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koco-coko · 1 year ago

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When the World Exploded - - Vincent x Jean - Ikemen Vampire Fic

-> His eyepatch was off, and yet the world didn’t end. In fact, it began anew.

Tags/Warnings <--> Angst then Fluff, Lots of Cuddles and Kisses, Soft and Slow, Bad Cooking, Hidden Relationship, Beginning of Relationship, HEAVY SPOILERS for BOTH suitors, Main POV: Jean D'Arc, HEAVY Exploration of Depression, Passive Suicidal Ideation and Religious Guilt.

Word Count: 5,005 (Around 12 pages)!

A/N <--> this originally started as super fluff but boy oh boy I forgot how messed up these two were. Still super fluff but wow I may have gone a little overboard. So please don't force yourself to read this if you're really sensitive to these things, promise I won't be hurt by it <:)

i think they might like this: @azulashengrottospiano @natimiles @weirdwriter69 (lots of interaction with the jean x vincent posts so i thought i'd tag sorry if you didnt want to be)

Jean never expected to be here. Jean didn’t expect to be alive. Jean didn’t expect much of anything, really.

So imagine his surprise to remember that a blonde painter had arms tightly wrapped around his waist and kept drawing him closer into the scent of dry paint and sunflowers, a hint of pancake batter mixed in there, too.

Jean tried to move away, only to have the arm around him tense and pull him further in. A small hum came from the sleeping painter, his head resting on back of Jean's neck. He couldn’t help it when an uncomfortable shudder went through him. His lips were so close to his ear, the beating of his heart right against his back…

Sure, they agreed beforehand but he never expected this. A part of him wanted to escape. It was all too much, too new. Yet Vincent wouldn’t let him get away, and maybe that was for the better. Despite the blank face and cold demeanor, he was sensitive to many, many things. A case of touch-starvation didn’t help the fact. After a momentary inner conflict, Jean let out a deep sigh and dug his face into the pillow beside him. He could do it. He fell asleep like this once tonight, he could do it again.

He came to learn that there were a lot of firsts when being revived as a vampire.

It was the first time he ever felt attracted to someone, let alone a man.

It was only when Vincent started painting outside more often that Jean started feeling… things. Tingles in his stomach whenever he saw the man paint a dark night sky with swirls of light. Shakes when he caught glimpses of a notebook filled with anatomy practice and fencing positions, all suspiciously bearing a resemblance to Jean. It could be argued that a few were Napoleon, though. The lines were messy enough. These sensations started following him around the mansion, too. At the dinner table, he always felt lighter when he heard Vincent giggle at something Arthur said. Eventually, a simple greeting smile sent a shiver through the poor soldier’s body and all he could do was scuttle off into the piano room.

Vincent was too radiant for a sinner to handle, he deduced. It seemed logical at the time. Jean’s chest was always empty and Vincent always had light to bring to someone. The world was a better place with Vincent in it and it was worse with Jean. That was just how things were. Jean was ready to accept that over… Well…

“Can I paint you?”

It was the first time anyone ever asked… that. Jean had been avoiding Vincent, more than usual, but one late night out of his room for a bottle of Rouge led to them meeting again. Vincent was already coated in paint, perhaps from a late night project, filling one of his paint cups with fresher water.

Jean was a frozen statue for a while, but when Vincent’s smile slowly faded, he suddenly came to. “Why me?” he asked, quietly.

Vincent looked to the side, the enthusiasm of the initial question trailing off. “I’ve never seen anyone like you?”

So unclean, full of sin and guilt?

“So… pretty?”

Jean shifted on his feet uncomfortably, staring at the painter in front of him with wide eyes.

Vincent was quick to catch his mistake. “In a manly way! Very male-orientated. But beautiful and elegant, too! So, um, beautifully handsome? Does that make sense?”

Not at all. Jean felt his entire mind and body shut down, then come back, then shut down again.

Beautiful? Handsome? Was this some sick joke?

“You didn’t drink that, did you?” Jean asked, shyly pointing to the paint-stained cup in his hands.

Vincent glanced down at it, then backed up. “No, I don’t believe so,” he almost chuckled, “Why would you think that?”

“You don’t seem in your right mind,” he responded. “I’m none of what you have described me as. I would suggest getting your eyes checked in the near future.” Jean turned to make his exit, bottle of Rouge in hand.

Vincent’s lips went ajar, blinking in disbelief. Then, he laughed. Jean froze. It was almost insulting to hear that. “Well, I don’t think so. I don’t know you too well, sure, but you seem nice.”

Those words sent butterflies through him.

Whenever Jean looked in the mirror, all he saw was a husk of a living being. He couldn’t say human anymore. He was ugly, inside and out. He longed for life, for warmth, comfort, yet every time it faced him, he ran away. God put him on this Earth to suffer in an endless cycle, yet he couldn’t break his piety to such a cruel deity.

It was something he’d slowly started to accept– the emptiness was a part of his life. If death came to face him, like a fool, he’d fight it, only to realize that victory meant waking up to another day, only after the fact.

Then, an angel descended upon him. It smiled with bright light, with hair as gold as a halo and beamed at him with kind, blue eyes.

“I guess I’ll just ask again,” the angel asked, “Can I paint you sometime?”

Who was he, a mortal man with sins too heavy to weigh, to deny the messenger of God?

It was the first time he ever ‘modeled’ for someone.

He never stopped by Vincent’s room for the specific purpose of sitting in a chair for hours on end (when they did try, it was so unpleasant that Jean almost fainted), but he visited on occasion.

Instead of modeling, Vincent would simply follow Jean around at random times with a sketchbook in hand, capturing moments of life in a still, pencil-drawn image. At the end of the day, when the stars twinkled in through Vincent’s window, Jean was invited in and the two chatted about the scenes the blonde had drawn.

“That’s not me,” Jean would say each time, “That man is too pure to be me.”

And every time, Vincent would shake his head and chuckle. “You should really start being nicer to yourself.” Vincent would then quietly whisper to himself, “Rich, coming from me of all people, but the advice still stands.”

Jean never tried to respond to his extra comments, until one late evening– “Perhaps we both should.”

Vincent’s expression was unreadable as he silently flipped to the next page.

It was the first time someone tried to cook for him. Keyword: tried.

Everyone in the mansion began to notice that the most polar opposites of the mansion had so suddenly gravitated toward each other. Napoleon was surprised when Vincent first appeared at their sparring matches as a regular guest, but now? Why, now he was surprised not to greet him.

Mozart was the most confused, of course. A soldier and a painter? Really, what would they ever want to do with each other? Jean was such a recluse, too. What did Vincent say to him that made him stray from his hideaway room and weapons shop? Theodorus seemed to share this sentiment, trailing behind his older brother like a guard dog.

Still, it didn’t surprise anyone when Vincent wanted to make something for Jean’s birthday.

It did surprise Sebastian that same morning to find the kitchen in shambles. Vincent stood in the middle of it all, a fire blazing inside the oven. Apparently, he had tried to make a batch of macarons.

It took the help of half the mansion to salvage what they could. When Jean was presented with burnt yet somehow undercooked macarons, he just… stared at them.

“How did you know I liked these?” he asked, trying to ignore the smoke coming from the kitchen area.

Vincent’s smile was drenched in embarrassment. “Ah, well, whenever we go to your shop together, I always see you looking at the macarons in the window displays. So, I just assumed you liked them. Glad you do! I would’ve looked silly if not…”

“Thank you.” Jean practically cut him off before he could say anything else. To show his gratitude, he took one from the pan and tossed it in his mouth. Vincent cringed.

The soldier’s eyes burst open with shock. It was so… mushy and crunchy and… How in God’s name could something like this even be created? It was a crime against pastries everywhere.

“Sorry,” Vincent mumbled, “I’m not really a sweet’s fan, so…”

That was all it took to convince Jean to push through, swallowing the macaron (could you even call it that?) with much strain.

“Don’t be. It’s the thought that matters,” Jean said, taking the tray from Vincent. “I… I’ll cherish this forever.”

Jean was looking down at the floor shyly, but he swore he saw a pink color grow on Vincent’s cheeks.

Later that night, he found a portrait of himself waiting by his door. In his critical eyes, it was too divine to look anything like him, but the distinctive stroke style made Vincent the clear painter. A note was attached to the bottom, reading:

“Happy birthday! Sorry for the macarons this morning. Maybe after you close your shop tomorrow, we can go to a bakery and get some non-burnt ones! We could bring them home for a tea party, if you’d like!

Also, I think I finally had enough sketches of you to make a painting, so here’s the finished thing! I hope you like it. I’d like to make more, if you’re comfortable with that

– Vincent Van Gogh”

Unfortunately, Jean wasn’t the most literate. He enjoyed the fact that with paintings, written words were unnecessary. It was a walk of shame to bring the note to Mozart so he could read it for him.

It didn’t completely miss him, though, despite his usual density. Vincent wanted to paint him more. An invitation for more time spent together.

When the fact hit him, Mozart had to double-take the smile he saw on his friend’s face.

It was the first time he ever kissed someone.

Now, granted, he didn’t remember that until the next morning’s hangover passed.

Jean was known to be insanely lightweight, so why he was given a glass of wine- no one knows. Unfortunately, his drunkenness often made him very… touchy. So when the mansion had a banquet drawn long into the night, Jean was practically laying on top of Vincent (much to Theo’s ire).

So, Vincent offered to bring Jean back to his room. His strength was only one factor in it, but Jean’s touchy-feely state made it a slight struggle to bring him into the room without losing his balance and being blinded by Jean’s clinginess.

Vincent has an arm wrapped around Jean as they make their way into his empty room. “Jeanie!” Vincent yelped, “I’m trying to put you to bed!” Through his struggle, he was laughing. Drunken Jean thought it was the most adorable thing in the world. It also didn’t help that Vincent was feeling a bit tipsy, too. He couldn’t stop himself from giggling at the absurdity of Jean’s actions even when he was worried for him.

When Vincent finally managed to get Jean into his room without tripping over his feet for a fourth time, he was content to call it a night. Unfortunately, Jean did not. He latched onto his arm and wouldn’t let go.

“Wait,” he whispered in a hoarse voice, “Please stay.”

Vincent couldn’t tell if it was the wine getting to him or not, but something made his cheeks grow red.

It was hard to remember the rest. Vincent tried to coax Jean into bed, but he refused, instead wrapping his arms around Vincent and locking him in an embrace.

It was a stupored dance, rocking back and forth as the painter tried to keep the soldier on his feet and not knock the two of them over. Not that he minded, though. The closeness was… oddly welcome.

“C’mon, Theo is going to worry if I don’t go back soon! I promise we’ll see each other tomorrow!” Vincent said, taking steps towards Jean’s bed.

Jean pulled back against him, his head leaning on Vincent’s chest. “But I want you here now.”

How could the pure angel say no to such a shy request? It’d break poor Jeanie’s heart to force him off!

The swaying continued, Jean moving closer and closer, until…

What was it Arthur said? ‘Drunken words were sober thoughts?’ Did that translate to actions, too?

The mens’ lips met, for just a brief second, but long enough for Vincent’s to turn into a living cherry.

They stared at each other for a moment, lust and liquor made Jean’s gaze cloudy, just as it fogged his mind. Vincent was more aware, but maybe he was hazy, too.

Jean went in again, losing all semblance of balance, leaning all his weight onto Vincent as his knees bent and only the tips of his toes remained dragging on the ground.

If he was a sinner, so be it. He couldn’t take it anymore– the strange pulses of his heart whenever Vincent smiled in the sunlight or told him he was beautiful. He was looked down upon by Heaven’s eye, so what was the point in searching for salvation any longer?

The devil named ethanol overtook Jean, but maybe it claimed Vincent’s heart, too. He didn’t even stumble, catching Jean’s weight and slowly easing into the second kiss. And the fourth. And the seventh.

When the eleventh finished, Vincent suddenly gained consciousness again and forced Jean into bed, running off soon after. Jean was too drunk by then and passed out before he could realize what he’d done.

When day broke the next day, Jean was alone in his bed. No memory came to him until 10 A.M.

What in God’s name had he done!? What sweet temptation overcame him? He was never drinking again, surely! His heart beat out of his chest with images and sensations flashed by him. With Vincent? He had stooped so low as to share affections with a man!? An innocent one, at that! He couldn’t believe he had even dared to touch the painting angel, tainting him with fault and impurity. God almighty, damnation was all he would receive. He’d turned his back to God thousands of times, but this had to be it. The Holy Spirit would claim him at any moment, banishing him to the pits of hell. Forgiveness was fully out of reach. Why did he have to be revived? He should’ve suffered on that stake, right where he belonged.

Jean locked himself in his room for weeks, only answering when Mozart came to drop off a bottle of Rouge. The pianist would try to speak, only for the door to be slammed in his face. The few glimpses residents did catch of him weren’t all too uplifting, either: Jean, knelt over his bedside with a rosary, muttering the Hail Mary over and over as if he would face judgment at any second. He only left to go to the weapons shop. Jean would avoid Vincent like the plague, or in his case, a harsh blaze.

Vincent didn’t fare much better. He was more shy and nervous around the mansion, his paintings became more chaotic and surreal. He tried to ignore it, push down every bit of emotion that started to rise in his chest, but… the unfinished paintings spoke for themselves. Lilly fields, the brandish of a sword, a fire burning sweetly in a fool’s chest.

Vincent felt his hands shake when he flipped through his sketchbook, only to find the same thoughts circling him. His chest felt like it would explode. He didn’t think anything of it when they first grew close to each other, but things were different now.

It was the first time anyone ever told him that.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

The sword fell from his hands with a loud clatter. Jean was a statue in the middle of the weapons shop while Vincent stood by the door, his hand on the knob.

The store was closed, but Vincent had been gifted a key a while ago. Vincent brightened any room he stepped in with such a radiant light that Jean felt blinded by it. Except… Even with the sunset behind him, illuminating him like an angel, Vincent appeared to him as a normal man.

He was impure, too. He sinned. He felt. Vincent wasn’t a big fan of that last one.

“You’re mistaken, monsieur.” Jean’s words cut like a sword; through the air and through Vincent’s heart. Vincent clutched his chest. “Whatever… this… is, it is not love. Lucifer is tempting us. We must not give in.” Jean picked the blade from the floor and placed it back on the rack, his brows knit. He kept his back turned to Vincent. He couldn’t even stand to look at him anymore. He was trying to resist the call of lust, after all. “There is nothing to love about me. Do not let the devil fool you, Vincent.”

Vincent’s head was filled with new feelings, but he knew this one too well: Hurt. It felt like Jean had just struck him in the heart with no remorse. Jean had always been blunt, a bit cold and dense, but this was cruel! Vincent’s fingers curled in, his fingernails stabbing the palm of his hand.

“Why not?” Vincent demanded. Jean wasn’t used to a harsh tone from the painter. “I-I…” Vincent practically trembled as he tried to force the words out. “Why do you get to decide what I’m feeling?”

Jean swallowed hard. He… He never thought of it like that. God was the only judge, why was he deciding for the painter? He opened his mouth to speak, but Vincent cut him off as he stepped closer.

“I love you, Jean. And, sure, maybe I don’t have the best grasp on feelings yet, but I know I love you.” Vincent’s declaration was made and there was no going back. It was a bit scary, pouring the beatings of his heart in front of Jean, but it had to be done. “You’re not going to convince me I don’t. I’m sorry.”

Jean was… silent. His violet eyes were wide, but there were unreadable emotions going through him. Vincent couldn’t bring himself to gaze at Jean for more than a few seconds. Not yet. He had no idea how the soldier would react. He was always so cynical, so shrouded in mystery, but that only made Vincent want to show him the sun even more.

“Why?” Jean parroted Vincent’s previous question. “What is there to love about me?” His voice cracked. As much as he tried to hide it, tears were being forcibly choked and swallowed to save his pride.

Vincent’s shoulders slowly slumped as the tension melted. Oh, what wasn’t there to admire. “Well… You’re strong.”

No I’m not, his mind argued.

“And you’re very kind. You’re always so thoughtful and thinking of others.”

It can’t be true.

“I can only dream to be as selfless as you, really!”

That was a blatant lie. What kind of game was he pulling? Only then did Jean’s thoughts stray. Vincent would never lie so openly. Was there truth in his words?

“I like spending time with you, too. You’ve always got something fun to say, when you do talk. And I like it when we go places. You keep talking about that field of lilies, so I think we could go there next!”

His mind’s voice couldn’t think up a retort in time.

“And… Well, I said it when we first met, right? You’re beautifully handsome. That’s something to enjoy, too,” Vincent giggled nervously, “Not as much as the other things, though! More of an added bonus.”

Vincent peeled his eyes off the floor to meet with an unseemly sight. Saint Jeanne D’Arc, staring him right in the face, with a hand over his mouth and tears rolling down his cheeks. It was sacrilegious to watch.

“Hey, don’t cry, Jeanie,” Vincent whispered, moving right in front of Jean to wipe his tears with his thumb. His hand lingered on the man’s cheek.

Jean felt as if he couldn’t breathe right away. Love? Nonsense. It wasn’t for him. He wasn’t even supposed to be alive! How could someone so gentle and considerate say all those things about him? This had to be some sort of trick or illusion. A dream, even.

Jean’s fingers intertwined with Vincent’s, not letting the painter’s delicate hands leave his face anytime soon.

He was just waiting to wake up from this dream. Waiting patiently. Waiting… and waiting.

It never came.

When he opened his eyes, Vincent was still there, sky blue eyes lovingly locked on him.

Vincent’s smile was soft. Anything harsher would blind Jean. “We’re vampires, Jean. I think God has bigger things to worry about. Maybe he can let this one slide.”

It was overwhelming to be blanketed in the holy light and Jean’s tears kept falling. This time, with a shy smile on his face.

It happened naturally. The gap between their faces drew shorter and shorter, their bodies fit together perfectly, and Jean’s hands felt comfortable on Vincent’s waist.

It was reserved, at first. Neither had any idea how to navigate a kiss with the other, but it was more natural than Jean had expected. It was… warm. Vincent’s thumb ran his across Jean’s eyepatch. Involuntarily, he drew back. They both used that as a minute to breathe.

Surprisingly, Jean was the one who initiated the second kiss, and this one was much more passionate. Their tongues collided on this one, messily and sloppily. Neither had any clue how to do this, but that was part of the enjoyment. It was slow, sensual, simply taking their time to explore each other.

It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be. Jean and Vincent backed away from each other entirely content, their foreheads pressing against the other. A dopey grin enveloped the soldier’s red face. He was certain the blonde could hear just how loudly his heart pumped in his chest.

It was the first time he felt so happy.

The days at the mansion were almost tolerable now. When no one was around, a chaste peck on the cheek or forehead would be shared. Usually Vincent was the one to find Jean alone in the library, but occasionally Jean walked by his room and left a kiss on his cheek.

Theo and Mozart noticed how they would disappear together first. Soon enough, everyone else caught on. Most of the mansion went to Arthur and Sebastian for answers, but both refused to tell. Sebastian out of not wanting to admit the amount of intel stored in his Oh no– They Didn’t! journal, and Arthur because he thought it’d be more fun for everyone else to figure it out themselves. Being the detective he was, Vincent sighed in relief when he heard he hadn’t told anyone. These feelings, this relationship… It’s all so new and they needed to take it slow. Being outed so soon would only spell disaster, especially in this century. Besides, Jean was already suffering from the judgmental stares from his little brother across the dinner table.

So, for the meantime, tea parties were kept in lonesome meadows and their most intimate moments were behind locked doors.

It was the first time he had a picnic.

They promised to go to the lily field, when they had the chance. Vincent was captivated the moment he saw a sea of white petals blowing in the wind, glowing under the light of the moon. Jean didn’t interrupt his pause, allowing him to absorb the beauty around him.

A blanket placed under them, a stiff breeze moving Vincent’s blonde curls in such a way that Jean couldn’t tear his eyes away. His head rested on the painter’s thigh while he sketched the field in front of them, grinning as his mind’s eye was put to paper.

He looked down at Jean, breathing softly as he admired him. Vincent chuckled as he ran his fingers through his partner’s navy hair. “This is nice,” he whispered, not wanting to interrupt the still of the night.

The moonlight hit Vincent in such a way that he looked as if he descended from heaven, his features chiseled by God himself. “It is,” Jean responded, closing his eyes to properly enjoy the sensation.

“We’re really lovers, aren’t we?” the blonde vampire asked softly. “It’s hard to imagine it in the mansion, but here… It feels real.” A pause hit Vincent before he continued, a romantic sigh leaving his lips as he took the moment in. “We should go see the sunflowers next.”

Jean’s eyes fluttered open and he watched Vincent attentively. There was a distinct longing in his eyes as he stared over the waves of flowers.

He couldn’t help himself. Jean cupped Vincent’s cheek in his head, bending awkwardly to plant a kiss on his lover’s jaw.

It was the first time he said those three words.

“I love you.”

It was the first time he took his eyepatch off in front of someone.

It had taken a full year for Jean to open up to the idea of taking his eyepatch off in front of Vincent. When they said they were taking it slow, they meant slow. Molasses envied them. They both had a lot of issues within themself, so moving too fast would only cause even more problems. This was far more safe and comfortable, and for them, that mattered more than anything.

It was a planned event. Theodorus wouldn’t be home for a few days on a business trip and Mozart was completely overtaken by a burst of creativity. Melodies filled the air each night, perfect for the inexperienced lovers. The stars had aligned for them to finally have a chance to sleep together and maybe sleep in, if they were lucky.

Sitting on opposite ends of Jean’s mattress, Vincent observed the empty room around him with slight dismay. The many paintings gifted to his lover were the only decorations on the walls. Otherwise, the place looked like a jail cell. At least Vincent's cell had a nice window and some paint stains on the floor. This was a topic for another day, though.

Jean sheepishly cleared his throat. A fabric eyepatch sling was laid across his open palm, extending it out for Vincent to take. He feared if he held it any longer that he’d put it right back on.

Vincent was instantly enamored with Jean’s face. He came to know of Jean’s execution, of how he covered himself so thoroughly to hide the scars that coated him from his feet to his face, but finally being able to see some, the dead skin surrounding his blind eye and the burns that brushed his usually glove-covered hands… He was so beautiful.

Jean was self-conscious under his gaze, actively forcing his left hand not to cover his eye. Fortunately, Vincent reached out and traced the burnt lines of his face before Jean could. His breath hitched, a short quivering running down his shoulder. “Sorry,” Vincent mumbled, now caressing the side of his face. “I just… I should paint you like this sometime. If you’ll let me.” Briefly, Vincent’s eyes wandered to his torso, before gazing back at the head of his lover. He held his cheek so tenderly.

Jean’s bashfulness melted under the tender gaze of the older Van Gogh. He took his wrist in his hand and planted delicate kisses against his palm. Vincent giggled coyly. Ah, that sound was more beautiful than any hymns the angels could conjure up. “I’ll think about it, monsieur.” He was thankful the attention to his scars ended there, although slight brushes and kisses against his eye were common as they laid next to each other. Any comments on its state would’ve left Jean a mess of regret and self-hatred. Vincent was careful about that, as Jean was with Vincent’s emotional status. It was an equal trade.

The evening was quiet, lulling the two to sleep easily. At first, they had fallen asleep with their hands locked together, not all too close to each other. Vincent knew just how overwhelming physical affection was for Jean, even after a full year in this relationship. Jean was the one who set the pace when it came to touch. He didn’t mind that.

Apparently, his unconscious state did. Jean awoke in the middle of the night to Vincent’s head tucked against his neck, arms around his waist and his back pressed against the painter’s chest, their fingers still intertwined with each other. His face dug against the pillow under him, hiding the scar from the dark nighttime.

Sometimes, he could feel the eyes of God staring at him, judging him for every sin he’d committed. When that happened, he’d spend several days in the city church, ultimately failing to build up the courage to enter the confessional. He was sin incarnate, no Father could offer repentance for that.

The urge to run overcame him. To be so close to another living being was too much… but the scent of paint and sunflowers granted miracles to Jean. His muscles slowly unwound and he found himself falling into the arms of rest once again. The strong arms around him kept him tied to reality and away from the dark thoughts of his wandering mind.

Every time Jean fell asleep, he dreaded the coming morning. The cycle of a torturous, unwanted, wrongful existence continued.

But with Vincent here… Things were different. A small flicker grew in his heart. If he could make it to tomorrow, he’d get to see Vincent smile. Oh, and perhaps he’d get to spare with Napoleon, and then play with Cherie… then he could… And then...

Suddenly everything felt worth fighting for, if only for a day.

He had taken his eyepatch off, and the world still turned.

#ikevamp vincent #ikevamp jean #ikemen vampire #ikemen series #ikevamp #ikevamp jeanne #suitor x suitor ikevamp #vincent x jean ikevamp #ikevamp fanfic #jean x vincent ikevamp #vincent x jean #jean x vincent

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softrozene · 2 years ago

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Father Headcanons

Fluff headcanons. Wholesome father headcanons with Arthur having a son Jack’s age

rdr2 masterlist

Thank you so much wiffwofflez for requesting some wholesome father Arthur content! I hope you enjoy these Love!

Originally published on December 28, 2020

(Father-Son Relationship) Arthur Morgan with Son!Reader

Warnings: Pure fluff, Wholesome Arthur strikes again. this is so cute omg

Words: ~400

Let me get this out of the way- Arthur and Abigail turn into instant mom besties

It does not matter their gender- What matters is they are both incredibly involved and protective parents

And since you and Jack are the same age it only makes sense for them to form a mom group

Okay enough joking aside- I do think that Arthur and Abigail would have a serious parent-to-parent bond and keep an eye on each other’s child

If Arthur really did have a kid in the group though you can bet that he would be shitting on John even more

You know how he treats Jack? He pretty much treats you that way too only less awkward since you are his child

He will be much calmer (Also hot-headed if you do get yourself in danger)

Papa Bear 10/10 He really does be protecting

He definitely already starts to read to you- He does not want you to be illiterate in a world that is constantly growing

And since Jack already has amazing literacy comprehension- He would pair the two of you up so you can read and write together

He definitely tries to push the “tougher” child activities on you such as fishing and hanging out with Dutch (Definitely a tough option for any child. No toddler wants to learn about philosophy aldjfsal)

But if you do turn to the softer activities that Abigail does with Jack like making flower crowns/necklaces he won’t say anything- He may even join you, but he will never say anything bad or make you feel bad

He does not want to be that parent that forces his son to be more boyish because you may turn out softer

But he does want you to be prepared for the harsh world and because of this anxiety he does tend to be more harsher when you grow up

Assuming Arthur is a single father- Abigail and John will help out after the gang falls out

Before the gang does though- Everyone helps out

WOULD 100% SHOW YOU HIS DRAWINGS AND TEACH YOU HOW TO DRAW

Gets you all the journals in the world

Speaking of he would get you so into the world- Like what kind of animal is that? What plant? What is it good for?

In other words, he would be a loving (and probably very insecure) father. He is protective, encouraging, and proud as you grow up

#softrozene writes #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #arthur morgan #fluff #wholesome

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ser-zoras · 2 years ago

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Making this one (1) post so I don’t piss people off. So here’s me writing ASOIAF characters into a bunch of Really Stupid Movies that I like because it’s fun. MONTY PYTHON AND THE HOLY GRAIL - Oddly this one is tricky. I think the narrative itself probably best fits Dunk and Egg, but I haven’t gotten to read that yet. So obviously Arthur is Robert Baratheon. Barristan Selmy is Lancelot, and I think Bedivere should be Jon Arryn for no real reason other than that it’s funny. Jaime is Galahad because in a theoretical sense they’re both formidable but in a more practical sense, very useless. I don’t know any other edits I would need to make according to this but replacing the rabbit with like. The Hound’s horse. That would be fantastic. And the Black Knight is the Smiling Knight, just because.

BLADES OF GLORY - ok credit to @jackedup180 on this one and also as inspiration for the whole post. So Sansa and Dany get kicked out of international figure skating singles due to getting into a fistfight on the podium and are forced to team up in the doubles division to skate again. This means challenging the throne of the reigning international champs, Cersei and Jaime, who are not fucking but have just as much creepy sexual tension. I’m not kidding this is the actual plot of the movie. Instead of Jenna Fischer’s character, I want Tyrion to be an accountant with zero sexual tension with either of the girls and who Jaime keeps convincing to spy on other teams. TALLEDEGA NIGHTS - Ultimate Jaimecore. So Jaime is a NASCAR driver who gets dragged into a competition with a younger, gayer driver (Loras) and ends up getting horribly injured and can no longer drive. For some godforsaken reason he was still living with Cersei and her kids and she kicks him and all the kids except Joffrey out of the house and hooks up with either one of the Kettleblack brothers or Taena. Jaime and co have to move in with Genna, who sets about whipping the kids into shape, and Jaime has to learn to drive again, from like Arthur Dayne or somebody. He eventually befriends Loras but decides to race him again anyway.

ANCHORMAN - I’m sure people think I’m lying when I say this, but this is just if JB were local news co-anchors in the 70s. There’s even a scene where they end up in a pit with a bear!

BAD MOMS - Yet another difficult one. Our charming, recently divorced heroine could be Cat if we’re doing exclusively the main series but I think drawing from all eras of Westeros is funnier, so it’s Rhaenyra, with Rhaena and Daella as her backup, taking on Alicent, the head of the local PTA, who is allied with Cersei and Alysanne.

ONE CRAZY SUMMER - Okay I am just saying that Jon and his Nights Watch boys take on the roles of Hoops and company. Sam is the character with the father who teaches children how to set off grenades. Grenn and Pyp are the twins, and Tormund is the kid whose place they’re staying at. Val or Ygritte is Demi Moore’s character. The real estate company they’re fighting is just the fucking Others.

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daisies-daydreams · 3 years ago

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Fire Force: Company 8 Men (When You’re On Your Period)

Category: Fluff, Slight Angst (If You Squint)

Warnings: Mentions of Bleeding, Nudity (Non-Sexual; Obi’s Part Only)

Shinra Kusakabe

Doesn’t know what to do at first tbh.

He panics when you tell him about your “monthly visitor” is making you bleed profusely, but calms down when he realizes it’s just menstruation.

Fumbles around, trying to get you the pad/tampon size you asked for…only to come back with all of them.

“I-I didn’t know which one to get,” he says as he looks down at his feet.

You reassure him that it’s okay, and you appreciate the gesture.

Don’t worry. He’ll become more prepared over time.

Arthur Boyle

Oh boy.

He’s confused as h*ck. How can you be bleeding and not die?

He wasn’t really educated about these things, having been abandoned by his parents.

Blushes hard when you explain it all to him (he’ll still be confused and in shock for a little while before calming down).

Is on guard for you, 24/7.

“How can I assist you in defeating this red demon?” he bellows dramatically.

You can’t help but burst into laughter as you hug him tightly.

He’s very forgetful about what to do, but he’ll will try his best to help and support you.

Vulcan Joseph

After living with Lisa, he’s got period prep down to a T.

Need a heating pad? He’s already got it. Water? There’s a bottle already in your hand. Favorite music? Done. He’s got you, bb.

Turns into the biggest softie when you’re having a bad day (cramping, breaking out, bleeding through, etc).

“I got you some Midol, baby,” he murmurs as he rubs your sides, adjusting the heat pack to the best position that makes your cramps melt away.

TL;DR: Vulcan has experience and he knows how to use it.

Viktor Licht

Tall gremlin man.

He knows what a period is…he’s just not familiar with how to help someone who’s on their period.

He’ll ask you if you need anything, trying to be casual about it (but still kind of awkward).

Viktor will research (aka Google) for days about what to do when a significant other is menstruating.

He learns very quickly, both from being with you and his “research”, and becomes a pro in no time.

“I got you your (favorite candy), some tampons, and some pain meds. Oh, I also put on (favorite movie),” he says before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Takehisa Hinawa

(This man scares the crap out of me ngl).

He’ll keep his usual straight face when you tell him you’re on your period.

Hinawa will then promptly go to the store and get everything you requested.

His forte is getting what you need. Comforting you on the other hand…

“It’s a cramp. Just take some medicine,” he tells you, thinking that he’s giving you some light at the end of the tunnel.😬😬😬

He quickly learns that being blunt isn’t always the best way to comfort someone.

He’s better than Arthur, but not as great as Vulcan. Hinawa is probably somewhere in-between (but he can get better, as long as you tell him how to emotionally support you just as well as he physically supports you).

Akitaru Obi

This tank of a man will drop everything and run to your place when you tell him you’re having terrible cramps and can’t get out of bed.

He’ll rush in and draw you a bath (if that’s your thing), making sure to gently place you into the tub while massaging any muscles that ache.

Obi will spoil you so, so much. He’ll treat you like the queen you are.

However, he won’t always get you unhealthy food you ask for. He wants his baby to be healthy and hydrated.

“I know it’s not chocolate, but strawberries can be just as romantic,” he insists with his big, goofy smile and a wink.

Obi’s just a big teddy bear. Even if you don’t feel beautiful, dealing with cramps, bloating, and break-outs, he’ll praise and encourage you until those negative thoughts go away.

He’s always down for snuggling if you ask him to, holding you close to his warm body as you fall asleep in his arms.

(Please marry this man).

#fire force #enn enn no shouboutai #shinra kusakabe #arthur boyle #vulcan joseph #viktor licht #takehisa hinawa #akitaru obi #anime #manga #headcanons

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vashak · 4 years ago

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Eiji’s war

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Originally posted on 22 December 2019 in Turkish here.

No, I’m not done yet.

I previously wrote about how Eiji found a new purpose in life after meeting Ash and getting to know his world, which helped him come out of the depression he suffered back in Japan. But what exactly is Eiji’s new purpose in life? It’s saving Ash from his very “different” world.

In the beginning of the story, we saw how devastated Eiji was when he found out that Ash was ready to use his one and only trump card (the capsule containing the Banana Fish drug) against Golzine, knowing full well that he wouldn’t win.

Ash had risked his own life to save Eiji’s when he didn’t know him at all and now Eiji doesn’t have the heart to let him walk to his death. It’s like he’s thinking to himself, “How can a boy my age find himself in such an impasse?” This is the first time we see Eiji rebel against the world Ash’s living in.

But Eiji does more than silently shed tears, especially once things get more complicated. For example, here he’s basically telling Ash to quit doing things that would put him in harm’s way.

Later, when it becomes clear that there’s no “quitting” in this world (because they simply won’t let you), Eiji comes up with a different suggestion.

And this offer is so unexpected that Ash doesn’t understand at first. Eiji simply asks him again if he would like to come to Japan with him. He is presumably surprised that Ash was so taken aback by such a straightforward question. Ash’s surprise is telling me that he never even thought it would be possible to leave this life behind.

Eiji’s offer also means this: I forgive you. Going to Japan to start a new life means that Ash won’t have to account for all the bad things he did in the past. Ash doesn’t believe there’s such a possibility or that he deserves such a chance. So he averts his gaze and comes up with an excuse. I just realized that there’s a pattern here. When Ash makes such excuses, he always puts himself down as if to say he’s not worthy of Eiji’s offer. But then, as you’ll see in the scene below, he realizes that this attitude only serves to embarrass Eiji, so he stops and apologizes.

What this scene inherently tells us is just how ashamed Ash feels about the things he was forced to do all his life. It is also a good example of the difference in opinion between Ash and Eiji—while Ash thinks so little of himself, Eiji thinks the world of him.

When Eiji repeats his offer to go to Japan together a second time, he can’t stay so calm.

Because by then, Ash gave himself up to Golzine as hostage in exchange for Eiji’s life, underwent an eating disorder, started a guerilla war, got raped and is still fighting against commandos as they’re having this conversation.

This time, Ash tells him what he really thinks instead of coming up with excuses. He says “My hands are dirty with other people’s blood,” implying that he doesn’t deserve a fresh start. “But you had to. Or you would be killed yourself,” replies Eiji, whereas previously, when they were quarreling before Ash’s one-to-one fight with Arthur, Eiji had yelled “You are not the kind of man who shoots defenseless people!” to his face. It seems that Eiji has learned the cruel ways of Ash’s world since then.

There is another reason why Ash is not taking Eiji up on his offer besides thinking that he doesn’t deserve a fresh start. Ash thinks he’s a troublemaker and will put those around him in danger no matter where he is (I talked more about this here). And as expected, he tells Eiji exactly that: “I’m bad news, Eiji. Doesn’t matter where I go… And you’ll get caught up in it. Like you are now.”

We know by now that Eiji never even once stayed silent when Ash said something to stigmatize himself. He always told Ash otherwise and explained why in a perfectly logical way. All this time, he calmly and patiently fought against Ash’s toxic mindset. But this time, he’s had enough.

This is the first time Eiji puts his emotions into words in such a raw way. He literally screams how much he cares about Ash. And a minute later, he indisputably proves just how much by pushing Ash away and taking bullet for him.

This incident resets all the progress Eiji’s so far made to change Ash’s self-loathing mindset. The fact that Eiji almost died because of him and later Lao’s tirade against Ash in front of all the gang members (“He ain’t human! He’s a goddamn monster!��) make Ash feel ashamed and disgusted at himself.

Then comes the wretched hospital scene… This scene is drenched in symbolism, but it actually serves to make us understand one simple fact: Similar to how Eiji can’t survive in Ash’s world, Ash will never be accepted in Eiji’s world. Eiji’s not capable of protecting himself in Ash’s world. He’ll always be vulnerable as long as he stays there. And in Eiji’s world, Ash will never be accepted by others in the way Eiji accepts Ash. He’ll ultimately be seen as a criminal rather than a victim and will have to answer to the law for what he did.

So Ash enters the hospital. He’s been reminded in the most painful way that he can never be part of Eiji’s world and has come to say goodbye to his friend one last time. Eiji vaguely hears Ash’s accented “sayounara” and crawls out of bed with great difficulty to stop him from leaving (Ash can’t pronounce the second syllable long, but instead says “sa-yo-na-ra”). But just then, Charlie and Ibe-san notice Ash and come after him. Eiji knows that even if they have good intentions now, eventually Ash will be found guilty. And, for the first time in his life, Eiji tells Ash to leave him. He screams “Go!” with all his might. The anime adaptation did a wonderful job showing us how difficult this must have been for Eiji to do.

I think Eiji inherently knew that this was the last time he would see Ash. But he refused to believe it, because that would mean that he himself had surrendered to the fatalistic mindset that he was trying to liberate Ash from. So what does Eiji do next? What he does best, of course.

Remember when Eiji wanted to pass a message to Ash through his gang members when Ash tried to send him back to Japan without telling him? He asked Bones and Kong to tell Ash to “take care of his life” and that he would “always wish him luck” even from far away.

So this time, Eiji writes a letter to Ash in case he can’t see him before going to Japan. He pours in all that he feels. The letter ends up being the most earnest summary of everything Eiji has been trying to make Ash understand.

… You said to me before, “We live in different worlds” … We are friends. Isn’t that enough? … But I never felt scared of you, not even once … Actually, I always felt that you are hurt, much more than me—that your spirit is wounded … I always wanted to protect you … I think I wanted to protect you from your future … You can change your fate …

Eiji wants these words to accompany Ash while he’s away: “You are not alone, Ash. I am with you. My soul is always with you.” The one-way ticket to Japan he encloses with the letter serves as a reminder of his invitation. We know that Eiji had every intention of seeing Ash again from his thoughts on the plane. What didn’t cross his mind at all was without a doubt that Ash would draw his last breath as he read Eiji’s heartfelt words.

When it comes to Ash’s death, I feel overwhelmed with a series of unanswered questions as I previously indicated here and here. For example…

When Sing can’t get Ash to say anything to Eiji, he can’t bear to face Eiji empty-handed so he sees him off with a few made-up parting words in Ash’s stead (Aww, isn’t he precious?). Does Eiji ever realize this? Can he tell that Sing made up Ash’s parting words? I think he can. So does he ever confront Sing about this before or after Garden of Light? Who knows.

And just how much does Eiji know about Ash’s death? He knows that his letter distracted Ash, so he didn’t see Lao coming. But does he know that Ash had read part of his letter by then and started running to the airport? Does he know that Ash went back to the library after getting wounded to read the rest of his letter? Does he know that Ash laid his head on his letter and died with a smile on his face?

I really wish for a “yes” to these questions.

To me, the story of Banana Fish is more antagonistic towards Eiji than Ash. Yes, all the bad stuff happen to Ash but he’s never shocked that they do. The leopard has learned how harsh the ascent can be. Eiji, on the other hand, believes he can save Ash from this shitty world. He is proven wrong a number of times but he never stops believing that. As I mentioned in the answer to this ask, if you think about it, in the end Ash dies just like he knew he would.

He is stabbed by a street thug who held a grudge against him and dies just like that. In the end, he couldn’t change his fate like Eiji tried to make him believe. In the end, the leopard couldn’t climb down the mountain. But what’s remarkable is that Eiji never surrenders to Ash’s fatalistic mindset even after his death. Not even once. He never says things like “He was right after all and I was wrong. He couldn’t change his fate and trouble never ever left him alone.” Instead he says this:

The End

#thank you for reading this far!#eiji's war #banana fish #eiji okumura #banana fish manga #meta #analiz #yorum #banana fish türkçe #english #şekerli

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deepdonutkid · 4 years ago

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Buy me a drink and let me tell you why I need it

Authors note

Thank you very much for the request @caelys I had fun writing it and actually I thought about modern!au John way too much. Like I made a model for his apartment and a playlist and I could possibly draw ten more fan arts of him.

It takes place in a modern setting, but it starts before John goes to the military. He and Tommy still work in the Garrison, besides some other shadier jobs. Arthur is a car mechanic or something like that. Ada still goes to school and Finn too. Polly and Michael are not mentioned here.

Female reader x bartender!John BIG PUNK VIBES HERE!

Actually, this was going to be a multi-chapter fic with intense slow-burn, but whatever there it is. Just say one thing and I’ll write a second part!

tagging @bonniesgoldengirl

Warning: drinking, drug use, marijuana, swearing, infidelity mentioned, a little bittersweet

Word count: 2348

The garrison was not a pub for everyone. It was full of gangsters and other low-life scum. A woman was a curiosity. Working there wasn’t pleasant, but John didn’t complain.

It was the only legal job he got after graduating. He worked at the Garrison twice a week, usually on Friday and Saturday.

The nice thing about this work was the free beer and he could make as many cigarette breaks as he liked.

Nevertheless, John was a little pissed that night, because he could see his friends drinking over there and he had to stand behind the counter. Tommy’s orders!

“Fuck off, Tommy”, he mumbled while cleaning bar. Of course, his brother didn’t hear that, he was busy making some phone calls. John didn’t want to know, who Tommy was calling or why. Probably their next job.

But while he was still on the first one, he didn’t want to think about more work. He already had enough. It was past ten and John hadn’t eaten for hours.

At first, he was to occupied from his work to notice you. You sat down at the bar and cleared your throat. It wasn’t on purpose or to get the bartenders attention. Actually, you just wanted your peace. You hated being trapped in your new apartment, while everything was still so empty. Since you moved, so much changed in your life, but you still felt lonely.

That’s why, you walked straight into the nearest pub, when you couldn’t bear the weight of your own thoughts. But now you realized you hadn’t a penny left. Or at least not enough for a beer. “Get me a glass of water please.”, you said to the bartender, who kept starring at you. First you thought he was a little weird and also a little intimidating, but then you understood what he expected from you. An order, of course.

“A glass of water?”, he asked with a grin on his face: “Really? You know, where you are, girl?”

Now you looked confused. Maybe there was an unspoken rule, to not order a soft drink in this place, but how you should know? After all, you’ve been pretty new to Small Heath. Three days ago you moved into your new place. It was small, but it was yours. Your private space and your sanctuary. “A pub… maybe?”, you joked: “So what about the water?”

“Ah, I get it… It’s the end of month.”, he responded.

You laughed and shook your head. “I’m always broke. Money is not my thing.”

“Not mine either.”

Now he got your attention. You took a closer look at the bartender. He was somehow handsome. A pretty face for a fucked-up place like this. Then you noticed the tattoos on his arms, that peaked out of the sleeves of his shirt. “Dead Kennedys. Nice”, you mumbled and smiled slightly, barely visible.

He put a filled glass in front of you and smirked. “No need to pay.”

Your eyes widened. That bartender really surprised you. He was nicer than he looked like. You took a sip from the glass and nodded. “Thanks… I guess.”

The water was okay, but everything you wished for was a beer or a whiskey. Something to stop your brain from thinking. However, you nipped the glass very patiently, because you didn’t want to leave this place too soon. You didn’t know the neighborhood and chances were high, you got lost on your way around town.

The bartender seemed to notice your tension. “Do you want to drink something else?”

“A beer would be nice.” You croaked

The handsome man behind the bar nodded and pulled out a pint. “A beer, it is.”

You didn’t know it yet, but you were the only thing tonight, that made his work bearable. Everything else was so boring and you were new in town. Every little thing about you was so exciting for him. Staring with the fact that you stumbled into the Garrison without knowing its reputation. Then your little comment about his shirt, yes, he heard that. And your overall appearance was just the cherry on top.

The leather jacket, the ripped jeans and your washed-out Kurt Cobain shirt said a lot about you and John was ready to listen. What else should he do in the next couple of hours until his shift ended?

“I’m John.”, he said and served you a beer.

You noticed the twinkle with his eye and replied with a shy smile. “Just call me Y/n”

The two of you shook hands and exchanged a strange glance. Was he flirting with you? No, of course not, you brushed it off. It was part of his job, to be nice to his customers.

After a few sips of your beer, you calmed down a bit, but not enough. You fumbled in the inside pocket of your jacket for your package. You smoked Dunhill and probably started way to early in life. An end of your smoking addiction was not in sight. The package was already half empty, when you opened it.

“Fuck” you cursed and signed. How could you make it to your next pay check with just a few cigarettes left? Maybe skip dinner a few times.

“Cigarettes are empty too?” he asked “I would give you one of mine, but they are empty too.”

“No, I still have some left, but not enough until July. Maybe not even enough for the rest of this night.”, you explained.

You took two out of the package and put it back. “Want one? I don’t have money, but at least I still have something to smoke.”

“Whatcha smoking?” “Dunhill”, you answered.

A wide grin appeared on his face. “Me too.”

“I know, I shouldn’t… but I just can’t quit.” You shrugged and lit your cigarette.

John brushed it off. “Fuck em. I think, I’m never gonna quit too. This shit just stays with you forever.”

“True”, you signed and took a deep drag from your cigarette.

“So… why am I the only girl in this place? Is there something I should know?”

“Nah, not really. It’s just…”, he began to explain, but then paused to smoke. You liked how he leaned against the counter. Like there was no cooler person in this room. “I don’t know… most women don’t like it here. Too filthy or whatever.”

You nodded and looked around. Everything smelled like ashtray and whiskey. There was dirt lying around. Nobody seemed to bother, so you chose not to either.

“And you are new in Birmingham?”, he asked: “All the locals know to stay away from this place.”

Again, you nodded and hid your smile behind your hand. “I just grabbed my bass and some clothes and left.”

“Bass?” Now, John was hooked. Since he could walk and talk, he had a thing for music. Especially rock and punk and he blabber about his favorite bands all day. Of course, he never learned to play an instrument, because his family was too poor, but he stole every record he could lay hands on. “You play bass?”

“Yeah, I can also play guitar, but I sold mine to get here. I started playing in a band now and I really hope this is going to work out… somehow.”, you explained

“Maybe.”, he said: “I can ask Harry, if you can play here. Live music would be great.”

You beamed and jumped almost over the counter. “Really?”

“But I need to listen to a song first. Otherwise, I can’t do it with good conscience.”

“Yeah, sure thing! When I get the promo tape, I’ll come back here.” Finally, some good news for you. After all you went though you really needed that and right now you just couldn’t stop smiling.

Three beers later, you were already in an in-depth discussion about music and which bands paved the way for punk.

After six more beers, you danced to the song he put on. John watched you with the purest joy. Nobody has ever danced in the Garrison. Good for him, that Tommy left, because “something important” occurred.

On beer twelve you sang for all the man to watch. The Shelby just could take his eyes off you, even when you didn’t hit the right tone.

He even caught you, when you fell over the counter.

But in the end the bar had to close and you still had nowhere to go, so you waited for him to finish his work. It took twice as long, because John kept staring at you in awe.

After everything was done, he asked, if he should walk you home and you agreed. Actually, you didn’t say yes, you hugged him and rubbed your cheek against his. Then you made a purring sound and told him your address.

You even hold hands with him, but that was mainly, because you were to drunk to walk straight. But you had plenty of time to sober up along the way.

Finally arriving at the front door, you had to stop laughing and catch a breath to manage to say something. “Do you…”, you began and paused, because you didn’t know how to phrase it.

Without hesitation he answered: “Yes! Yes… I mean, it would be cool.”

And again, you started laughing. “I was about to ask, if you want to watch the stars on my rooftop, but I didn’t know you were going to be so excited about this.”

He scratched his neck and chuckled. “Yeah, we were talking about the same thing.”

“Oh honey, I’m taken”, you explained

That last three words crumbled his hopes, that have been build up since you walked into the Garrison.

But he was a gentleman and he shouldn’t expect anything from a woman. After all, you don’t owe him anything. Even though he thought you were flirting with him the entire night.

He just bit his lip and shrugged. “No problem here.”

Then he added: “But we might not see the stars though all the smog and light pollution.”

“Let’s give it a try.” you opened the door and smiled.

You took the steps up to your apartment, John followed you closely. When the two of you entered the small flat, everything was still dark. The alarm clock next to your mattress said four in the morning.

John was so curious, when he looked around. “You really didn’t lie, when you said, you just took you bass and nothing more.”

“Yup”, you mumbled and walked to a pile of clothes. “Do you want to smoke one with me?”

When you pulled out the joint, John grinned at you. His cheeks were still red. “Why not?”

Climbing out of your window and onto the roof sounded way easier than it turned out to be.

But the view was great, and that was enough.

You lit the joint and inhaled the white smoke, just to blow it out again.

“No stars in sight, babe”, he noted while looking up

He was right, but you were still glad, that he came up here with you. You feared the moment of being alone again. “Yes, but the view… is amazing.”

You didn’t notice, he was glaring at you when he said: “Yeah, it really is.”

Then you turned to him to pass him the joint.

John took one drag and coughed. “That shit’s strong.”

At first you tried not to laugh, but ended up giggling anyway.

“What?”, he asked with blunt curiosity.

When you calmed down, you had to tell him the joke that just crossed your mind: “I like my weed like my sex… keeps me paralyzed for a while.”

That was the last thing he thought he would hear from you. He would believe his ears, if he hadn’t starred at your lips the entire time. “Uhm, okay.”, he whispered and hit the joint one more time.

The longer you sat there with him, the more comfortable you two got. After talking the whole night about music and artists and stuff, you finally opened up.

You told him why you left your home town and moved to Birmingham.

And he told you in return something you would have expected either. “Just a few more months and I’ll be in the military.”

John didn’t look like a soldier or somebody who took pride in defending his country. You couldn’t understand, how a wonderful guy like him ended up serving the forces. It just didn’t seem to fit in. But then again, you knew him for a few hours now, so who are you to judge?

“I’m scared”, he whispered: “that nobody but my family will write me… and I’m going to be all alone in the middle of nowhere.”

That feeling was all too familiar for you. Your heart ached, when you glared at him. “I write you.”, you promised. “And phone you and what else.”

“You would?” His voice was full of doubt. “We don’t know each other really.”

It was true, but you always kept your promises. You moved closer to him, to hold his hand and look him in the eyes. “I would. I know this feeling too well.”

For one second you thought he was going to kiss you, and you were ready. The drumroll played, like it always did, when the first touch of two pairs of lips, unknown to each other, was close. But the drumroll was all you were going to get tonight. You kept staring at his beautiful mouth and how would it feel, when his lips meet yours. Infidelity has never been your thing and you would stay true to yourself, even when the chance was so tempting.

“Can you hold me?”, you asked, while avoiding his eyes. You felt pathetic for being so needy in front of a stranger, so you added: “Just for a while.”

John didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Instead, he just pulled you in arms and stroke your back.

The two of you felt all alone in this broken world, but right there you met and became friends. What a weird thing to happen.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky fookin blinders #peaky fucking blinders #john shelby x reader #john shelby x y/n #john shelby x you #female reader #peaky blinders modern au #joe cole

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camelotsheart · 4 years ago

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Alright. I’m watching 1x11 and trying a new way of liveblogging. Which is just me writing random paragraphs. Enjoy.

A creature of magic mourning the loss of a creature of magic 😭

“Arthur is a hunter. It's in his blood. Whereas you are something entirely different.“ reminds me of “He is a weapon, a killer. Do not forget it. You can use a spear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature.“ “You are wrong.” Especially with the way that Arthur then proves what is in his heart by the end of the episode, and how his ‘heart’ is shown to constantly guide him towards the ‘correct’ choice in s5 (e.g. “My heart says do anything I can to save Mordred.“)

“You've got a face like a wounded bear ever since we got back from that hunting trip." Arthur means bear. I have no idea what to do with this information.

The unicorn as a metaphor for those sorcerers who “do no harm” and thus Camelot serves no purpose in killing them. Especially since people like the Disir and Alator describe the purge as a “hunt”.

The drought serving as a parallel to the events that happened before the purge to Uther, in that Arthur sees all the harm that “magic” is doing to the land and his people, just like Uther witnesses Ygraine’s death. Arthur initially refuses to accept that what happens is caused by him, just like Uther does. But unlike Uther, Arthur is able to acknowledge his mistakes given time (it’s interesting how in the book adaptation of 1x02 merlin makes this comparison too)

“If it is magic, it's more powerful magic than I possess.“ So unicorn magic is more powerful than Merlin’s magic. Would dragon magic be more powerful too? Is that why Merlin couldn’t heal Arthur from the poison of Mordred’s sword tha was forged in a dragon’s breath?

Merlin not understanding hand signals is my life 😂💖

Ok I can literally draw so many parallels between Anhora and Arthur’s first conversation, and Nimueh and Uther’s conversation in 1x09. Especially from how both Arthur and Uther seem completely unable to understand how the ‘curse’ that happened to Ygraine and Camelot was technically their fault.

“And could you bear for your children to see you be executed?“ The way in which Arthur says this breaks my heart because he does understand the feeling of blaming himself for the loss of a parent, just like those hypothetical children would. This is highlighted more by the fact that Evan later plays on Arthur’s insecurities about being his father’s son.

“If you're tested again, you have a chance to end your people's suffering. I know you want that more than anything." Reminds me of what Bradley says about Arthur putting Camelot above everything, even his personal relationships. Compare this to Lancelot and Merlin, who’s “something that is more important than anything” is a person (or people, in the case of Lancelot).

I LOVE S1 MORGANA. S1 AND 2 MORGWEN WOULD HAVE MADE A PERFECT QUEEN DUO FIGHT ME.

Merlin’s face when Arthur says he’s going to the forest to seek Anhorra out 🥺 Also the way he looks back like he wants to see the exact moment Arthur figures out that he’s eating rat meat 🤣 Merlin’s sarcastic little nod. Arthur’s shit-eating grin. This is what I mean by sibling dynamics.

AND THEN THEY TURN ON MORGANA ASDJSAJASLDKKLDJSA. MERLIN. ARTHUR. NO 🤣🤣🤣

“The King must wonder if you are even his son.“ I absolutely do not like how Anhora chose to do the test with Evan here. I hate it. But it does prepare Arthur for a lot of things. It prepares him to do things his father normally would not do. It prepares him to ignore when people compare him to his father (not that it worked with Agravaine, but Arthur does eventually come around most of the time with Merlin’s help). I find it like a mini 5x03 in a way. Also the fact that Arthur doesn’t even try to defend himself by saying that the looter would have been executed by the law of the land anyway; because deep down he knows that reasoning is wrong. What needs to be changed currently is Arthur’s arrogance in regards to his honour, not his internal morals. He has already proven his internal morals with saving Mordred, laying down his life in 1x09, as well as rescuing Ealdor and his reaction to finding out Will was a sorcerer in 1x10. Right now, Arthur needs to be able to accept that he is wrong.

“Besides I would rather starve than beg my enemies for help! What of our kingdom's reputation? Have you no pride?” “I cannot think of my pride when our people go hungry. They're all I can think of.” I’m screaming over the fact that what ends up beating sense into Arthur is his love for his people. I want to cry. He loves his people so much that his battle cry is “for the love of Camelot” 😭❤️

“Very well. But if you'd caught the sorcerer, I would not have to. That's your responsibility! One day you will understand what it takes to be King!” One day, Uther, you’ll learn to blame yourself for other people’s suffering.

“My people are starving. Camelot is on the verge of collapse. And it is all my doing.“ IT DIDN’T EVEN TAKE ARTHUR A DAY TO LEARN THIS I WANT TO CRY 😭 FUCK YOU UTHER YOU DON’T DESERVE ARTHUR AT ALL. (also the fact that Arthur fiddles with Ygraine’s ring as he says this 😭❤️)

“I trust Arthur with my life” the fact that arthur proves that trust right both in this episode by drinking the goblet and in the previous episode by admitting that he “of course” would not kill Will despite thinking he was a sorcerer.

Why the hell does Anhora use a sword to cast the vine spell.

“I thought I told you to stay at home.” Every time Arthur calls Camelot ‘home’ for Merlin I 🥺

Are those carvings... horseshoes...? Making the shape of a heart....? I--

(Sorry guys. By this point it’s 200% certain that my shipper brain is going to take over. Please expect a lot of screaming)

“What kind of ridiculous test is that? What does that prove?” “What it proves is for you to decide.” Which means that by the end, Arthur realizes what this test proves. And he proves what is truly in his heart by sacrificing his life for merlin. Remember “To sacrifice his life to save Gwen’s... I can’t imagine any man loving me so much.” “I certainly can’t imagine that either” “That’s because you’re not like Merlin. He’s a lover” “Yeah? Maybe that’s because I haven’t found the right person to love”. Remember how in the book adaptation this episode, it says that Arthur proves that there is love in his heart by giving his life for Merlin? Remember “there was magic at the heart of Camelot”? Remember how in the book version Arthur doesn’t deny having love in his heart when Anhora says so when the Unicorn lives again, and instead turns his head to smile at Merlin--

“I’m glad you’re here, Merlin.” @thebookluvrr1816 More 1x11-finale parallels to scream about 😭 The book version describes Merlin’s surprise at this statement, and how he thought it was “ironic and unfair” that they understood each other "at the very moment that death was about to tear them apart.”

“No, I will drink it!” “As if I’d let you.” Someone stop these dollopheads from having a domestic about who will die for the other i beg

“You know me, Merlin. I never listen to you.” reminds me of “I’m the king Merlin, you can’t tell me what to do.” “I always have. I’m not going to change now.” Also, in the books Arthur actually says “farewell, Merlin” after this. Book Arthur is way more suave just saying.

HOW ARTHUR LOOKS INTO MERLIN’S EYES IN HIS FINAL MOMENTS UNTIL HE ISN’T PHYSICALLY ABLE TO ANYMORE. SOMEONE HELP ME 😭

“This was Arthur's test, not yours.“ idk but this reminds me of the fisher king saying “For this is not Arthur's quest, it is yours.“

“You've killed him! I was meant to protect him!” This is going to sound harsh but by this point I think Merlin was still putting Arthur’s destiny above Arthur himself. In the books, there’s a distinct difference in how he feels about Arthur’s death in this scene compared to 1x13 (I’m amazed at how fast his feelings changes, actually). Here, I feel like he focuses more on his own failure to protect Arthur as part of his destiny, but in 1x13, he says that the idea of destiny not being fulfilled was nothing compared to the idea of not being by Arthur’s side. I wonder what happens between this and 1x13 for Merlin’s feelings to change so much.

THIS HAS PROBABLY BEEN STATED MULTIPLE TIMES BEFORE BUT “HE HAS PROVEN WHAT IS TRULY IN HIS HEART“ AS THE CAMERA FOCUSES ON MERLIN. PRODUCERS YOU AIN’T SNEAKY.

Merlin’s smile as he looks down at Arthur sleeping 🥺

Arthur looking at Uther’s hand on his shoulder as if he’s trying to identify a foreign object 🙂 I can never say this enough but fuck you Uther.

“When he who kills a unicorn proves himself to be pure of heart, the unicorn will live again.” this is a stretch but it reminds me of “when Albion’s need is greatest, Arthur will rise again.”

And that’s done! I have a small meta that ties the theme of Arthur and magic in this episode to the same themes in 1x10, but I might do it on a separate post since this one is already so long 😂

#bbc merlin #merlin meta #long post #1x11 #merthur? merthur #someone stop me from having 4 spirals every episode #this is why my chronological watches take me so long

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to-many-towered-camelot · 4 years ago

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book notes

for anyone who is interested in a nuanced take on fairy beliefs vs the Christian Church in the Middle Ages, this book by Richard Firth Green was actually so good, if your library has it:

[Image: Front cover of the book ‘Elf Queens and Holy Friars: Fairy Beliefs and the Medieval Church’ by Richard Firth Green]

like, obvs it’s just one person’s take on a very complex topic, but it’s well-written, well-researched, and it uses a bunch of Arthurian examples throughout to explore this dynamic (see under cut)

really interesting exploration of how the Church’s response evolved from the early-High Middle Ages (”dude, you believe in fairies? hhhmmm, do penance for 10 days”) to the Late Middle Ages/Early Modern Period (”kill them for heresy and witchcraft!”)

and how it enfolded vernacular/fairy beliefs into Christian doctrine as fairies being either a) demons or b) the illusions of demons (and how dangerous/bad these demons were depended on the time/location/cleric in question - some packaged fairies as “neutral” demons who fell when the rebel angels did, and who must be punished on Earth but will return to Heaven on Doomsday - potentially doing this to soften things for their parishioners, who often held these fairy beliefs and reconciled them with Christianity, uh, differently than the Church officially would prefer)

and enduring belief in fairies existed in both common and aristocratic circles (can see this in medieval romances, although they’re not the only source of evidence), rather than just being used as cultural “decoration” by a more sceptical upperclass

aaaaand because of this conflation of fairy = demon, you get a really interesting blend/overlap with medieval demonology and enduring “folk” beliefs (obvs not all of medieval demonology was just rebranded fairies, but some of it defs was - you see stories being retold with “devil” instead of “elf”, for example)

INCLUDING in Arthuriana - how you get Morgan the Fairy (”le Fay”) vs Morgan who was raised in a nunnery and learned dark magic there, the Lady of the Lake as a (largely) positive force, Merlin inexplicably as a (perceived to be...) Good Guy despite being the literal antichrist, the Green Knight and all the overlap with Christian symbolism in that story, etc, etc. and they all just either??? co-exist in the same stories or appear through either more fay or more ~Christian lenses depending on the version

and it creates a very interesting and very confusing soup of Stuff stemming from a very confusing - and sometimes dangerous - soup of official and unofficial beliefs evolving over hundreds of years

anyway, WRT Arthuriana it’s got (and ymmv on these, but they’re all interesting thoughts):

(i think in Gottfried’s Tristan???) apparently Tristan has a rainbow fairy dog called Petitcriu...name a knight less deserving of such a Good Boy smh

Chretien’s Yvain flooding out Laudine at the fountain (...jerk) as a continuation of the beliefs surrounding a magical Spring at Barenton

Gingalain moving from being the son of Gawain and the fairy Blanchemal (and having a fairy love interest, Pucelle) in the French OG version (~1200-ish) to being the son of Gawain and his human mistress (with Pucelle also being human) in a later 15th-C Middle English version)

AJDKN UJ IOE E Merlin’s conception, that one’s a wild ride - theologians REALLY didn’t like the idea of demons being fertile, and the work-arounds they came up with were...incredible. but skipping over that sheer comedy, the author draws links between Merlin’s conception and the general trend of claiming a fairy lover/whatever when a difficult-to-explain pregnancy arose. He also theorises that Geoffrey’s idea for Merlin’s father being a demon/fairy may have come from Nennius saying that Merlin/Ambrosius’ mother “never knew a man”. Later adaptations of this storyline made it even more fay-like (when they weren’t, like Robert de Boron, making it more fucked-up) by making Merlin’s father invisible (Wace) or a super attractive guy in swanky gold clothes (Layamon) - and Vortigern’s advisor explaining the creatures that lived between the earth and the moon until doomsday, etc, etc (walking that line between fairy and incubi, whichhhhhh was not clearly delineated in the Middle Ages the way it is now). also there’s one 13th-C Anglo-Norman poem where Merlin’s father is a bird that transforms into a dashing young squire, which isn’t terribly demon-y. So even though most versions of this story describe Merlin’s dad as an incubi-demon, what people understood this to mean may have been more fay-ish that we’d expect nowadays (depending on the reader, and also on authorial intention - some are pretty explicit that he’s a demon [many clerics keen to push this as the main narrative], while others refer to him as an elf or fairy). some contemporary scepticism during this time about Merlin having any sort of supernatural parentage as well

[none of the same Church anxieties about explaining away how the Plantagenets and other aristocratic families claim a female fairy ancestress - maybe bc there’s none of the stress about patrilineal bloodlines??? who knows! but yeah, much less thought given to those stories in ecclesiastical circles, and they were very popular in vernacular romances (male aristocratic wish fulfilment?). also, fairy enchantments =/= necromancy, so there are stories like the non-cyclic Lancelot where the Lady of the Lake is found out to be “a fairy by education, not by nature or heredity” (Elspeth Kennedy), with the spirits used in necromancy being demons, not fairies. also potential trend of female-associated magic becoming more passive and book-learned, gradually demonising it leading up to early-modern witch hunts.]

Geoffrey of Monmouth in his Historia and in the Vita Merlini being actually pretty circumspect about saying whether or not Arthur was alive/dead, returning/not returning, maybe due to his work/text being a (hypothesised) defence of the Welsh as being “civilised” (and having been so for centuries before the Normans came) - with the corollary that believing in Arthur’s return was somehow “uncivilised”. Author argues that this may be due to an association with fairy beliefs, and that Layamon is the one that makes Avalon explicitly fey. Also the author describes Arthur as living in a “feminised version of the Christian heaven” (iconic) and says that later writers and people could be very scornful of this belief held by the Britons/Welsh/etc, and that it was contrary to orthodox ways of thinking.

Links the “discovery” of Arthur and Guinevere’s bodies in Glastonbury in the late 12th-C as similar to when individuals found the bodies of their loved ones, thus making it much harder to believe (and hope) that they were still alive in fairyland. Makes a suggestion that the monks in Glastonbury who “found” these bodies may have been trying to curry favour with the English crown (i.e. champion/hope of the Welsh isn’t coming back) but also may have been trying to “help”/”save”/correct the thoughts/ideology of the Welsh (i.e. “set them on the correct path to salvation”). Lots of medieval writers describing Arthur as living in “fairyland”. Precedent of people visiting fairyland and returning, so Avalon/fairyland =/= a place only for the dead (i.e. Arthur isn’t dead). An Arthurian example, albeit a less explicitly fay one, is Lancelot getting in and out of Gorre (with Gorre as a “typically supressed and rationalised” version of fairyland) in Chretien’s Knight of the Cart.

Some stuff about the wild horde (distinct from the wild hunt) being presented by some writers as very penitential (i.e. they are departed souls that may look like they’re bearing arms/hunting/whatever as they did in life, but really they are in agony e.g. because their weapons burn them) and tbh demonic (black armour, carrying torches, ominous aesthetic). Other writers thought maybe it was - once again! - demonic impersonators rather than actual mortal souls. (Should note also that the wild horde/wild hunt motifs were not always associated with their being dead). Relevant in the Arthurian context because Arthur and his court were sometimes associated with the idea of the wild horde (as in, sometimes the wild horde is described as Arthur’s court living it up in a cool, undying sort of way - “in the likeness of knights hunting or jousting, commonly known as the household of Hellequin or of Arthur” [Etienne de Bourbon, a medieval writer] - with Hellequin’s household often being used to encompass either the wild hunt or the wild horde). Ultimate point made by the author (props to him, he’s always like “if i’m right” lol) that for many clerical writers, it was very uncomfortable to leave people with the impression that Arthur and his court were living it up in fairyland (and similar for other figures associated with the wild hunt/horde) and this idea needed to be corrected/shaped to suit more orthodox perspectives - e.g. tying in with notions of purgatory, etc.

Aaaand this one was exciting to me just bc i’ve vaguely heard about Arthur and his knights snoozing under a hill, but for some reason i could only remember this being in Victoria-era-and-onwards poetry. 3 versions of the same tale, where a servant looks for his master’s lost horse on a Sicilian mountain. Version 1) servant of a bishop finds his master’s horse in the beautiful palace of Arthur’s court beneath Mt Etna. Aside from the fact that the ancient wound Arthur received from Mordred opens once a year, it’s not very purgatory-like. Version 2) a dean’s servant is told by an old man that King Arthur has the horse on Mt Gyber (Mt Etna). he is told that his master must attend Arthur’s court in 14 days, but the dean laughs it off...then sickens and dies on the appointed day (whoops). Enough differences to this story compared to the first to suggest an oral circulation. Also a note in the version/text that such mountains are said to be the mouth of hell, and only the wicked are sent there, not the chosen. Version 3) Etienne again! Also likely changed with intervening oral circulation. The master is not an ecclesiastical figure, and Arthur’s palace is now a populous city - also Arthur is not referred to, just a nameless prince. There is a gatekeeper who warns the servant not to eat or drink while he’s there (that...is a very fairy-ish proscription). This mountain is apparently reputed to be the site of purgatory. The book author (Richard, i mean) ties these versions in with other stories/accounts of different entrances to purgatory (e.g. one on an island in an Irish lake) as being part of a gradual process of “rendering [...] fairyland purgatorial”.

Finally, Gawain in Roman van Walewein: To get to an ‘earthly paradise’ [i.e. King Assentijn’s garden with its fountain of youth - side note that ‘earthly paradises’ were often popularly described to be fairyland/where fairies live, in addition to their theological functions, e.g. Avalon was sometimes described as an earthly paradise...i should also say that purgatory was frequently thought to be located beside earthly paradise, so there’s the proximity element] and the castle containing it, Gawain must cross a river (guided by a magical talking fox) that a) has waters that burn like fire, and b) can only be crossed by using a bridge sharper than a razor. His reaction? “Is it the enchantment of elves or magic / that I see?”. He is then guided by the fox underneath the river through a tunnel, and is told that the river’s source is in the depths of hell, and “[the river] is the true purgatory / All souls, having departed from the body / Must come here to bathe.” So it’s a very strong intermingling of fairy and purgatorial imagery/ideas!

I dunno, I just found this very ??? satisfying to read

it leaned towards lit-crit at times (which, considering the subject matter, is honestly fair enough), but it was more respectful of vernacular beliefs than so many other academic takes i see (ofc ymmv re: anything to do with non-Christian major religions, but i think the author’s pretty solid on this!), and it had an explanation for the survival of these beliefs that imo made a lot of sense, especially from a pan-European perspective, not just a Celtic one

plus it explored the undeniable damage done by Christianity over history without making up some “ranged battle between paganism and the Church” that i see e v e r y w h e r e in casual Arthurian circles...which, like, i empathise with the vibe, but also! that’s just straight-up historical revisionism! (i blame MZB and the 80′s for that one)

(there was a fantastic post floating around a while ago about how the religious syncretism in Arthurian literature is much more interesting than peeling away all of the Catholicism in the medieval lit (...you ?? don’t end up with much left?) and saying that this is more “accurate” to some obscure original)

anyway yeah yeah ymmv but it’s v interesting 😊

#arthuriana #Arthurian legend #religion #religious history #christianity #folklore #*#richard firth green #AUDEI FEF HEF this is hilariously long #but really it was such an interesting book!#esp if you're a bit like me and you've been turned away from discussing vernacular/folkloric elements in Arthuriana bc of how badly/weirdly #it's been handled in the past #arthurian literature #medieval history #medieval literature #medieval romance #(also im so sorry to any medieval historian reading this im just throwing around 'The Church' willy-nilly i know it's not a monolith!!!#pinky swear

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lit-in-thy-heart · 4 years ago

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I'm so excited you've jouned in!!! 💕

You owe Merwaine some happiness after your VERY angsty episode analyses so I would love those two and Sleepy hug please!! 😍

@little-ligi i hope this makes up for the angst!!! thank you for sending a prompt and have merlin and gwaine falling asleep together when with the knights and arthur on a trip thing (unspecified) between s4 and s5 💕

once again, under the cut because this is the longest one yet...

Rearranging his cloak so it provided greater coverage from the brisk wind, Gwaine glanced over at the group who were gradually drifting off amongst the fallen foliage. Despite the undiluted thoughts that inevitably streamed through his head when on watch, Gwaine relished the uninterrupted opportunity to softly observe Merlin without having the eyes of the other knights on him. If he had an apple for every time one of them – usually Percival or Arthur, despite Elyan’s quiet requests for them to shut up – had called him out for supposedly undressing Merlin with his eyes, he would certainly have a bushel of them by now. Granted, Gwaine sometimes did have the habit of mentally undressing Merlin with his eyes when he looked at him, but more often than not the knight was simply gazing in wonder at how such a beautiful being had chosen to devote his life to Gwaine of all people.

Merlin had been out of his sight for the past couple of hours, having accompanied Elyan to retrieve firewood, but Gwaine knew that they were both exchanging new spells that they’d learnt over the past few weeks. Elyan had told Gwaine about his magic before Gwaine had even had his suspicions about Merlin confirmed. Or, rather, Gwaine had stumbled in on Elyan, when the call of nature had echoed in his head on the night they had first met, and had witnessed him throwing all five of Gwaine’s knives without touching a single one. Gwaine had been more bothered by the fact that he hadn’t even noticed that his knives were missing than by the fact that Elyan was a sorcerer. And then, several weeks later, after Merlin had confessed to Gwaine on the night they had found themselves in bed together after an evening in the tavern, Gwaine had told both Elyan and Merlin to meet him in the Darkling Woods, greeted them with the statement that they both had magic, and had left them to it. Although he forced his unwavering support onto Merlin at every given opportunity, Gwaine knew the value of having someone close who knew precisely the struggles being faced, and he was grateful that Merlin had that in Elyan, and vice versa.

With a smile, Gwaine’s gaze slid over to Merlin, cocooned in a blanket and laughing at some remark that Elyan had sleepily murmured, and he settled himself against a tree trunk, moving his eyes back to the space in front of him as he withdrew his sword and positioned it across torso, the point of the blade hovering dangerously close to his neck. It was probably best that he was keeping watch alone, so he wouldn’t get distracted by talking to someone – but it also meant that there was nobody to check him when his attention slid, as it always did, to Merlin. He squinted up at the sky, seeking out the moon. At least he wasn’t expected to keep watch all night. Not that there was much need. Perhaps it was somewhat of an invincibility complex but, ever since donning the cloak bearing Camelot’s emblem, Gwaine had felt untouchable. Almost. The cloak hadn’t made Lancelot untouchable. Setting his jaw, Gwaine took a deep breath and focused on the lazy wave of the leaves opposite, on the stars splattered across the deep canvas of the sky like a bloodstain, on the soft melody of the wind.

‘Come on, now, Gwaine, you know full well how hot you look when you hold a sword like that.’

Perhaps Gwaine, who had not noticed Merlin – Merlin, of all people – approach, had not been the best choice for watch. He looked up with the smile that always graced his lips whenever the warlock was near, eyes dropping with Merlin’s body as he settled himself next to him. ‘I am by no means opposed to making out right here, right now.’

To satiate his desire, Merlin scattered a trail of kisses along his hairline. ‘I don’t think the others would appreciate it.’

‘Mm, you’re probably right there,’ Gwaine murmured, his fingers tracing Merlin’s face. ‘And you should sleep.’

‘I’m okay.’

Gwaine’s hands found the shadowed purple beneath Merlin’s eyes and he fixed him with a look. ‘I know that you haven’t slept properly for the past two weeks. I can see it written all over your face.’

Scowling, Merlin pushed his hand away. ‘Well that’s rude.’

‘But not a lie.’

Expression softening, Merlin wrapped the blanket tighter around his body.‘That’s because you’ve been on night patrol for the past two weeks and haven’t slept next to me.’

‘I don’t enjoy it.’

‘No, but at least you get to talk to Elyan. I’m left alone with the ceiling and my thoughts, and you know how much I hate that.’ Realising how he sounded, Merlin leaned closer into Gwaine. ‘I’m not trying to guilt-trip you. I know full well there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Just as Merlin knew that, Gwaine knew full well that he shouldn’t do what his arm had already started to do but, noticing Merlin’s poorly-concealed shivers, he set down his sword and drew Merlin in so the warlock was resting his head in Gwaine’s chest. Then, kissing the top of his head, Gwaine pushed him away as swiftly as he’d pulled him in. ‘Go to bed, love. If you fall asleep here then your neck will not be thanking you in the morning.’

Looking up, Merlin held his gaze for several moments. With a sigh, he lifted his head and kissed Gwaine on the mouth before reluctantly standing and stumbling back to the makeshift camp. Gwaine watched as he settled himself at a slight distance from the other knights and Arthur, his back turned. The flickering embers cast subtle shadows across Merlin’s back and Gwaine’s gaze remained turned towards him for several moments more before he forced his eyes to travel away from the warlock’s form. Gwaine didn’t need to see it to know how it moulded to his palms when they were alone.

When around other people, Merlin always seemed to skirt around Gwaine, always leaving at least several inches between their bodies, as if afraid of causing Gwaine to shatter as a mirage if he made even the slightest contact with his skin. Gwaine had started wearing gloves more frequently in the hopes that Merlin would be more liberal in brushing against him then, but it had all been to no avail. Then Gwaine had continued to wear gloves anyway, just so that his bare hands wouldn’t have the nerves numbed by grazing surfaces before they reached out for Merlin’s skin. The result was a warm tingle that, to some, would be more of a scald, but Gwaine savoured every moment that his skin was set alight by Merlin. Having a particular skill with fire spells also helped him not feel the agony of burning so much, too.

When they were alone, though, Merlin was the one to remove Gwaine’s gloves and, every time his fingers skimmed the bones in Gwaine’s hand, the knight had to focus so as not to release skittering flames in Merlin’s direction. There seemed to be a ritual with Merlin when they were alone. The warlock would gently draw the gloves from Gwaine’s skin, toss them to one side, and then dedicate a substantial amount of time to tracing the marks on the knight’s hands, no matter how many times his fingers had already followed the cellular paths that day.

First, he always looked for new scalds or burns, disregarding Gwaine’s protests that they didn’t hurt in the same way that their ancestors had when he had first started learning magic, skimming his fingers over the marks as if the touch formed a mental note to treat them at a later date. After assessing the damage, Merlin’s lips always trailed behind his touch, silently reassuring each of Gwaine’s imperfections that they were so wonderfully loved and successfully sending shivers up Gwaine’s spine. Though those shivers always were abruptly severed when Merlin’s touch made its way to the thick scar just below the fold of skin between his right thumb and forefinger. Merlin had never once pushed him for more information about his childhood amongst bandits, but there was always a part of Gwaine that worried Merlin would one day get sick of the sight of the small branded letter, not quite concealed by the path the knife had taken so long ago, and would abandon him to the abyss he had been lost in before meeting the warlock.

But that hadn’t happened yet.

After studying Gwaine’s hands, Merlin then moved to stripping him of his knighthood and it was a death that Gwaine would gladly watch again and again if it was at Merlin’s hands. The chainmail was cast aside, the cloak thrown over a chair, and the sword noisily skimmed the floor until Gwaine was stood in only a shirt and his trousers, equal to Merlin. The only armour Gwaine had ever wanted covering him, since that day at the tavern, was Merlin’s hands. Arthur hadn’t really given him an opportunity to turn down the knighthood and, even if he had, there was always the possibility – in Gwaine’s mind, at least – that Arthur would have been offended enough to maintain his banishment, and then Gwaine never would have seen Merlin again. Being a knight did have its advantages, though: Gwaine never went hungry, nor did he have to sleep with one eye open, and he had been getting into fewer and fewer brawls over the years. Though that last one was perceived as more of an advantage in Leon’s eyes, who had always been the one to drag him out of any frays and then let him cool off in the cells on the odd occasion. Even when that had happened, though, Merlin had always slipped in and spent the night with Gwaine, heating his body up to unnatural temperatures to keep Gwaine warm. The first few times that had happened, Gwaine had been terrified that Merlin would spontaneously combust, but Merlin had frequently assured him that such a trick was not possible.

So they would stand there, facing one another in silence, Gwaine’s materialistic armour strewn across the room, and then Gwaine would take Merlin gently in his hands, tracing segments of the form he knew so well, and then their souls would fuse together with their lips.

When the stars had shifted substantially, Gwaine hauled himself from his position and shook out his legs in the vain attempt to rid himself of the cramp in his limbs, slowly advancing towards Leon’s form. He gently prodded him awake, instinctively lunging backwards as the reflexive swipe came from the blankets, and held out his arms to receive said blankets when a thickened voice quietly called out his name.

Turning around, Gwaine could just make out Merlin’s hands stretching out in a half-hearted wave in the heavy darkness and, telling Leon to forget about the blankets, picked his way through the sleeping knights, guided by the dropping syllables of his name. By the time he reached Merlin, the warlock’s hands had fallen to the ground and, smiling fondly, Gwaine hastily stripped down to his gambeson and slid into the nest Merlin had made.

There were significantly more blankets than Merlin should have had – not that Gwaine was complaining – and Merlin drowsily pushed several layers towards him, turning around to face Gwaine. His eyes flickered in the darkness as his hand fell against Gwaine’s chest and, from the point where Merlin touched him, the knight could feel a comforting heat pushing into him like a blade. Gwaine realised he probably should have tied back his hair so Merlin didn’t accidentally try to eat it in his sleep, but he was too comfortable to do that. With a smile, Gwaine encircled the warlock with his arms and rested his mouth against Merlin’s forehead as his eyes closed.

‘I missed you.’

‘I missed you, too,’ Merlin murmured.

Gwaine frowned, one eye cracking open. ‘You were asleep. You couldn’t have missed me.’

There was a pause. ‘You know I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I couldn’t sleep properly without you next to me, right?’

‘I did not.’ Gwaine waited until he felt five of Merlin’s exhalations drape themselves around his throat before speaking again. ‘Whatever did you do before I came into your life?’

‘Had a decent night’s sleep, because I wasn’t aware of your existence and consequently didn’t have to constantly worry about preserving it.’ Merlin shifted against him, hands crawling under Gwaine’s shirt and settling themselves on his stomach. ‘It’s so strange to think that we didn’t even know that the other existed. That we had no idea that one day we would be right here, in this moment.’

Merlin, when tired, always became philosophical. And usually when Gwaine was tired he couldn’t make head or tail of what his significant other was saying, but perhaps the cool night air had cleared his head more than ale usually did. ‘I think I prefer it that way,’ Gwaine murmured. ‘If we’d known that the other was out there, then I think we would have spent all our lives searching. We would have pinned our entire existence on the other person and that’s...That just doesn’t feel right. Not that I’m saying I don’t love you.’

‘No, no, I know...I know what you mean,’ yawned Merlin, pushing his head into Gwaine’s chest.

Tightening his arms around Merlin, Gwaine listened to the rhythm of the warlock’s breathing pattern, trying to match his own to it, and gently kissed the top of his head. There was a slight mumble, and something that might have resembled an ‘I love you’ and Gwaine murmured it back, just in case. It had been too long since the two of them had drifted off together, wrapped in one another’s beings, and Gwaine would forever bind himself to the soft form that was quite literally touching his heart.

#so compared to moee recent ones this does seem quite fluffy...#thanks again for the prompt!!!#tbh i'm surprised the knights didn't huddle together for warmth when sleeping more often #it can get fucking cold #merlin #gwaine #merwaine #hug prompts #lit writes #bbc merlin #*more

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fluffypotatey · 4 years ago

Note

Merthur Doctors AU ✨

ooooooh ok so i don’t have a lot of doctor knowledge sso bear with me.

both merlin and arthur work in the same hospital but different wards. they meet completely on accident. Merlin was in a rush because he woke up late and had an appointment in 30 minutes and had just got his coffee and may not be so kindly pushing past people to get to his office.

he cuts a corner and runs straight into arthur, and all of his hot, just brewed coffee spills all over arthur. they just stand there for a couple of seconds in shock. merlin is about to apologize when arthur berates him because ‘do you know how much my shirt cost?’

yes arthur is still a spoiled brat who is also a doctor, and his father’s company is the most important patron for this hospital. everyone tries to stay on arthur’s good side because who knows what would happen if they lost the support of uther pendragon because someone pissed of his son?

merlin is not in the mood to listen to some posh prat talk him down because he soaked his whoever expensive shirt with caffeine. course, since merlin was at his limit of keeping his composure, his mouth decided to turn off his filter and give this ass a piece of his mind.

suddenly, it’s arthur who is off his kilter and being berated rather than the opposite. merlin leaves in a huff and is just on time for his appointment with little susie. arthur stands there confused and doesn’t know how to unpack what just happened.

fast forward a couple days and they meet again. merlin isn’t in a rush this time and there was no coffee spilling, but arthur being arthur, the moment he sees merlin he stops and points yelling, “YOU! YOU SPILLED COFFEE ON ME!”

merlin briefly considers ignoring him and continuing on his way because this is drawing up a lot of attention, and merlin is not in the mood for that. however, arthur somehow gets him to turn towards him and rise to whatever challenge the rest of the room missed.

this happens for weeks. arthur or merlin, whenever they see the other, it’s like they have to throw barbs at each other. gwen is a little confused since, to her, the best way to solve this problem is to ignore arthur and not let him get a rise out of you. yet, merlin can’t help it. something about arthur gets under his skin.

this all changes when corporate sends some inspector guy (let’s call him.....valiant from the corporation named....pendragon enterprises) to see the integrity of the hospital and if they needed to be funded more, or if there are sketchy stuff going on and the enterprise needed to pull out. valiant may or may not have been screwing up the results because he felt that with a hospital this big, they didn’t need that much staff. gwen almost lost her job because of this and you bet merlin was so very close to beating valiant up if it weren’t for arthur.

they team up to bring valiant down and prove that he is skewing the results to uther because, like always, uther is a stubborn bitch. during this time they learn more about each other (but not everything) and maybe they end this story not so hostile to each other.

after the valiant incident, whenever they see each other, their barbs aren’t as sharp and seem more playful. other mishaps happen along the way. the slow burn burns slowly because you can’t have merthur without the yearning, you know?

sooo yeah. that is one long au idea for merthur for you. hope you like it. sorry this took awhile

#idk if this was supposed to be short or not but at this point it doesn't matter #tis long but beautiful #my guess is that they don't get together until years later #after valiant they consider the other an acquaintance #but acquaintance becomes friends because of morgana #then friends become close friends because #'oh hey we have some things in common and i enjoy your company'#close friends become best friends #then crushes #but they do nothing about it because the other's company is something they treasure #add in yearning and longing looks and unspoken glances #with towing the line platonic touches and we have beauty #doctor au #merthur #bbc merlin #au meme #shana-rosee

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troublesometrollhunters · 4 years ago

Text

Dawna's Journey

A/N: Guys this took so long XD. Please give me feedback/comments/reblogs if not on the post than anon. Look I proof read it so much now I'm sick of it lmao. I know theres grammer mistakes but If I didn't post it tonight it was never getting posted. Anyways please enjoy this!!! :D

~~~

Dawn stood at the edge of the kingdom. The night was still as the guards had retired for the evening and she was left alone with her thoughts. Standing at the gate she stared beyond the iron bars into the foggy night where the woods were.

She was steps away from what could be the biggest mistake of her life. By doing this, by going out into the woods to find the cure for one of the dying trolls in the dungeon, she was betraying her families name and their status along with the throne. Her uncle, her mother, her sister, Merlin, Lancelot. All of them would tell her this is wrong. That trolls were the enemy.

Swallowing thickly, hands glowing to illuminate the night she touched the cold stone of the castle's defense wall before brushing her fingers against the iron bars that kept the trolls and fae at bay. Hissing she pulls her hand away, shaking it to make the sting disappear. Frowning as she stares out at the woods they seem to beckon her. Walking away from the gate and along the wall she goes towards a thick patch of ivy. There hidden behind the plants was a small crack. One she found as a child and still used for situations like this.

Slipping into the greenery rough material scrapes against her catching on her clothes but she stays determined scooting through the stone. As Ivy brushes past her face, her boots sink into the soft grass and she edges herself away from the protection of Camelot. Looking back at the castle her hands shook as she stared at her room that overlooked the very land she stood on. She'd wandered the woods many times and explored their wonders but this time was different. This time she wasn't visiting peaceful territory or exploring her magical studies in secret, this time she was going straight to the Gum Gums. She was risking everything and what made her the most nervous about it, was she didn't care. It was the right thing to do. No matter how many people said it was wrong she felt in her heart it wasn't.

Backing away from the wall, away from her home, she realizes this could be the last time she sees Camelot if she fails. Taking it in, etching every small detail into her mind she sighs. Things used to be different. When Arthur had Gwenivere she breathed life into him and the castle. She made people hope and kept the kingdom together as the war against the Gum Gums raged on. But now the kind queen was gone and Dawn felt keeping the peace fell on her. However, as much influence as she had in the kingdom and over her uncle, Arthur never really listened after he lost his wife. He was too lost in his grief to hear reason. He banished most magic and as Dawn felt the cool air ruffle her hair she knew soon she'd be next. She couldn't fix Camelot. Not by herself but she could try and make her uncles wrongs right. Starting with the trolls he'd locked away.

Taking one last look, the moon shines silver light over her kingdom protecting her people inside the wall. Clutching her cloak tightly Dawn closes her eyes and runs into the woods, leaving no trace that she'd ever left. She feels the grass squish beneath her feet and the whistling wind almost knocks off her hood as she runs.

Magically summoning her silver and gold armor the chainmail echoes in the quiet woods. Her uncle had banned magic but that never stopped Dawn. Her sister did parlor tricks for fun but Dawn craved more. It was in these woods she learned the meaning of magic and through Merlin's notes she taught herself the way of the fae world. The elements were her teachers and she hoped they'd give her mercy tonight.

Running faster each step she takes makes a resounding clank that bounces through the trees. Pushing past snagging branches, brambles, and thick underbrush she keeps going only one thing on her mind, getting that troll cure so her friend would survive. What an absurd notion, that she princess of Camelot was friends with a common troll. Smiling as she thought of him she kept pushing on, chest heaving as she thundered through the woods. Stepping over small streams and avoiding roots.

White puffs left her mouth as she pushed on. The cold kept her awake and alert even as her legs burned from running so long. Dawn stops, armor now silent as the night returns to its previous stillness.

Killahead.

The girl swallows nervously and takes a cautious step forward. The bridge was old and full of divine energy, she could feel its power radiating from where she stood. It acted as a divide between the world of trolls and Gum Gums. Gunmar said he owned the whole woods but that was a lie. However, past the bridge there was no doubt that was his land. As she took in deep breaths chest burning she studied Killahead. Cracked stone, worn carvings from centuries ago, and overgrown moss greeted her. A bridge that once ran over a flowing river had been dry longer than Dawn had been alive. She knew this place had power. It held generations of knowledge and stories. It could be the rise or down fall of civilizations.

But unlike the trees and forest Killahead did not talk. It just listened. Cracked stone keeping the secrets of all those that walked past it. Closing her eyes she steps away from the safety of neutral territory and towards the tarnished stone.

Reaching out, her hand tightly clutches the side of the bridge. As she rubs her thumb over the side the stone feels smooth from years of being worn down. Stepping onto the Killahead bridge it's uneven with patches of grass slowly taking over the stone. Dawn feels the slickness of moss and dew under her boots and tightens her grip on the side she's holding as she trudges forward.

The moon shone above her through the leaves and pausing she tilts her head taking it in as darkness was soon to come. Listening closely, closing her eyes to hear the forest around her it was too silent. She realized someone was following her, that the GumGums knew she was here. Refusing to give up just because she felt fear she stood tall as she crossed the bridge. The branches overhead now choked out any light and it was a miracle she could still see as she made it to the end of the bridge. Standing there taking a deep breath her hand grazed the moss that had taken over Killahead. This was her last chance. To turn back and run. To go back to the castle and ignore her uncles troll business. To allow him to continue what he was doing. But... she could not.

Filled with determination she takes her first step off Killehad. Heading away from the bridge and into the deep woods she was officially in Gum Gum territory. Her weapon wasn't drawn and it was clear she wasn't an active threat. Though Gum Gums never were ones to pick up on hints, if she had to fight she came prepared but she'd rather leave the woods unscathed.

Venturing deeper into Gum Gum territory her chainmail echoes through the dense foliage. Low hissing and rustling could be heard from the bushes as scouts watched her. Golden and green glowing eyes all around her as she boldly kept walking. Her hand was now on her hip weapon ready to draw but she hadn't felt the need yet. She was hoping to speak to a general or a higher-up GumGum and somehow barter for the cure but as the growls got louder Dawn knew she'd have to fight. She was waiting for someone to come and address her and the soldiers watching her seemed to understand her silent demand as they kept their distance.

Hearing something Dawn reacts quickly. Turning boots sinking into the mud as she grouds herself her blade made a distinctive swish before it clanked loudly striking against Gunmars sword. Sparks fly and the temporary bright light causes her green eyes to shine under her cloak. The brute growled in her face and she growled back surprising the GumGum King.

"You wonder deep in our territory Knight." He hisses. Dawn responds by pressing her sword harder against his. Remembering what the knights had done, she leans back before she puts all her effort into her sword pushing the blade against his forcing him back. Stumbling Gunmar catches himself. His blue eye stares at her cloak as he pauses surprised by the human's strength. Tightening her grip on her sword showing no hesitation that she'd strike again he chuffs unamused.

His dark blue eye scans her form but all he sees is a long cloak and the shine of her sword in the dim light. Sniffing the air he chuffs surprised. It was a magical blade. A mage? Hadn't Arthur murdered them all?

"I don't want to fight. I come seeking your aid." Dawn states tilting her head to look at the GumGum king. He couldn't see her face but he could feel her stare, those green eyes haunted him. This was no normal human. No normal mage. Chuffing he sneers tilting his head.

"Oh? And why would I help a fleshbag morsel like you?" He snarls beginning to pace around her. Dawn followed his motions watching him closely. He admitted he was curious at what this knight could want at how someone could be so stupid and bold. They were foolish to come here but from the sword skills they showed he could see why they assumed they'd be safe.

"Because one of your own is dying and I'm trying-" Dawn starts but Gunmar growls bearing his fangs at her.

"SILENCE!" He roars. Dawn closes her mouth and waits. He comes close and sniffs her before huffing hot air in her face unimpressed. She reaches up to keep her hood on not wanting him to see who she really is. If he knew she was Dawna Noble of the PenDragon line it'd be over. He'd send her corpse to Arthur and her friend's life would be lost before she had a chance to win it.

Rolling his eye, he turns annoyed by her insistent presence. "Go home whelp." He orders. "Humans speak only lies and when it isn't lies it's stupidity. Get out and don't return and you may tell your friends at the Round Table you survived. You are no meal and you're not worth the effort." He huffs waving her off. Dawn stands shocked as he begins walking away. She just ran from the safety of her home to try and save a troll's life and Gunmar doesn't even acknowledge her? He pushes her away like she's just a confused child. Grip tightening on her sword she grits her teeth shaking. She had come too far to turn back now.

"I'm not going anywhere!" She snaps. Running to stand in front of the Gum Gum king she spreads her arms blocking his path. She's shaking making her chainmail rattle. She'd come so far he couldn't deny her now! "I came here to Gum Gum territory at night! It's important please at least listen to what I have to say." She begs. He looked annoyed and she frowned, lowering her arms. "I need something… and I know your people are the only ones who can give it to me." Stepping closer to Gunmar unafraid and praying for the life of her friend he growls at her. She's about to respond with a growl of her own when a sharp tug from her cloak made her stumble back from the King choking. She was so distracted talking to Gunmar she forgot to watch her back.

Tilting her head clawing at the clasp around her neck the Gum Gum prince was behind her and his claws had snagged her cape. He ripped at the fabric chuckling as she gasped for air. Unclasping the cloak knowing it was her life or her identity Dawn turned eyes blazing. The grip on her sword tightened making it glow as her green eyes glared into his red ones. She sneered at the Prince of Darkness teeth bared. He stumbled back in surprise eyes wide as he stared at her armor before staring at her face. Dropping her cloak he stepped closer curious as he sniffed her. Her amor bore Camelots symbol and stepping closer he clearly saw the Noble clans markings in the carvings of her amor. Dawn pushes Bular's face away when he gets to close and he chuckles.

"... Dawna? The King's niece? A child?" He laughs but Dawn stays undeterred. Her grip remains on her sword as she points the end at him. He chuckled amused. It seemed she was braver than the rest of her family or stupider.

"This child." Dawn says slowly eyes narrowed into slits as she feels anger course through her veins. Her hands burn coursing with energy and suddenly the trees begin to shake as the branches above them shift. Distracted she pushes Bular over with the butt of her sword forcing him against the wet grass. The Moonlight leaked through the trees as leaves swirled around her. Had it been the day she surely would've killed him. But that wasn't her intention.

She wanted him to see her. To fear her and as her armor shone as bright as the moon GumGums hissed backing up at the glare. "Is not one to be triffled with. I seek something and I'm not leaving till I get it." She states glaring down at Bular. He growls at her, angry she'd knocked him down but she seems unaffected by his silent threat.

"Like we'd ever help you." Bular huffs pushing her sword away from his face. Dawn puts it back in her sheath and sighs. As she took a deep breath she could see this wasn't working. She needed to switch tactics.

Thinking back on everything she knew of Gum Gums she paused, she'd need to choose her next words wisely. "I'm not asking for help. That's weak." She hisses. "I'm asking for a fair trade." Dawn finally says. She holds out her hand for the Prince but he snarls, snapping his teeth at her fingers. She pulls her hand away to avoid the bite and rolls her eyes. Turning away from Bular she looks back to Gunmar.

"You have nothing we want." The troll states uninterested. Dawn hums. No she didn't, did she? What was she expecting? The Gum Gums to reach into their darkened hearts and present her the cure like a gift? This was doomed to end in a fight.

Hand on her sword she hums as Bular shifts behind her. The brute huffs as he gets up, bumping her aside as he walks by to get to his father. Both the beasts now glared at her. Dawn wishes she could say she was without fear as they stared at her but she'd come so far she wouldn't turn back now.

"Leave your wasting our time." Bular says uncaring of her achievements or her power. "Your so skinny we'd choke on your bones." He adds. His father laughs head bomping his son but Dawn shakes anger radiating through her. Eyes turning a dark green she feels the grip on her powers loosen. In a perfect circle around the three of them the grass dies. The two trolls watch as the plants around them begin to wither, roots twisting and cracking as wood split and leaves fluttered down. Then it all turned black rotting away. Facing them her eyes burn with a need to prove herself. The moon shines on her and Dawn's armor reflects it's light showing her power as she stood in the dead grass.

"Then fight me. In a duel." She demands standing her tallest as she looks at them.

She wasn't leaving without that cure. She may fall here but she falls with more grace than either of these so called warriors.

Gunmar leans in close his horns jutting out like a crooked crown as he snarls at her. Dawn snarls back. She. Wasn't. Leaving. Without. That. Cure.

"... Fine. You wish to die? I will not stop you." Turning Bular and him begin to stalk away. Soldiers surround her and as she draws her blade eyes wide she sees Gunmar pause. The soldiers don't advance or go for an attack. Dawn turns and Gunmar stares at her waiting. She realizes she is supposed to follow. Taking one last look back at Killahead and the safety of the forest beyond she picks her shredded cloak off the dead grass before reclasping it around her neck.

It seems she got what she wanted.

~~~

An hour or two must have passed making Dawn fear she wouldn't get back before Daylight. If her bed was empty when the castle awoke they'd send a search party and she'd never be aloud to leave again. Arthur would watch her every move and Merlin… she'd never be aloud to learn another spell. Trudging on through the darkness of the woods fearing that Daybreak was near she felt weak. Her legs were tired from the long trek but she knew it was worth it. She watched as they passed trees with scratch marks in them and trollish sayings and carvings she couldn't decipher. Dawn pauses touching one of the trees and tracing the carving it flashed green and the words changed allowing her to read it. Tilting her head she squints.

"Home…?" She mumbled seeing the deep groves in the tree. Dawn felt she knew this language from a distant memory as if it had been murmered once before as if it'd been read to her. Trying to remember how she knew it, a jab to her back made her hiss.

Poked with a guards spear she walks away and observes her surroundings closely. Seeing more trolls watching from the bushes, standing guard Dawn realized they had led her into the heart of their territory. Her eyes are wide in wonder as she looks around enamoured. She'd heard such dark stories about the GumGums home but standing here she could only feel the warmth of fellow warrior spirits.

Tents were set up and huts made from the surrounding trees and rock. Everything was handcrafted in a way Dawn never knew trolls were capable of. Woven branches and carved rock shielded families from the cold as they laid together. Fires raged in pits and the flames made the GumGums eyes reflect as they watched her follow their king.

Younglings ran around the camp jumping into bushes only to leap out at their friends causing squeals of joy to ring through the camp. Mothers and fathers sat and chatted as they groomed their newborn whelps, licking them clean as they made little squeaks of protest wiggling in their parents grip. Soldiers sparred and played chuffing at one other as they rolled around and smashed their helmets against each other, kits cheering them on. The more she saw the more she began to question her faith and allegiance to Arthur.

Was this any different than home? They wove intricate baskets of grass that held food and supplies just like the weavers and potters of Camelot. There were some differences such as how and what they wove but the patterns told a story just like her people. Warriors brought back what they'd hunted putting them in piles for all to share similar to the town's trade center. Children played games with each other running around as adults took turns to watch. Was this not exactly like Camelot? Was the way the soldiers behaved any different than Camelots knight barracks or the teens copying the soldiers exactly like young squires? She could almost imagine the GumGums as humans in this light, as a thriving tribe deep in the woods who wanted nothing to do with Camelots culture.

As she was pushed forward by GumGum spears to keep pace, she stumbled lost in her own thoughts.

Stumbling forward trying to wrap her head around the fact that the GumGums weren't all evil she stared up at Gunmar. From this angle walking with his son he almost seemed... human. He could've eaten her or mauled her when they first encountered each other but instead he listened to her pleas and now he was giving her a chance to fight. That was more than what Arthur ever did for her. More than Lancelot believed she could do. Who was the real monster in this war? Was there even a need for war?

Turning Gunmar meets her gaze and she looks away. She decides to study his camp as this may be her only chance. Looking around taking in the dense foliage and how they'd made it a home she felt eyes on her. Turning whelps watched her curiously blinking owlishly at her. She wonders if they've ever seen a human. Well a live human. Bending down and pausing to wave they ran off squeaking to their mothers. Staring at the troll families who held their children close and their harsh gazes as they glared at the princess, Dawn realized she was the only monster here.

Bular chuffed amused, making Dawn blush. Of course they'd be scared of her. After all she was the enemy. Getting up and pulling her cloak closer plants nervously bloomed around her and nearby crystals glowed reacting to her emotions. She flushed embarrassed at her lack of control and quickly followed the King of Darkness, curious eyes watching as they left.

~~~

Lead to an arena Dawn pauses in awe. She was standing in the fabled GumGums battle room, she'd only ever heard stories. She never thought she'd see this place. Looking out at the various weapons placed around their training space. There were axes, swords, spears, javelins, maces, and other weapons she didn't recognize. Her green eyes widened in amazement studying the colosseum from the balcony they stood on. It overlooked everything and she was determined to write this down and document it later. The arena was large and wide carved out from the center of the mountain, hidden deep in the core. She could see statues of fallen warriors decorating the rims of the arena. Stone steps carved from years of work circled the colosseum allowing trolls to watch as others spared. She also noticed dents in the walls and wondered about the battles that caused such scars.

Running forward Glowing Green crystals jutted from the ground and tapping one, it glowed brightly reacting to her touch. Her heart swelled at the magic in this room, the history. She felt an ancient power in this place and could feel the souls of thousands of trolls who had fallen here. It was exhilarating unlike anything she'd ever experienced. Unlike anything in Camelot.

"Our rules are simple fleshbag." Gunmar states demanding her attention. Turning away from the balconies edge and focusing on him he snarls from his place on his throne beginning. Skulls decorated his seat and Dawn swallows before meeting his gaze listening closely. "Rule One. Always finish the fight and never hesitate." He states slamming his hand onto an old skull crushing it. Dawn nods aware of this troll custom despite how much she despised it. "Rule Two it must be your blade that ends the fight it can not be your enemies." Holding her sword tightly Dawn understands this. If she lost her weapon she could not use her opponent's to end them.

Gunmar smirked, leaning forward on his throne of bones as he chuffed in her face. Hot air sent her hood back and made her long hair shift as he leered down at her. "And Rule Three young mage. No magic." He instructs.

Dawna chokes hearing the last demand. No magic? Since when was that a Gum Gum rule? She was never informed that would be part of the deal. Looking over at Gunmars son she brings her sword close.

Bular was at least twelve feet tall and Gunmar fifteen. She was a third their size, maybe half at best.

Without her magic it would be impossible to defeat either of them. She could fight but she didn't have proper training in dueling only practice from when she copied Lancelot. Not to mention the split swords she'd brought were magic. She'd only have the weak weapon she swiped from the knight hall which to a troll was barely a dagger. She wasn't even sure it could go through a trolls skin. As they watched waiting for an answer, Dawn's hands clenched beginning to glow. She supposed magic would be an unfair advantage but wasn't it unfair to make her fight without it? Magic was apart of her, apart of this place. To deny her such a large part of herself… Trembling she felt sick. Perhaps Gunmar and Arthur shared more than she assumed.

"Well princess?" Gunmar sneers the title like an insult before smirking, licking his fangs. "What is your decision? Do not waste our time." Dawn shakes. He thinks her a coward, a cheat but she would always keep true to her word. She came here. She had to finish this. Looking at her hands before closing her eyes she takes a deep breath. The glow dies and their left in the dull light of the green crystals.

Looking up and nodding Gunmar chuffed staring at her. Sighing, she looked down at herself allowing her armor to fade away. She felt naked without her protection but If they considered magic cheating then she would respect their rules as she was on their land.

"I do not cheat. I do not need magic to win. And if I fall there's no one to go back to anyways..." Closing her eyes thinking of home she knows either way she wins. She either dies and meets Gwenivere in Avalon or she returns to the castle and saves her friend's life.

Whispering a prayer to her family and hoping this was not her last night alive Dawn nods. She stands before the King and Prince unarmored and defenceless cept a small blade she held. Gunmar turns and not a moment later an attendant walks in carrying what Dawn feared most. Ravenstone.

Rare and made from the dust of fallen magic users ravenstone blocked any magic from being used, containing the energy and even stealing it if a mage was around it too long. She holds the stone in her hands when the attendant passes it to her and pauses seeing they were cuffs.

She swallows as they watch her and closing her eyes she slips them on wearing them as bracelets. Shivering Dawn could feel them working, they would not only block her magic but drain her energy as well. She'd have to be smart in this battle or she'd surely fall.

Rubbing the cuffs nervously she feels the intricate runes carved into the stone. They told the story of her kind, the origin of magic. A zap of electricity goes up her arms making her feel more powerful despite the impediment. "I do not intend to lose." She states boldly. Bular chuffs sword dragging against the ground. Neither did he. Turning towards the arena she begins walking down the stairs, the brute following her.

It seemed Bular had decided he would be her fighting partner and Gunmar their witness.

Waiting at the bottom she paused. Spinning the sword in her hand she stared into the steel looking at her reflection. If she died today she died a hero. If she won it wouldn't be long lived. Dictatuous was running out of time. He needed the cure. Now.

Attacking her while she's distracted, Dawn quickly focuses back on Bular, on the battle. Their swords clash against each other creating sparks as they glare at one other. She was tired, had less fighting experience, and was weaker. Smirking Dawn pushed Bular back, she guessed that made this a fair match.

Clawing at the ground gaining his footing he snarls and charges at her. Dawn thinking quickly jumps up and flips over him as he swings his sword where she had just stood. Landing she turns holding up her blade as his crashed against hers. He sneered pushing down and she cries out feeling the increasing pressure as he pushes down. Huffing she kicks him back making both of them skid.

She breathes deeply grip tightening. The battle had just begun and she knew she was outmatched. Shifting her position she glances up at Gunmar. He sat on his throne overlooking their battle, watching amused. His eye met hers and she stares wondering what he must think of her, of his son before Bular crashes back into her, sending her backwards. Hitting the ground she rolls rocks digging into her skin. Her shirt catches and she hisses as the cloth rips open and slashes her flesh making blood spill. The first blood drawn from battle.

Getting up she stares at Bular. She couldn't get distracted. This wasn't like home, if she lost here she wouldn't get back up again.

Bular stalks towards her grinning as he dragged his two swords. Taunting her as they scratched deep groves into the floor. In the green light of the jagged crystals his eyes glowed and Dawn saw a blood lust she'd never seen before. Ducking behind a rock as he slashed his swords at her she inches around it before she rolls forward going under his legs aiming at his ankles. Making contact she quickly scrambles up also hitting him in the back right above his kilt. Holding her sword waiting for a counter attack the Prince roars. Snarling he turns, swords hitting her with so much force she's slammed into a wall. Making contact she drops her sword, gasping as she grabs her side. He'd gotten her. Twice now. But so had she. They were even. Grimacing in pain eyes wide in fear she stares up at the warlords son.

"Look at you. Tiny and weak human. You thought you could best me? I am the son of Gunmar! I am a conquer! And now for your ignorance you shall fall." He states raising his swords above her head. Eyes darting around Dawn smirks. Kicking him in the grocknuts as hard as she can he roars, dropping his swords and whimpering. She grabs her own weapon before charging. Kicking him backwards again she slashes at his chest causing black blood to spill.

"Miserable human your death will be painful for that!" He threatens as he smacks her away with his arm. Falling back sword clattering as it slips out of her hand once more Dawn groans.

Her breathing is rough as she shakes. Bular picks up his blades and as she kicks back trying to reach her sword his claws dig into her ankle pulling her towards him. He huffs hot air into her face keeping her pinned and she stares at him. He raises a sword but moving her head the blade simply sinks into the ground next to her. He snarls and she snarls back, body burning with pain but brimming with determination. She could not fall.

Smashing her head against his he hisses in pain, stumbling back as she stands. Blood drips into her eye and her ankle burns from the deep cuts but she still stands tall. "I don't intend to lose." She sneers and he growls at her. Tackling her to the ground Dawn grunts but smirks. He'd pushed her closer to her blade.

Smiling Bular stared down at her ready to smash her head in right as her sword pierced his side and went straight through his ribcage. She missed his heart intentionally though she wonders how his face would've looked if he had been beaten by such a "weakling" as herself. Smiling as warm blood dripped onto her hands from the wound she'd inflicted she forced him back before climbing on top of him straddling him. Grabbing his horns and pushing his head down she glares down at him huffing.

"You you you!!!" He roars thrashing but Dawn keeps one hand on the sword threatening to push it all the way through if he didn't listen. The other rested on his horn keeping his head down.

"Yield Bular. You've lost." Dawn snarls. Their battle was intense and she almost fell but Bulars cockiness had been his downfall. Her hair falls onto his face as she breathes deeply staring into his eyes. Bular chuffs growling at her but her hand remained on the hilt of the sword reminding him she could end him if she chose. She'd done it. Bloody but not broken she'd beaten Bular the Butcher.

"MY SON!" Gunmar screeches from his throne ready to charge. Dawn turns holding out her hand that'd been on Bulars horn. The GumGum king paused snorting at her boldness.

"I'll make a deal." Dawn states. "Declare I've won and I'll take off the raven cuffs, I'll heal him, and we never speak of this. And..." She takes a deep breath in blood still dripping from her wounds. "You give me what I desire." Dawn offers. Gunmar chuffs staring at her then Bular. Bular who was covered in blood and beaten by a mere mortal. His son. His legacy. Who was this girl?

There's a long pause where the only sound is Bular and Dawns wheezing breaths. Dawn and Gunmar stare at each other and finally Gunmar chuffs looking away.

"You have won." He growls lowly.

"Father!" Bular snaps before roaring at the movement. The pain from the inflicted wound was unlike anything he'd ever felt. Dawn turns eyes wide as she holds the sword still to keep it from hurting him further.

"Silence! You have lost Bular let the witch work!" Dawn nods and ripping off the cuffs she takes out the sword before placing her hands against the wound. His stone was warm despite being rock something she wasn't expecting. The texture was rough and marred threatening to slit her hands open if she didn't work carefully. Black and red stained her hands their blood mixing together and as her eyesight blurred she prayed that after the battle her magic was strong enough to heal him.

Closing her eyes focusing Bulars breathing and chuffing gets louder as electricity courses through his veins. Dawn feels the wound close under her fingertips slowly and putting more energy into it, more thought the GumGum Prince stares amazed as the rock melts and melds before becoming a small scar against his chest. Almost as if she'd never struck him in the first place.

Dawn pulls back still straddling him and he stares at her. This small human who just put him on the brink of death only to save him. Who was this human? This Dawna Nobel?

"... Can I please get the troll cure and go home now?" She begs falling off the dark prince to lay on the ground besides him. They both lay still after their battle, taking deep breaths in.

~~~

Gunmar held the potion as Dawn smiled. She had a small cut above her eye from headbutting Bular and a gash on her arm and leg from rolling on the ground but she'd done it. She got the cure to save Dictatious. Taking the bottle into her hands Gunmar leaned close.

"Do not let me see you here again." He chuffs. "And do not take this potion lightly. It could destroy my people but I put my trust in you as you've been the only honorable human I have met in some time. You bested my son and for that you will not be underestimated again." Holding the bottle close, feeling the warmth of it's magic through the glass Dawn looks at Gunmar and nods. That was the closet to a compliment she'd ever get from the GumGum King.

"You have my word Gunmar." Smiling she turns facing Killahead before she fades into the shadows disappearing.

Sputtering as she falls into one of the many castle halls, Dawn can't breathe as she lays flat on the carpet. Breathing deeply her hands dig into the lush fabric as her eyes go blurry. Groaning light leaks from a nearby window onto her face and she sees it's sunup, sometime in the early morning. Grunting body burning in pain as she slowly gets up she begins to limp down the hall sweat and blood dripping down her face. But holding the potion close she can't bring herself to care about her pain. Heaving in air, she could feel the night and the toll of magic finally catch up to her. However she couldn't quit rest yet. Clawing at the wall as she continues walking she pulls herself forward cradling her prize close.

~~~

Dawn paused looking around the corner. The guards that were usually stationed for prison duty were gone on shift leave, giving her a window of opportunity. Opening the door that led to the dungeons quietly she sneaks inside to the staircase before closing the door. Staying in the shadows and avoiding the torches she creeps down the stairs careful not to make a sound. Peaking, her head out she sees most of the trolls were resting or trying too. Hacking could be heard and she winces, listening to Dictatious as he continued to cough.

Walking quietly across the stone floor, trolls don't pay her cloaked form any mind. Standing near his cell she holds the mug of tea and potion close. She'd changed her clothes to look more presentable. She'd also slipped into the kitchens when no one was looking to grab a few things. Holding the potion and tea in her hand she pauses outside his cell. She could study the potion Gunmar gifted her, reverse it. Make a weapon and wipe out the GumGums once and for all. Magic would finally be respected. Arthur would respect her. But...

Hearing his loud pained coughs Dawn closes her eyes as she pours the potion into the tea. She sticks the cup through the cell bars allowing Dictatious to take it. The hacking stops and Dawn slowly opens her eyes. Dictatious looks at her untrusting and she frowns her hand with the tea shaking.

"Please it'll help I promise..." She begs him. He blinks before looking at Dawn through the bars that seperated them, all six eyes peering into her soul through the darkness of the dungeon.

"... why?" He asks voice barely above a whisper as he forces it out of his raspy throat. He had gotten worse while she was gone but she believed Gunmar had fulfilled his deal as she had hers. That his sickness would be cured once he drank what she'd fought for and that he'd live just as she had.

"Because this is wrong and I'm sorry. Please..." Dawn continues to offer the cure, cloak hiding her face but Dictatious knew her. She was the King's niece. She was Camelots jewel. She was that girl who would sneak into the woods to learn magic and come down into these dark dungeons to hear the stories he told other trolls to keep their hopes up.

He sniffed the tea, it was a spicy moss blend that Dawn found many trolls enjoyed. The ingredients in the kitchen were slightly different from what trolls used but she hoped it'd appease him. Dictatious and her were by no means close but she wanted to amend that. They'd met in the woods when she was small, he'd helped her home. And once more he'd seen her practicing magic and had gifted her a troll book about ancient spells. She'd hated trolls for months after Gweniveres passing. She'd hated her magic but then she remembered. She remembered her aunts love and kindness. Her passion for the arts and her interest in magic. She would not let Arthur get away with this if she was still alive. But she was dead so it was Dawn's responsibility now.

It helped that Dictatious told stories whenever she came down to explore the dungeons. Although they never directly interacted he showed her not all trolls were evil. Before he got sick he spun tales of his world explaining magic in a way Dawn had never heard before. He was not a beast like Arthur described and she couldn't bear for him to die when he became sick and could no longer tell his stories. She couldn't stand that these trolls were trapped, that so many had died here. But for now all she had to beg for forgiveness was the potion.

"..." Dictatious studies Dawn humming as he looks her over. He takes the cup, his hands touching hers. She smiles and he looks grateful as he takes the warm mug. Looking at the princess with glazy eyes he snorts amused. "You are not like your family. You are different..." Dawn tilts her head but he doesn't add on as he chugs the drink. Once done he hands the cup back before curling into a ball on the dungeons cold floor. Dawn stares at him panicked. Had it been poison? Was he dying? Had she killed him? Had Gunmar lied to her?

"Dic…?" Going to open the cell bars she paused watching his chest slowly rise and fall. Sleeping. The troll was just resting. Sighing and letting out a laugh Dawn falls against the bars exhausted. Chuckling she hugs her knees close. As she looked at Dic slumbering and listened to the rumbling trolls around her, her eyes fluttered. Yes she could use some of that too...

~~~

Dawn feels a hand on her shoulder. She startles awake looking around confused before she remembers visiting Dic in the dungeons. Groaning she isn't sure when she dozed off but apparently she had.

"You stayed?" Turning Dawn takes off her cloaks hood and pauses seeing Dictatious look at her. Smiling she stands, excited the potion worked as he looked much healthier.

"You're up." She states ignoring his previous remark. Studying him he seemed to be in good health despite the terrible circumstances. Dic hums in response reaching his hand through the bars to touch Dawns face. "Are you well?" She asks ignoring as he poked her.

"I am but what of you? What happened to you?" Dawn blushes remembering the bruises and cuts all over her face from the duel. She didn't have the energy to deal with them last night. Letting out a chuckle she shrugs it off.

"Don't worry about it." She responds, muttering a quick spell to heal her injuries. Dictatious watches with wide eyes as the cuts slowly close and the swelling goes down. She still had some light bruising but she looked much better. He had not seen her last night in the darkness of the dungeon but he'd recognized her scent and voice. Plus she was the only human who really came down here other than the Knights.

"You are a very strange human." He states crossing his arms. Chuckling Dawn nods. She was indeed different than her family.

"Can you walk? What about run?" She questions suddenly. Dictatiouses face scrunches as he tilts his head. What was she planning now?

"Yes I feel fine now but why?" He asks. Dawn nods at him before she summons her armor. If she'd fallen asleep against the cells in the morning than it had to be dark now.

"You've been here long enough. All of you. It's time you go home." She states.

"Dawna what are you doing?" Dictatious demands grabbing at her arm but she was already walking away from his cell to the center of the room. Making the torches burn bright, light fills the room showing Dawn. "... You don't know me!" Dawn addresses them and the sound of grating stone can be heard as they turn and shift towards her. Eyes of all shapes and sizes watching the girl speak. "But I believe Trolls aren't evil. And I promise you, neither are humans. I do this because what my uncle Arthur did to all of you was wrong. I do this to show we're not all like him." Dawn fueled by saving Dic holds up her hand and all the cadges glow. Trolls gasp backing away before the locks suddenly click and the doors swing open. They… they were free? "Follow me and I'll lead you home!" Pulling her hood up Dawn runs out of the dungeon towards the castles entrance and the trolls, goblins, stalklings, and gnomes follow. Dictatious pushes past other trolls and rushing out of his now opened cell runs to be in the front right next to her.

"Dawna this could be your title! This could be everything. Your very life! What are you doing?" He demands pulling on her arm but she just smiles, winking at him.

She leads a charge, directing the various creatures through the castle. Bigger creatures pick up smaller or sicker ones to help them keep up. The freed trolls follow behind her trusting the emboldened mage who had saved them. Their thundering footsteps echoing through the castle.

Making it to the front entrance she bursts the door open with her magic, leading everyone out of the castle and through the labyrinth of Camelot cobblestone streets before finally arriving at the gate. Focusing and saying a spell she hoists the iron bars open and they nod at her in thanks before they run.

It was early morning and the sun slowly begins to rise but for now there was enough shade for the night creatures to travel safely. Dawna can hear commotion coming from the castle as knights scurry around trying to find the escaped trolls and missing princess. Laughing as she watches the trolls flee, seeing them return home to the woods her chest flutters in happiness. She'd done it. She'd used magic and she'd freed them.

Feeling a pull Dawn stumbles almost dropping the gate and pausing she turns.

"Lets go." Dictatious states yanking at her hand. She blinks surprised before staring at the troll.

"What?" She asks softly. He pulls again wanting to drag her into the woods with him. With all of them. Some trolls pause on the bridge looking back and waiting for her decision.

"Come with us. Please." Dawn blinks before she stares at Dictatious. Tilting her head she gazes outward, to the woods and their lush forest. With the freshest of fruits and gorgeous flowers. With friends. With Safety. With Magic. With sparring. And Freedom. She'd have freedom. She feels another pull and hesitantly she takes a step back so she doesn't go running away with them.

"My family is here..." She mumbles but she longs to leave with Dictatious. To go to their troll safe haven and explore the troll world. Too read endless books and immerse herself in their culture and magic. Too see what she'd only heard stories about. To become what she could only dream.

"You don't belong with them." Dictatious lightly bumps her head with his before squeezing her cheeks. Dawn is confused but laughing she smiles realising he had just given her the equivalent of a platonic troll kiss. He saw her as kin and he wanted her safe. She didn't belong in Camelot anymore did she? Her home was the wild surrounded by trees and magic not cobblestone and iron. But if she stayed she could help and maybe someday she would ascend to the throne and she could fix things. She could repair the damage done by Arthurs anger and she could rule with Gweniveres love.

The loud clanking of armor gets closer and Dawn hugs Dictatious feeling his rough stone against her before she pushes him to flee. He runs understanding her decision but at the end of the bridge he hesitates sending her a hopeful glance. He waits but Dawn simply bows a last goodbye and he nods taking off into the safety of the woods. Looking up again about to bring the gate back down Dawn pauses.

Gunmar stood at the edge of the woods watching. Tilting her head he nodded slowly at her. He did not trust humans and the Royal Family was at the top of that list but Dawn hoped she had earned his respect. If she ever fell by his hand she hoped it would be a quick merciful death. Something he granted few.

The iron bars slam down as her magic burned out, separating her from the woods and all that lied beyond. Dawn signs looking away. Once again she was trapped.

~~~

Gunmar stood at the woods edge peering into the Humans putrid village. He had come to scout and see if Dawna would keep her word. If the potion she won truly was for a troll or if she was lying and planned to use it against them and slaughter his troops. His single eye widened as the gates opened. He growled ready to tear open her throat but paused as a flood of magical creatures poured out rather than the army he was expecting. He could see trolls of all kinds, stalkings, gnomes, and goblins and amongst them stood an unafraid Dawna. They towered over her and had ten times her strength and yet she didn't fear them. They all left and Dawna was alone. Going to turn and leave he paused. Some trolls remained. A cloaked troll had stayed back and now they were clinging to her. Even from the distance he could see they were small and sickly, barley recovered despite the potion it seemed. The troll pulled at her as the others encouraged her to leave with them. Gunmar snorted enraged at the notion they'd invite her into the woods.

The girl simply nodded no, trying to urge them to leave. A wise decision on her part. The troll looks up and saw he was running out of time, the light was coming and with it his death if he didn't hurry. He leaves but Gunmar watches him hesitate. The trolls look back and Dawn smiles before bowing goodbye. The trolls run to the shelter of the trees and the princess watches them leave. The gate is about to drop before her green eyes lock onto him. Their gaze meets and she slowly nods to him. The gate slams down separating them before he can respond and he hums watching her run off as knights come. Perhaps if things were different. If she was born a troll or even a GumGum in another life they could've been allies. Maybe even friends. He turns feeling saddened that she chose to remain imprisoned when she clearly could be free. What an odd human.

#dawn #dawna the shapeshifting mage #dawna #magic user #original writing #orginal characters #o.c #trollhunters #magic character #toa #wizards #t.o.a

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