain way of handling Clint when he got mouthy. It wasn't Clint's favorite, but he would never dare say anything about how Coulson handled him.

Coulson had been his SO and his Dom for more years that Clint could count. Coulson had saved his skin on more than one occasion, and he was forever grateful that the older man had brought him into SHIELD. He knows what could have happened if he hadn't.

With that much hanger on his shoulders, how could Clint not get on his knees for the man?

Besides, it wasn't all bad. Sometimes, Coulson would rake his fingers through Clint's hair afterwards for a moment. Would tell Clint he took his punishment good.

It was nice, while it lasted.

Clint knocked himself out of his thoughts as he watched the mountain of a man fall to his knees in anguish.

Damn, that's sad.

~

Clint kept his head bent, hands tucked tight behind his back. The anticipation of the punishment was always the worst feeling for Clint. Sometimes Coulson would leave Clint for hours in this position before finally punishing him. Clint never complained, but the older he got, the worse this was on his knees. He knew he wouldn't be able to get up anytime soon, regardless of what happened during the punishment.

"I've decided to be nice to you, Clint." Coulson said from behind him. "But only because we need you in your top form. Fury just gave you a new assignment, babysitting some scientists."

Clint made sure not to shift his way when he spoke, knowing that would just anger the older man. "Yes sir.... I understand"

"Good, that's a good boy. So, because I'm so nice. Just do a hundred push ups for me. That should be easy for you. And remember your place next time you make a sassy remark, okay?"

Clint nodded his head, "Yes sir. Thank you."

Clint stretched his body out into his push up form, starting his count. If he didn't count loud enough, Coulson would make him start over. If he didn't go deep enough, Coulson would step on him during the push ups. If Coulson didn't like his form, he would make Clint do it on his knuckles.

This time, Coulson kept it simple with just the push ups. They must really need him on the next assignment if Coulson let Clint get through all 100 push ups without saying anything.

Clint collapsed against the ground after his last push up, already exhausted. He had been up since very early that morning, and it was so late in the evening. He could feel the fatigue deep in his bones.

"Was that okay sir?" He said smoothly,. controlling his breathing.

"I didn't give you permission to talk," Coulson said sharply from above him.

Clint felt Coulson's shoe press firmly against his back. Not hard enough to hurt, but just enough pressure that Clint knew he needed to be careful.

This time, Clint wisely stayed silent.

Coulson waited a beat, "You did well Clint. Thank you. Now get some rest, your new assignment starts at 0400 hrs sharp"

So there wouldn't be much sleep then, it was already midnight.

Clint waited until Coulson had removed his foot, before slowing rising to his feet and taking a shower.

He came back into the room to see a bed had been set for him on the floor.

Lovely, at least he gave me a blanket and pillow.

**

Clint groaned, resting his head back against the pillow for a moment. "Why am I back? How'd you get him out?"

Natasha looked down at him and gave him a small smile, "Cognitive re-calibration. I hit you really hard in the head."

"Thanks"

That was all that needed to be said between them. The two SHIELD Agents didn't need many words said between them at any time. They were connected on a deeper level than that. If Clint hadn't been gay, and hadn't been a sub - he was sure he and Natasha would have already been together.

Sucks, really.

"Go get cleaned up," Natasha said softly. "We've got a battle to win"

Clint groaned, "I didn't sign up for Aliens, Nat."

"Neither did I, but I guess humans were getting a bit boring"

Clint shook his head and gingerly rolled out of the bed, "I need to take a shower before I start fighting again. I don't feel clean"

"You're gonna get clean just to get dirty again?"

"Listen, I never said I was smart"

Natasha snorted, which made Clint smile. Natasha seemed to be the only person in the world he could trust to not get angry or punish him for goofing around.

Hawk went into the bathroom to clean himself up. While he was in there, he heard Captain America (the Captain America that Coulson had been so obsessed with over the years) talking with Nat. He was asking her about a pilot.

Now that Clint could do.

He volunteered without a thought, and away they went.

Here I am, fighting aliens. Who would have thought? Maybe this'll put me in Coulson's good graces.

Clint wondered where Coulson was in all this mess. He would never have given up the chance to be on the Comms for Captain America.

Clint saw the aliens come straight for the building he was ontop of. Without a thought, Hawk lept from the building and swung his way through the closest window.

He lay on the floor for a second, completely winded.

Okay, this looks bad.

He hoped no one would know what he had done. If Coulson knew he had taken such a risk without thinking, his punishment wouldn't be as easy going as when they were in New Mexico.

I would deserve it though. I should have made a better plan that just swinging blindly.

He kept that thought with him during the rest of the battle. Always tense and ready for Coulson to call his name. Coulson never did anything in public in front of anyone. Would never alert others to Clint's designation. Being a sub in this line of work was dangerous for everyone involved. It just took one bad Dom and Clint could be ruined.

He was grateful Coulson was his dom.

But he was still always on guard, waiting for that certain tick in Coulson's voice. The sound always marked that Clint was in trouble.

Clint continued to wind himself up, piling anxieties on top of each other as they saved the world, arrested Loki, and headed for the closest Shwarma place.

Clint got to the point that he thought the waiting was the punishment, his stomach so tight he could barely eat his food.

Finally, he turned to Natasha and asked her point blank.

"Where's Coulson?"

Everyone froze in their seats for a moment.

This made Clint even more nervous. What the hell was going on?

"Clint... He's gone" Nat said to him bluntly.

"... What do you mean?"

"Loki murdered him"

Clint blanched, and then spun completely out of control.

~

Clint came to in a fog. His vision was blurry, and he was laying down in a location he had not been in before.

He was surrounded by warmth, and fingers were combing through his hair.

"Whu-?" he mumbled, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

Then he remembered.

"Oh god" He sat up quickly, realizing he was curled up in someone's lap. They tried to catch him, but he flailed and fell onto the floor. "Oh shit, oh fuck"

"Hey, Clint, calm down"

Clint looked up and saw it had been Tony Stark (the Tony Stark!)'s lap that he had been curled up in. The man had his hands up and was exuding a calm and not-confrontational manner.

This confused Clint. Don't they realize what he'd done??? He got Coulson killed! Murdered! Under Clint's watch! Clint had been the reason Loki had been able to get on the HeliCarrier, which was a direct result of Coulson getting killed not to mention the hundreds of other injuries on other SHIELD personnel.

He should be punished for this! Serious punishment. My god, he should be jailed.

He felt his hands reach up to grasp at his hair as he switched over to his knees.

"Hey, hey, hey." Tony said soothingly, dropping to his knees next to Clint.

It made his breath hiss, tensing for what was about to be inflicted on him. Clint was so wrapped up in his own thoughts and anxities, that he had no control over his sub nature. No way of reigning it back in. He didn't even know Tony, and he was exposing everything to him.

He felt Tony grip his hands in his own, bringing them down towards his lap. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Clint felt his eyes well up as he looked into Tony's eyes. "Aren't you going to punish me?"

Tony was confused, "For what?"

"I killed Coulson"

"... No you didn't?"

"I did!"

"No, Loki killed Coulson"

"But I let him in! It was me! It was my fault! PUNISH ME"

"Clint, stop!"

Clint stilled, triggered by Tony's voice. It was distinctly Dom like, and Clint couldn't help but pay attention.

"Thank you for listening, pet. Now, I'm only going to say this once. You had nothing to do with Coulson being killed, okay? You're were only the control of a megalomaniac who had plans for world domination. There was nothing you could have done to stop him while under his control. Coulson went up against Loki under his own free will, and Loki was the one that killed him. You do not need punishment, not that I believe in that shit anyway. Understood?"

Clint paused for a moment, taking in Tony's words.

Pet?

Oh, he liked that. Coulson had never given Clint nicknames. He only ever called Clint by his name when they were together.

"Are you listening to me, pet?" Tony prompted again.

Clint nodded slowly, unable to do anything else but agree.

"Good. Because what I said was the truth. When was the last time anyone took care of you?" Tony brushed his fingers over Clint's hair, making him shudder.

"Coulson gave me a punishment before coming to see you. So, about a-"

"I didn't say who punished you last. I asked when the last time someone took care of you was"

He was confused by the question. Isn't punishments part of taking care of a sub? How else would they learn?

Tony sighed, "Your face just answered my question. Was Coulson your Dom?"

He nodded.

"Is that all he did? Punish you?"

Clint shrugged, "Sometimes he would brush his fingers through my hair. When I did a good job"

"But not so often, right?"

Clint shrugged again. He didn't really understand why Tony was asking all these questions.

"Did anyone else at SHIELD know about your designation?"

"Only Nat"

"I don't think Red can just count as anyone"

Clint laughed, relaxing into Tony's hold.

"How did you know I was a sub?" Clint asked softly.

Tony snorted, "It was pretty obvious. I could see the signs from a mile away the second you started freaking out. Nobody else knows though, so you're safe with me. Guess we're surrounded by neutrals. Who would have thought?"

Clint smiled, nodding his head. He felt his body relax even further into Tony's hold. He hadn't felt this relaxed in a very long time. He knew in some part of his body that he was going into a sub space, but having not experienced one, he wasn't quite sure how to handle it.

"Aw, you're spacing aren't you?"

Clint couldn't respond, content to let Tony manhandle him back onto the couch. He ended up sprawled across Tony as the other man rubbed along Clint's back and shoulders. Before long, Clint had completely dropped and was in absolute bliss.

He couldn't have moved even if a bomb went off.

He felt safe.

Tony let him doze and zone out for about an hour, before bringing him back to an even keel.

"Feeling better pet?" Tony whispered against Clint's ear.

Clint nodded, lifting up on his arms. He looked down at Tony for a moment, before smiling. "Thank you, I've never felt like that before"

Tony lifted up onto his elbows, getting closer to Clint. "I'd like to make you feel like that all the time... If you'd like me too"

Clint sat back on his heels, "Wait... What?"

Tony sat up fully, resting his hands along Clint's hips. "I want to be your Dom, full time. If you accept me, that is"

He's asking me to be my dom?

Clint wasn't used to that, either. Coulson had just announced himself Clint's Dom after a mission went wrong and Clint had dropped.

"Pet?"

"Uh yeah... no, yes. Yes please... sir"

Tony's hands gripped a little tighter on Clint's hips, before releasing. "You don't have to call me sir. I'm not a big fan of it."

"Then what do I call you?"

"My name? You don't have to use titles to be respectful to someone"

"I don't understand"

Tony let out a little sigh, "It's okay Clint. You don't have to understand everything right now, okay? We'll work on it."

"Uhm... Okay"

"Good boy"

Clint's cheeks automatically blushed. The praise was unexpected, but very welcome.

"Oh, you like that, do you pet?" Tony drawled, rubbing his hands up and down Clint's sides.

Clint nodded, tucking his chin against his chest.

"Don't hide from me, I want to see you" Tony used a hand to lift Clint's chin back up. "I like seeing your face. I was drawn to it the second I saw you."

"Me? Really?"

"Yeah, you. You're gorgeous, did you know that?"

Clint shook his head. He never thought of himself in that way. Whatever he and Coulson had had, it wasn't sexual. He hadn't had many relationship before that either.

"I don't... I don't know what to say" Clint answered truthfully.

"Thank you for being honest, pet. But you don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know. We'll keep working on this, okay? Now, let's go get something to eat. We didn't get to finish our food earlier and I'm sure you're starving"

"...Yeah, I could eat"

"Come on then pet, I'll have JARVIS order us some take out"

"... Who's Jarvis?"

~

Clint laughed, tucking his body tightly against Tony's. Natasha and Steve were arguing back and forth, and Thor was trying to get everyone to lift his hammer. Bruce was sitting quietly in the corner, watching the byplay amusedly.

Tony was carding his fingers through Clint's hair, all the while talking with Pepper about the latest expansion in Stark Tech.

In the kitchen, Clint could see Wanda and Vision trying to cook dinner (unsuccessfully). Bucky and Sam were lying in wait at the kitchen island, ready to put out the inevitable grease fire.

Who would have thought all these years later that this would be the result of that first Avengers battle?

"You okay pet?" Tony whispered in his ear.

Clint nodded, pressing a kiss to Tony's cheek. "I'm great."

Tony winked at him, turning back to his conversation with Pepper. Clint looked around and noticed Natasha looking at him. He winked at her, and blew a raspberry. Nat rolled her eyes, but smiled.

Clint couldn't believe how lucky he was.

Nothing could ruin this feeling....

[adventures-of-the-creeping-bam]

NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM,  BOOK FOUR: THE HUNT - CHAPTER 31

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Boof 4 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT:  Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE:  VIFRI

“You really think that’s a smart move?”  Udre exclaims now, I hear the dismay in her voice but still pick up on just how tired she is underneath it.  The same as the rest of ‘em, I know.  I been feeling the fatigue as much as the rest o’ my squad for a while now.  “I mean that’s your … Thorin, is that five now?  Really?”

I pause just short of stepping into sight of the group at large sat in the booth, not wanting to give my presence away just yet as I listen in on my friends and those they’re sharing their evening with.  Even so, most of the others are sat at the table close by, and I’m in clear view of them now, catching Gril’s eye quick enough as he gives his a roll.  Like he’s heard this a thousand times before.

Tuthi just raises the tankard in her hand the rest of the way and takes a big pull from it before treating the cleric across from her a particularly sharp look that so far don’t seem too dulled by drink.  “For your information, I plan on getting good and shitfaced before we go back to … wherever it is we’re going.  I’m gonna get up sometime tomorrow afternoon with a big bastard hangover so I don’t have to think about what we had to deal with today.  You can’t stop me.”

As I step up now, her eyes shoot up to watch me pass, widening a little as she wipes her sleeve across her mouth, and while there’s a little alarm in her feeling like she’s been caught out now, I think there might be a little bit of challenge too.  I pause in front of her now, cocking a brow, and she looks away fast, visibly blanching as she sits back, putting the cup down on the table.  “Shit … um … sorry, boss.  I’m … um –”

“Carry on, Private.”  I sigh, starting to walk again but giving her a little sidelong glance as I go.  “You’re off duty now, for better or worse.  Just remember what it is we’re doing right now.”

As Tuthi growls low, her cheeks visibly darkening even more than they’ve already started to, Udre shoots her a reproachful look.  “See?  You’re being an idiot.  What if we get called back into it?  You won’t like me having to sober you up again.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”  the half-orc snarls back, but there’s no real threat in her words.  Udre’s her closest friend in the squad, Tuthi’d die before she even tried to hurt her.

Keeping on to the back of the room, I hook my foot round the leg of my chair at the smaller table in the corner, drawing it out so I can settle into it easier once I’ve put the two tankards of ale I’ve brought from the bar down.  Tormed gives me time to get comfortable again before picking his up and casting a watchful eye towards our two mingled squads across the way, seeming strangely wistful as he ponders for a long moment.  Meanwhile I pick my mug up and take a small swallow before putting it down again, planning to continue taking it as easy as I’ve been doing since we came in here while I wait for him to make the point he’s clearly working his way to.

Finally turning back, the half-elf takes a similarly light sip of his beer and puts it down too, licking his lips before finally speaking.  “They’re tense.  Even now.”

“You can’t blame ‘em.  That was a rough fucking scene they left to meet us.  ‘Side from Gril an’ Vid, the rest o’ mine didn’t serve on Barricade.  That was their first taste o’ that kinda mess.  I doubt yours are much different.”

Leaning back as much as the crappy chair he’s folded his tall, long-legged form into can really allow, he folds his arms again and looks across the room, not at our folk now but just off into no particular distance.  Thoughtful again, but with an edge, as before.

“They ain’t alone, either.”  I add after another beat, leaning forward to cross my own arms across the table as I just keep my eyes on him.  “Are they?”

He looks my way at last, blinking a little, but if he’s really surprised he hides it well.  Mostly he just seems a little annoyed.  “I’ll admit, it was a first for me too.  I’ve worked on some … difficult cases in my time, some of them with Mil, but … no, nothing like this.”

“You’re lucky, then.  Today was bad, but … we seen worse, up North.  Some of it’d turn your hair white.  You might never sleep a full night again, not without a nightmare or two.”

Turning away, Tormed returns his gaze to that empty spot he marked before, frowning a little now as he ponders.  I don’t press him anymore, instead reaching out to start turning my tankard around on the spot, shifting it in a slow, tight circle the way I often do when I’m trying to draw out my drinking, instead of just cutting loose.  I’d rather not take the chance in case Udre’s right, we might still have to go back out again.  So I’ll nurse this second pint for as long as I can, and I’m not sure if I really will have another after.

When I look out across the room again at the others, I quickly catch sight of Starkheart, sat across from Gril, looking past him at our table.  I’ve caught her doing that a few times now since we first settled in, her face never changing much even when she’s spotted me watching her too.  Not suspicious, nor even particularly wary, she’s just … restless, it looks like.  Reckon I’m started to get a sense of what she’s actually thinking now.

Mostly she’s watching him, looks like.  Not so much watching out for him, there’s something more subtly possessive about this particular regard, I think.  It helps me make more sense of before, in the Hellcat’s house, how reluctant she was to separate from him in those unfamiliar surrounds.  At a guess, reckon she’s in love with Tormed.

Far as I can tell he’s largely oblivious to it, but then she’s guarding it well.  Or maybe he just got good at ignoring it.  Either way, she seems reluctant to act on this impulse.

Well she don’t have to worry about me, anyway.  He is definitely not my type.

Eventually I give up twiddling and pick my tankard up again, letting my fingers slide through the handle to get a good grip on it as I raise it towards my mouth, but don’t take a drink.  Not yet.  I just hold it in front of me, letting my other hand curl around it now as I lean forward on my elbows a little more, starting to scan the room again like I been doing, on and off, since we came in.

Tormed brought us here after we finished up at Redarra House, albeit leaving with more questions than answers, which rankled me some.  In the end he sent Erahadur on ahead to fetch the others, prompt ‘em to finish up their own work at the house and meet us here.  Meanwhile we mounted up and began a more direct ride back down the Hill towards the riverfront dockyards at the bottom of the Hind.  Ultimately leading us to a nondescript terracotta-hued cul-de-sac signposted as Tarahou Yard.

Half of its stetch is lined with close packed, uncomfortably narrow apartment buildings, but at the bottom there’s a livery stable and what looked like a converted slaughterhouse, with a sign over the gate marking it as the Yard Station House.  Turns out this is what their squad calls home, along with three more squads o’ regular townsguard they share the barracks with, although most of the rest of the buildings are given over to their own investigative needs.  We stalled our horses, stowed our saddles and put our gear away in the antechamber we were directed to, directed by the Yard’s conspicuously stoic quartermaster Ghagol, before heading back out at Tormed’s behest to duck into the tavern next door.

The Vague Pike is every inch a watchman’s pub, seeming to cater almost exclusively to those barracked at the Yard Station or other townsguard who might’ve been brought in by regulars for a drink, or just wandered in on their own.  It’s definitely cleaner than most o’ the taverns in the area I been in in my time, mostly on the clock, and a lot less rowdy, the peace likely enforced as much by the inherent nature of the clientele as the watchful ire of the landlord.  He's got the look of a battered old veteran of the force himself, although something about him suggests he took most of his scars in the Wars.  To be honest, it’s a wonder he’s even willing to serve us, even if we are in such particular company.

The others arrived a half hour after, quickly settling down into their groups as we ordered food and drink and kicked back to unwind after … well, we really didn’t want to think about that shit any more.  So we ate the food, then the others bought more beer while Tormed and I slunk off into the corner to ponder what we’d learned, letting them distract themselves without us shading their atmosphere so much.  Meanwhile Trick wandered off to the other corner to start playing pool with some o’ the other regulars, and soon enough she was laughing and having the best time of the whole group.  The rest … they’ve done the best they can, but the mood’s been changeable at best, and I’m worried none of ‘em are gonna sleep too well tonight after what we saw today.

I took it easier on Cafi Sirsk than I would’ve liked, in the end.  Even after I braced ‘em, they remained stubborn, not willing to give away more’n they absolutely had to, not even when Tormed pressed ‘em a little too.  In truth there was only so much I could do to press the issue, they’re an Authority official of modest but still great import, so there was risk in letting things get out of hand.

They gave us a few names, here and there, but nothing that really meant anything in the moment.  The group they were meeting at the Transit House were indeed a mercenary crew out of Hocknar, apparently, known as the Creeping Bam.  It didn’t ring a bell with me, but it seemed to jog Trick’s memory.  She withheld on that particular nugget, though.  And Sirsk remained stubbornly tight-lipped on the business they had with ‘em, beyond admitting they were there to meet the late Madame Daste.  On behalf of the Silver Order, of all things.

That gave us all pause for a few moments.  Evoking the goddess Minerva’s vaunted sect of high-powered mages added a whole extra layer o’ complication to this already tangled mess.  All eyes in the room turned right to Erahadur, but this just seemed to shock him into apoplectic stammers that made him useless to anyone until we moved on.  Honestly, he seemed just as surprised as the rest of us.

So I moved onto the subject of the Hellcat of Kumehn Valley, the Lady Thura Vezrim, and why these particular sellswords were in her house last night right when all this unpleasantness was happening.  Sirsk denied any direct knowledge of that, asking how we could really be so sure it was them and not some other mercenary crew in the city.  Even when I made it clear how little I thought of that idea, given the sheer unlikelihood of more than one such specific group of specialised individuals being here at the same time, they didn’t waver.  That might’ve gotten me the most frustrated during the whole interrogation.

Finally they recommended we just ask the Lady Vezrim herself what happened, since she could be found at the Temple of Minerva in the Gods Round.  But they requested that we perhaps wait a little while, and when we do brace her to take care an’ show her proper respect.  After all, her eldest son was among the dead.

Tormed met my eyes when they said this.  It’s a real important detail on its own, going a long way to explain that blood-soaked imprint we found in that girl’s bedroom in the house.  And the bloody trail we followed from the broken window.  There’s no way the Hellcat would’ve let her own son’s body get left behind, even if the house hadn’t been on fire at the time.

It’s yet another complication, though.  I was all for heading over there soon as we left Redarra House, propriety be damned, but Tormed really put his foot down at that.  “Leave her to her grief a little longer, at least.”  he said.  Something in his tone spoke of genuine sympathetic understanding, like he knows exactly what she’s going through.

Turning back now, I find myself pondering that telling little detail again.  Finally I take another little pull from the mug and set it down with particular deliberation, turning it round a few times before finally letting go and clearing my throat.  “Who was it, then?  If you don’t mind?”

“Hmmm?”  He don’t quite jump at the question, but he still straightens up a touch as he turns back to me, frowning a little.  “I don’t follow.”

Working my mouth for a beat, I consider the opportunity he’s unwittingly given me to drop it after all, not sure if this is really the right question to ask.  Not when we’ve managed to hit it off so well until now.  But I’m too curious, after the way he reacted back in Redarra House, so I set my jaw and ask after all.  “When we heard about Vezrim’s son, you had a look.  Like you understood.  You lost somebody.  I was wondering …”  Faltering, I look down at my beer for a long beat, trying not to frown even deeper now.

In the end he saves me from having to press after all, but he sounds grave enough I guess he’d still rather not.  “It was my sister.  When we first came to the city, we were both very young, she was little more than a child, barely fifteen, and I still couldn’t really call myself a man yet.  We didn’t have a copper mark between us, it was a rough month before we even had a proper roof over our heads.  And then one night …”  He sighs, and it’s very heavy, filled with regret and a lot o’ sorrow.  “I came home after a particularly tough shift on the docks, and she wasn’t there.  She didn’t come back that night, either.  Or the next.  Or ever again.”

Sucking in a tight breath, I ponder my tankard for another long beat, wary of looking up at him now in case I really don’t like what I see.  “No chance she just ran off then, I take it?”

“All we had was each other, there’s no way she would have abandoned me like that.  And when I began to ask around, I heard enough to worry me.  Girls had been disappearing from that neighbourhood for almost six months, on and off.  No bodies were ever found, no-one ever brought to heel for any deaths, but …”  He sighs again, finally picking his mug up and, when I look up, taking a much bigger swallow from it this time.  Even so, when he puts it down again, brushing his lips with thumb and forefinger, he mostly just looks tired.  “I joined the ‘guard at the end of that week.  I suppose my working my way up to this was always driven, at least in some unconscious way, by the hope I might be able to find some resolution someday.  Realistically I doubt I’ll ever actually find whoever it was responsible for that, but … I can still hope.”

“I’m sorry.”  I sigh, picking up my tankard and taking a hefty pull of my own.  I really mean it when I say it, feeling proper shitty for having brought it up in the first place.

“Of course you are.”  There’s no reproach in his words, it simply sounds like an acknowledgement.  “You know that pain as well as I do.  After your father.  Although the Captain was … less than forthcoming with the details there.”

Gods … fucking Ceinog.  Even when he’s trying to do me a favour … I put the mug down a little more forcefully than necessary, and it almost sloshes a little onto the table.  That puts a little dent in my indignation, but not enough to strip the edge from my words.  “He was murdered, on the job.  Coming out the training barracks in Neveht, somebody put a blade in his back, seven or eight times, one o’ the perimeter patrols found him practically bled out on the pavement right round the corner from the gate.  He was already gone by the time one o’ the duty clerics arrived, so that was it.  Middle of an investigation, so his squad figured it was a sign they were getting too close for somebody’s comfort.”

Tormed clears his throat with a polite little cough into his fist I suspect is as much to cover a wince, since he studiously avoids my eyes.  “I see … did they find the culprit in the end?”

Sitting back, I stretch my legs out under the table, having to really spread ‘em to keep from getting tangled up in his, and fold my arms good and tight.  “They did not.  Caused a bit of a stink in local command, actually, how it just wound up grinding to a halt, the way it did.  Since it was right there in the middle o’ the Capital, more’n a few higher-ups smelled corruption, but nothing ever came of it.   Couple o’ da’s colleagues quit the squad cuz of it, they weren’t happy with how it just … fizzled out.”

He watches me for a long beat, and I get the feeling he’s weighing up how to ask me the next question.  “I take it you felt similarly sore about that too.”

“Made me a bit of a handful for a few years, yeah.  He was all I had left then, ma died when I was four so he raised me on his own.  Well as he could, anyway.  He was a career officer in the military police, so he didn’t spend a whole lot o’ time at home, and even then he wasn’t exactly … parent material.  But he tried his best.  So it hurt.”  I look out across the room again now, my eyes wandering over the rest o’ me squad that I can see.  “I was fifteen when he died, so one of his friends in command pulled a few strings and I got folded into youth training instead o’ getting sent to the state home.  Which might’ve been a bit of a mixed blessing, way I was at the time.”

“Angry.”  He seems more thoughtful than anything else, I notice when I look back.

“That’d be selling it short.  Might’ve pushed myself a little too hard, in the end.  The army were happy enough when I turned eighteen, though.  They got more of a weapon than a recruit.”  Loosening my arms now, I pick my mug up again.  “Barricade did cure some o’ that fervour.  But I do still hate leaving a job half-finished, reckon it’s something of a hang-up.  So it’s … difficult for me, being back in an investigation now.  Vessof thinks he did me a favour putting me up for this duty, and it is that, in a way, but …”

Watching me take another big pull from the mug now, Tormed continues to just ponder, and he remains silent for a few minutes after I’ve put it down again, folding my arms again and hunching my shoulders.  Waiting for the question I can feel coming.  The one I been waiting for him to ask since Sirsk brought up the subject back in Redarra House.

“What did happen with Beneva’s son, Sergeant?  I know the official party line about what happened there, but now I’ve met you … I know there’s more to the story than that.  An officer like Vessof Ceinog wouldn’t go to bat for a disgraced non-com with that kind of reputation, even if he did know them from serving in the worst kind of hell imaginable.  Unless it was a smokescreen.”

Gritting my teeth, I blow a long, slow breath out through ‘em and fix him with a particularly cool look.  “Ask me some other time, please, when we got to know each other a little better.  Now ain’t the time.  And I really ain’t got the stomach for it after the day I just had.”

Tormed meets my glare well enough now, holding my eye for a long beat before finally clearing his throat as he sits up again.  “Neither have I, in truth.  But I’d appreciate a little more restraint moving forward.  Especially tomorrow, if you do insist on going to the Temple.  Cafi’s right, that poor woman’s in the very worst kind of hell, we’ve no right adding to it.”

I watch him stand up, rising with an uncanny grace that only comes from elven blood, and pick his tankard up, knocking the remainder back in one long pull before swiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve, which is enough to surprise me on its own.  Up until now he’s been the very air of propriety, even here.  He lets a little sigh go as he sets the now empty mug down next to my still reasonably full one.  “And on that note …”

“You’re calling it a night?  Even for an officer, this is proper early.  What is it, ten?”

Taking a beat to check his fancy watch, he offers me a cocked little smile.  “You said it yourself, it’s been quite the day.  And I suspect tomorrow will be the same.  I’d suggest you consider following my example, I know how human constitutions tend to be more fragile than elven ones, even for someone as large as yourself.”

Cocking my brow, I’m ready to give him a real smart answer back, but I stop myself.  Mostly cuz it’s occurred to me that the whole place just got a whole lot quieter, somewhat akin to when we first came in, and then again when the rest of our combined squads arrived after.  Tormed picks up on it too, frowning as he turns to look out across the room now, and I do the same.

Four more troopers have come in, and unlike us they’re still fully armoured, complete with shields and halberds with visors down.  I’d almost think it was a patrol except there’s an officer with ‘em, already breaking away to come straight towards us now.  I know who it is even before he’s plucked his helmet off.

“Fuck’s sake … Vess!  What the hell?”  Folding up my legs under me now, I push myself upright with a little more effort than the half-elf needed, but stay where I am as he draws close.  I see my own troopers have all stood up now, as much in deference at having an officer in their midst as the pervading shift in mood through the whole group.

Ceinog tucks his helmet under his arm as he stops a few feet short, frowning a little as he looks me over, then inspects the table, particularly my mug o’ beer.  I just give him a sharp glare in return, daring him to give me shit about it.  “You weren’t in the Yard, so I followed my nose.  I can’t say I’m that surprised, not after today, but still …”

“I’m off duty, so’s my squad.  Under the circumstances, I’d say regular shifts don’t apply right now.  We been up almost two days now, anyway.  Let ‘em cut loose.  They earned it.”

Raising his free hand in supplication, he lets out a heavy sigh.  “I am not judging, Vifri, I swear.  I’ve simply come to …”  His frown returns as he reaches up and scratches the back of his neck, looking a little flustered now.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just you might have been somewhat premature calling it a night.”

“Thorin …”  I growl, taking a step closer now.  “Vess, out with it.  What’s so –”

“The Oceanic Playhouse is on fire.  It’s a shitshow.”

Tormed and I share a wary glance before I turn back, clenching my jaw again as I feel a chill roll up my spine.  “Oh hell … not more o’ that shit, is it?  Like the Hellcat’s place?”

“What?  Oh … no, it doesn’t seem like it.  Nothing fell about it, as far as I’ve been told.”

“Then what the fuck has it got to do with us?  Vess, please, I thought the point o’ me bein’ on this is that I’m focusing on this case, not dropping everything to take care of –”

“There’s a golem in there.”  He shuts me up with one word, and Tormed’s brows rise appreciably too.  That chill grows instantly.  “Just went crazy, apparently.  And there are people running around in there killing the security staff, and probably more besides.  They damn near caused a stampede of highborns and other rich folk trying to get out, more than a few of them were hurt in the chaos too.  The fire brigade’s there but … well, given what’s in there right now they’re wary of entering.”

“Shit.”  I hiss, immediately turning to step back into the corner and pluck my swordbelt up from where I left my weapon propped against the wall.  Tormed’s already plucked his own from the table, starting to strap it on with quick, deft hands.  As I turn back I look over at my people, seeing Gril’s already retrieved his from under their table, while Udre’s clutching her spear as she watches me with particularly large eyes.  “Gril!  Get ‘em all mustered!  On the double!  Looks like R-an’-R’ll have to wait!”

Tormed simply gives Starkheart a subtle nod, and she immediately pushes herself up a good deal quicker than I expected her too, instantly barking orders at own people while Gril’s already beaten her to the punch with ours.  As I step out, Ceinog falling into step beside me with a rueful look on his face, I hear some of ‘em muttering with frustration as they start gathering their gear together.

“I told you.”  Udre hisses at Tuthi now as she steps close.

The half-orc gives her a very sharp look and points a finger at her.  “Don’t you dare.  I mean it.  I promise, it will not end well for you, I swear to Thorin.”

“Take that up with him, Tuth.”  She purrs now as she reaches out with her free hand, starting to smile with a particular mischievous glint in her eye.  “You know the rules.”

Tuthi gives me a look which, for her, could almost pass for pleading, and I nearly relent, but the cleric’s right.  Unfortunately this has to be done.  “She’s right, Private.  Stand to.”

Growling under her breath, the half-orc hugs her still loose swordbelt to her chest and gives her friend a thoroughly pathetic look as the young cleric lays that hand on her broad shoulder, clearing her throat in order to start praying.  “All right, just … please be gentle.”

When I turn back I find Gril’s already stood close by, strapping his belt up.  He’s got his game face back on, but I sense a little wariness in him all the same.  “This more o’ the same, boss?”

Shooting a sidelong glance at Tormed, who I find stood by with Ceinog, leaning in to speak quietly now, I have to shrug.  “Honestly, much as I’d hope not, sounds like we might be onto something.  Just stay sharp.  I need you to watch my back like old times.”

Raising his brows, Gril looks at me like I shocked him some.  “C’mon, boss.  You never even need to ask.”

TO BE CONTINUED ...

[eurofox]

Yakuza 4 review

Fatigue was starting to set in by the time I got to this game so having more characters with different styles helped it feel fresh. It also finally got around to explaining events I’d seen alluded to in 0 . While 3 felt very dated and I feel it oculd use the Kiwami treatment, this one stands up pretty well. Aside from a few goofy faces.

Spoilers:

The Good shit:

Well it looks nicer this time around, a bit anyway

Akiyama and Saejima are a nice change of pace

Kiryu is still happy.

I liked the way Hana lost weight and instead of the usual trope Akiyama immediately goes to get her something to eat

Hana in general was fun, I really thought she’d be annoying at first but no

Hamazaki get’s to return, odd since bad guys usually stop existing after each game

The hit scene is brutal and hard to watch, before you know the twist anyway. Very effective.

Another great soundtrack. The myth is a highlight, as is material delights , Rebellions and recieve and bite you

Female serial killer, bit of a twist

The yakuza pretending to be a cop was interesting

Some real tragic moments with Saejima, realising he fucked up big time, not only himself but his whole family

Akiyama is likeable, even if he has an uncomfortable darker side. An interesting character.

I don’t mind the initial rubber bullet twist. After that however...

Munakata actually acknowledges how fucking dumb that hit report was.

Less blocking enemies this time around thank Christ

Most bosses are good. Kiryu especially

Kiryu acknowledges that he left Daigo between a rock and a hard place at least

Kiryu arriving full powered

Closure for Mahima and saejima

Kiry vs akiyama and tanimura is great

Haruka making a stand about kiryu’s overly trusting nature

Helicopter Date is back!

Helping a suicidal man by tossing him off a building

Saejima having a comment about every shop and the differences between now and then

Someone actually having the sense to wear body armour

An attempt to tie events back to yakuza one

Boat chase was kind of fun

‘everybody pick an ass to kick’ was badass. Also Saejima going for Kido reminds me of Moe ending up fighting against Drederick Tatum in the Simpsons  ‘Oh geez, how did this happen’

Creepy wannabee rapist guy get’s his ass shot dead. Good.

The Bad Shit:

I do not care for Tanimura, I kind of wish they kept him as an asshole instead of the helping immigrants thing. But by now I realised you don’t actually get to play as bad people. His story was pretty bland and I never got to grips with his fightstyle. Don’t miss him tbh.

Katsuragai’s ugly, greasy mug. When he kept getting up in Daigo’s face during the meeting 🤢 

That fucking guard with the baton can go to hell. Should have been allowed to shove it up his arse in the final encounter. Fuck him. Same goes for his clone in red in the final long battle

Soon as I heard Yasuko and Saejima had a talk I knew it was curtains for her. Mission accomplished so she can die now I guess.

Saijima having to go long round about ways to avoid police got annoying fast

chase sections again...

Akiyama creeping on Yasuko cos she kind of reminded him of some girl who dumped him was weird. Glad he was called out on it.

Akiyama’s treatment of women in general. Men can get loans for cleaning up rubbish but women have to work in the red light district? Get tae fuck.

Hostess club is boring. I don’t like dress up

THAT FUCKING SCENE with Saejima and Haruka. Gross AF They did not handle that well and Kiryu’s reaction was such bullshit. He’s far too blasé about it, big F on parenting there. Soured Saejima’s whole character for me. Worst scene in the series and unnecessary.

JAPANESE POLICE CAN’T SHOOT’ The hell was this about, block the door or something at least?

Too many coincidences, everyone surviving lethal wounds only to then wash up on Kiryu’s beach? Bullshit.

Where’s the Ryudo family?

Kiryu lecturing Haruka on trust when random prisoners keep washing up on their doorstep. Including one who tried to kill him after he offered friendship. She’s not an ass-kicker like him, she’s a young girl who can’t afford to be so trusting of strange men He comes across as a real dumbass in this game.

Too many characters and too many twists. Twists upon twists. It got so convoluted that I lost track of who betrayed who.Cops who are yakuza, yakuza who are cops. Rubber bullets pinging off all over the place .

 Arai buggers off for most of the game and is one of the blandest characters in the series. Glad he never comes back.

Kido is just kind of there. Maybe if he joined the saejima family I’d care but he doesn’t. Also missed opportunity not giving him a kitsune tattoo.

Hamazaki dies off-screen, bit anti-climatic

I don’t get how akiyama makes so much money. I know he’s a banker but the amount he has is crazy. And why not get a code for that damn vault?

Why is Daigo so deferential to some low income nobody clan who have to pay the Tojo to stay relevant? Why not just tell them to either take the money or GTFO?.  Forget the equality bullshit. Does he know the police are involved by that point? His whole role in this game was a bit strange.

Kiryu acknowledges he screwed up to Daigo, but still gives him a beating. And we don’t see how he reconciles with Majima after betraying him. Also Kiryu says he’s done running but ditches Daigo again next game. OK...

Saejima say’s he’s remorsful about killing those guys but also has no regrets? Then goes on about balls a lot. Right...

JESUS CHRIST WHAT IS IT WITH PEOPLE NOT PICKING UP GUNS. It felt like a real joke here, not a funny one. 3 times, once in the space of 5 minutes. 

You shoot a guy point blank  in his office and don’t notice it’s a rubber bullet

The fight with Munakata (or should I say, bodyguard captains) is the worst boss in the entire series. Fought with the lamest character who is not good with crowds (I admit he was underlevelled with few healing items in my playthrough as I was rushing and thought Kiryu would be facing the last boss). My PS4 could barely handle all the goons on screen. And after getting stunlocked and shot to death I gave up. Only time I ever switched to easy in any of the games. FUCK THAT CUNT. Worse than Jingu.

Ok, looks I have a lot of complaints about this game, mostly plotwise.  It just got too wacky. Had they just left it at the one instance of rubber bullets I would have been ok with it. But nooooo, they had to keep escalating and shovelling in more betrayals.  Anyway the gameplay is an improvement over 3 and aside from tanimura it was enjoyable and refreshing, kind of cool having a powerful Kiryu saved til last. I’m glad Akiyama stays on, he’s an interesting morally grey character. And while I didn’t like Katsuragai and his motivations got confusing, it was cool to see a real piece of shit villain who wasn’t as cartoonish as Jingu or Munakata, or as undeveloped as Mine, I really got to hate that snake, a good performance. I’d rank it above 3 anyway.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merlin accidentally becomes Legolas/Katniss/Merida… you know the type;

He may be shitty at sword fighting, but Merlin begins to use a traditional bow and arrow and… actually becomes very good at it??

I imagine the first time he does it, it’s a complete fluke.

The five knights, The King, and Merlin are on their way back from yet another (frankly, ridiculous) quest.

They have been, of course, ambushed by a group of bandits, twenty to their six (six plus Merlin, though no one bar Lancelot knows about his magic, so he isn’t counted as a fighter). Though the knights outweigh them in skill, their sheer numbers makes it a… challenging, fight (meaning that they are winning, but far too slowly for their liking, and no one wants to admit it).

Now normally, Merlin hides behind a tree or in a ditch, and performs his spells quietly without being noticed, slowly helping and speeding up the fight. Except this time, the Gang was in the middle of a barren, open field, the bandits had disguised themselves with magic until the moment they attacked, and Merlin was right in the middle of all the action.

Everyone worried for his safety. There was nowhere for him to hide here, so they had to keep an eye on him, lest he get hurt (and Arthur sulked, or kicked off, depending on how badly he was hurt).

With nowhere to hide (and no branches to drop, or roots to trip people with), and one of the knights throwing a glance his way every ten seconds, he couldn’t use his magic.

He was currently on his hands and knees, Leon directly in front of him, Percival to his left, holding off four attackers between them (Merlin would marvel at how impressive that was if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied).

He keeps trying to get to Arthur, crawling between legs and over the groaning, injured bodies of bandits (he made a point to land sharp elbows and harsh knees into the more… sensitive areas), but with everyone moving around so rapidly, and the vicious swinging of swords and axes and maces inches above his head, he kept getting side-tracked and blocked and almost knocked out.

With a frustrated huff, he notices yet another bandit rounding on The King. Said huff turns into a pained gasp when he realises that Arthur hasn’t seen him yet.

The bandit raises his weapon in the air, seconds from bringing it down on Arthur’s back, but Leon is right there, and there are no branches to drop on him, and Arthur still hasn’t noticed!

The noise is too loud, grunts and yells and clashes of metal drowning out any sort of warning yell that Merlin could throw Arthur’s way, and he scrabbles around on the floor desperately; hands raking through sharp grass and over bloodied bodies as he stares in horror at the triumphant smirk on the future-King-killer’s face.

Time seems to slow (no magic, just adrenaline) as Merlin’s hands find purchase on a smooth, curved piece of wood. He picks it up without looking, at first intending to throw whatever it is as hard as he can in the bandits direction, before something (magic, instincts, periphery vision, who knows) tells him to look down.

He obeys, and widens his eyes as he sees the longbow gripped tightly in his right hand, and a stray arrow on the floor next to his left.

Merlin is no expert, only having actually hunted once or twice back home in Ealdor, when he was younger, but that was just enough knowledge for him to know roughly how to notch the arrow and fire. He pulls the two up quickly, a plan formulating in his head:

Step 1) Notch arrow.

Step 2) Close eyes.

Step 3) Magic? Hope?

Step 4) Come up with some sort of lie that explains how he managed to make the shot from sixty yards away, through a crowd.

Thankfully, it would appear that Merlin’s bad luck has given him a rest today; the first three steps go off without a hitch (the fourth will come a little later, when the battle is over), but he doesn’t have time to congratulate himself before he’s thrown into the fray, the bandits now obviously seeing him as some sort of threat.

Arthur finally defeats his own attackers, looking behind him in shock to see his unknown enemy lying on the floor, gurgling up blood and grasping weakly at the arrow through his neck. His head whips to the side, trying to find whoever had made the shot; his bewildered gaze meets Merlin’s for only a second before the servant is dragged to his feet, and promptly punched in the face.

He stumbles back and can just about hear Leon yell something from beside him but he pays it no mind, righting his balance once again and swinging his arm back, before bringing it down harshly on his newest attackers head. The resounding crack echoes over the field as the wood of the longbow splits in two on the bandit’s skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The fight doesn’t last much longer, each knight taking advantage of their enemies' fatigue, and Merlin using his now broken longbow to whack them in the shins or trip them up when they weren’t paying attention.

He was sad to see it broken, but two of his closest friends literally owned a blacksmith's, and he had easy access to the Castle’s armoury; he could get a hold of another one easily enough, as long as he survived the journey back home.

The battle finally came to a close. Everyone was exhausted, and each of them was sporting more than one hefty bruise, but they were all alive and there were no serious injuries, so they could be grateful for that. After Arthur had counted his men, and generally taken stock of things, he traipsed tiredly over to Merlin, who had abandoned his broken bow in favour of cleaning a still weeping cut on Elyan’s temple.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Merlin.”

The servant ignores him at first, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully wipes the grime away from the wound. It was small, so an infection wouldn’t be too worrying, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and would make the scarring worse, so best to avoid it if at all possible. He hums in satisfaction as he leans back on his heels, Elyan gives him a grateful smile, and Merlin finally throws a glance Arthur’s way, before focusing back on threading the needle in his hands; it would only need two or three stitches, thankfully:

“Hmm. I'm not fond of hunting, but we had to for food back in Ealdor. Except we didn’t have fancy crossbows or hunting dogs, so we had to make do with hand-whittled longbows.”

Arthur nods, frowning slightly:

“Still, if I’d known you were that good, I would’ve demanded you had a bow of your own; that way us lot wouldn’t have to spend so much time making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Merlin smirked and quirked an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from Elyan’s stitches, whispering an apology at the man’s wince before he speaks slowly, concentrating:

“Careful Sire, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Elyan snorts out a laugh, but Merlin tuts and lightly slaps his leg disapprovingly, and he stills again. Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff:

“As if. Hurry up, I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

~

Arthur wasn’t the only one that noticed Merlin’s outstanding shot, and over the course of the next few day’s journey home, he received a multitude of compliments from the other knights. 

Including an hour long excited infodump about the history and use of longbows from Leon, which Merlin eagerly hung onto every word of, a fond smile on his face (Leon was a noble, and had it practically beaten into him to not ramble, so Merlin always did his best not to discourage the man. That, and the fact that it was actually very interesting, and useful, if he were to keep up this charade that he was an expert marksman).

When Merlin finally had a moment alone with Lancelot, a few days after they had gotten back, he burst:

“Please please tell me you know how to use a longbow??”

Lancelot raises his eyebrow from where he was sat on the bed in Merlin’s room. Merlin was staring at him with unconcealed desperation, and the knight chuckled as he answered:

“Why? It’s not like you need any more training, that was a cracking shot.”

Merlin huffed loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked back at the knight:

“I used magic!! I closed my eyes so no one would see and I guided the arrow with magic! Now everyone thinks I’m some master marksman! This is bad. What if next time I can’t use magic, or what if someone notices that I have my eyes closed when I fire?”

Lancelot clamps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop himself from giggling, but he gives up quickly, bursting into laughter at the younger man’s panic. Said younger man fumes, sputtering as he picks up one of the knight’s discarded boots and throws it at him:

“It’s not funny, Lance! I’m being serious, this is an actual issue!”

Lancelot calms himself, rubbing the mirth from his eyes as he takes a deep breath:

“Ok ok, sorry. Yes, I can teach you to use a longbow properly. Have you ever actually used one before, or was the hunting thing a cover?”

The red fades from Merlin’s face slightly as he realises the other man is intending to help him, his panic lessening:

“Sort of. Yeah, I went hunting with a bow a couple times, but not enough to be that good at it.”

Lancelot sighs fondly and nods his head:

“Well, that’s a start at least. Come on, I’ve not got patrol until after dinner, and Arthur thinks you’re busy helping Gaius, so we’ve got a few hours.”

~

So I imagine that’s how it goes for a while.

After their last big adventure, Arthur was reluctant to head out as a group again, wanting to give everyone time to recuperate and get back into the swing of things.

Merlin’s skills with a bow were bought up constantly by everyone, news had even reached Gwen (who gave him a proud smile and a cute little dance to congratulate him) and Gaius (who raised an eyebrow, and had much better skill than Lancelot at holding in his laughter). 

Gwaine, Elyan, and even Percival were desperate to set up targets and watch him shoot shit (their words), Leon wanted to talk about the specifics of technique and crafting, and Arthur... well. Arthur sounded like he was taking the piss, but there was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

Affection? Pride?

Probably not, probably jealousy and annoyance that Merlin is so effortlessly good at something that Arthur himself was average at at best.

Merlin manages to avoid it for a while, showing his “skills” off, but he and Lancelot are running out of excuses, and Arthur is starting to accuse him of being a fake who got lucky. Normally, things like that didn’t bother Merlin, and technically Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had got lucky, and cheated with magic, but that wasn’t the point. It was nice for Merlin, to be good at something, really good.

He was good at plenty of other things. Magic for starters, though not even Lancelot knew the full extent of his power in that area. But he cooked well (shown by the fact that the knights always scoffed the lot), he was a good physician (shown by the fact that the knights trusted him just as much as Gaius when it came to treating injuries and sickness), and he was a BRILLIANT servant, if he did say so himself.

But he never got any actual praise for that. Merlin hated to think badly of the knights, his friends, but they only complained when Merlin wasn’t there, never praised him when he was. Well, apart from Lancelot. And that had just started a bunch of rumours that they were... uh... boinking. 

(False. Anyone with more than two braincells could see that Sir Lancelot was head over heals in love with the newly-promoted Housekeeper, Guinevere, and that The King’s Manservant had an affinity for certain a blond prat-King.)

ANYWAY

It was nice for Merlin to have a skill that others thought worth complimenting, and with Lancelot monitoring his practice sessions, correcting any mistakes and offering congratulations whenever he did well, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had to come up with excuses.

Luckily, Merlin picked it up very quickly. 

Despite being clumsy by nature (though Lancelot is starting to suspect more and more that it’s all for show), the dark haired servant can consistently hit bullseyes from fifty yards within a month. The further away from the target he got, the less astounding his aim was, but that was to be expected, and another month later he could successfully hit a moving target from seventy feet.

A training session, around three months after he started properly practicing, he finally “gave in” to Gwaine’s begging. Lancelot helped him set up a bunch of targets, and fetched a bag of apples to throw.

Merlin put on quite the show, grinning at the uproarious applause he got from the knights when he hit every single bullseye, and every single thrown target. Thankfully the knowing, proud smiles between the servant and Sir Lancelot went unnoticed, and even Arthur gave him a clap on the back and an impressed nod.

~

The first time Merlin met the knights in the courtyard to find Leon holding a longbow and quiver of arrows out to him, he panicked slightly, but one reassuring smile from Lancelot boosted his confidence, and he took them with a quiet thank you.

(After the fifth time, Arthur huffed, and told him to just keep them. He was the only one that regularly signed them out of the armoury anyway, so it would just be easier if he just took possession of them.)

It settled everyone’s stomachs, knowing that not only did the group have a master marksmen, hiding in the trees and taking out enemies that they didn’t see coming, but that Merlin personally now had more than his frankly horrifying (or... horrifying as far as they were concerned) stealth skills to keep him safe.

And that (a master marksmen in the trees) is exactly what happened. 

In the early days, it involved a lot of bruises; Merlin could fire well, but firing and balancing at the same time? Took some getting used to, and involved a lot of falling out of trees at inopportune times.

The knights, Gwaine and Arthur especially, laughed endlessly at that, but quickly stopped after a particularly tired and irate and bruised Merlin fired an arrow so close by Gwaine’s crotch, that it stuck his trousers fast into the tree just behind him.

At first, it was meant to be just as back-up; Merlin was no knight. He still refused to wear armour, and Arthur didn’t want his manservant to make himself a target... at least that was his excuse.

Really, it was because (as far as Arthur was aware) Merlin had never deliberately killed before. Even now, years into his Kingship, and even longer into his knighthood, Arthur hated killing; it made him sick, and took a lot of practice at compartmentalization before it no longer bothered him as much.

Merlin was his manservant, his (best) friend, the love of his life (secretly). He was not a warrior, he was not meant to kill, he was meant to be protected from that.

But alas, Merlin did not get the memo, and the first patrol he went on with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he killed at least five bandits.

After the fight, it was Leon who approached him first, a concerned look on his face despite Merlin’s nonchalant expression as he checked over the string for wear and tear:

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You got a few good shots in there, you’re not feeling sick?”

Merlin looked up at the hand on his shoulder and the soft words, a confused look on his face:

“Why would being good make me feel sick?”

Leon tilts his head in sympathy, which just makes Merlin even more confused:

“The man you killed the other month was spur of the moment, protecting your King. But you... you killed a fair few men today, Merlin. I know that can be incredibly difficult at first, I just wanted to check in.”

The others had finally walked over to join them; Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and Arthur looking equally concerned, whilst Lancelot hid his proud smile. Merlin just raised an eyebrow at them:

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never killed anyone before?”

Everyone (bar Lancelot) looks taken aback at that, and Arthur frowns whilst Leon drops his hand in shock. The King speaks slowly:

“Merlin, are you telling us you’ve killed people before?”

The manservant clenches his jaw at that and looks back down at his bow, resuming his checking of the string and its knots. He speaks lowly, and the knights can tell it’s not a topic he’s fond of:

“Hmm. It’s a tough world, Sire. I’ve done what I had to, to keep myself and the people I care about safe.”

At his dark reply, conversation stopped, and didn’t resume for the rest of the day as everyone contemplated Merlin’s words.

That is, until he was the first one to successfully catch dinner later that evening. At which he got an incredulous look from Arthur when he made it back to camp with his half of the patrol:

“I thought you despised hunting??”

Merlin didn’t look up from the hares he was skinning, and the rest of the knights tuned in, curious:

“No. I hate hunting for sport; it shows hubris and cruelty. Hunting for food is not only necessary and natural, but humbling, if you do it right and honour every part of the creature.”

Arthur, ever the eloquent one, stared at him blankly, and said, rather dumbly:

“...What?”

Merlin huffed, finally looking up:

“Going after helpless animals on horseback with crossbows and hunting dogs is like giving yourself a huge pat on the back for winning a tournament against an unarmoured, unarmed, unconscious opponent, and then calling yourself strong and brave for daring to fight in the first place. It’s an egotistical act of violence for no other reason than cruelty for the sake of cruelty.-”

The knights looks on him with shock, Percival and Leon at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. Merlin looks back down to the hares, and everyone notices the careful way he cuts at the fur:

“I’ve taken these lives to feed us as a necessity. The meat will be eaten, but that isn’t all. I’ll take the bones home for Gaius, the marrow is useful in a lot of medicine. The fur can be repurposed for winter gloves or socks. The organs and other bits that we won’t eat: I’ll take for the pigs in the farms, or the dogs up at the castle. In using every part of them we are... honouring them, in a way. As a thank-you for their... sacrifice.”

Arthur looks a little dumbfounded. As royalty, he of course had never really considered the waste that comes about with hunting, but Merlin, a farm-boy from a rural village who barely scraped by every winter? Of course he saw a deeper meaning in hunting. He would have to.

Elyan is the first to break the silence:

“You almost sound religious, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, a strained smile on his face. As magic incarnate, he has a particularly strong, temperamental relationship with nature and her creatures, a bond that some might call faith. To be wasteful or cruel in any way hurts him in more ways than one:

“Not really, I just have respect for nature, is all.”

No one mentions the thinly-veiled insult, but everyone creeps closer, wanting to see the way he disassembles the creatures for future reference.

~

It’s been eight months since that first, perfect shot.

Merlin’s skills with a longbow had become a normal, expected part of The Gang’s experiences, but the knights never stopped praising and thanking him when he saved their lives (something that Merlin still hadn’t quite gotten used), and The King had apparently not stopped thinking about it for barely more than a second. 

Yule was approaching quickly: Merlin, Gwen, and the Steward being constantly busy with preparations in the castle, the knights being run off their feet escorting emergency aid to the border villages for the harsh winter, and Arthur himself having every minute of the day taken up with speech writing, invite sending, and his other general King-during-Yule duties.

That however, was all to be expected, and of course did nothing to keep Arthur and Merlin from their annual traditions.

It wasn’t official, it wasn’t even spoken of, but the last evening of Yule, the night before the new year, the two of them always spent together.

The last feast of the year would finish, Arthur would stay to see his guests off, thank the staff for all of their hard work, and finally retire to his chambers, his tired manservant barely a hair’s breadth behind him. They would sit in front of the lit hearth (in comfy chairs that only they used), work their way through a jug or two of wine, exchange small gifts, and fall asleep in front of the fire. Their hands, dangling over the side of their chairs, seem to be creeping closer and closer with each passing year; though have yet to become entangled by morning.

This year was somehow no different, and very different, at the same time.

The King and his Manservant settled in their chairs, tired and already a little more than tipsy from the wine drunk during the feast. Arthur looked up at Merlin, the fond smile dropping from his face when he sees the other man’s features pulled into a contemplative frown:

“What’s on your mind, Merls? I don’t think I’ve seen you this serious since the start of the celebrations.”

Merlin looked up at him suddenly, his eyes wide, but he smiles and shakes his head:

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking is all.”

Normally, Arthur would raise an eyebrow and let a scathing tease on the state of Merlin’s intelligence fall from his lips, but not tonight. This is the only night of the year that The King allows himself to entertain the idea that perhaps he and Merlin were more than friends, or at least could be. So instead he resumes his smiling, and looks back to the fire, taking another sip of his wine before responding softly:

“What about?”

Merlin hums, copying Arthur’s wine-sipping, before taking a deep breath:

“The future, mostly. You, me, Camelot. Secrets and truths, and when one might turn into the other. Soon, I think... yeah. Soon.”

Arthur huffs slightly in amusement. He knows that Merlin hides a great deal of himself, but he always becomes more cryptic after a few glasses of wine, like he desperately wants to say something and doesn’t have the power to stop himself from hinting at whatever it may be.

He asks his next question good-naturedly, a smile sweetened by wine gracing his face:

“The hell does that mean?”

Merlin lets out a short laugh, looking up at the other man:

“Oh, you know. Thinking about spilling all my deepest darkest secrets to you, at some point soon.”

Arthur snorts, saying, only for the sake of keeping up the charade they’ve built:

“You don’t have any secrets, Merlin. Certainly not any that are deep or dark.”

Once, Arthur would have believed that. Then, when he stopped believing it, he was angry about it, and now? Now, he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He is confident, he has faith, in both himself and in Merlin. He knows that those secrets are there, and Merlin knows that he knows, but that’s ok. Nothing either of them could reveal would tear them apart, at least not for long, so Arthur was happy to wait until Merlin was happy to share.

Merlin chuckled at Arthur’s response, shaking his head slightly before reaching down and picking up a small wrapped parcel that he’d stowed away before the feast:

“Come on, I’m a little nervous about your gift this year, so let’s get it over and done with.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the change in subject, and set his wine down so he could pick up the (much bigger) parcel by his own chair.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. After the first gift-exchange happened, Merlin had put his foot down and made Arthur swear to not go overboard on the expense side of things. Arthur may have been a prince, and now a King, but Merlin was still just a servant/physician; he could hardly afford anything worthy of a King. 

He had a feeling that Arthur might’ve broken his word this year, but where Arthur had likely gone overboard with expense, Merlin had definitely gone overboard with sentimentality.

They swapped parcels, Merlin placing the large, heavy box carefully at his feet as he gestured Arthur to open his first. Arthur got to it, tearing the paper off without a second of hesitation, and Merlin allowed himself to smile fondly at the child-like excitement on the blonde’s face.

Arthur’s brow creased as he dropped the paper to the floor, stroking soft fingers over the worn leather of an old, well-loved book. Merlin took deep, fortifying breaths as Arthur carefully opened the first few pages, butterflies in his stomach as Arthur’s eyes wandered the yellowed paper in curiosity.

The King looked up at him, amused confusion on his face as he asked:

“Is this yours? I didn’t know you could draw, Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, and shook his head as memories of the exquisite sketches filled his mind; detail-perfect renditions of the castle, the town square, waterfalls and knights in action and people that Merlin didn’t recognise (for the most part. Arthur evidently hadn’t gotten to any of the pages with young Uther on them).

“No, not mine. This one requires a little explanation-”

Arthur nodded, carefully closing the book and holding it protectively in his lap as he gave Merlin his undivided attention:

“-I mentioned off-handedly to Leon a few months ago that I thought the lack of... of paintings of the late Queen in the castle was odd.-”

Arthur gulped at the mention of his mother, but nodded with a small smile when Merlin paused:

“-He said that when she passed, The King had everything to do with her moved to the vaults. He couldn’t force himself to destroy any of it, but looking at it, day in and day out, was too painful. We found the keys, with the help of Geoffrey, and went down to have a look, see what we could find. We didn’t tell you about it because we didn’t want to disappoint you, in case we couldn’t find anything.-”

Merlin once again looked a little nervous at this, and reached a hand out towards Arthur. When the man didn’t flinch away (if anything, he leaned into it), he moved to grip his shoulder blade, running his thumb over the exposed skin at the base of The King’s neck.

“-We found... a lot. Old clothes and paintings mainly, some jewellery. But then I found that;-”

He nodded at the book in Arthur’s lap, and tightened his grip on his shoulder. Merlin spoke his next words so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear him, a soft smile on his face:

“-your mother was quite the artist, Arthur. I knew you had to have it.”

Arthur gasped softly, his eyes widening as he looked down at the book:

“You... you think my mother drew these?”

Merlin smiled at him, moving his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist slightly, before dropping it entirely:

“Check the back page.”

Arthur took a deep breath before doing what Merlin said, handling the book with even more care than he had before now that he knows who it belonged to. He turned to the very last page, to see an inscription written in beautiful cursive. Merlin recited it aloud, having memorised the words weeks ago:

“My dearest son, my silly sketches are able to hold only a fraction of our Kingdom’s beauty. I know one day that you will see what I see, treasure it just as much, and make it your own. You have my support, forever and always, your loving Mother.”

Arthur bites his lip harshly, lifting the book to press his forehead against the words as he shuts his eyes tightly, though that does nothing to stop the tears. Merlin replaces his hand on The King’s shoulder as the man shakes. He sniffles slightly, putting the book back in his lap, though keeping his hands wrapped around it securely, as he looks to Merlin:

“Merlin, I... I don’t even know what to say. This is... amazing. I... Thank you.”

Merlin smiles, shaking his head slightly:

“Technically, it wasn’t even mine to give, it’s always been yours. But I thought it might make a nice surprise. There’s plenty of other stuff down there, I’ll show you in the morning.”

Arthur nods his head, wiping his tears as he carefully places the book on his side table and gestures to the box at Merlin’s feet. He was itching to scour through the book, dedicating every single line to memory, but whilst Merlin had been nervous about Arthur’s gift, Arthur was buzzing about Merlin’s, and he was desperate to see the man’s reaction.

Merlin huffs out a laugh, but picks the box up, noting once again how heavy it is. He sets about removing the paper, much calmer and more methodical than Arthur had been, with his face pinched in concentration.

He frowns in curiosity as he sets eyes on the wooden box. It had a hinged lid, and a logo that he’s certain he recognises burned like a brand into the corner. He can feel Arthur bouncing in his chair slightly, and looks up at him in amusement, laughing once again when he nods excitedly back down at the box.

He lifts the lid, and takes in a shocked breath.

Inside was a beautifully crafted long bow; the wood smooth and varnished and carved, and a leather quiver. The patterns embossed in the leather and carved in to the metal at the base, match those carved into the wood of the bow, and Merlin traces soft fingers over the intricate swirls, stopping with a teary smile at the Pendragon crest, carved just next to a Merlin bird.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as he looks up at the excited King:

“Arthur this is beautiful. Gods I almost don’t want to touch it, I feel like it should be on display behind glass.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, obviously pleased with Merlin’s reaction:

“Nope. It will be going with you every time you leave the city, and considering how much trouble we always seem to attract, I have no doubt that it will see a lot of use.”

Merlin laughs, closing the lid carefully and setting the box back on the floor, before launching himself bodily at Arthur. The blonde laughs, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle with no hesitation as the other man mutters endless thank-yous in his ear.

The servant finally pulls back, settling in his own chair again, and the two of them hope that the other puts the flush on their face down to the wine, and nothing else. They look to each other with wide grins on their faces, and Arthur breaks the stare first, taking another gulp of his wine before laughing jovially and speaking:

“Well. Here’s to an amazing year, and hopefully an even better one, starting in a few minutes.”

Merlin nods, lifting his own goblet to tap it against Arthur’s:

“Here’s to the past, that guides us-”

He gestures to the book on Arthur’s table:

“-and the future, that calls to us.”

He gestures to his new bow, and they both finish their wine off, a healthy flush to their cheeks and fond smiles on their faces.

They fall asleep in their respective chairs, the same as every year. 

In the morning, they wake with pounding headaches, a promise of a golden future, and hands intertwined.

~

THE END!!

We love a cutesy/hopeful ending😌

Like always lads, you wanna write it out in full, go for it, credit and tag me✌️

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[landinoandco]

Hey could you do one with max verstappen, where the reader a fight about him not helping around the house (witch he doesnt do because he is just tired from working hard but the reader dont know) so they yell at max and he suddenly walks away but then they find him crying in bed, because hes overworked and feels like hes never gonna be good enough at being a driver and the readers boyfriend. And feels like he can only dissapoint the reader, his dad and cristian. But the reader comforts him. Tnx

Because I'm not good enough...

Max Verstappen x Reader

Warnings: angsty

Word count: 2 k

Requests are open :)

You were sat at the dining room table, staring out at the empty seat in front of you. Your arms crossed across your chest and your lip in between your teeth. You had been sat there for an hour - in the grand scheme of things an hour didn’t seem like such a long time but it was his final warning and an hour was just long enough to allow for your anger to boil over.

Dinner was in the fridge - the same dinner you had cooked an hour ago, your phone lay screen up on the table - the same phone you used to call Max two hours and a half hours ago, he told you he was on his way home. Home whilst you were in the UK was 25 minutes away from the Redbull HQ. This was becoming a regular occurrence, some nights he would come home so late that you had already taken yourself to bed. The atmosphere in the house seemed to freeze over whenever he was around even though you were yet to come out of summer, there was something hanging over the pair of you - unspoken feelings and as of now a red hot anger that threatened to escape from your usually composed nature.

Ever since the championship had taken a turn in the favour of Redbull, Max had started to become much more distant. It started off with him not inviting you along to the races, leaving on the Wednesday before race weekend and sometimes not seeing him until the following Tuesday and that was on a stand alone race weekend. On the triple headers, it could be nearing two weeks until you two were spared 5 minutes alone and even then it was a brief conversation before he rushed back to the factory or to train.

You thought you knew what you signed up for and since yours and Max’s relationship and that was three years ago so you thought you had seen it all - been through it all with him, witnessed every high and every low. This was a new territory and you knew that if it wasn’t tackled soon -

The click of the door lock echoed in the hallway, you straightened in your seat - eyes locked ahead of you and your knee bouncing.

Max sighed loudly and wiped his hand over his face, it had been a long day - he had been at the factory up until Christian had invited him out to lunch, it was nice to catch up with his boss and Max felt like he owed the man so much; guiding him through the years that had led up to the moment they found themselves in. Max felt like over the past years he had matured as a person, sometimes still short tempered but being an F1 driver it wasn’t necessarily a bad trait. After his lunch with Christian, his dad had called him - the less said about the conversation the better. By the time you had called, the last thing he wanted to do was come home and risk upsetting you. He had taken himself on a run - to clear his head and focus on what he was going to say to you because he felt like something definitely needed to be said.

He also owed a lot to you, you had put up with so much over the years and standing by his side even when he had made a mistake - although you were very quick to tell him when he was in the wrong. You seemed to be on his level, a blunt and forward look at life - there was no time for dawdling about when you had things to be done. Life was short and there was no time to waste.

Recently however, he was putting so much pressure and stress on himself about work that the hours slipped away from him and so did the time spent with you. He felt the atmosphere change around the pair of you - as though he was always walking on thin ice, the cracks beginning to show. The guilt he felt was nothing like he had ever felt before, all he wanted to do was talk to you but he was scared of pushing you away - which is ironic because not talking and letting the pent up anger build up was having the same effect. He was never that good when it came to talking about how he felt - as much as he wanted to he felt as though he would be a burden and that he would put too much pressure on you. He could never tell you what he really felt like inside. It was embarrassing, he knew that a professional athlete should never feel what he felt. It weakened him and having weaknesses in a sport like Formula 1 was not an option.

Max shrugged his coat off and walked through to the main room of the apartment - the room where you were sat waiting to pounce as though he was your unsuspecting prey.

He offered a tired smile, in response he got a sneer. Swallowing hard, you felt the anger take over, like some monster escaping from a cage.

“I have been sitting here for an hour, Max -” You shot to your feet, pointing at the table, your voice cracked slightly. “For months, you’ve been leaving me - it’s me who’s been cooking for us both, cleaning, washing - everything, Max. By myself.” You were shouting now, your heart threatening to break free from your chest. Max just stood there, a blank expression on his face - his gaze fixed to the ground. “I don’t understand what went wrong, Max. We were happy, hell, we spoke to each other. Now, I’m alone. In fact, I may as well be alone if this doesn’t change.” The words had fallen out of your mouth before you had any time to consider them - or the consequences. Your eyes went round with shock and you fell back to your seat. A loud silence filled the room.

Max, too, had not expected the words that had initiated the silence. He opened his mouth, eyes still on the ground, then closed it again before raising his head and looking you dead in the eye.

“You don’t mean that.” He managed to mutter, barely being able to raise his voice any louder. He felt a tired emptiness, this was the last thing he had wanted to happen.

“That’s all you have to say to me.” You rounded on him again, angry tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

“No - I -” He stuttered, then closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, “I just don’t think we should talk things through whilst you’re angry -” He saw you about to interject, when he raised his hands. “You have every right to be. That’s not what I’m saying. I think we should wait to talk about it so we don’t say things we are going to regret later.” Max could feel his throat constricting, he was battling to keep his emotions at bay.

You sniffed and nodded slowly, placing your head in your hands - hot tears escaping and shoulders tensed.

Max swallowed thickly, his eyes swimming with tears. He made a move and after no interruption left the room. He had only made it to the stairs before he collapsed, the fatigue getting the better of him. He was such an idiot, a fact he was certainly aware of now, how could he have let things get this bad. Did that make him a selfish person?

He couldn’t hold it in any longer, a harsh sob escaping from his mouth - fingers shaking and his head a loud mess.

As soon as Max had left the room, you had gotten up to get some water - when you paused, a sound catching your attention - a deep sounding sob. You waited, a line appeared between your brows. Slowly and carefully, you inched towards the door - waiting with baited breath for the sound again.

It was coming from the stairs and there was only one person it could be. Regret instantly pooled in the pit of your stomach, you hadn’t meant for him to cry. You were just so angry and he needed to know that.

“Max.” You called out softly, unsurprisingly there was no response. You went in the direction of the stairs and hunched over in front of you was your boyfriend - attempting to stifle his sobs. You rushed forwards, placing your arms around his shoulders and pulled his body into yours. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around your waist. You kissed the top of his head, stroking his hair as he continued to cry - you allowed him to empty his emotions out; some tears of your own betraying you entirely.

“I’m sorry, I really am.” Came a muffled voice. Pausing, you released your hold of him and placed your hands either side of his face - offering him a watery smile. Then, using your sleeves you wiped his tears away - he watched your every move, waiting for you to say something. When you didn’t, he braced himself - lips trembling; he knew it was now or never. He had to tell you how he really felt.

“I’m not good enough.” He stated simply, his eyes glossy. Your forehead furrowed. “I’m never going to be good enough to take the championship, I’m going to let everyone down. Everyone that has ever believed in me - it doesn’t matter what I do, how much work I put in - I’m never good enough. And you -” He paused, meeting your gaze, a lump forming in the back of your throat. “I keep letting you down, time and time again. I was the one who caused this, I’m never going to be good enough for you.”

“If you believe that -” You began, kissing the newly formed tears away, “Then I will eat your race shoe.” You moved to sit next to him on the stairs, pulling him into your side. “Why didn’t you tell me that’s how you felt.”

You felt Max shrug, the side of his head resting on yours. “I didn’t want to burden you with all of my problems, you already put up with so much.”

“I will always have time for you, Max.” Grasping his hand in yours, “You are enough, you are more than enough. You are Max Verstappen, the fastest, strongest guy I know.” You chuckled lightly, “I know it may sometimes feel like that and that’s ok. You are putting yourself through so much - maybe, it’s time to give some consideration for your personal life. It’s unhealthy to work all of the time - then we run into issues like these.” You spoke softly, almost whispering but you could tell he was hanging onto every word you spoke. “I love you, Max. I don’t know what I would do without you.” You admitted, turning your head to look at him. He chewed on his bottom lip, processing your words.

“I love you too, more than anything.” He murmured, placing his forehead on yours. You lifted your head slightly to leave a soft kiss on his nose, earning the corners of his lips to quirk up.

Closing your eyes, you relished being in his arms again, to have him close to you. You had missed it. You had missed him. Both of you knew you had a lot to work through, that it wouldn’t simply disappear but both of you were going to do it together. Hand in hand. And that was more than enough.

[blzzrdstryr]

By proxy

Platonic yandere!Kaeya & child!gn!reader

Wordcount: 2195

A.N.: My first time writing platonic yanderes, hope you'll enjoy.

It's an impulsive decision for the most part - taking you, that is.

Kaeya trudges through the Wolfendom forest, a couple of his underlings, Addler and Otto, following behind as they trail a group of treasure hoarders. Criminal gang must have known that knights are on their tail, there's no other explanation for their sudden fleeing, leaving an already broken camp behind and taking only the most valuable possessions.

It's raining and he silently curses, even if this will give him advantage in battle, but archons, it's so cold. Huge droplets fall on the ground with a resounding sound, drenching everything and turning the forest landscape deep into nigh impassable terrain. Mud clings to their feet, slowing the group down, as the Sun starts to set. Sky turns all shades of purple and red, dimming light throwing the last rays over the Mondstadt as the darkness settles, yet Kaeya and his group still carry forward through the palisade of tall trees.

“Sir”, Otto carefully starts: “It seems that criminals are already several miles away from us”.

Kaeya nods for the knight to continue, already knowing that it will be an ask to stop - the weather is hellish and the rain is one of the heaviest Kaeya has ever had to experience.

“With how strong this rainfall is, the gang's traces will be gone in under an hour”

"All the more reasons to push on and catch them then", Alberich replies, paying zero attention to Adler's slight trembling or Otto's teeth chattering. The group continues on their path through descending darkness, their footsteps hasting despite the clinging and growing fatigue.

Suddenly, as the knights make their way around the cliff, a slight whimper is heard. It's human enough to stop the group - maybe some unlucky civilian got in the way of the gang, maybe criminals left their injured one. Kaeya just nods to the pair, as Otto and Adler unsheathe their weapons, wordlessly understanding the gesture.

Cavalry captain takes a step into the forest pit with a raised sword, all sight and ears, light blue vision on his belt shining and flickering both in caution and anticipation. He walks slowly and quietly, like a cat, careful not to step on the leaves and twigs lying around, and then he sees you.

You are a child, all thin and small in the way that the sick are. There are dark circles under your tired eyes, and the scrapes all over your body. You look already dead. He runs up to you, as he sees your figure swaying and knees buckling, saving you from the fall. Your skin burns Kaeya as he carries you back to the knights - it must be fever then. You blink at him several times, saying something, but your voice is too small and weak to make out anything among the droplets falling, and then you stop, eyes rolling back and head lolling to the side. You blacked out.

He thinks about handing your body to either of the knights and then continuing to run after the gang into the knight, but then decides against it - heavy rain must have blurred all the footsteps they left. Adler almost fails. You escape your delirium a couple of times, babbling words about forest and rain and wolves, and Kaeya, despite his focus on the trail ahead, can't help but listen to what you say. It's childish nonsense for the most part, an incomprehensible product of the feverish mind, yet sometimes you say meaningful things - I thought I would die, I got scared of wolf howls, The rain was so cold.

Some small part of him shrinks and aches at these words, a long buried hurt resurfacing once again. Kaeya frowns and huffs as he tries to get rid of the images of the days long gone in his mind - rainy night, hunger, pain, cold, he will die here. His lips quirk and a humorless laugh escapes him - the irony is painful.

He drops you off at the church, concerned Barbara taking you to the hospital and Kaeya, after a brief report to Jean, goes home, his mind still stuck on the memories of days long past. You will be fine, he tells himself, the church has good healers and the orphanage is nearby. Once you get better, you’ll get sent there, where devoted nuns will raise to be another disciple.

You had a look of a deadman - a strange catatonic serenity was radiating off of you, as you looked at the captain with a glazed yet piercing eyes, both seeing him and through him. It’s cold, so cold, yet no one is here. There are hot tears on his face, wet tracks burning his skin. His tummy is empty and aching, cold bites at his limbs, but Kaeya patiently waits for the adult to return. Father said that Kaeya was their last hope, so sure he would never leave him to die, right?

Cavalry captain barely sleeps through the night, memories and inner demons eating him from inside. When he does manage to doze off, a vague picture of darkening forests and howling winds wake him up, a fervent chanting buzzing in his head - Where is his father? Where is his father? Where is his father?.

Kaeya comes to you the next day, as his shift ends, legs heading to the towering church at the top on their own. Barbara leads him to your bed, your unconscious form lying limply. Idol explains your health issues to him - fever, malnutrition, inflammation, common cold and slight poisoning. The scratches you had yesterday were healed, Barbara says, but the rest of the problems can't be easily fixed with a bit of a hydro.

"Then, what medicines do they need?", Kaeya asks, understanding the unspoken words. The Church of Favonius, despite the large funding it receives from the city's treasury, still lacks a lot of resources and materials. People are free to come and get cured, without having a single mora to pay, which means that most of the remedies disappear at an alarming rate - be it some herbal balm for aching joints or a simple linen bandage.

The idol rustles in the hidden pockets of her dress, taking out a pencil and sheet of paper and begins to write, the list grows as Kaeya’s eyebrows get higher and higher. There are dried Liyuen herbs, exotic Sumeru fruits, specially treated Snezhnayan and Fontaine tinctures and medicines.

Kaeya is taken aback for a second by the sheer length of the final list - most of the items will have to be ordered and shipped and despite his salary of the captain allowing such expenses, it’s still strange to spend so much mora - a complete stranger. Captain contemplates just leaving you there - nuns will take care of you, but the hurt resurfaces again and he sees another person lying on the small hospital bed - little him, scared and confused.

He ends up buying all the listed things, and despite his efforts not to, continues to regularly check up on you when he has time. Sometimes, Barbara says, you wake up from your slumber, enough to utter some confused noises and questions, but then you drowse off again, both sickness and medicine pulling you back to sleep.

Kaeya, to his displeasure, never catches you conscious in time, until he comes one evening, expecting to spend the time looking at you sleeping again only to see you half sitting on the bed. Your posture gets straight the second you notice him too, an expression of confusion and fear appearing on your face.

"Hello", Kaeya starts, slowly walking up towards you, keeping his posture small and voice as friendly as possible:"I am that knight who carried you here, remember?", he explains, seeing the further abashment on you face.

You nod at him, prompting him to continue:"So, I just decided to visit you to ask you how you got in the forest and why were you alone"

"Sister Barbara said that you came here almost everyday," you reply, voice absolutely flat and face having no expression. Kaeya looks at you briefly - it’s rare for children to speak in such a cold manner, you must have something on your mind then.

"Yes, I did" , he says in the same friendly tone.

"Just to know why I was in the forest?" , your voice betrays you, a hint of hurt seeping into it. Ah, that’s why you asked.

"Hm, of course no! I also wanted to see you get better" , he smiles at the end, leaning a bit closer to you. You mull over his words, thinking of their sincerity, and then a later second you say, with much less caution and guard up:

"Well I am better now and…" you get silent for a good minute:"I don't remember why I was there. I think it's because of the fever". Your voice becomes strangely controlled again - you lie to Kaeya, you didn’t forget anything. A part of cavalry captain swells and purrs, recognizing himself in you,

"Do you want to live with me?". He asks instead of trying to get the truth out of you. Your eyes shine and a surprised noise comes out of your mouth at his suggestion - something between a squeak and high pitched yelp.

His apartment isn't the best place to bring the child in - there are far too many bottles and not enough food - Kaeya lives off the takeout from the Good hunter and the skewers he grills when missions call him to leave the city walls. Nonetheless, you don’t look too disgusted with his living conditions, so he considers it a win, as he heads for the tiny kitchen to make you a soup.

It turns out a bit burnt in the end - Kaeya added too much wood to the stove, but you still gulp it down, not leaving anything and thank him for the meal. He makes a mental note to buy you a bed - right now you’re sleeping on a small couch, and clothes to change.

You are a quiet child, too fast to apologize for the smallest mistakes and wary of him when he’s in a foul mood - it gives Kaeya an idea why you were in the woods. Your days together flow slowly and steady with Kaeya falling into routine - he wakes up, makes a breakfast for the both of you, you eat it, as you shyly tell him about your newest interest or finding - a drawing, a strange bug, a shiny rock of unusual colour, then he leaves for work, instructing you to go to the neighbours if you have issues, and leaving a premade dinner for you. Then he comes back, now listening to you talking about your day - you were drawing again, or you played with the other kids, or you were running and catching the butterflies, the now dead insects left for him to look at.

It’s a mundane life, something that Kaeya thought will never please him. There is a large pit inside of him - it was growing and festering with years - Khaenri’ah, father, Diluc, Crepus, that fight. It’s ugly and snarling and thoroughly scorched, a part of his soul that keeps him awake and anxious and angry and sad during bad nights. The pit quiets a bit when Kaeya takes care of you - toys, foods, games, the same way he wishes he was treated as a child.

Crepus Ragnvindr was a nice person, he took Kaeya in, clothed and fed and kept him safe for years, yet there was always an invisible line that separated Khaenri'ahn from Diluc - warmer voice, higher expectations, more praise. Kaeya doubts Crepus noticed this truly tiny gap in treatment, Diluc for sure didn’t. Alberich did his best to ignore it, yet he couldn’t, this difference nagged him at the back of his mind, alienating him in the newfound home.

That must be why he does his best to spoil you - it's new toys and furniture and evening walks around the Mondstadt with you on his shoulders. Soon, a new rumour starts to travel around Mondstadt - about a stray being picked up by another stray. Amber seemingly forgives him for the incident with Collei, Jean gives him a raise the same month, for child expenses, she succinctly says, Albedo off handedly mentions Klee and her desire for friendships, even Lisa gives him a couple of fairytale books, warning him what will happen if he will be late to return them beforehand. Diluc doesn't comment on the irony the next time they happen to meet, but he sees some Dawn Winery workers looking after you, when he is busy with Favonius stuff.

Kaeya, for the first time in years, feels truly happy. He has family again - you and him this time and he's willing to smother you with affections. He buys you things he wishes he had, and teaches you the skills he thinks will help you in life - how to fight, how to lie, how to kill someone with words alone.

It's a strange love he has for you - never seeing you as you - but it's genuine and all encompassing. Kaeya doesn't want little him to suffer again.

[roniscloud]

lhs - runnin’

lee heeseung [a. + f. 4700 words] runnin’

to you

you came up on some new

i know i shouldn’t feel blue

‘cause i was runnin’ out of time for you

synopsis: you met heeseung in your freshman year of college and immediately hit it off. you’ve made it to your third year and when everyone including yourselves thought that you were each other’s endgame, the devastation when you two split was immeasurable. you both know there’s still love between you. this break allows you both to realize new things. can you two find your ways back to each other? will this be the final goodbye?

genre + tropes: angst. fluff. comedy. college!au. establishedrelationship!au. exes!au.

warnings: fem reader. swearing. arguing. nosy friends. cold heeseung and cold reader. drifting relationship. interventions. slight suggestive themes but it’s only mentioned like once. they both pine over each other. mentions of alcohol and binge drinking. maybe not a happy ending. if you choose to see it that way. whoops. appearances of the rest of enha plus txt yeonjun and soobin.

i.  the break

“so this is how it’s gonna end? i thought we were doing fine.”

heeseung erupts into an even angrier fit, “are you kidding me? we are not fucking fine. in what world is this fine? tell me!”

you scoff from where you stand cross-armed on the other side of the bedroom. “well, can you really blame me? it’s hard to see if there’s something wrong if we never see each other.”

“exactly my point! we don’t see each other.”

the two of you have been at each other’s throats since heeseung showed up at your apartment. you have no idea how long ago that was or when the argument started. all you remember is coming up to him when he arrived, wanting to actually spend some time with him. instead he shrugged you off and ignored you, blaming the fatigue. the rest has been a blur. one of you made an offhand comment and now here you are: frustrated and in another fight.

a quick recap: you two met at a mutual friend’s party. you thought that each other was attractive and he ended up asking you out. from there you kept going out, fell in love, dated, and everyone thought you were perfect together. three years later and it’s getting tiring. life has been draining trying to balance it all.

“and who’s fault is that?”

annoyed, he snaps back, “oh please, you can not put the blame solely on me.”

“bullshit. i sure can when i’m the only one making an effort here. i’ve actually been trying to save us. you, on the other hand…” you pause again, rolling your eyes, “well, we both know just how much you care.”

his jaw drops, defensively he spits back, “are you genuinely implying that i don’t care about you? about us? that’s rich.”

you move to sit on the edge of the bed, staring at a single spot on the floor. you can see the shadow of heeseing pacing back and forth. you sit there, not looking at each other. the only sounds to be heard are his footsteps and the heavy sighs from you. you think back to the last several weeks. you recall each of the times you have been able to see each other. there’s no substance, nothing memorable. the only thing that comes to mind is that you always end up not talking at all or arguing.

just like right now.

“be real, heesung. when was the last time we went on a date? when was the last time you stayed the night without it ending up with you just knocking out? when was the last time we actually sat down and had a conversation? be honest because i will. i can’t remember.”

“and yet you thought we were fine?”

“well it’s better to believe a good lie than face the hurtful truth. i’m trying to save this relationship. i’m trying all the fucking time and you don’t do shit.”

he spits back frustrated, “well maybe that’s because there’s nothing to be saved.”

“are you kidding me right now? am i supposed to be scared? you tell me that there’s nothing to be saved and expect me to just give up?”

“sorry but i’m not running from this anymore.”

“you’re not sorry and we both know it.” you push yourself back up to stand, resting your hands on your hips, “you can’t say you’re sorry and expect me to forgive you. that’s not how this works.”

“this isn’t what i wanted to happen. this isn’t how it was supposed to go.”

“then make it work.”

“i- i can’t,” he holds his hands over his face, running one through his hair, “it’s too much.”

“so what? what do you mean?”

he finally stops. he takes a deep breath and lets it all out, “i just can’t see this working anymore, at least not like this.”

ii. week one

you thought this would be more difficult. that this would be the hardest pill to swallow. the first week apart may actually be the easiest. nothing has really changed. that’s probably because you haven’t told anyone that you two are no longer together. perhaps the time that you didn’t spend with each other before the break up had trained you for this.

life goes on, with or without heeseung. that’s what you keep telling yourself. you choose to get caught up with your life. you have other priorities. it’s not a crime to focus on yourself for the first time in three years.

heeseung feels the same. he doesn’t see any point on dwelling on the breakup. sure, he was the one who made the decision. he’s the one who put it out there. he’s the one who ended it and the one who is taking responsibility.

lucky for both of you, you don’t have any courses together and your schedules don’t really coincide. there’s no chance at any awkward run-ins. there is this weird, tiny feeling though. there’s this small inkling of something missing. you both suppress it. i mean, hell, the breakup just happened.

iii. scheming

meanwhile, your friends have all seemed to notice that the two of you are off. they aren’t sure what it is. they get that you two have had some time apart, but you’re both adults with lives. you have your own classes, jobs, other friends, and such. no one mentions it because they don’t think it’s their business.

but come on… there’s no way they won’t get to the bottom of it. our resident gossips, sunoo and sunghoon, team up and make it their mission to snoop around. of course, they take precautions to not get caught. the scheming duo find out nothing, to no avail.

now the gang of the scheming duo plus jay, jake, and niki have convened in the common room of jungwon’s dorm building. the 02z are all playing billiards in one corner. sunoo battles jungwon in a game of ping pong. the youngest of the group sits by himself on one of the couches, contemplating if he should speak up. they’ve been in a heated discussion as they try to figure out what exactly has been irking them.

riki, against his own conscience, speaks up to the five. he has this gut feeling and innocently wants to voice his opinion. “what if,” the young boy start out while gauging the faces of the others, “now don’t get mad and just hear me out.” he stops again, taking his time to make eye contact with each of the older boys, waiting until they all nod, “what if… they broke up?”

the group of friends all exchange glances with each other before breaking out into laughter. jay composes himself a bit, still chuckling when he says, “seriously? you think they broke up? heeseung and y/n? yeah, no way.”

sunoo leans onto the ping pong table and eggs him on, “they are literally soulmates.”

jungwon sets his racket down and goes to plop himself next to riki on the couch, “there is no way in hell the two of them split.”

iv. breaking news

“yeah, we split.” plain and simple. three words that crushed the poor hearts of jake and jungwon. he broke the news over brunch. he sensed their curiosity when they deliberately never brought you up. 

“good joke there, dude. almost had me for a second.” jake says, awkwardly with a forced laugh.

the youngest of the three chiming in and agreeing, “yeah, that’s really funny.” a silence hits the booth. “you are joking… right?”

the oldest then looks back and forth between the two, tilting his head to one side like a confused pup. he doesn’t see why they think he would joke and simply replies, “nope. you guys haven’t asked so i’m guessing you tried to snoop around and pick up on my cues. i’m also guessing sunoo’s behind this whole operation.”

“ok wait,” jake interjects, “what do you mean you broke up? you can’t just break up.”

jungwon agrees, “he’s right. you two are just playing a prank on us.”

“guys, i’m serious. y/n and i are no longer together.” the two just freeze, jaws dropped, eyes wide. “besides, it’s better this way.”

v. bad timing

meanwhile the remaining four members of their friend group have met up in the campus library in an attempted study session. so far, they’ve just gone back to gossiping and slacking off. the boys all find themselves teetering on the verge of sleep. that is until sunghoon catches you walking in. immediately going to softly pat the others back awake, they all look up confused. trying to stay subtle, hoon jerks his head to the side in your direction.

you make your way to one of the shelves, searching high and low for a book you need for your literature class. sneaking up behind you comes choi yeonjun, the library aid and a friend of yours. 

“need any help?”

“no thanks, i’m good jun.” you give him a polite smile.

unbeknownst to both of you, the failure of a study group has creeped to a closer table. they knew that you two were friends but they still can’t help but eavesdrop. “will you two please shut up so we can hear them?” the annoyed face evident on sunghoon’s face at the bickering of sunoo and niki. he turns to see jay, snacking and not paying attention. he rolls his eyes at the group, his gaze then catching yeonjun leading you out of the shelves. quickly shushing the three and nodding his head in your direction again, they finally get the hint.

yeonjun steps in front of you, “so you know my friend soobin, right?”

“soobin… as in choi soobin?”

yeonjun flashes his bright smile, “that’s the one.”

“yeah i know him. we had a stats class together a while back. he definitely taught me a few tricks around a calculator.” you laugh with him, “he’s super sweet, and needless to say cute too.”

“well, am i glad to hear that! long story short, he’s kinda been crushing on you lately and wants to know if you’re free. he mentioned your shared class before but he said he never got your number.”

“since you have mine already, go ahead and give it to him. tell him i’m free whenever he is.”

yeonjun raises his eyebrows at your boldness, “will do. i just wanted to ask you first before i gave it to him because… y’know…”

“no worries, i completely understand.”

he gives a quick goodbye before going back to his desk. storming quickly, four faces appear in front of you, all a combination of confusion, shock, and anger. 

sunoo starts, “um… y/n. why are you telling yeonjun to give your number to another guy?”

“yeah, are you cheating on heeseung?” his partner in crime, sunghoon, joins in.

you pause and scan their faces. your face dawns an equally as confused expression. “how can i cheat on someone who isn’t my boyfriend?”

four jaws simultaneously drop. riki’s being the first to close and answer a bit hushed, “i knew it.”

jay turns to him in disbelief, “not the time, niki!”

“did heeseung not tell you guys?” you ask them slowly. “i assumed he would be the one to let you all know.”

“that you two broke up?!” sunoo asks angrily, being shushed by yeonjun from the counter. giving an apologetic smile then tuning back into your conversation, “what do you mean you two broke up?”

“we just… broke up. that’s it. end of story. now if you’ll excuse me, i have to actually study.”

they watch you check out the book you came in for originally and walk out the doors, unsure of what to do next.

vi. the intervention

arranging your monthly movie night was not exactly the easiest task given the tensions surrounding two people in your group. so the only logical solution that they all could think of was to simply not to tell one of you that the other was coming over. a fool-proof plan.

in the dorm of the 02z, you did not expect to see heeseung when you walked in.

he gets up from his spot on the couch, “what the hell is going on here?”

“yeah, an explanation would be nice.” you cross your arms as you glare at the younger boys.

niki, trying to act as mediator gestures for both of you two sit on the loveseat—the same loveseat that was always reserved for the two of you before. “this is an intervention.”

after the confession of their intentions, everyone goes quiet. not a single word is spoken for several minutes, no one knowing how to start. after much internal contemplation, jungwon finally attempts to start. “we brought you two here today because- you know what, i can’t do this.” he stops and cuts himself off, burying his face in his hands.

sunoo sits next to him with his arms crossed. “how dare you two? our parents gets divorced and we don’t even get a notice.” it was common for them to refer to you and heeseung as the parents of the group, being the oldest. although something about sunoo still calling you by that nickname stings, him shaking his head to display his disappointment making you feel guilty. 

you see heeseung out of the corner of your eye avoiding looking up to your friends. “look, i don’t see the big deal. we broke up. that happens when relationships don’t work out.”

sunghoon quickly intervenes, “how can you say it isn’t a big deal? you’re letting three years go to waste and that’s all you can say? that’s what happens.” he scoffs at how shameless you come off.

“well, would you rather us stay together even when we were unhappy?” their reactions were a mix of shouts, the words yes, of course not, and duh all blending into each other.

that’s what brought your ex boyfriend out of his daze. “y/n has a point. we broke up and it’s over. we were no longer happy and i don’t see the point in bringing it up again either. it’s in the past. let it go.” he says rather coldly and sternly. him actually saying it and acknowledging it caused that weird feeling to come back. his body language is off, too. your years together has taught you enough about heeseung to know when he’s upset, especially with himself.

jake takes his turn, looking down at his fidgeting hands and muttering sadly, “but you promised each other forever.”

that prompts you and heeseung to glance at each other quickly, making eye contact and it lingering for a couple of seconds. you look away first, not noticing that his stare doesn’t leave you.”some promises just can’t be kept.” your response then making him turn away.

“bullshit.” it’s the first word uttered by jay this entire time. “neither of you are the type to break promises.”

“some things can’t be helped,” heeseung defends.

jay, getting angrier, asks his friend, “did you know that she’s already going on a date? yeah, that guy, soobin. i’m pretty sure you know who he is. your ex,” he makes sure to stress the last word with a certain degree of annoyance, “thinks he’s cute.”

emotionless, heeseung answers back, “good for her, then.”

you were sure that you were over him, that’s why you said yes to the date. but something about him not caring leaves you feeling odd.

jungwon stops your train of thought, “no, you’re supposed to be upset. you’re supposed to get jealous and confess you still want to be with her. you’re supposed to fight for her and be together.”

another quick glance between the two of you, lasting longer than the previous one. no words are said on his end, but you know exactly what he’s trying to say. “he doesn’t have to fight when i’m the one who ended it.” you knew him. you knew he couldn’t admit to the others his decision. after all, he wants to be a good role model even in his darkest times. he couldn’t crush their idea of love and you did what you had to do. you lied for his sake—and maybe even yours.

vii. him

two months have passed since the breakup. there’s tension amongst the friend group, the six not wanting to pick sides between you and heeseung. they’re constantly going back and forth, like they’re walking on eggshells as to not bring up something that only happened with the other.

to get your mind off everything, you’ve found comfort in soobin. well, more accurately you’ve found comfort in between his sheets, or wherever you two decide for it to go down. that’s not to say the dates aren’t great. you’re not official and you both know that. your latest date, however, couldn’t help but feel weird.

the date was going pretty well. don’t get me wrong—soobin is a great guy. he’s sweet, caring, funny, and handsome. you have a lot in common like your taste in drinks and movies. maybe if you had met him first, you would’ve dated him… but you didn’t meet him first. you met heeseung first, and soobin isn’t heeseung.

you found yourself drifting from the conversation now and then, thinking about how heeseung would’ve been at that moment. you think back to his habits, particularly the way he raises his eyebrows whenever he’s excited or talking about something he’s passionate about. you always found it endearing. over the course of dinner, you are able to notice that soobin has some cute habits too, like him covering his face when he gets shy or puffing out his cheeks. but it still isn’t the same.

“you two deserve each other.”

soobin catches your attention again with that comment. “what?”

“you and heeseung. i know that look. don’t try to lie to me.”

“look, heeseung is my past, and i want it to stay that way.”

“do you really want it to stay that way, or are you just afraid of what could happen if you let him back into your present?”

you give him a teasing glare, “don’t get all philosophical with me. i just don’t think he and i can go back to how we were before.”

“what’s so bad about you two changing? obviously if it didn’t work out, you shouldn’t try to be what you were before.”

“can’t i just try with you?”

“as much as i would love for you to give me that chance, i can’t do that to you or to myself. it’s not fair.”

you hesitantly ask him, “but is it worth it?”

“that’s not my decision to make.”

viii. her

now that you’re virtually not in his life, he seems to be looking for you everywhere. actually… rather than going out of his way to look for you, everything just reminds him of you. the jingles of the commercials you always sang along to, your favorite songs on the radio, the reruns of 90’s shows you always binged. hell, even when he was making ramen, he was reminded of how you would make his favorite for him every time he was stressed over an exam. he was sitting in the back of the lecture hall, trying so hard to stay awake for his 3 hour long class with the most boring professor on campus. he fought the urge to text you since it felt like second nature to rely on you to help cheer him up.

there was a particular night when it really hit him. reality smacked him in the face late one evening. heeseung was bored out of his mind, laying alone in bed, aimlessly browsing netflix to find something to watch. he thinks to himself y/n would’ve slammed this laptop closed and talked all night about random and obscure topics. he laughs to himself, reliving the memories. right then, it’s obvious. he misses her.

ix. promises

the rain hitting your bedroom window had no help on your already gloomy mood. what did help was the bottle of soju- well more realistically, four bottles of soju. it was all the liquid courage you needed to call heeseung at three in the morning. 

you sat drowsily on the rug of your living room, your phone on speaker and placed in front of you as you stared out the dewy glass. you heard the phone ring seven times, ready to hang up until you heard his groggy voice come out from the other end. “hello? y/n, why are you up?”

you laugh softly and ask him, sounding loopy, “why are you up?”

“because you’re calling me. would you like to give me a reason why, and are you drunk?”

“maybe. anyways, you know… i was thinking. we broke a lot of promises and it hurts. i have to know that we’re not bad people. i have to keep at least one, right?”

heeseung groans but lets you ramble, knowing that you won’t stop until you’ve said it all, “go on…”

“we made a promise that if something was going on, if we were in a dark place, that we would talk to someone. well, if you couldn’t tell by now, i’m not in the best place. the first person i thought to talk to was you.”

“why me?”

“shhh… don’t ask questions. i know you’re tired so just stay on the phone and let me talk. ok?”

he goes quiet for a bit, sighing, “ok.”

“i miss you. i do. i don’t expect you to miss me but i just want to say it,” pausing to hiccup, “soobin helped me realize some things, saying some crap like we deserve each other.” you chuckle as you recall his words, “maybe he said it because bad people deserve bad people. maybe he said it because in our own fucked up lives, we’re the only ones who can understand each other. i did a lot of thinking and i’ve come to the conclusion that we don’t. because if we stay together, we can’t move on. we can’t grow. we can’t become good people, no matter how much we want it. that’s life. sometimes, no matter how much we want something, no matter how much we wish on stars or pray, some things just aren’t meant to be.”

“y/n, get some rest…”

“wait, i’m not done. you already can tell i’ve been drinking and to be honest i have been, for a while. i do it,” starting to choke up and sniffle, “because it helps me forget. even if it’s just for a minute that i can forget what happened, i’ll drink as much as it takes. i’ll grow out of it, eventually. i know i will, but for now… i have to do what i have to do. i’m sure you can relate.” you laugh again, getting more drowsy. you bring your legs up, hugging your knees. faintly, the sounds of heeseung’s snores play from your phone. you smile to yourself, “i wish you were here, singing me a lullaby. i don’t know when you fell asleep but goodnight. take care of yourself.”

cuddled up in his bed, heeseung hears you hang up. he lets you believe he didn’t hear what you said. he knows the reality of it all and the weight that you both are carrying. knowing that you won’t check your phone for the rest of the night, he sends you a quick text: bookstore, saturday, noon. goodnight.

as he turns off his phone to try to fall back asleep, he sees his reflection in the black screen. he sees his puffy, red eyes and his tear-stained cheeks. the end of it all is coming and finally, you two are ready for it.

x. love song

seeing him in person is a good idea. clearing the air, letting it all out, getting closure. all good ideas, you hope. walking into the bookstore was a weird feeling. when you spot him sitting by the window, you quietly make your way over. he looks up at your new presence, his feet shuffling out of nervousness. you notice the glass of pear juice on the small coffee table in front of him, already half empty.

“hi,” he says like a whisper.

“hi,” you awkwardly respond. it’s unlike the two of you to not know how to start a conversation. you make your way onto the cushioned seat, letting yourself get comfortable to help ease the tension. you each avoid the other’s gaze, not knowing how to begin. you sigh and finally ask, “how have you been?”

“busy,” he says as he nods, “finally took up actual music lessons. thought it would be better to have someone who’s played piano and guitar professionally instead of trying to teach myself.”

you softly giggle, “that’s good. you’ve always loved music.”

“yeah… how about you?”

“same, busy. i got the t.a position i applied for like forever ago.”

“congrats! you still looking to become a teacher?”

“well, generally yeah. i was having my doubts before but i just fell back into it. finally being able to be there, present, and guiding others… that’s what i want.” you sit there across from him, watching him and taking it all in. the man in front of you is heeseung, but not the heeseung you knew. no, this is the better version of him. the version of him where he can focus on himself. the version of heeseung that’s glowing and happy and ready to take on the world. “so, look. there’s no easy or delicate way to put it but i think there are things we both need to get off our chests.”

“agreed. since it all happened—the fights, the breakups, the ambush interventions—we haven’t actually talked.”

“those interventions… they were silly but the guys did help me realize some things. we’re growing up. sure, i thought we had this plan of us graduating, getting married, having a family, settling down, growing old. we both wanted that type of life. sadly, it’s not what happened and we have to live with it.”

he lets out a chuckle, “heeseung and y/n: meant for each other and meant to be.”

“but not meant to last. what a bittersweet and poetic ending."

“it’s like people always say: right person, wrong time.”

“you know… you used to tell me that our love song was the soundtrack to the best life you could live.” you reach out and take his hand in yours, “i just,” pausing to take a deep breath and compose yourself, “i just want you to know… that if anything happens-”

he cuts you off with a quiet gasp, whispering your name with a shaky voice, “don’t.”

you shake your head and gently squeeze his hand, “if anything happens… if in the end, we don’t find our way back and it isn’t us, don’t think we ended on a bad note.” you drop your head as you chuckle lightly before continuing, “cause you were always on key.” you give him a small grin, trying your hardest to not make things worse by crying. “we were just playing different tunes.”

he pulls you in closer to him, placing his hands softly on your cheeks. “i always hated seeing you cry,” he says as he wipes away the tears on your face, not bothering about his own. he wraps his arms around you, holding you close for the last time. 

you stay there in his warmth, hearing him sniffle as he tries to hold back the falling tears. when you pull away, you tell him “i will always love you. maybe not in the way i thought i would but it’s still there.”

“maybe in our next life, it’ll be the right time.” with that, he leaves a kiss on your forehead, leaves the bookstore, and leaves your life. your duet that worked in perfect harmony now playing a beautiful cadence—two wandering artists, free to fill your own wretched worlds with new melodies, the bliss and tranquility of it all. the hope that maybe one day, you’ll be in each other’s lives again is enough.

[ymiwritesstuff]

The Limits of a Hero

Hello hello, I’m here to bring you something rather special. A quick fun fact: When I started writing years ago, Link was actually the first character I ever wrote for, so this piece is sort of going back to my roots as a writer. That, and I’ve been in a HUGE Twilight Princess mood lately, (I recently bought a few volumes of the manga and I am very much enjoying it) so I thought I’d write this quick thing for my favorite incarnation of Link. I hope those of you who also like him will enjoy this.

The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

Link x Reader

Summary: During a seemingly ordinary night out in the woods you decide to give the hero a much needed chance to rest.

Notes: Fluff, some light angst

The tree trunk felt rough against your back, but it provided a much-needed opportunity to finally rest and recollect your energy after yet another day of fighting against the twilight and its corrupt ruler. Yet you found a strange calm when surrounded by the night, the warm flames of the campfire swaying in the cool wind.

The wood crackled, the breeze howled and your eyelids grew heavy. You wouldn’t close them, however. Not yet. Instead, you kept your (E/C) eyes on the glowing fire, occasionally throwing in a stick or two to make sure your source of heat wouldn’t disappear.

Your thoughts wandered, as they often did ever since you were thrown into this dangerous adventure. How did everything change so fast? You could still hear the water trickling down the waterwheel in Ordon as if it was yesterday. Everything had gone wrong so fast, and now you were trying to save the entire kingdom from something you didn’t fully understand.

You knew it was the same for Link. But unlike you, he was much better at suppressing his confusion and doubts. You had noticed a change in him, no doubt caused by the sudden responsibility laid upon his broad shoulders. In addition to the more obvious changes in his attire, his cerulean eyes lost some of their glow, he somehow grew even more silent and he didn’t smile as often. All because he felt that his role as the hero chosen by the Gods demanded it.

It must have been tiring, you thought, yet he pressed on, never once letting even a single mention of how much it all weighed down on him slip from his lips. But you could see it. Whether it was in the way his shoulders fell with a sigh whenever he finished slaughtering a group of Bokoblins or how he yawned and stretched his arms almost every time he hopped off Epona. His body was fatigued, but his eyes held nothing but determination.

The rustling of leaves that came from behind snapped you back to reality, and your eyes fell on the bush where the grey animal soon emerged from, carrying something in his mouth the edges of which and a part of his lower body was seemingly damp. You watched as he walked with heavy steps towards the fire before dropping the thing you recognized to be a Hyrule Bass on the ground.

The fish flopped on the dirt and you found yourself raising a confused eyebrow at him, before locating his fishing rod not too far away from the fire, indicating that he had forgotten to take it with him. You looked at the fish again.

“Are we this desperate?” You managed to ask him as his beastly form quickly reverted to his original form you were familiar with. He sat on the ground and gave you a slight nod.

“We’re running low on food,” he said, taking a sip from his bottle of water. Most of his equipment was laying on the ground, though he was still fully clad in his green tunic, chainmail and all.

You noticed him taking out a small knife, no doubt intending to use it to prepare the freshly caught fish. He would not dare use his sacred sword for such a task. The bass was fairly big, enough for both of you, you surmised.

“I can take care of it,” you offered, noticing the tired look in his eyes as they turned to you. He shook his head lightly.

“It’s fine, (Name),” he assured and began cutting into the flesh, but you persisted.

“You haven’t slept properly in days.” It had been an exhausting few days, filled to the brim with battles against Shadow Beasts and other enemies. It took its toll on both of you yet he showed no outward signs of fatigue. Not that it was necessary, for right now, anyone could see the dark circles and bags under his otherwise gorgeous eyes.

He glanced at you, clearly pondering over your words while continuing to cut the fish. You were right, as you often were. He was exhausted, but the selflessness in him didn’t want you to lose any of the sleep you needed.

“Someone has to keep watch,” he began, but you quickly shut him down.

“Which I can do.”

You scooted over to him, noticing him making the final cuts to the scaly flesh of the fish. Placing a hand on top of his, you kept your eyes on him, trying to convince him.

“You need to rest, Link. Please.”

Upon hearing your voice that left your lips as a quiet plea he finally gave in, letting out a sigh that carried all his exhaustion into the air and letting go of the knife. He finally turned to you, his drained eyes glowing in silent relief.

“Will you be alright? You know you can wake me up any time if-”

“I’ll be fine. The only thing you need to worry about is getting some sleep.”

Your hand reached up to slowly remove his cap, exposing his dirty blond hair that bathed in the glowing embers of the campfire. You offered him a smile equally warm as the flames which he thankfully returned.

Planting the tiniest kiss on his cheek, you retreated from him, once again leaning against a lone tree. With your hand you lightly patted your lap, wanting the hero in front of you to have the best possible chance at getting a good night’s rest.

He laid his weary head on your lap and almost immediately, he let out a long yawn that indicated just how much he needed this, despite his stubborn protests. Your fingers found their way into his hair, running through his locks in a soothing manner.

Silence fell around you, though it was a refreshing change from the usual noises of battle and struggles. You stared at the fire once again, its welcoming warmth enveloping both of you.

“You’ve changed,” you admitted, thinking back to the simpler times, during which Link would have been more than compliant to sleep when he needed it. He let out a soft sigh, his eyes glued to the starlit sky above.

“I guess I have,” he agreed. You wondered if he meant it to the same degree as you did. Even now, you noticed the solemn expression on his face you had never seen back home.

Home. You thought about it a lot. Maybe a little too much at times. Ordon meant a lot to you, even more to Link you assumed. Perhaps that’s why he had gotten so stoic and serious. He was merely trying to protect what he held dear.

It was admirable, he was, by all accounts, a hero. Courageous, selfless, strong, yet still a mere Hylian. A capable Hylian indeed, but still a Hylian. A Hylian who the entire kingdom needed to save them. Everyone expected so much of him, it seemed as if he himself forgot his limits.

“You’re not all-powerful, Link.”

Your eyes fell on him, and his own looked up at you. Someone needed to be his voice of reason, and you were more than willing to take that role if it meant ensuring his safety when he sometimes couldn’t.

“Maybe I should be.”

Your eyebrows frowned at that. You knew he felt a certain sense of guilt about what happened to the children of the village. They were safe now, but there was a stinging sensation of shame embedded in him that made him feel responsible for all of it.

“Don’t say that. You did all you could. Pushing yourself to the point where you can’t stay up anymore won’t solve anything.”

He knew you were right. You almost always were. Link had always secretly wondered if it was a blessing that it was you who had accidentally stumbled across the same wall of Twilight that had transformed him into a beast. In all honesty, he was thankful.

“I’m just... Worried about you,” you confessed, feeling a small sense of dread in the core of your being. Just thinking about what could happen to him if he didn’t take care of himself made your stomach churn.

A troubled look fell on his face, as if he was feeling guilty about making your eyes fill with concern. You inhaled deeply and pressed your lips on his forehead, not wanting your own uneasiness make him anxious.

“Rest now. I’ll keep watch.”

With a small nod, he allowed his heavy eyelids to close and it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, soft snores escaping his mouth that was partially agape.

For the first time in days, he looked truly peaceful. His body relaxed, rid of any signs of stress or tension, the only movement being that of his chest, moving up and down due to his steady breathing. With a smile you continued running your digits through his hair, hoping to comfort him even in his dreams you could only hope were as tranquil as your current surroundings.

“Goodnight, Link.”

[hobidreams]

november 1869.

to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama. words: 2.4k contains: descriptions of blood/death, a reckoning.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 26. start from the beginning?

Before Queen Jeonghui’s tomb, you stand with hands bowed in reverence, mind laden with warm memories as sticks of incense burn above your fingertips.

“We all miss you, daebi-mama. I hope you are resting well,” you murmur, letting the smoke mingle with your breath in the air as you bow, deeply. “Happy birthday.”

A little ways away, the single guard that accompanies you is also offering his thoughts to the raised, grassy mound that the queen lies beneath. You’re glad it’s Myungho to come with you today. He’s a good man, one who allows you as much freedom as possible. He understands your need to escape sometimes. Nearby, the horses you rode here are grazing on the field, quietly snorting as their tails swish from side to side.

As you look upon the tomb, you wonder wistfully if mother has found the queen in the spirit world. If they’re playing the game of janggi they so loved in life, when both could find the rare time to continue their decade-long (friendly) rivalry while indulging in cups of strong, dark tea. The thought brings a smile to your face even as fresh tears fall at the remembrance.

In your peripheral vision, you see a swish of fabric, the sign of someone approaching. You give one last bow and slot your incense in the traditional tray, realizing it must be time to leave before it gets too cold and your limbs begin to freeze even under the layers of clothes. You must go back eventually, you know it, but that doesn’t make it easier.

But when you turn, the man that stands beside you wears royal robes — the scarlet fabric and golden dragons unmistakable.

“Jeonha?”

The king’s face holds only sorrow as he holds matching incense in his hands. Staring straight ahead, he bends into a bow, dipping his head repeatedly low, low, lower until he’s almost on the dying, waterlogged grass with it, the lit grey tips flickering in the wind as they are nearly doused from the force of his movements. He bites his lip hard, so hard he draws blood as he punishes his own legs with the bows but he doesn’t stop.

You watch him with emotion clinging to your throat, but you swallow the questions you want to ask as you swipe at your wet cheeks. Why are you here? Why did you change your mind? How are you? Are you okay? All these impertinent questions are for you, to satisfy your own curiosity, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Quietly, steadily, you wait until he has finally stuck in the incense in the memorial ash. You wait until he opens his eyes, red-rimmed as they are, and finds your gaze.

“I… decided at the last moment,” he murmurs. “You… were right. I had to see her.”

You nod. Think you understand everything else he means as well, even if he’s left it unspoken. “Me too.”

“She would have liked that you’re here.”

That simple sentence threatens another wave of nostalgia and longing. You let it pull you under. Sink yourself into it. The mourning, the grief. And the love. The love that was there. The love that still remains, the traces of it held in you both. Your fingers twitch with a sudden, daring want to take his hand. To meet your palms and find the warmth and the life pulse that beats so closely, so resolutely just beneath the surface despite all this pain and all this loss. If you could just reach out. If you could just take another risk…

“Jeonha, run!”

The scream comes from the hill behind you. You both whirl.

The head of the royal guard comes running over with his sword drawn. His teeth are grit, hair blown from the wind that sweeps through the grass, rippling. His blade is already stained with a color that makes your stomach lurch at the implication.

“Hoseok— What’s going on?” The king yells back.

“Rebels! An ambush. We don’t have enough men!”

These few seconds are all the warning you get.

An incredible roar of voices comes exploding up and then you see them. The thick crowd of men that come surging over the hill, fighting their way towards you. The unforgettable clatter of metal on metal desecrates this once-sacred ground. Your legs go soft as you panic, scrambling. You’re trying not to watch as guards and rebels alike are cut down, but the enemies are steadily advancing still. What should you do? Where should you go?

“Myungho, get the horses!” The king barks out. But one look at the steeds tells you that they’re frightened, rearing back as men descend upon them. They’re off, running away on instinct to preserve their own lives while damning yours.

“Jeonha, what are your orders?” Myungho’s grip on his weapon is tight.

“Go. Help Hoseok.”

“Yes, jeonha!”

But as the battle wears on, the dread in you only grows. The king’s men are skilled, but it seems there were only a few to begin with. They are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, yelling for jeonha to escape but he doesn’t move. You don’t know what to do. You are at a complete loss, standing beside him with fingers growing steadily numb. You have to do something. You— You can’t just let it end here, at the hands of these men bellowing with violence and anger and pain.

“Jeonha, w-we have to run,” you stutter, forcing yourself to move, tugging at the fabric of his robes. But when you look back at the opposite side, your only escape route, a throng of rebels come scattering across the grass. Cutting you off; rendering you helpless.

“Myungho, cover the rear!” Hoseok spits out as he takes down another three by himself, the quick whip of his blade reflecting a beam of sun. But even he, with two other guards in front, cannot hold all of them off, though there are less of the rebels now that remain standing.

Caught in the middle, you can only watch your allies strain and sweat. In your heart, you promise desperately that you heal them in the end, if only they will hold on now.

With an awful cry, one of the guards hits the ground and a rebel uses that chance. Breaks through the line of defense and charges right towards you both.

“Fuck the king!” He yells, his face smeared with dirt, his sword raised as his bare feet trip upon the grass but he just keeps coming somehow and you have no weapons and you have no shields but the very first instinct, the most primal one you have is to throw yourself in front of the king and take his pain for him and—

Hoseok dispatches the rebel from behind just as you move a single step forward.

“You…” The king’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at you, at what you just did. Then he’s shoving you aside and stooping to pick up the abandoned sword from the ground.

You realize what he means when he sweeps up his sleeves, adjusts his grip on the worn handle. “Wait, no, jeonha, you cannot—”

“Stay behind me.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Do not argue with me.”

Again, he leaves you with no choice but to watch his back.

Fear pounds away in your body like a thousand drums, thunder booming through the pulse of your clenched heart in your ears as the king takes a first brutal swing at an enemy. Somewhat out of practice against the towering man, he’s shoved back by the sheer force of the clash, feet skidding across the wet grass but he refuses to yield. Stubborn as he always is, he rushes in again only to be pushed back. Again.

The king tilts his blade, slices it quick only to have one sent right back at him, barely missing his shoulder by an inch. He doesn’t even flinch as he stands firm. Adapts in the moment and tries a new strategy, a new tactic that has him spinning, robes fluttering in the winter air as his shuddering breath comes out in a puff of white and ends in a fury of red. And again. And again until finally, finally, only the strongest of the rebels remain standing with the few allies you left, along with your brutal, bloodied king.

Before you, all the men are panting, open mouthed, every last one of them desperate for a victory that spells the doom of the other.

“Come on then,” the king goads, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a show of nonchalance even though he’s obviously fatigued. “Attack.”

“You little shit!”

This man is enormous, easily a head above the king and he’s strong, muscles bulging from his torn tunic as he thrusts the sword ahead with surprising speed. The quick rush of air slices through two layers of robes, splitting the dirtied fabric open as the king narrowly escapes without a new scar. But his return stab doesn’t meet a mark and he’s slow on the rebound, steps lost some of the agility he had at the start.

Please. Please, you beg to whatever god may be listening, don’t let him die. But that rebel seems to have an endless strength as he forces the king back, meets him blow for blow for blow and you are so worried, terrified you’re going to see his last moments like this. Like this you will have been with him until the end just like you once stupidly wished. You’re so caught up you don’t realize what’s going on behind you.

“Su-uinyeo-nim! Watch out!” Myungho’s voice cracks as he cries your name, but you turn too slow. Myungho’s on the ground and the rebel that beat him is sprinting towards you, savagery in his scowl, his crude axe already suspended in mid-swing, just a few more steps, just one more shove to land right across your heart and you, you who has never held a weapon before in her life, you who has lived to heal and mend instead of hurt, what can you do right now but die?

“No!”

The scream is hoarse, a furious sound matched with a rush of robes that whip past your own.

You peel open your eyes in time to watch the king take the axe blow meant for you with his left arm. Despite his bark of pain, he swings with his right in exchange and it’s enough. The rebel falls, his axe plummeting uselessly beside him. Then the king falters too, sword clattering down as he finally drops to his knees.

“Jeonha!” You scramble to him. “Oh god, oh god, jeonha, why did you do that— Jeonha, how could you do such a thing? Jeonha!” You part the stained robes, stomach churning at the raw sight of his sacrifice. “We need to fetch you help. You need medicine, oh god, oh god.” This is panic like you’ve never felt it before as you look around, as if some miracle could occur, as if it hasn’t already occurred by the fact that you’re both still alive.

To one side, Hoseok is alone, gasping hard with the enormous rebel lying prone beside him, evidently having finished him off. Myungho has a gash running down his side, but he’s crawling towards you both still with a hand pressed to his wound for pressure. There is no one else. You have to do this on your own. You have to calm the hell down.

Using the nearby sword, you force yourself to focus and stop shaking as you cut strips of the inner layer of your skirt. You have to save his arm even as nausea swims in your mind, nerves making you want to empty your stomach.

“Hah...” The king’s chest lurches as he struggles for air. His eyes are hazy but he manages to fix them on you, as if to ground himself. “You’re… safe?”

Nodding frantically, you start to wrap the cloth around him, willing your fingers not to slip. “I-It’s deep, jeonha. Your wound is so deep.” You’re quietly sobbing as you tie the makeshift bandage to stop the worst of the bleeding. How could he be thinking of you at a time like this? It must hurt excruciatingly so, yet he is still trying to be strong.

Beside you, Hoseok is carrying Myungho’s weight, using the extra cloth to help his ally with his limited medical training.

“…Hoseok.” The king sucks in another long breath. “They… Those rebels were peasants, weren’t they?”

“Yes, jeonha… I think they were.”

He accepts this knowledge silently as you finish your preliminary treatment, but lack the resources to do anything else. You stare at the fresh red seeping through the flimsy cloth and hope desperately that it will be enough for now, until one of you can return to the palace and gather reinforcements to take you home. Feeling your fingers stop, he immediately tries to move his arm but winces, bites his lip at the sudden jolt.

“Don’t move, please,” you instantly say.

The king huffs a long, exhausted sigh as he sinks into the ground. Lets the tension seep out of him, though likely not by choice. His dark eyes flicker to the tomb briefly before they slide closed, the scar ever slashed startlingly crimson across the right side. Despite his best attempts, he is still winded, depleted. Human, after all. After all of this.

You brush matted strands of light hair away from his forehead, and pat at the drops of sweat that linger and prove how hard he pushed himself to fight. He shifts into your touch like a stray animal, allowing you take care of him for once without argument until his breaths even some, settling only in your arms.

“It seems it’s been a long time,” he says softly after a moment, his eyes remaining shut.

“Since?”

“Since I’ve protected someone.”

Your pulse catches. Blood thrums through you as you whisper, “but you did.” Your voice is viscous with relief, and gratitude. “You did.”

Only now do you dare to reach for his hand, to lend him some of your strength, even though you have seen again just how much of it he already holds in himself.

Wrapped in your warmth, he squeezes back just the once. Lets you know he is here, he is here, he is here with you still.

a/n: because i could never forget the way he wielded that sword in the mv. so... how you feel about our king now?

[delimeful]

nothing in this world (i wouldn’t do) (2)

warnings: mild blood/violence/injury, demon slaying, miscommunication, impromptu first aid, mentions of spiders, virgil tempting fate with his internal dialogue again

-

Whenever Virgil wasn’t sleeping, he was on the move.

At first, it had been because he didn’t trust himself around towns for too long, and there was always the chance of a real demon slayer getting wind of that ridiculous rumor and trying to track him down and kill him for it, even though it totally wasn’t his fault.

But then, as time went on, his bizarre pseudo-popularity seemed to have a different side effect.

Namely, every time he managed to save another human and hauled them back to the nearest town, he’d be practically swarmed. Antsy townsfolk would hurriedly inform him of the horrible tragedy they’d heard about up north, or the mysterious disappearances by the woods between this town and the neighboring one, or any sort of rumor that they thought a “demon slayer” should know about.

Where exactly were all the real demon slayers when people needed them? Why was he, an actual demon, seemingly more accessible for seeking help?!

Still, he wasn’t exactly doing anything else with his life (his unlife?), and if there were less demons, that meant the world would be safer for Thomas, didn’t it? So off he went, taking the less-traveled paths and following vague leads right into more danger.

His latest case had been a requested one, from a weaver in the last town. She had received a letter from her brother saying that he planned to come visit, and weeks later, he still hadn’t appeared or replied to her many return messages. The worry seemed to weigh her down like a physical burden, and he’d agreed perhaps more easily than normal.

Now, he was wedged into a shallow crevice in the mountainside and sorely regretting that decision.

The issue wasn’t the demon, no. He’d actually been making good progress on getting deeper and deeper into its territory in the past few days.

The issue was that he wasn’t the only one hunting it.

First, it had been a gaggle of young teens, and he’d been so alarmed that he’d almost dropped right out of the trees and ushered them back out of the woods. The less humans traipsing around this deep in demon territory, the better.

Of course, that was when he’d managed to spot the swords strapped to their sides, and suddenly, never appearing before a human again was looking more and more appealing. He’d immediately switched gears from tracking to stealth, and honestly, should have just turned tail and left then.

Instead, because those kids were around Thomas’s age and he still needed to find that weaver’s brother and also he was a sentimental idiot, he trailed them at a distance, always staying downwind and poised to bolt.

They handled themselves well at the beginning, and then the environment began to warp around them, and then it turned out there was more than one demon nesting here, and Virgil had been on the brink of jumping down and interfering, swords or no swords, when--

Between one blink and the next, one of the demons was cleanly beheaded.

The demon slayer-- for what else could he be-- smiled brilliantly as the body disintegrated to ash, holding a hand out to help one of the teens to their feet.

“It seemed like you all could use a little assistance,” he’d said, turning to face one of the other demons with a confidence that visibly unsettled it. Above, a circling crow cried out raspily. “My dear Missus informed me of your call for backup.”

If the stranger’s swift execution hadn’t tipped Virgil off, the way the baby slayers looked up at him with blatant awe was clue enough. This slayer was powerful and charismatic, whereas Virgil was neither of those things, so he was going to stay right here in his crevice until the whole situation had sorted itself out.

The three other demons seemed to have no such qualms, lunging at him in a semi-coordinated attack. The slayer handled them with terrifying ease, and for a moment it seemed that the battle had been settled, as simple as that.

Of course, that was when the landscape twisted further in on itself, buzzing like a disturbed wasps nest, and Virgil realized abruptly that this was the first time he’d seen so many feral, newly-created demons in one territory.

A stronger demon was keeping them all in line, like the queen of a hive. And it wasn’t at all pleased about the intrusion.

The slayer seemed to have caught on as well, his sword held aloft in threat. “Looks like the real fight starts now,” he said with a sharp, cocky grin.

Mere minutes later, the smile had grown considerably more strained.

Coincidentally, he’d taken considerably more damage in that time as well.

The slayer had given as good as he got, but against a demon’s healing factor, it wasn’t good enough. He was losing.

“Get out of here!” he instructed, and the baby slayers hesitated, clearly torn. He shot them a dazzling grin, hiding all signs of fatigue even as another blow rattled his sword. “Come now, don’t you know an order when you hear one? I don’t want any distractions while I handle this gruesome ghoul, so back to town with you!”

He cut off any further arguments by pointedly leading his attacker astray, giving them ample time to flee. Virgil felt some of the tension fade from him as the baby slayers got away cleanly, leaving just the slayer and the queen.

Really, he shouldn’t want the slayer to survive. Not when having a slayer that strong anywhere near him, or even in the same country as him, could easily be a death sentence. That didn’t change the jolt of panic that went through him when the queen finally gained the upper hand, knocking the slayer back into sheer cliff face hard enough to snap something.

… A slayer that protected others from demons so wholeheartedly was one that would protect Thomas.

The queen advanced towards the slayer, wounded and weakened but already gloating about how his flesh would be more than enough to completely rejuvenate her. Her entire focus was on the human’s fallen form.

Virgil dropped down on top of her soundlessly, claws piercing through muscle and fat until he’d torn her nearly clear in half. She shrieked in outrage, but a skull-crushing stomp was enough to knock her unconscious for at least a few moments.

The slayer, exhausted, half-crumpled against a tree, and his shoulder very clearly dislocated, looked up at him for a moment with something like hope.

When they met eyes, however, that was swiftly extinguished in favor of wary frustration.

“Another demon?” he complained, trying rather unsubtly to grasp for the sword that the queen had knocked free of him. “Exactly how many monsters can one fit on a single mountain?”

The sword was entirely out of reach, but Virgil kicked it a little further away for good measure. The slayer shot him a petulant glare.

Virgil pointed at a scrap of bloodied cloth left behind from one of the baby slayers, trying out a questioning rumble. Backup coming for you?

“I’m offended that you think I would answer that,” the slayer responded, nose upturned, “or any other monosyllabic interrogative questions, for that matter.”

Virgil growled low in his throat, frustration bubbling up. If he ditched the slayer here without backup, there was no guarantee that someone would find him before the morning came, and Virgil was relatively sure that the demon he’d just stabbed through wasn’t the only threat up here.

Not to mention the cold. He hadn’t thought the nights were cold enough to harm people yet, but demons seemed a lot more durable, and the slayer was shaking just slightly. He remembered the few times he’d had to sit out snowstorms while traveling back home up the mountain, and couldn’t help but feel sympathetic.

So, leaving the slayer behind to fend for himself wasn’t an option. That meant doing something insanely, dangerously stupid: taking the guy with him.

Precautions first, then. He was pretty good at hiding himself from other demons by now, but human scents were a lot more trackable.

Virgil scooped the slayer sword up off the ground by the hilt, grimacing at the burning sensation it emitted. The slayer’s jaw dropped.

“Hey! You can’t just take that!” he cried indignantly, starting off on a tirade about craftsmanship and integrity. His rant cut off sharply as Virgil raised the sword and brought it down on the queen’s neck.

His motions were stilted compared to anyone who actually knew how to use a sword, but it hardly mattered. The sun-blade cut through easily, decapitating her in one motion and leaving only ash behind. He took a moment to hope for the soul of whoever she’d been before being turned, and a longer moment for the weaver’s brother, who was surely dead. Exhaling lowly, he planted the sword blade-first in the dirt.

It was tempting to keep it; he’d certainly wished more than once for an easier way to deal with his adversaries than the bloody scraps he normally got in, but there was no way he was bringing a demon slayer and a demon killing sword with him. That was just asking for trouble.

“That demon did all the work in an honest fight against me, and yet it’s the backstabber turning against his own kind who actually gets to eat me? That’s sad, even for a demon,” the slayer bit out, still trying to inch his way back up into a standing position.

Virgil ignored his muttering and took a testing breath in through his mouth. The slayer was definitely bloodied, but most of the major injuries mustn’t have broken skin, because the smell wasn’t too bad. It probably helped that he’d managed to avoid being injured in this fight, and so didn’t have a desperate need to heal like normal. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even need a nap to make up for it.

He reached out for the slayer’s collar, already mentally plotting out the most efficient way to a distant abandoned bear den when a piercing shriek sounded, and his vision was suddenly full of flapping feathers. He staggered a few steps back with a surprised yelp.

“No! Missus Fluffybottom, you beautiful fool!” the slayer cried out, sounding incredibly distraught.

Virgil swatted outwards and managed to catch his furious assailant on the second try, his hand easily big enough to grasp it. He drew it away from his face for inspection, and realized that the screaming and wriggling bundle of fluff was actually a young crow.

“Scourge! Fiend!” the crow yelled at him in a belligerent tone that was uncannily similar to the slayer’s. He blinked down at it, befuddled.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her,” the slayer said in the most subdued voice Virgil had heard from him all evening. He looked up and found that the slayer had managed to climb to his knees, but wasn’t struggling to move further. “She’s a simple bird, no threat to you. You’ve already got your prize, haven’t you?”

There was something uncomfortably desperate in his gaze, and Virgil realized with a start that the slayer absolutely believed he was about to kill his bird in cold blood. He opened his hand, bracing for another assault, but the crow kicked off and flew right to the slayer instead, nestling against his collarbone. “Roman, Roman, Ro-man!” it crooned.

“Get out of here, you finicky little fowl, go! Shoo!” the slayer-- Roman?-- commanded, to no avail. He glanced up at Virgil, lifting his good hand and turning his bad shoulder slightly as though to shield the little creature.

Virgil averted his eyes from the bird, hopefully conveying how much he didn’t care about her. If he had enough self control to not murder-kill people despite it being all monsters like him wanted to do, he wasn’t going to snap because a bird the size of his palm repeated some swears in his direction.

Back to business. He grabbed the back of the slayer’s outfit and pulled, hauling him up onto one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. … Or like a sack of other, non-food items. Virgil sighed through his nose. Whatever.

Roman sucked a breath in through his teeth as his injuries were jostled, and then immediately started squawking in protest upon realizing the indignity of his position. The crow-- apparently dubbed Fluffybottom-- repositioned herself to a perch on Roman’s calf and joined in on the complaints with her own raspy calls.

Virgil ignored them, already focusing on the trek ahead.

---

By the time they reached the cave, Roman had long stopped muttering creative obscenities under his breath.

The slayer might have actually fallen unconscious, but Virgil wasn’t going to jostle him around just to check. If he stopped focusing on their surroundings, he could easily hear Roman’s heart beating, the blood pumping beneath his skin, tantalizingly out of reach--

… He had mostly focused very hard on their surroundings. The point was, the slayer was definitely still alive, which meant him passing out during their travel was fine. Convenient, even.

It certainly made it easier to squat and carefully lower his body onto the cave floor without worrying about any sudden thrashing on Roman’s part. Laying flat on his back with only the slightest crumple to his brow, the guy looked a lot less intimidating. He was probably Virgil’s age, honestly.

He also looked unsettlingly corpse-like at the moment. Virgil considered for a moment, and then sidled over to Roman’s side, tugging his injured arm out of the curled up position it had taken. He carefully maneuvered it until it was straight out, forming a right angle with Roman’s side.

Then, he pulled, applying a slow, steady pressure. The misaligned bone shifted back into place with a sickening clunk, and Roman cried out as he regained consciousness. Virgil released him, and he instantly cradled the limb to his chest.

“What in the name of--,” he started, and then seemed to remember it all at once. Or the wave of pain from all those other injuries hit him all at once. One of the two.

Either way, he sagged back against the ground, squinting at Virgil suspiciously as he bustled around the small space. Missus Fluffybottom landed on his forehead, making him look even more ridiculous.

“I notice I am not devoured,” he finally spoke, almost conversational.

Virgil ignored him in favor of moving to arrange some firewood near the mouth of the cave.

“Not even a teensy bit,” Roman continued, making a show of inspecting himself for missing flesh.

Virgil continued to stack rocks around the wood. He was beginning to regret waking the slayer up, dislocated shoulder or not.

“Now, my silent saboteur, I want you to be honest. Are you planning to turn me into some sort of spider?” the slayer asked, and that was enough to finally make Virgil turn with an incredulous raised eyebrow.

“What?” Roman defended, pinkening. “That’s a real thing that a demon did to some people! And you seem... spider-y.”

Virgil scowled at the insulting way the comment was phrased. Spiders were cool and helpful and oh yeah, they didn’t annoyingly needle him while he was busy keeping them alive. He abandoned the fire to stalk closer and drop to a squat by Roman’s legs, dodging a wild kick easily. He pointedly tore a long swath of white fabric from the slayer’s overlayer.

“Hey! Do you even know how long embroidery like that takes--,” Roman cried, and Virgil smacked a hand over his mouth, drawing close and hissing quietly. The sound was close enough to a shush to get his point across, going by the way the slayer huffed indignantly but didn’t speak when Virgil pulled his hand away.

He did whine in protest when Virgil grabbed his injured arm, but then he went still and silent, like he thought any sudden movements would end with the whole limb removed. Virgil wrapped his forearm in the fabric, and then looped the extra around his shoulder, maneuvering him as painlessly as possible, and tied it off.

Roman’s silence suddenly felt distinctly different.

Virgil pulled him up into a sitting position by the front of his shirt, and tightened the knot slightly. The sling looked just about as good as could be expected, given the circumstances.

“You are actually a demon, aren’t you?”

Speech was one of those human things that Virgil still hadn’t recovered, but he thought that the sarcastic fang-bearing smile he directed at Roman spoke volumes all on its own.

“Then why are you tenderly nursing a demon slayer back to health?” he retorted, sounding bewildered and incredulous in equal measures.

Why are you pushing your luck? Virgil thought back, clicking his teeth in irritation and shoving the slayer back into a prone position.

Roman let out a high pitched wheeze, his good arm coming to cradle his ribs defensively. “Or not-so-tenderly, I suppose. The question stands!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and returned to the half-built fire. He’d pestered the only doctor in town for first aid lessons for months, he wasn’t going to stop practicing medicine just because of a little thing like being turned into a demon that craved human flesh.

To his surprise, the silence lingered as he worked, long enough that he turned and cast a suspicious glare over his shoulder at the slayer, who jolted nervously at his attention.

“Wh-what?” he asked, fiddling with the torn edges of his sling. “No escape attempts here, haha!”

“...” Virgil squinted at him and his blatant fake laugh for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was wrong with the scene.

Wait. Where was the bird?

A chill ran down his spine, and he twisted to stare at the mountainside beyond the cave entrance. No raspy-voiced baby crows in sight.

It had to have gone for help, knowing exactly where Virgil and its slayer had holed up. Roman knew he’d realized it, was watching him with the wary expectancy of a cornered hare in front of a trapper.

A surge of furious panic did bubble up in the back of Virgil’s mind, but he quelled it with relative ease.

If backup was coming, then the human was no longer his problem.

Pleased at the neat way the situation had resolved itself, Virgil tapped two fingers to his temple in a gesture of farewell and scrambled out the cave, scaling the cliff face and resolving to put as much distance between himself and this region as possible.

With any luck, he’d never run into that particular slayer again.

[adventures-of-the-creeping-bam]

NEVER SPLIT THE PARTY: THE ADVENTURES OF THE CREEPING BAM,  BOOK TWO: ONE COLD TRAIL - CHAPTER 17

If you’re new to the story, please go check out Book 1 first …

Book 2 Chapter 1 is here …

IMPORTANT:  Please note this story includes content that may be considered mature, such as moderate battle violence, some strong language and occasional mild sexual scenes.

If you want to support my writing, feel free to swing by my Patreon or Ko-fi.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:  GAEL

Leaning into my staff for a few moments, I work to get my breath back. I’m not that winded, nor am I experiencing after-effects of the long-term fatigue I found myself suffering in the first week or so after I’d finally recovered from my … experience in the mountains.  Even so, while the weeks of training I had on the road once I’d recovered have got me back into the relatively trim shape I was in before, I realise now it’s been a while since I’ve actually been in a real fight, and I suppose I wasn’t ready for it again after all.  Once we dropped into this situation the adrenaline started flowing and I jumped into the fight, but now it’s over I’m crashing hard.  I breathe heavy and find myself having to use my staff to keep myself from falling over on the spot while I hang my head, feeling sweat drip from my face.  My muscles aren’t exactly sore, but they feel more rubbery than I’d like.

“Gael, hey.”  It takes me a moment to realise that Art’s speaking to me, that he’s at my side now. “Hey, c’mon.  You okay?”

Lifting my head again, I realise he’s reaching out but stopping short of touching me, and while I’m sure some of his reluctance is the realisation his hands are a bit bloody from his own fight, I think there’s genuine uncertainty in him right now.  As if he’s unsure just how welcome he’d actually be touching me right now, how willing I am to speak to him.  I can see it in his face now, too.  He’s genuinely wondering if we’re still friends.

“No, I’m … um … yeah.  No.  I don’t know.”  Damn it.  I take a deep breath and try a smile, and I’m not at all pleased with how weak and insufficient it feels on my face right now, so I try again, something that feels a little stronger.  “Sorry … I’m just … it’s been a while, actually.  The real thing, I mean.”

He cocks a brow, looking at me for a moment, then finally he smiles again, a little crooked but it’s good enough to make me feel a little better.  “It’s okay, I get it.  Your magic showed up well enough at least, mind.”

“Really?  Minerva, Art … all I did was jump us in, that’s no big deal.  It’s not like I started hurling fireballs the moment we landed.”  I look around.  “Not that it really would’ve been the best idea around here.”

“Yeah, reckon you’re right there.”  He looks at his hands for a moment, then frowns a little before simply wiping his paws a little across his thighs to get rid of the excess of the blood. “But that was enough, I reckon. We were needed, so it was good you could just pop us right in the middle like that.”

I have to smile at that, realising he’s right.  Then I hear shouting and I turn to see Kesla stepping our way with her bloody sword in hand, looking past us now with a look on her face that seems equal parts surprise and concern.  The dwarf warrior’s at her side now, and it’s him shouting, forgetting his own fatigue now as he starts to drag up that great big warhammer he was wielding so effectively after we jumped into the midst of their worrisome predicament.

He's an impressive example of his race, I have to admit.  Like with elves, it can be hard to tell exactly how old dwarves are at times, but this one’s clearly in his prime, hale and healthy and really strong.  He may be short but he’s clearly as powerfully muscular as the rest of his kin, broad in shoulder with two of the biggest hands I’ve seen outside of an orc, and while he’s stocky he’s clearly pretty trim, likely just made of muscle. His beard’s a little shorter than I would’ve expected, not dropping too far into his chest, although he wears most of the strands from his chin bound into plaits to keep it under control. It's a rich mix of brown and grey that doesn’t make him look old at all, and very glossy, and he's not lost any on top either, leaving it all loose but kept swept back behind his ears and out of his eyes.  What I can see of his face is tanned from the road, and there are a fair few scars marking it too, suggesting he’s got a good many more where I can’t see.

His dress marks him as a fighter as surely as his abilities, most prominently a thick and heavy grey gambeson that his tattered hooded wool cloak seems to have been sewn right onto.  He also has a few more weapons strapped to him, most notably a very heavy looking longsword on his hip of a style I’ve never seen before.  The blade is very broad and comes to a tight, angular point, while the leather-bound grip seems to have been squared off, as has the wide, heavy pommel and fat guard.  He’s also wearing boots that seem to be predominantly made of overlapping plate steel, which makes his footfalls very loud so I doubt he cares much about stealth, and they seem to be designed to match his intimidating gauntlets. Everything about him screams warrior, the most overt show I’ve ever seen, far more than Kesla’s more inherently subtle display.

“THEL!!!”  he shouts again, and I turn the way he’s looking now, spotting the other dwarf in their small group now running hard for the exit through the perimeter wall. Running with a purpose, clearly, but I have to wrack my brain to think what that might be.

“Damn it, Thel …”  he growls, leaning into the long shaft of his massive hammer now like I did a minute ago. “She just doesn’t listen sometimes.”

“What they hell’s she doing?”  Art’s frowning as he watches her go too.

“I think that’s the leader she’s chasing.  He looks like he is, anyway.  Damn fool’s got it in her head to capture him, I think.”

“Well we need a prisoner.”  I turn to Kesla now, who’s looking down at the various bodies strewn in our wake.  Those few who weren’t killed outright when they were hit by this big dwarf’s hammer are dead or dying too, the few who haven’t already expired twitching through the final throes of that strange choking they all seem to go through. “Shouldn’t we at least try?”

“D’you reckon you even could stop that?”  Kesla’s watching me, seeming a little uncertain right now.

“Well I don’t even know what it is, but perhaps if I got to it early enough …” I consider for a moment.  “Maybe if whoever it is isn’t badly wounded first … that might be the trigger.  I could nip it in the bud before it’s started.  If I worked out the source in time, but I’d have to be there before whatever it is trips.”

“Thel’s pretty single-minded, and she doesn’t pull her punches.  If that guy fights back, she’ll tenderise him before she takes him in.”

Kesla’s frown deepens at that, then she turns back to me.  “Go.  Go now.  We’ll catch up fast as we can.  But take some help, yeah?”

“Got her.”  The smallest member of their group’s stepped up now, as he seems to have finished with his own fight, and I’m truly taken aback when I see him.  He’s a goblin, of all things.  Green scaly skin and a shaggy black mane, with a pair of big grey horns and a beaky maw nonetheless bristling with very big, very sharp teeth. His claws, dangling at the ends of wiry overlong arms, are similarly substantial and intimidating, and there’s a shortsword in one of them that’s got a lot of blood on it.  His clothes are largely piecemeal, crudely stitched together leather and scraps of hide with bandages wrapping wrists and feet, but his thick, heavy black cloak is rich wool and looks to be of extremely good quality.  Mostly he looks like every other goblin I’ve ever encountered, but something about him …

It’s his eyes.  They’re bright yellow and burn with a fierce intelligence, but more than that there’s something in them that almost puts me at ease.  Somehow, I really can’t explain it.  Perhaps I’m simply projecting on him, but I think he might be friendlier than he looks.

“Um … okay.  Well …” Frowning, I look to Art, then at the others.  I need someone else with me all the same, someone I know I can trust, who’s good. I crouch and reach out, holding my staff ready with the other hand.  “Have you ported before?”

The goblin blinks, looking up at me as he stops just short, and pauses for a thoughtful moment before finally growling:  “Once.  Not enjoyable.  Wouldn’t recommend.”  He takes my hand.  “Brung.”

“Sorry, I … what?”

“My name.  Brung.” He looks right into my eyes, his gaze unflinching, and it’s all I can do to maintain it.

“Oh. Of course, I’m sorry.  Um … Gael.”  I take a deep breath, counting down as much to reorder my thoughts as anything else.  “Sorry about this too, I suppose.  Just … hold on.”

I breathe the tone of the spell and Brung’s grip tightens a little, and the world just seems to go away for a blink and I feel it just like always. The jolt.  But I come out right where I intended to, and I’ve still got his clawed hand in mine.

Shay cuts another attacker down with a deft swipe of her sword, and we’re lucky we’re so low down because otherwise she would’ve decapitated me too off the backswing.  It’s a beat before she realises we’re there, then she just frowns down at me, mouth working for a moment before she can speak:  “Gael, what the hell –”

“Just breathe.  We need you.” I tilt my staff towards her and flick my gaze to it in indication before focusing back on her.  Her frown deepens, but she seems to get it, reaching out with her free hand to take hold of the metal shaft.  I port us again, concentrating hard on where we need to turn out this time.

“Oh … oh fucking … damn it …”  Shay stumbles as we touch down again, and I can tell she’s fighting her nausea a little bit, but she manages to hold it in.  Maybe it’s more indignation than anything else as she rounds on me as I start to stand up, letting go of Brung’s hand as I do so.  “What the hell was that about, Gael?”

“No time, Shay!”  I nod past her to the dwarf girl, Thel, as she races into a side street close behind her. “We’ve got a chase.  Now can you run or do you need a moment?”

Blinking, Shay opens her mouth, then closes it again and turns to look the way I’ve just indicated.  She sees Thel, then some way past her, distant but just about close enough to recognise, there’s a handful more of those black-clad attackers who’ve been giving us so much trouble.  Smooth as clockwork it seems to click.  “Oh, of course.  I get it. Of course I can run.  Can you?”

“Well enough, I think.”  I frown a little as I see Brung’s already chasing after his friend, sword sheathed across his cloaked back again, and he’s running on all fours so he’s covering ground at an impressive speed.  “Come on!”  I start running after him, and I can just hear the patter of her boot-leather on the cobblestones behind as Shay follows.  Within moments she’s caught me up, then overtaken me.

Dwarves may be short and stocky, but they’ve got a lot of strength, and while some of them run to fat when they get old they still tend to retain their active spark.  Despite her relatively short, stumpy legs, Thel’s covering some impressive ground, and if she was worn out at all by her fight it’s not showing as she actually starts to catch up to her quarry.

They know they’re being chased, though.  How could they miss it?  Our boots aren’t exactly quiet on the cobbles, and the sounds of our fast footfalls almost seem to be reverberating from the close surrounds of the tight, winding streets we’re racing through.  And there are other people here, the day’s ended and the sun’s pretty much down, the nightlife is coming out now, so there are plenty of open taverns that folk are filtering into or stumbling out of.  Some are mindful enough to catch us coming and get out of our way, but others aren’t so lucky and they get barged aside as we pelt through.  I apologise whenever I can, but enough angry recriminations are shouted after us that the people we’re chasing can hear it.

When they cut down another side street we spot them going easy enough, and by that point Brung seems to have caught up to Thel.  I’m starting to breath heavy and my legs are getting wobbly, but I push through it, determined not to let the side down as I grit my teeth and fight through.  It’s not hurting yet, but I know it’s coming.

Shay’s gotten well ahead of me now, she’s pretty much caught up with both of our tentative allies instead, and it starts to dawn on me that I’m not going to be able to keep up with them at all.  They might be able to keep this pace up – Thel and Brung both seem to be fit enough for it, and I know for a fact that Shay was built for this kind of thing, she’s skinnier than Kesla but from what I can tell just as strong and sturdy.  I’ve definitely improved in my fighting abilities since I first came to be one of the Creeping Bam, but it’s clear now that I’m definitely not made for this kind of thing. Maybe if I had my horse it might be different, but I’m going to fall by the wayside if I try to keep going on foot. I need to come at this another way.

So I start concentrating on our actual quarry now instead of the road ahead and keeping the others in sight, and as they duck down another side street, clearly desperate to lose us now, I decide I’ve had enough of this shit.  So I take the deepest breath I can under the circumstances and focus, summoning the magic as I concentrate my intentions. Then I speak the incantation and port again.

As I jump through I realise I haven’t accounted for the fact that I was still running at the fastest clip I could manage when I jumped, and as I touch down on the worn, rubbish strewn cobbles my momentum keeps carrying me forward.  Shit.  Gael, you are an idiot.  It’s all I can do to keep my feet as I have to really dance to stop myself stumbling while I work to bring myself to a stop, but finally I’m able to recover myself and work out where I am.

This is less a side street than just a wide alleyway, and while there are the doors to a few homes and businesses here most seem to be back entrances or loading access.  And there’s a lot of mess too, the rubbish is liberally strewn about and the gutters are unpleasant, while the general smell of the place, once I pick up on it, is palpable.  It’s mostly clear too, the few people I see are far down and seem to be making themselves scarce already, as if sensing that something’s about to go down.  Now I hear scuffling behind me and as I turn I realise that yes, I have overtaken my prey as intended.  But that means now they’re right behind me.

Oh gods … there’s a good half dozen of them.  Black-clad from head to toe like the others, but it’s definitely not the same stylish manner as the Thieves Guild, they may be aping their look but it’s purely for function.  They don’t want to be recognised, at night it would make them hard to spot, which is likely the intention, but while we’ve still got good light it’s a dead giveaway. They’re still just as much a threat though, all armed, and most are mindful enough of the situation to start drawing on me.

The one in the lead seems a little more well-appointed than the rest, and while they’re all wearing simple black cloth scarves to hide their faces like Art favours, this one has one of those carved wooden masks we saw earlier.  It’s a very stylised likeness to a wolf, and there’s a cool, cunning spark in his eye adding to the danger it suggests.  He hasn’t drawn yet, but he’s fingering the hilt of the sword at his side, considering me in a way I really don’t like.

“Where the fuck’d you come from?”  he pants, not sounding too surprised, mostly just amused.

“Bavat.”  The word’s out of my mouth before I quite realise it, and he cocks his head in response to it.  Now he draws his sword.

Remembering myself at last, I adjust my stance, plant my feet and take up my staff, pointing the flanged tip towards them.  “The Silver Order demands you surrender now, without any more trouble. We have questions for you.”

He regards me for a long, loaded moment, then his mouth quirks under his mask in a way that might be a smile, I can’t really see.  “Fuck that noise.  Kill ‘em, please.”

To their detriment, none of the rest seem to regard me as a threat. Two charge me and I’ve barely got time to charge a blast in time to hit one, so the moment I throw the force bolt into the attacker on the right I’m starting to prepare for the other.  As the bright blue bolt bursts over his companion and they’re hurled away, he lets out a fierce, deep throated growl as he swings his longsword and I step back fast before planting my feet so I have good ground under me.  As the sword comes for me I’m turning my staff to answer it.

Thanks to Kesla and Shay, I think I’m getting pretty good with a sword now, but the staff is still my preferred weapon.  I parry the sword stroke with ease and as I turn it aside I shift my stance, lifting one foot now to drive forward as I start to spin my staff under his reach.  The low end catches him hard in the ribs and he wheezes, winded, as he’s driven back, but by then I’ve already whipped the top round and it catches him in the opposite shoulder.  This time he lets out a pained yelp as the tempered steel cracks the joint and he stumbles, as much in surprise as hurt.  By this point I’m already dancing away, and I give the staff a deft twirl that might look like I’m showing off, but it’s all about building fresh momentum when I sweep low and whip his feet out from under him.  He loses his sword with a clatter as he drops like a sack of potatoes.

Ending the swing in a half-crouch with the staff tucked under one arm pointed away from me in what I’m sure looks like a particularly gratuitous fighter’s stance, I fix the leader of the group with the most sly look I can muster.  Unfortunately, since I can’t see his face I don’t know if it actually has the desired effect.

One of the others helps the one I blasted up and he wheezes heavily, doubled over in clear pain from getting smacked in the chest with the magical equivalent of a battering ram, so while I’m impressed he’s on his feet at all I know he won’t be much use for a while.   Others are clearly re-evaluating their situation, and now I can tell that their leader’s one of them, but he’s still not backing down yet.  So I just put on a tougher face I can and beckon them to come in, hoping a little reverse psychology might finally cow them.

Again, the man in the wolf mask cocks his head, looking me over for a moment, and I start to feel a little less confident in this plan.  He’s seeing through me, I just feel it, he can tell I’m not the great shakes in a fight I’m pretending to be, and they’ve all got some serious blades in their hands.  For a moment I’m transported to that mess hall hanging over the Hungrenn Gap, fighting for my life with just a sword in my hand, but then I remember my magic was being blocked, and right now I have it to hand if I need it.  So I keep smiling and hope I’m not wrong.

He charges himself this time, whipping his sword up but as I back-peddle to give myself room he turns it into a feint and dodges to the side and then tries a sneaky little lunge from under.  I see it coming in time and snap down hard on the blade with the end of my staff, but this just turns it away and his recovery’s swift, turning the fouled attack into a more focused frontal jab that very nearly catches me. Twisting backwards from the waist I’m unbalanced for a moment, and I have to skip back few steps to keep from falling over, and this is enough for him to press his advantage as he follows through with three sharp, swift and very fierce jabs.  I’m barely able to deflect each in time, and it’s only by dancing backwards and hoping there’s nothing behind me that might trip me up that I don’t get cut down as he finishes with a ferocious slash clearly intended to open me right across my middle.

The alley’s not straight, it twists at angles, and I’m not quick enough realising it as I back into the turn and the wall scrapes up on my left.  It’s becoming clear to me that this one’s a genuinely talented fighter, and he’s sharp enough to spot the advantage as my attention’s stolen enough to give him a chance to strike me.  He lunges again and I catch it in time to bring my staff up but I’m not quick enough realising I don’t have the room to manoeuvre as the metal shaft catches on dirty brick.  I back-peddle again and it’s barely enough to keep from getting impaled by the blade of his impressively sharp longsword, but as I fumble he gives his weapon a well-judged whip and knocks the staff buzzing from my fingers.

Shit … no, this is really not where I wanted to be, this is bad. I grasp for the staff as it bounces from the wall and start to spin away from me, but he gives his blade another flick as he presses forward and I jump back, a little startled now.  In the process he knocks the tumbling metal shaft further aside and I have to skip backwards again as he pushes forward past it. Now I’m unarmed.

Wait … no I’m not.  I step back again and turn as I’m going, reaching across my body with my right hand but I’m trying to do it in such a way he doesn’t immediately realise what I’m doing.  Kesla never taught me this move but I’ve seen her do it enough times now that I think I might have the method worked out … as he charges again – and I think he really is grinning behind the mask this time – I take hold of the scabbard hung from my hip with me left hand and turn it at enough of an angle that it’s pretty much horizontal as I grip the hilt with my right.  Planting my feet, I grit my teeth and twist with my waist in the same moment I draw the sword, letting go of the scabbard in order to bring my hand up to drive the stroke across as hard as I can.

I saw Kesla kill a man once doing this.  The fight was over in a single move, she drew her sword and cut him down before he’d even had a chance to get his own blade clear of its sheath.  When she first started training me she pulled the same move on me, and I know it was only the fact that I was already drawn and that she was only using about a third of the speed she usually uses that kept me from meeting a similar fate. That being said I know she wouldn’t have followed through with the stroke in a sparring match, but it was one hell of a wake-up call, and parrying it hurt a lot.  I know how devastating it can be, so if I can get it right –

He sees is coming, and the juddering shock in my hands as he deflects the blow before I can strike him very nearly makes me lose my grip on the sword just like I did with the staff.  It was such an easy counter it felt almost contemptuous, and as I edge back a little I turn my sword away and give it a little flourish in an attempt to shake off the shock from the reverberations.  Yeah, he is definitely smiling under that mask, I can tell.  He presses forward again and this time I decide to hold my ground, growling a little in the back of my throat as I pull down into a crouch and cock the sword, ready for a lunge.  As he brings his sword up to chop down on me I spring, lunging forward so he has to rethink his attack while he’s still making it.

When I make my feint this time I’ve judged it better, he twists out of his downward stroke in a scramble to turn his falling blade in time to parry my thrust, but by then I’m already whipping aside and rake a cut up across his side. I’m nowhere near as strong as Kesla, so the thick leather of his armour stops some of the blow, but my blade cuts just deep enough to open the plate and carve a shallow gash across his ribs. By this point I’m already ducking past, and I’m almost tempting to drop into a roll like Kesla and Art seem to enjoy doing in the middle of a fight, but I’ve never really gotten the knack for it and there’s no way I’m going to risk falling on my backside right now. Instead I let my feet skid across the slightly slick cobbles and take up position behind him.

Which puts me between him and the rest of his crew now, some of whom are still in fighting fit shape.  Okay … maybe that wasn’t the smartest move I’ve ever made.  So I just focus on the one in front sweep my free hand up towards him as I push.  I put a little finesse into it and as I hurl him backwards I give his body a little flip, whipping his feet up from under him so he starts to spin in the air as he flies.  One of the others dodges well enough to miss the hit but the one behind him isn’t as lucky, getting kicked in the face and toppling with a wounded squawk as his hands go to his smarting jaw.  The flying thug smashes into the one at the back and they all go down in a tangle, leaving only one on his feet to goggle at me in clear surprise.

And that was a particularly rudimentary spell for me.  I can’t help a little smile as I tip him a playful wink, and he blanches seeing it.  He recovers soon enough though, remembering the blade in his hand, and he looks from it to me and likely begins to consider his options.

Nodding past him, I simply say:  “Not so fast. Watch your back.”

A frown crosses his face, visible even under the hood and scarf, like he’s trying to work out if I’m bluffing, but he must sense the threat because he turns to see the coming attack.  The first one I fought’s straightening up, still gripping his wounded shoulder, and while he’s still holding his own sword there’s no way he can lift it, so when Brung leaps at him he does it with his claws turned away.  He pummels the man in the face with his tiny fists and there’s clearly impressive strength in his deceptively small limbs because his opponent goes down hard.  Thel’s right behind him, bringing her battleaxe to bear as she prepares to fight, and she looks really angry right now.

Turning back to the man in the wolf mask, I find him with blood on his fingertips, clearly from the wound in his side.  I can’t see his face, but I know he’s re-evaluating again.  Hopefully this might’ve put a dent in his resolve to continue the fight, because while I know I’m getting better with my sword I’m still not sure I can beat him.  Not that I let it show, plastering the most confident smile I can muster across my face as I take up another ready stance.

He cocks his head seeing that, keeping his sword-hand low as he takes half a step back, but it doesn’t look like a defence, at least not yet.  “Maybe I misjudged the situation.  You reckon maybe we could come to some kinda compromise about this?”

Cocking my own head, I try not to frown as I start to look him over again. “What exactly do you think is going on –”

The lunge is fast, and direct, and I’m barely with it enough to catch it in time to keep from getting skewered while he has me distracted.  I turn it at the last but he’s got me a little off balance and he turns fast, swiping a cut at my face that I barely duck in time before bouncing off the wall behind me.  Stumbling out of a fall after that actually saves me from catching a third attack as he tries to catch me across my back, instead biting brick with his blade and pelting me with chipped stone.  I wheel about and swing my sword wildly before I’m oriented again, and this is just enough to catch and turn away another lunge, but I’m still not balanced enough to take advantage before I back up and finally plant my feet.  I’m panting hard through clenched teeth now, but when I bring my sword back up it’s steady in my hand.

I’m on the outside of the fight again, same place I came out before, or perhaps a little further down the alley now, and I can see the fight raging beyond my opponent now, Brung and Thel making short work of their own foes. Shay’s rushing in too now, and as I watch her she draws her sword, letting a snarl go as she selects a target.

“As I was saying, you really do seem to have misread the situation.”  I point with my sword as I square up, nodding past him. He doesn’t take the bait, though, as if I actually planned to attack him like that.  “There’s no negotiating your way free of this.  You’d do well to just surrender now.”

Maybe I’m just reading too much into it, but I swear the way his mask seems to shift ever so slightly on his face is from him frowning.  The light in the alley’s fading fast now as the dusk’s drawing in, but I can make his eyes out well enough with my elvish nightvision, so I can still see his eyes through the holes in the mask.  So when he looks past me I should think it’s just a distraction, an attempt at a feint, something to get me to look away so he can attack … if not for the subtle itch I suddenly feel riding up my spine.  Something’s behind me, or it’s arriving behind me. That’s what it is, I’m a moment late realising the tingle I’m feeling is a sense of magic happening close behind me, along with the subtlest puff of air that gives me a hint of what it is.  Someone’s just ported in behind me.

It’s all I can do to check myself before I turn and swing on whoever it is, knowing well enough it could be Tulen homing in on me with one of my friends in tow. But something about it doesn’t feel quite right, so while I stop short of attacking without looking I still turn fast and tense, ready for anything.

Like an orc blinking as he orients himself, distracted and likely a little uncomfortable from the shift like everyone always is after that spell, but he’s recovering fast.  Gods, he’s a big one too, one of the largest I’ve ever seen.  Well over seven feet tall, and broad as a wall, with hands big enough to close a fist right round my head before crushing it, now I think about it. His face is scarred, but youthful despite the marks, a braided goatee hanging from his squared chin, and he wears his long black hair bound back tight.  He’s dressed in similar fashion to the rest, but more like the man in the wolf mask, his own leathers of better worth than most of the rest.  And the broadsword in his hand, while heavy and brutish like most orcish steel, looks to be scarily well-made, and very sharp.

He’s not alone, either, although I can’t make out much of the other figure much like the others who’re clearly so determined to hide their identities.  A woman, I’m sure enough of that at least simply because of her figure and the greying black curls that peek out from under her deep hood, dressed in a mixture of dark travel clothes and robes surprisingly like my own, albeit cheaper and a deal more threadbare.  Her general presentation all but screams wizard, even if I ignored the fact she’s carrying a worn but serviceable wooden staff with a notched top into which she’s already screwed a crystal.  It reminds me very much of my old one … so much in fact that I start to wonder if it might’ve come from the same source.

No … that can’t be right.  There’s no chance a Silver Order wizard would be involved in this, I just can’t accept that. And yet … somehow, I don’t think I’m looking at a common-or-garden hedge wizard right now.

Whatever disorientation the jump caused in the orc is clearly short-lived, his attention locking on me after a bare stretch of moments, and he starts growling almost immediately when he sees me.  Shit … I have no chance taking on a full-blooded orc with a sword. He’d carve me to pieces without any effort at all, and given what I’ve seen of his masked companion there’s the distinct possibility he’s a good deal more talented with that sword than some of his kin.  As I draw back a step I see him tense too, tightening as he squares his shoulders and raises the blade, taking up a two-handed grip on the hilt now.  He’s going to come hard, then, but with a judged, controlled attack.  As I reasoned, I have no chance of beating this.

My back’s itching, knowing the man in the wolf mask is behind me now and just as likely to stab me in the back as join the fight with his friends.  I can’t take my eyes off the orc but I need to check, so I turn sidelong to my new opponents and chance a moment’s quick peek before returning my gaze to the orc. He’s there as I suspected, squared with his own sword, ready to act the moment I’m charged, and again I swear I see him smile under that bloody mask.  Knowing they’ve both got me dead on the spot.  Even if I could beat the orc he’ll cut me down as soon as I’m engaged.

Taking a deep breath, I focus on the bigger threat, and a strange calm falls on me after a moment.  To hell with it …

The orc breaks into a charge with a low grunt that’s almost like a clipped bellow, and I raise the sword to point two-handed towards him, unleashing the force bolt I’ve been brewing.  It’s a strange feeling doing it like this, I’ve never focused a spell through a blade before, only ever through a staff or wand or simply through my hand, and once without any focus at all which nearly broke me.  My sword vibrates in my hand and it’s strangely like when I’ve taken a particularly jarring strike in the blade but without the pain, it just tingles like some strange static charge.  That thing called electricity, which we learned about back at the Academy, but most still haven’t been able to effectively harness yet.  That’s what it’s like.  Certainly using my sword as a focal point is just as effective as the other means, but there’s the added effect that it seems to sing for a long, drawn-out moment, a beautiful ringing, rising note that’s half steel but also something I’ve never really heard before.

I’m not sure if the bolt continues to sing out as it rides through the air, it flies in a blink and perhaps I’m just reading too much into it, but when it hits it almost seems to strike a musical chord in the very air as it bursts across the orc’s chest.  I don’t wait to see him go down as I turn to my original opponent, and I’m smart to do so, he’s rushing me quickly, already winding up a low slash to open me from below. This time I’m ready for it, though.

When my blade meets his and strikes it away, the ringing returns and the contact makes my blade sparks, strangely blue in hue but still almost blinding.  This time when I meet his eyes through the mask they’re wide, as surprised as I am, I suppose, but without any understanding of what might have been behind it.  I press the advantage and flick my blade up fast, and he’s not quick enough reacting so I cut him across the shoulder, the tip of my sword biting deep under the leather of his pauldron and drawing blood.  He stumbles back with a growled oath and I’m ready to follow through with a more concerted attack when I catch sight of Shay behind him.  She lops the head from one of the other hoods with nothing more than a flick of her wrist and her eyes immediately snap past me to lock on whatever’s going on behind me.

“Gael, duck!”

No thought, I just react as I’m told to, and as I stoop low something big and heavy cracks hard into the wall just beside where I was stood.  A great steely ringing sounds as broken brick chips pelt me while I scramble in a clumsier turn than I’d like since I’m already a little unbalanced, and the orc’s right there, grunting with muscular effort as he struggles to yank his sword free from the deep gouge he’s just cut in the wall after missing my head by just a whisker.  What the hell?  That force blast should’ve put him on the ground, and a good dozen paces away. There’s no chance he could’ve shaken it off that quickly.  But here he is, eyes red as blood now as he finally plucks the steel from the ruined stonework and immediately sets to winding up for another strike.

The wizard behind him … it’s her.  She must have muted the effect of my hit somehow, I didn’t watch for long enough to see how but it doesn’t matter now.  She’s pulling something from the satchel at her side, her components bag I’d imagine, and whatever she’s brewing won’t be good.  I have time enough to do one thing right now – either counter whatever that’s going to be, or protect myself from the coming strike.  I can’t do both.

Damn it … again my own survival trumps my higher senses, and I put up the best guard I can with my sword as the orc lets out his loudest bellow yet and cuts right down on top of me.  As a last moment afterthought I put a touch of push into the guard as I lock it and grit my teeth, and I suppose this is enough because the blow doesn’t smash my sword right out of my hands as he chops down towards my face.  He’s bigger, stronger and a good deal more ferocious than me, if I tried to block that hit with just my own muscles I’d die in an instant. Instead it stops him, driving my arms down hard and forcing me onto one knee but not breaking my guard like he probably expected.  Even so, the effort’s enough to cause another powerful reverberation through my sword while every fibre of muscle in me screams in protest, and after a beat I realise I’ve voiced my own in sympathy of the pain.  Tight and strangled, but a cry all the same.

Gods … that really hurt. I don’t know if I could take another hit like that.

Then the wizard finishes whatever spell she’s cooking, completing a sigil between her hands that births what seems to be a swirling globe of dancing lights and static, and before I could even think about uttering a counter-spell she’s hurling it our way.

“Shit!”  I don’t even bother trying to shove the sword still pressing down on me upwards as I just yank my sword free and throw myself to one side, and I hear the orc mutter a startled oath as he’s suddenly unbalanced and practically faceplants before he can react.  I feel the orb sizzle right over my back as I dive more than hearing it, and this time I’m not really thinking as I do what Kesla and Art would do after all.

This is really not what I’m used to, I never got the hang of these crazy acrobatic rolls.  So when I manage to make the roll itself and my feet meet the ground on the far side I’m too surprised to really think about what I’m supposed to do next, and then the wall’s racing at me.  Shit!  I turn as I start to rise, but it’s all I can do to turn my face away from the impact. My shoulder hits the brick hard and I feel something fold, and the pain is spectacular, a bright white flash robbing me of my vision as it whips through me like a wave as my whole arm goes limp.  Needless to say I lose my sword as I crumble.

For a moment my head is swimming, a great unbalanced wheeling spin that has me down on my backside floundering against the wall as I try to work out where the hell I even am.  Mostly I’m just hurting, my shoulder feels like it’s on fire and I reach up with my one remaining good hand, only tangentially aware that it’s shaking badly.  My vision’s not gone for more than a beat, I’m sure, and while I missed the flaring orb hitting whatever it was ultimately intended for, I’m quick enough coming back to my senses to catch the effect.

Looks like It hit the man in the wolf mask.  I can barely make out the carved face as he stumbles back while it expands around him, or perhaps through him, as I watch it looks more like it’s dancing right through his limbs as he flounders.  It keeps growing as he blunders about, and I see Shay scrambling back fast, as desperate to avoid contact as the rest of them.  He doesn’t cry out as it expands enough to envelop his entire form, or perhaps the sound simply doesn’t penetrate the forces wheeling around him, but the crackling whir of the orb is loud enough on its own.  Then it’s just … gone, in the blink of an eye.  I don’t even see it snuff out, or flare out, or whatever it does, it’s just gone.  The man caught in the middle of it’s gone too.

In the back of my mind I’m going through the possibilities.  I don’t think he’s just been disintegrated, even if it looked so much like that.  It was weird as hell, I’ve never seen anything quite like it, but it could have been some kind of transport, a really weird kind of teleportation spell I’ve never seen before.  There are spells somewhat like it, I’ve even learned a few of them, but they’re temperamental at best, I wouldn’t risk using them on anything alive.

Whatever it was, he’s gone now, and everyone around us is trying to make sense of it.  Then I see Shay coming to her senses, shoving one of the hoods right out of her way as she starts to scramble towards me, and the look on her face is enough to put the fear of the gods in me.  She’s not angry at me, she’s scared for me.  Through the pain the idea manages to pierce through that I’m in danger again.

Then Thel just winds up her big battleaxe over her head and flings it, and it’s all I can do to watch its progress as it spins with terrifying speed and lethal accuracy right at me.  No … no, that’s not quite right, it’s aimed just a little bit off to my side.  Shay seems to sense it coming and ducks aside as it whips by close enough to brush her with the wind of its passing, and at least her roll is as flawlessly executed as I would’ve expected her to manage. The rational part that’s still working in my brain is a little jealous of her for that.

As the axe whisks past me I continue to track its movements, which gives me a shock as it strikes the orc’s sword as he swings it at me again and hits it clean out of his hands.  It spins in the air for a moment and then the tip smacks into the stone barely three inches behind my head and I’m snapped out of my trance enough now to jump aside as more broken pieces rain down around me.  Thel’s axe clatters at my feet and I realise seeing it that I’m at my attackers’ mercy and completely unarmed right now.  Hoping my good hand’s not shaking too much I let go of my shoulder and fumble for my knife as I struggle to turn.

The orc’s attention’s torn now, at least.  Startled by the foiling of his attack by such an impressive throw, he’s regarding Thel now, but likely aware of Shay as she scrambles up again after losing her momentum in the roll, and she’s bringing her sword to bear now.  The look on her face … if she was rattled she’s ignoring it, or perhaps she’s too focused on the threat to me, right now she looks really angry.  Gods, I don’t think I’ve seen her this angry since that night in the mountains.  When Ashsong murdered Tarrow …

Maybe they sense it, too.  The orc’s scrambling for a weapon, and I see now that while the sword’s gone from his grasp he’s got plenty more on him, an impressive variety of blades, and he’s already turning to draw one of the shortswords on his hip, then the other one too.  But the wizard’s already stepping up behind him, and as she lays her hand on his shoulder I feel the incantation rather than hearing it as she makes it.  They’re gone before my eye can quite catch it, that weird moment when I almost see the portal that seems to open through them before they both disappear.

Seeing this is the final straw for me, I just slump against the wall again, my knife slipping from my shaking fingers to clatter across the cobbles.  I look back at the others, finding the fight’s pretty much done now, most of the remaining hoods are dead now but there appear to be two that are still alive. Well, I say alive – I can already see one, bleeding from at least three wounds, two in his right arm but the third low in his torso, is doing a dance on the ground that’s becoming frustratingly familiar.  He’s yanked the scarf down from his face with his one good arm, but isn’t finding any air as he gags and chokes while his face and throat swell.  He’s not long for this earth, then.

The other one, though …

Shay’s stood over the one I battered with my staff at the start of the fight, who looks to be in a similar state to me, her sword laid gently against his throat, mostly by the flat since she’s clearly mindfully cautious of that fierce edge.  Perhaps he senses the danger, but mostly he’s clearly just beaten like me, but also nowhere near death’s door, despite his injuries.  Still very much alive in spite of everything …

“Gael, you okay?”  she says after a pregnant moment checking that the fight is, indeed, done. I see Thel and Brung starting to come down from their own battle-readiness, the young dwarf starting to slump where she is now with her hands conspicuously empty after that amazing rescue.  The goblin mostly just looks bored now, although I imagine it’s more just how his face is made, and he uses the cloak of one of the fallen to clean his shortsword without needing to stoop.  When he sheathes it across his back again his eyes turn to me.  Cool, strange, and curious now, I think.

“I really don’t think so … to be honest ...”  I breathe through clenched teeth as I try to shift myself through using my back alone, trying to keep my weight off my bad shoulder. It still hurts.  Every movement hurts, to be honest.  “I think I broke my shoulder.”

“Shit.”  Shay looks down at our captive and then back to me, and again I really don’t like the look on her face, although it’s for very different reasons.  She looks scared now, and I think I know what that’s about. She’s my friend now, we’ve become very close very quickly, and she’s fraught with worry now seeing me like this. She lost friends back in the mountains, when we first met, a lot of them, and those wounds are still pretty raw for her, brave face as she’s been putting on lately, and this is the second time I’ve seen it resurface since we began this frustrating hunt.  She’s not quite as haunted as she seemed when I caught her looking at Sonagh’s twins after the attack, when I knew she was thinking about Tarrow, but it’s clearly still very bad.  She wants to abandon her guard over our one and only prisoner, but she knows she can’t and it has her so torn it’s hurting her.

Finally she turns to Thel and hesitates, and I wonder what’s going through her head as her mouth works without any words coming. Finally she frowns, a subtle growl sounding deep in her throat, and pushes forward.  “Um … hey, listen, we’re all on the same side, right?”

Thel turns to look up at her at last, one eye peeking out from under the curtain of her feathered bangs.  After a loaded moment she twitches her head to flick it from her face, and I take what might be the first truly good look I’ve been able to get at her since this all started.

It’s not my first time encountering a dwarf woman, although I’ll admit my own experiences of them are few and far between, which makes her a real exotic rarity in my experience.  She’s very striking indeed, typically squat and broad and stocky but somehow softer despite her muscles.  She’s very pretty too, her round, somewhat cherubic face a little at odds with her broad nose but ultimately it works just fine, and she has the most beautiful, wolfish hazel eyes that dance with clear, sharp intelligence.  Her bobbed hair is an interesting mixture of jet black and sandy blonde which I swear looks entirely natural, while her beard’s mostly restricted to fine mutton chops lining her jawline and a thicker goatee that brings her chin to a point.  It looks particularly stylish in the way it plays off her rich, smooth caramel-coloured skin, which seems largely unmarked by scars.  At least what I can see of her face and neck, anyway.

Like the other dwarf she’s dressed half for travel and half for combat, but this more typical for sellswords in general than their race in particular, certainly given what I’ve learned from being around Kesla.  Thick and heavy rough leather gear and quilted, padded cloth, but not so much that it bulks her out so much she can’t even move anymore, certainly given what I’ve seen she’s easily capable of moving fast and agile when she needs to. I’ve also noticed she’s as well armed as any other dwarf I’ve met too, complimenting her battleaxe with a pair of surprisingly substantial bearded handaxes hanging from either hip, and a lot of knives of various sizes too.  Everything looks battered and worn but nonetheless in good condition despite the ageing, so she clearly cares a lot about the upkeep of her things.

After a moment regarding Shay, she shrugs as she takes a step past her.  “Sure looks that way, don’t it?”  There’s something a little exotic about her accent, a little thickness and an unusual lilting tone, and after a moment’s scrabbling it somewhat reminds me of Mistress Daste.  So she’s from Abharet, then.  I’m surprised I didn’t already make the connection from her darker complexion to any other dwarf I’ve seen before.  “Who are you all, anyway?”

“The Creeping Bam.”  Shay’s lips tighten awkwardly the moment the name’s out, and I realise this is probably the first time I’ve heard her actually say our group’s name.  Clearly it doesn’t feel comfortable in her mouth yet.  “Listen, my friend’s hurt, I need to do something.  Can you watch this one?”

Thel gives her another long look, then nods.  “Easy enough to do, I reckon.  He don’t look like he’s in any better a state to go anywhere than your own, after all.”  She steps across to stand over the slumped, sprawled and still clearly alive hooded man, who’s now pulled down his makeshift mask so he can breathe better.  He looks young, couldn’t be much more than twenty, downy cheeks just starting to darken, his features a little sharp and pinched.  And he looks very nervous indeed.  “Stay put, matey boy.”

“Just, um …”  Shay falters, still flustered, and she’s still searching, like she’s having trouble finding words right now.  “This lot keep dying on us, just make sure you don’t break him anymore.  I don’t know why he’s still breathing but we really need to keep him that way.”

“No, I get it.”  Thel shoots a glance to Brung, who’s just leaning against the wall now, long arms folded loosely across his torso, looking largely indifferent to the whole situation now.  “We seen it plenty too.  It ain’t pretty.  You reckon it’s magic?”

Shay frowns.  “Well I … I don’t know –"

“Yes.”  I manage to spit the word out as I try once again to find one position in which I can sit in some relative comfort.  “It’s definitely magic, but no kind I’ve ever seen before.  If it’s a curse it’s a very strange and very specific one, clearly tailored for a very specific effect. The way it only seems to trigger when they’re clearly wounded badly but not so much they’ll die before they can talk … it’s strange.  And I don’t see why it hasn’t worked on that one yet, either.  So I’m with Shay.  Let’s not press our luck with him anymore than strictly necessary.”

This time I’m the one that the dwarf spends several long, loaded moments examining with her keen, bright eyes.  Finally she nods, turning back to our captive as she slowly drops into a crouch right in front of him, fixing him now with that piercing stare.  “I hear that loud an’ clear.  Y’know the stakes then, lad.  Don’t press us any if you know what’s good for you.”

To his credit, he doesn’t quake with fear, doesn’t blub or bluster, nor does he try to look tougher than he clearly feels.  He just looks up into her eyes and gives the subtlest of nods, and this must be satisfactory to Thel because she doesn’t draw the blade she’s clearly fingering on the left of her belt.

“We need to get the others down here fast.” Shay’s already making her way to me, still fretting as she picks her way over the tangle of bodies.  “They might be coming already, but with Gael hurt –”

“Of course.”  Brung doesn’t even hesitate as he scurries off, and within a few steps he’s already dropped to all fours so he can start racing.  He’s gone before Shay reaches me.

Dropping to her knee beside me, she sucks her lips in tight as she looks me over.  Her eyes linger for a moment or two longer on my face than I’d like, and since I don’t remember taking any hits there I decide she’s taken in my likely pallor and pained tension.  “Gods … Gael what the hell did they do to you?  I don’t see –”

“No, I did it to myself.”  I growl, trying not to grit my teeth too tight against a fresh stab of pain from my wound.  “I was trying to be flashy and paid for it, smashed my own shoulder against the wall.  That orc was … they’re clearly not mindful to fair play, are they?”

Shay reaches out for my shoulder and I wince in anticipation, making her pull back with a tight, shocked look that quickly turns to recrimination when she looks to me.  “I didn’t even touch you yet.”

“Sorry, I’m just … oh shit, this is unpleasant.  I could really do with Krakka’s touch right now.”

“Why is it always you?” She tuts as she reaches out again, very careful now as she starts to probe my shoulder.  Her touch is feather light in its tentativeness, but even so it really smarts, and I have to bite down on my lip to keep from wincing again.  “Yeah … it’s swelling up something fierce, and it’s bent. You’ve definitely broken something. This is bad, Gael.”

“No shit …”  I growl through another stab and she withdraws at last, instead reaching up to press the backs of her fingers against my forehead.  I guess with her fingerless gloves it would’ve been difficult to use her hand.

“Where’d they even go? How’d that orc get out of here so easily?  And that … Thorin, I don’t even know what that other thing was.  That man just …”

“There was a wizard.  A woman.  Powerful and skilled.  If I didn’t know better I’d swear she was Order trained.”

Her eyes narrow to slits in an instant, a sharp, suspicious look crossing her face now.  “You can’t be serious … like Garnon?  You don’t think she was just some overqualified hedge wizard?”

“No, she was much too precise for that.  But that spell in particular, together with whatever this other magic it is that keeps killing all their people so we can’t take them alive …” I shrug without even thinking and my shoulder screams, and it’s all I can do to keep from following its example. My head snaps back against the wall as I let out a long, sharp hiss and clench my jaw again as it is.  “Ah … fuck … no, if it was her behind that, however she did it … that’s no Order magic I’ve ever heard of.  I’d almost say it stinks of a warlock.”

“You think –”

“Minerva protect me, I really hope not.  That would just be too much of a coincidence right now, wouldn’t you agree?” I open my eyes enough to take her in again, and she watches me for a loaded moment, thinking deep, before a crooked smile touches her lips.

“You really think our luck’s going to let us off right now?”

“Damn it …”  I puff out my cheeks and manage to blow my hair back into my eyes again, but Shay reaches up again and brushes it aside for me, her touch still gentle. “Thank you … you’re right, it would be awfully convenient for us if this were just purely accidental.”

Shay watches me for a moment, and that smile starts to warm up a little.  Finally she shrugs, and I have to admit I’m instantly envious of her for being able to do that right now.  “You’re too bright for you own good sometimes, you know that, right?”

“Speak for yourself, Swift-Kill.”  I try to smile back, but I’m not too confident with how it feels, never mind how it must look.  Still, her own softens a little more seeing it, and she leans forward now, very gently cupping her hand around the back of my head before kissing my forehead. Finally she just leans her own against mine and we stay like this for several moments, just sharing the most comfortable silence I can manage in my current state.

Soon enough it’s shattered by another puff of displaced air and Shay jerks back, stepping out of her crouch but keeping low as starts to draw her sword again as she rounds on the new arrivals.  She relaxes almost immediately though, taking in Tulen with her hands resting on both Art and Krakka’s shoulders, my old friend’s bright eyes already wide before she can even take in my predicament.

“Gods … could you please not do that?”  Shay straightens up at last, stepping aside as Krakka immediately rushes to me.  “We just finished one nasty little fight.”

“No shit!”  Art snaps as he shoves past her, rushing right after our cleric, who’s already dropping to his knees at my side and immediately reaching out to my shoulder. It’s almost like he can already sense where I’m hurt.

Tulen lets something like a sob go as she starts to follow too but Shay lays a gentle hand on her shoulder and holds her short. “Let him work.  He … he knows what he’s doing.”  My friend gives her a wounded look but it doesn’t last, her lip already starting to quiver, and Shay just pulls her into a hug, watching us over Tulen’s shoulder, still looking haunted.

Putting his hands together, Krakka mutters a low prayer I can’t quite make out and fixes his eyes on mine as he reaches out with the left, pressing it to my shoulder a little more firmly than I’d like. He ignores my sharp wince and presses a little tighter, and after a beat I can feel it starting to warm up.  It hurts, by the gods it hurts, but that familiar tingling starts deep within the pain and ever so slowly I can feel it starting to ease off.

“What happened?”  Art finally manages to get out, and when I open my eyes again he’s looking at me with a mixture of concern and simple shock.  “Are you … did you … what …”

“Orc.  There was an orc.  Biggest I’ve ever seen, pretty much.  He looked like he could’ve given Yes some trouble in a straight-up fight.”  I turn to look at the huge broadsword that’s still wedged in the wall nearby.

Art’s eyes follow mine, and when he sees it they widen considerably.  His mouth falls open and he immediately starts to stand up again, moving slowly, almost jerkily, as if guided by an unseen force as he approaches it.  His face is far beyond haunted now, some deep, dread recognition writ large across it now.  He knows that sword.

“Oh shit …”  He mutters, not quite realising he’s even spoken as he reaches for it.

TO BE CONTINUED ...

[theultimateultimateweapon]

Kirby: Meta Knight and the Knight of Hades (Chapter 10)

Morpho Knight swung his sword down the slope, releasing a powerful shock wave. The crescent-shaped waves hit Meta Knight in quick succession.

Meta Knight flew left and right, but his arm was hurt and he groaned in pain. Morpho Knight didn’t even look tired.

Meta Knight remembered what happened in the underworld. In that world, he couldn’t feel tired, hungry, or pain at all. The red knight might not feel any of those feelings no matter how much he fights because of the power of the butterfly of Hades.

If so, does Meta Knight have no chance of winning…?

(No, it can’t be...) Meta Knight gripped his sword and thought. (Those who do not feel tired do not understand the breath of battle. Those who do not feel pain cannot read the movement of their enemy.)

Behind Meta Knight were King Dedede, Kirby, and Blade Knight. Both the great king and Kirby fought desperately, but they had finally lost their strength.

Only Meta Knight was standing. He didn’t know if he could get through this mess. Already, just breathing was painful and his whole body hurt.

(Good. I feel tired and painful because I am alive!)

Meta Knight gathered his strength and jumped up, slashing at Morpho Knight.

However, he repelled it easily.

Morpho Knight slashed violently at Meta Knight’s landing.

Due to his tiredness, Meta Knight, who had been struck before, couldn’t move. He held his sword over his body and guarded desperately, but the damage was great.

His head was fluttering. His eyes were hazy, and his feet were swaying.

(Will I… will I go to the underworld again? This time, forever?) When such an ominous idea came to him, something happened.

“Meta Kniiiiight!”

He heard a loud voice. Waddle Dee’s voice.

Meta Knight raised his face.

Waddle Dee overcame a broken pillar holding something.

“Don’t come any closer!” Meta Knight shouted out.

Waddle Dee turned around, gained momentum, and threw what he was holding in his hand.

“Meta Knight! Here…!”

Something flew through the air. Meta Knight quickly reached out and took it.

Immediately, Meta Knight’s whole body shook. His fatigue and pain disappeared as they were swept away. He felt the power in his hand.

“My treasured sword… the Galaxia!”

It’s unmistakable and genuine. Meta Knight held the Galaxia high. A bright light spilled from the tip of the sword.

Morpho Knight attacked. Meta Knight lightly dodged, shook up and jumped high.

“Spinning Knight!”

While spinning in the air, he slashed at Morpho Knight.

Morpho Knight flinched and was struck down.

Then, immediately, he held his sword horizontally and drill slashed!

Morpho Knight was blown off and struck against a collapsing wall.

Meta Knight had completely regained his power. The Galaxia gave him strength. And the Galaxia was also strengthened by returning to the hands of its true owner. The sword fighter and the sword, united for increased power!

However, Morpho Knight wasn’t finished.

When he stood up, he swung his sword down and sent crescent shock waves one after another. They flew with tremendous speed, but Meta Knight didn’t give up, dodging one after another, getting closer to him.

“Take this-!” Meta Knight swung after Morpho Knight. 

Morpho Knight disappeared suddenly. He escaped with teleportation in an instant. Morpho Knight materialized above and behind Meta Knight.

Meta Knight looked back, feeling sick.

Morpho Knight slid in and rushed through the air.

It was tremendous speed. Meta Knight couldn’t dodge it.

“Kah…!” He was moving before he realized.

He grabbed the Galaxia, held it in front of him, and took a strong stance.

At the moment of attack…

“Galactic Counter!”

A deadly mystery that uses the enemy’s attack power against them!

There was no delay, the timing was perfect.

“...ts!” Morpho Knight stiffened his whole body and his attacks were slow.

The game was on. Meta Knight quietly stared at the enemy.

A streak of light spilled out of Morpho Knight. The lights gradually increased, two, three, and the brightness increased. His mask, his sword, and his wings on his back were swallowed by the white light. The knight turned into a ball of light and disappeared with a burst.

After the knight disappeared, countless red butterflies were dancing. The butterflies flew turbulently, fading little by little, and eventually disappeared as if melting away.

“Meta Knight…”

Meta Knight, staring at the disappeared butterflies, was called and turned around.

It was Kirby. He had been injured in the fight, but seemed to regain some energy.

“Did you win?”

“...Yes.”

“Meta Knight really is strong! I couldn’t do it at all.” Kirby looked a little sick.

Behind him, King Dedede stood up slowly. “Uh… Uugh…!”

The king, leaning on his hammer, managed to support his body and said with envy. “I was supposed to do it… I could’ve mustered the strength…!”

“Didn’t you turn and run?”

“I didn’t run off! I was getting a better vantage point!”

Blade Knight also stood up, in tears. “Meta Knight, sir, wow, you’re safe!”

“Yes. No need to worry about me.”

“But what happened? I could have sworn you were on the battleship Halberd…”

Waddle Dee rushed in before Meta Knight answered. “Meta Knight! You won!”

“Waddle Dee.” Meta Knight turned to Waddle Dee.

“I’m grateful you returned my strength with the Galaxia. Thank you.”

“I just carried it. It was the Galaxia that strengthened you…”

Waddle Dee jumped up. “Wait, we still need your help! Your knights are in a hole!”

“A hole?”

“This way!”

Meta Knight followed Waddle Dee to the knights.

The rescued knights were quiet, even surrounding Meta Knight. Everyone’s hearts were so full that no words came out.

Meta Knight opened his mouth. “It was foolish of me to worry, everyone fought so well.”

“Meta Knight, sir…!”

The Meta Knights wept as if the thread of tension had broken.

Sword Knight said. “You’re the real Meta Knight, aren’t you”

“Do I look like a fake?”

“No! You’re definitely real! There’s a big difference!”

Sword Knight saw Beryl crouching down.

Mace Knight snuck behind and grabbed Beryl’s head.

Axe Knight asked, “Let’s punish him for what he’s done. What do you think?”

“Hm…” Meta Knight thought about it.

Beryl was shaking, rattling. 

Javelin Knight spoke. “Let’s tie him to the bow of the battleship and let him enjoy space travel.”

Trident Knight replied, “Why don’t we send him to Castle Dedede? Let the Waddle Dees take a break and let him do all the castle work alone!”

Axe Knight added, “No, let’s send him to all the towns he destroyed and make him fix them back up again! First, Dreamland!”

Meta Knight spoke. “That’s still too kind. Let’s tie him up so he can’t move and have Kirby perform a song for him.”

“Eh!?” Kirby was surprised. “Why do I have to sing for this guy!? What a waste…!”

“...No, trust me.” Meta Knight told Kirby. “Persuade him with your wonderful singing that he should never do anything wrong again.”

“...Eh? Persuade him?”

“Listening to a wonderful song can change someone’s mind.”

“Oh yeah… songs have the power to move hearts. I see!” Kirby was determined and nodded. “I will sing! It’ll be a moving song that will gentle the heart of any villain!”

“While you’re at it, would you like to serve your home cooking as well? You should make a special dish that will make him cry with excitement.”

“Okay! Looks like Meta Knight is kind to his enemies.”

“Waddle Dee.”

Waddle Dee, who was swaying and listening to the story, jumped up when Meta Knight called out. 

“Ye...yes!”

“I’ll leave it to you. Hold Kirby a concert and set up a special seat for Beryl. Don’t forget to serve Kirby’s special dishes. Have Beryl eat until he is full.”

“Uh… uh… uh, yes…!” Waddle Dee imagined it and nodded in tears of fear.

(Me, Meta Knight…! What a terrifying thing! Kirby’s song is so terrible it could crack the walls of Castle Dedede, and Kirby’s food is so bad he could lose his appetite for the rest of his life…!)

Kirby said with a smile. “Heh, I’ll do my best! Let’s work together, Waddle Dee!”

“Ah… okay…”

“What should I sing? I have to sing with all my heart so Beryl doesn’t do bad things again… of course, I’ll do my best to cook too… Wow, I’m excited! Hey Beryl, I hope you’re looking forward to it!”

“Oh, oh. I’m sure I’ll change my mind.” Beryl was relieved and grinned.

The Meta Knights and King Dedede whispered in the shadow.

“Beryl’s acting like he’s saved.”

“How stupid, he doesn’t know the horror of Kirby.”

“Meta Knight is too cruel. No matter what he did, I’m sorry for Beryl.”

“How could sir make such a proposal…”

“Wow, he’s not kidding around! Good luck, Beryl!”

Meta Knight turned over his cloak and started walking. “Well then, let’s go back to the battleship Halberd.”

“Yes sir!” His subordinates saluted in unison and lined up.

Captain Vul and the Meta Knights were enjoying tea time leisurely for the first time in a long while.

Meta Knight wasn’t there. It seems he had something to do, so he went out without telling them where he was going.

Captain Vul was talking about, of course, Meta Knight.

Axe Knight said. “Even so, it’s strange. Why did Meta Knight, who had been unconscious on the Halberd, appear in the ancient temple?”

Captain Vul replied. “I have an idea, but I can’t quite explain it. I think…”

Captain Vul took a sip of his tea and continued.

“At that time, Meta Knight’s body and mind were disjointed. His body was in a bed in the Halberd here, but his mind was wandering somewhere else.”

“...Huh.”

“Usually, the wandering heart returns to the body. However, Meta Knight is a very strong person, so I think this time his body was called to his heart.”

“...Hmm.”

Blade Knight said. “Meta Knight has a strong body, though.”

“...Well, that is correct. However, if anything, his heart is stronger!”

“Persuasive, if not…” Sword Knight muttered.

“At that time, Galacta Knight took a big hit. Moreover, he was combined with the red butterfly to become even more powerful.”

“Yeah, but what about it?”

“I think I’ve got it. Meta Knight’s desire to fight a strong opponent called to his body.”

“I see, then I understand.”

The Meta Knights nodded.

“Meta Knight’s enthusiasm to fight can be a bit overkill.”

“Hold your tongue. Meta Knight doesn’t like fighting. He likes to make himself stronger.

“Regardless, his desire to fight a strong enemy caused a miracle.”

“As expected from our master!”

Around the time when the peaceful tea party was held on the Halberd, Kirby’s special dinner concert was being held in the basement of the Castle Dedede.

Meta Knight was standing alone in a flower garden of Dreamland.

A pleasant breeze blew and the colorful flowers swayed.

Meta Knight picked up a yellow flower and took a deep breath. It had a refreshing smell.

“It has a nice scent. Pink was… too sweet, wasn’t it?”

Meta Knight couldn’t forget Papi’s happy voice. The whole time he was trying to stop Meta Knight from returning to the original world… At the very end, he was desperate to save Meta Knight. Without Papi, Meta Knight wouldn’t have been able to return to this world.

He wondered, what was Papi doing now? Was he fluttering around looking for someone to talk to?

At that moment, a white butterfly flew by and perched on a yellow flower. It was slowly drinking from the flowers.

Meta Knight muttered in a small voice. “If one day you go to that world, let me know.”

The butterfly stopped moving, as if it had heard Meta Knight’s words.

“I’d like to thank that talkative butterfly with light blue wings. Papi was a good guide… no, a good friend.”

The butterfly fluttered away, and began to fly from flower to flower.

Meta Knight quietly watched until the butterfly disappeared.

(Chapter 9 - Table of Contents)

(The end, thank you so much for reading and all of your support!)

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from @wrenstrange! Put up the decorations, it’s finally time again! Enjoy, everyone!

Words: 1957 Warnings: pure fluff, blood sample/needle/syringe, soft!Loki, fatique, fainting

You dropped like a piece of wood right about when you were making yourself a cup of tea in the kitchen. Knees ceasing to support you any longer, vision darkening, stars dancing around you making you dizzy. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and before you knew it, your body finally won and shut down.

Although if you could have chosen, you would not have fallen straight into Loki’s arms whose reflexes caught you, preventing you from hitting the hard floor beneath you. He cradled you with his brows furrowed, his blue gaze almost helpless as he looked at Thor and Stark for support.

Then, everything went black.

-

“Welcome back.” You blinked, the artificial lights above your head blinding you. A hand held you down when you attempted to sit up drowsily. Bruce was leaning against a metal table in Tony’s lab, hands crossed before his chest and with a concerned expression on his face. “You blacked out,” he explained, “out of the blue.”

“How are you feeling?” Tony added.

You only realised then that it was Loki who had held you down. He was sitting on a chair right next to the makeshift bed they had carried into Tony’s lab and he was observing you with Argus eyes. Your heart sped up when you noticed. You usually tended to avoid the God of Mischief at all cost. There was a part of you that was afraid of him after watching him making an entire crowd kneel in Stuttgart, the other was hands down swooning over him. It had all started when he had rescued a cat from a tree, honouring a cliché he had not even been aware of. But someone who helped defenceless little kittens had to have a soft heart deep down, no?

Thor had brought him to Earth along with him after Asgard had been destroyed. He could not exactly be considered an Avenger but he had long surpassed the villain image… at least, to some extent. Well, you were no Avenger either. You used to be a SHIELD intern and then somehow ended up with the superheroes themselves. Apart from some basic fighting skills and the ability to use a gun, you had been trained to spend most of your time in front of a computer, often working twelve hours or even more a day. What did they say? Evil never sleeps.

“Any idea what might have caused this?” Bruce continued.

You shook your head. “No. But I’ve been having migraines and a persistent fatigue that just won’t go away.”

“I see… anything else?”

“Um…”

“You can talk to us, (Y/N).”

“Well, I… I’ve been dizzy a lot lately but that sometimes happens during my special week of the month so I didn’t think anything of it.” You took a deep breath but hesitated.

“And?”

“I’ve been sweating way more when working out. Like, a lot more. Instead of making progress… I feel like I’m getting weaker every day. It’s frustrating.”

“Uh-huh. I’m taking a blood sample. FRIDAY will run a couple of tests on you to figure out what’s wrong.”

“What? No! Nothing’s wrong! We don’t need a b-blood sample.”

“No one faints for no reason, (Y/N), especially not on Loki.” Loki rolled his eyes but did not leave your side, even when Bruce started fiddling around with some gear and apparently, a first-aid kit and then approached you with a syringe and a small clear vial.

“I’ve done this a million times before, I’ll be gentle.”

“No! No, no blood test, Bruce, please!” Almost hysterically, you moved back on the bed, your heart in your mouth.

“(Y/N),” Loki suddenly said calmly. You shivered when he spoke your name, his head tilted slightly. “Are you afraid of needles?”

“N-n-no…” You lied. Loki raised an eyebrow.

“Look at me.” He said. Hesitating only a little, you did as you were told. It wasn’t like his tone allowed any contradiction anyway. In fact, it reminded you a lot of his strict and bossy tone when he had caused chaos in Germany. “It has to be done. Hold my hand and do not take your eyes off of me.”

“Who are you and what you have done to Reindeer Games?” Tony tossed in, throwing the Trickster a suspicious glance. Loki rolled his eyes once more. As if he had any obligation to explain himself to Stark of all people.

In the meantime, you were panicking even more. Loki was being nice and considerate with you and Bruce was about to pierce your skin with a needle. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… your breathing sped up.

“Look. At. Me.” Loki repeated. You obeyed this time, allowing him to take your hand and press it gently. Much to your surprise, it immediately calmed you down a little. You gaped at him unbelievingly. You didn’t even feel the needle going into your skin and drawing blood. Wait… was he casting a spell on you?

“There. All done.” You could not bring yourself to look where Bruce brought your blood sample but when both Tony and he stepped away and turned their backs on you, you swallowed.

“T-thank you…” You had to ask—not because you did not think he was not capable of offering his help without seeking a personal advantage and not because you didn’t think he was too evil to even think about being selfless… but because you were genuinely curious about his motivation. Loki did nothing without a reason, he was always one step ahead. “You put a spell on me, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “Why… why did you do that for me?”

“We are all afraid of something.” It was the only response he gave you. For a few moments, you merely sat there quietly, neither of you uttering a single word. Only when Bruce and Tony returned did you realise that Loki was still holding your hand.

“Okay… I’ve got the results from your blood test and FRIDAY couldn’t find anything suspicious.” Tony announced, scrolling on his tablet. Bruce adjusted his glasses to take a peek.

“You said you’ve been feeling tired? You sweat a lot, you get dizzy, and I’m presuming you barely have an appetite?”

“I don’t have time to eat a lot to be honest…” You confirmed.

“Any concentration problems?”

Pressing your lips together to a thin line, you thought about it for a moment. Now that he mentioned it… it had gotten obnoxiously hard to focus on your work lately. Eventually, you nodded.

“Sounds like severe exhaustion to me.” Bruce said. “Do you have issues with low blood pressure or diabetes or any other medical condition? No, FRIDAY would have found something like that. You know what I think? You overworked yourself.”

“Like… a burnout?” You probed.

“Most definitely.”

You grunted. Oh, that was just great. There you were, attempting to squeeze in regular workouts in this awesome training hall the Avengers called the HARM room after work to get stronger and hence, eventually gather up the courage to speak to Loki and now you looked exactly like what you did not want him to see you as—a weak and meagre human.

“The best medicine would be for you to quit work for a while and stop physical exercise altogether.”

“Banner is right,” Tony added. “Take a few weeks off and rest, sleep in, eat more and healthy… the whole program. I officially give you a holiday.”

“You’re not my boss, Tony, you can’t give me a holiday.” Your smile was weak. “But I don’t have time for this anyway! I can’t believe this is happening so soon before Christmas!” You whined. “I can’t stay in bed, I’ve got so much to do! I have to buy presents and decorate and bake biscuits and make gingerbread… Besides, I’m gonna fall behind on all the data.”

He shrugged. “I’ll take care of that. Let me talk to Fury. You let us know if you need anything. Can you take her to her room, Reindeer Games? And please, no funny business.” Beside you, Loki was just frowning, utterly ignoring the billionaire’s request.

“Why were you pushing yourself so hard?” He finally spoke when the two Avengers had left—whether it was genuine confusion or mere curiosity in his voice, you were not sure. “Why were you training for battle in the first place? I have never seen you out on a mission.”

You sighed. Time to let the cat out of the bag, it wasn’t like you were still going to make a good impression on him anymore now.

“I wanted to impress you, I guess…”

“Impress me?” Loki repeated incredulously.

“Yeah… catch your attention… in a way. I mean, part of me is still terrified of you, of course but… you have a good heart, Loki. I knew when I saw you rescuing that cat from the tree.”

The God of Mischief rolled his eyes. “I knew this was going to damage my reputation.” He responded with a sly smirk, making you grin. “It was an innocent kitten, what was I supposed to do?”

“See?”

Your heart skipped a beat when his blue eyes locked with yours. He appeared… uncertain; not used to dealing with affection. Loki swallowed.

“Can you walk?”

“I’m not sure…”

The God of Mischief sighed, his lips pressed together to a thin line. Without any hesitation, he snuck one of his arms under your knees and wrapped the other around your waist. He lifted you off the makeshift bed as if you weighed nothing—and to him, you probably didn’t.

Loki carried you to your room in utter silence and eventually lay you down in your bed. Your heart jumped when he sat down on the edge of the bed himself, with a peculiar interest in his hands so he would not have to look you in the eye.

“There is no need to impress me.” He suddenly said. Your head shot up. “I did not think anyone would even… never mind.”

Oh. It almost felt like you were finally getting to know each other, for real this time.

“Do you want to stay for a while? I was going to watch some Christmas movies if I’m not allowed to get out of bed.” You sighed. “I can’t even decorate. You have no idea how many decorations I have to put up. None of the others care to make it a little more festive here, especially not Fury.”

“Yes, I have seen the boxes.” Loki replied. “It’s a little… corny, wouldn’t you say?”

“Honestly, when living among superheroes who risk their lives every single day, you could use a little corny.”

“I see.” Loki simply waved his hand and before you knew it, your entire room was decorated. Green and red tinsel shimmered on your window sill, holiday lights were blinking above your door and fake—but incredibly real-looking—snowflakes hung from the ceiling. Many of your favourite decoration items were now sitting on your nightstand and your desk, including your tiny little Christmas tree. The rest of the decorations, so it seemed, Loki must have spread all over the Tower.

“Oh my Goodness… Loki, this is amazing!” The God of Mischief winked and when you looked down on yourself, you noticed you too were wearing a green and gold Christmas sweater. Heavens, you could kiss him. “Thank you so much! What did you… is the entire Tower…”

“Yes.” He confirmed. He didn’t have to. Tony did only a fraction of a second later.

“Thor! Can you tell me why my Ironman helmet just grew metal antlers? I swear to God, if Reindeer Games has something to do with this…” It was then you exploded with laughter despite your exhaustion.

-

A/N: If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you considered supporting me on Kofi! It’s either for caffeine or red wine, I’ll take both. ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥