#but the knowledge that it’s a man singing makes me partial to it

[yellowsubiesdance]

i heard greta van fleet before i knew it was them, and i absolutely thought it was a woman singing. but for some reason, knowing the lead singer is a man changes my feelings on the band, i have no idea why.

[charaznablescanontoyota]

"marn i missed sgdq 2024 what should i watch"

hi i decided i'm doing another one of these. it's been a minute. this past week was summer games done quick, an annual speedrunning marathon raising money for doctors without borders and also a great way to get into watching speedrunning. a lot of their content is tailored towards being both clearly explained and fun to watch for an audience outside the speedrun community, so you can jump in with basically no knowledge besides “this person is gonna play a game really fast”.

gdq has the full week's worth of vods up as a playlist on their channel, but here are some runs that i personally think you should check out:

ken griffy jr presents mlb by peanut butter the dog: look it's a dog playing baseball. i don't know what else to tell you.

the entire silly block: speedrunners get up way too early in the morning/late at night to play games that feel like a fever dream. some of the commentators are going on 24 hours of no sleep. it's brilliant. my personal highlights of what i've seen so far are stuart little 2, mad panic coaster, city bus simulator race, and the golf it wrong hole only race that the players dressed up as golfers for

alan wake 2 alan%: alan wake clips through walls and generally has a bad time while a bunch of gamers call him a sopping wet catboy. the runner for this one is really charismatic and it's very funny to see staff rushing to open up the pit as soon as we sing starts (yes they do the dance of course they do the dance). i just love joyful runs of horror games man

super mario 64 blindfolded randomizer: what if you played mario 64 blindfolded and also the stars were in completely random locations. and also you had to do it very very fast.

kingdom hearts 2 critical any%: every kh2 speedrun i've ever seen is a work of art and this one is no different. some of the boss fights go down so fast you will literally miss them if you look away for a minute. and also two of my favorite runners are on couch commentary!

balatro showcase: genuinely made me rethink how i'm playing some of the balatro decks. also great commentary and just fun all around despite (or perhaps partially because of) the absolute struggle session going on with plasma deck in the beginning

super mario world kaizo relay: kaizo is a shorthand term for a game hacked to its absolute limits of difficulty that often requires strict precision of movement and can punish the player for thinking they're smarter than it. in this segment, two teams of 4 very very good mario runners race to complete 8 kaizo levels they've never seen before in their lives

mario maker 2 troll level race: i always like the mario maker races for the same reason i like the kaizo relays. i love watching two speedrunners thrown blindly into the shit have to make up strategies on the fly via trial and error (and error, and error, and error, and...)

kirby air ride race: two high level kirby air ride speedrunners race for an actual physical title belt. the trash talk game happening here is of the insane variety that only two very skilled people who truly respect each others' talents at their game of choice can provide

kaizo mario galaxy: what if mario galaxy hated you even more than usual and would stop at nothing to kill you. also most of the commentators are only familiar with the vanilla game and their reactions to the added-in bullshit are hysterical

tony hawk pro skater 1, 2, 3, and 4: i fell asleep watching this and woke up in a cold sweat to the sound of a bunch of people singing superman by goldfinger. good run

super mario rpg remake: this was the finale block and it's just great to see a bunch of people who really really love the original mario rpg get to hang out and talk about how good it is and also watch a world record level player absolutely stunt on the game

halo 3 four-player co-op legendary: dudes rock

[olinblogin]

Good morning! I woke to lovely piece of yours with a Yan!Mayor & Yan!LBD with a fem reader. It was a wonderful piece that didn't stretch too long but left me feeling very happy due to the lack of Mayor/LBDxReader content there is here & anywhere from what I can see. If it's not too much trouble, may I please request a reader who can actually fight back against the Yan!duo?

Maybe she gained immortality because the women of her family had witnessed the Mayor's & LBD's powers generations ago, thus building the subsequent generations after the first witness (maybe someone who also caught the two's attention but managed to escape thanks to SWK, his "you should have stayed buried" line has cemented into my head) saw what they were capable of & feared their return. Generational training & horror stories ensue. The day of the ritual arrives & Mayor comes to collect Y/N but is shocked to see her resilience against Lady's call & chains. Maybe she [Y/N] uses the chains against him & he ends up bound instead? Same with LBD (not Bai He possessed tho, pls). I really think they'd be shocked & intrigued about reader's strength & ingrained tactical knowledge added to resistance to both of them... Might be very interesting~.😈

Bonus points if Y/N says something like "I see why you use chains, Chief; you look so darling all wrapped up~!" or "That is a lovely song you sing, but I am not one for such melodies, Baigujing." [<-LBD's real name] Imagine the reactions!

Sorry for the long read, I'm just so curious to see your spin on this if you wish to write it. Thank you for reading!

P.S. Did you notice that Baigujing & Bai He have the same three-letter-start, 'Bai'???

I can absolutely do that! I’m ngl this is the longest req I’ve had before! (Not trying to be mean :])

I may or may not have taken a bit of inspiration from Naruto with this one, specifically with a “sharingan” kind of ability :3

—this is relatively short bc I didn’t know what much to do auaughhhh—

PS, the amount of times I’ve had to rewrite this bc I wanted it to be PERFECT…

(WARNINGS; SACRIFICIAL RITUAL, KIDNAPPING, IDK WHAT ELSE TO PUT BUT YEAH YOU GET IT)

Being part of a family that had gained immortality and power was not always the easiest.

All your ancestors were always present, if they hadn’t been killed.

Your family had gained partial immortality; meaning they would not die of age. But if they were, perchance, given a life threatening wound, they wouldn’t survive.

But that just made your family more careful of how they used their immortality. Every day in your extravagant home you would witness the generations before you, still walking, talking.

It would be eerie to most. But to you, it was normal.

Another good thing that came from your family with immortality, is that among the generations power grew, you being the recent generations, it was strongest for you. It wasn’t very well combat-wise; but it allowed you the ability to deflect an attack and mirror it just as it was performed.

Your family never explained how they harnessed this. But listening in as a child to your ancestors at the alter briefly mentioned a name; Baigujing.

Your family soon brought you with all cheers to the alter, they had dolled you up with traditional robes of white, holding incense sticks and sage.

It dawned on you.

Your family made a deal for immortality. A sacrificial deal. You didn’t know what to feel. You couldn’t feel anything. You were kept in the dark for so long and for what, to be sent like a lamb to the slaughter.

You had no choice but to let it happen.

How else would your family progress.

A cool most wafted around you, a feeling of floating. It was like you were weightless. When you opened your eyes, you were standing, met with two people, a man. He wore a shockingly wide grin.

“My lady will be pleased with this sacrifice. How pleasing you are.” He hummed in an unstable voice.

Chains shot from under your feet, making you reel back briefly, before honing your ability to deflect and conquer the chains, sending them the man’s way; watching as they coiled around him like snakes and held him still in front of you.

The chains were strong, stronger than any you’ve seen; they emitted a soft, ghostly glow. Joining your hands under your sleeves, you kept a blank stare. “I see why you use chains, Chief;” you muttered, watching him stiffen. “You look quite lovely being held by them.” He could hear the coo in your voice, it made him wonder how this was a possibility.

But he didn’t have the time for that, unfortunately,

As the Lady Bone Demon seemed to materialize just behind him. “And what seems to be the problem,” there was a slight sneer in her voice before she laid her eyes on you. “Ah, our sacrifice. What a beautiful one, a shame.” She’d spoke calmly, releasing the Mayor from his own chains you deflected onto him.

“Come now dear, there is no use in resisting. You were chosen to be killed in return for their immortality.” The Lady Bone Demon hummed, walking circles around you, as if she were gliding.

She tried to latch onto you with a chain of her own, letting out a shocked gasp when the chain came back her way and clamped around her wrist. “What a lovely song you sing. I’m not one for such Melodie’s, Baigujing.” There was an eerie silence.

“I see you have done your research on the two of us; but still hadn’t known your family would sacrifice you to my will.” She spoke calmly, releasing the chain from herself once more.

“My dear, how do you deflect my chains so simply,” Baigujing said with a hiss, walking towards you; that’s when you realized how tall she truly was.

“It’s something I was taught..” you would simply respond back to her. She did not seem to buy it, however. But accepted that nonetheless.

“We are taking her back with us. We will hold the family’s end of the ritual; but we are keeping her.” There was a semi-shocked “What?!” From the Mayor, before he cleared his throat and corrected himself when the Lady Bone Demon shot a pointed glare his way, it shut him up very quickly.

“Come now, my dear. Or shall we have to take you by force.” YIU could only respond with a glare. This made the Lady Bone Demon turn her nose up with a huff, before she grabbed your face and tucked you close to her body, so you would not be able to get away. “Come now, let’s start anew.”

You reeled back your elbow hit her in the rib, making her groan in disdain. The Mayor immediately leapt into action. No, literally. He leapt on top of you and held you down. Sliding his hands up your neck and into your hair, he roughly yanked it back, which earned a strained groan from you.

“That was a horrible mistake, dear. For that we will have to discipline you. Since you wish to do this the hard way, we will treat you as you’ve chosen.” Her words were eerie,

And for as long as you would fight back, the more they would break you down.

[kazkeepkalm]

very bad out of character Rodrick hcs don’t read this

I have not read the books in a WHILEEE this is pure movie knowledge rn

NON /R

despite going to church and stuff I kind of doubt he’s Christian. I don’t think he pays much attention, and he doesn’t really care to read into it much.

he thinks he’s soooo much better for listening to the live versions of songs. “oh you like nine in the afternoon? I like that too… liiive…” and he’ll do like an awkward “ooo…” lipbite

Despite being a rebel he IS a mamas boy. he’ll be like “mooommm let me go to band >:((( godddd” and then when he gets back he watches the princess bride with her

He was a FIEND on Pinterest. that motherfucker was saving the most Emo shit EVERRR.. also when it wasnt anything PURE emo he hid it he LOVED that button. He also would constantly save photos of cats in like leather jackets and mohawks

he used to be a “ughh what a poser” kind of guy but when he grew he didn’t really care

NOT into books but he likes romance tropes … hear me out

that’s partially why he liked heather hills. obviously she was hot but he was like “omg Emo x preppy???? we’re perfect for each other”

surprising could NOT tell sarcasm.

“yeah, like I’d make out with you any time soon.”

“WAIT WHAT”

/R HEADCANONS

he likes labels but when it comes to gender and sexuality he’s like “fuck it lets ball”

that mf finds a hot person and goes “heh. let’s make out”

He found MOST of his past lovers on myspace. he was also in love with emoticons. “hey babe >:( wanna go to the park later >:)”

would definitively hang out with you in his van :3 like in the back of his van he’d show you cd’s and stuff

also yea.. he doesn’t like books… but if you wanted to talk about a book he would listen for sure!!

Also if you were a writer he’d be like “:0.. wait HOW”

his love language is quality time and acts of service(?). If you guys don’t spend enough time together he starts to get like hey mann :\\

YOU ALSO SAW WHAT THAT MAN DID FOR HEATHER!! He’d SOOO sing dear maria count me in at a special gathering of yours.

“THERES A STOOOORYYY AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS BOTTLE AND IM RHE PEN!!!!!” and his friend would like take out a bottle with a pen inside (he’d think he was so clever)

he’s SOOO DONTTRUSTME by 3OH!3 core. he’s just over the top like that no minimalism at all

why focus on the “little things” when you can make them BIG ?? he won’t remember your glasses when you go out, he’d walk out all cocky and go “you forgot theeeseee >:)”

ALSO when he showed you off to your family his mom LOVED you. “omg my sweet boy got a PARTNER?? omgomgg:)) you look so lovely!! I love your hair!!”

“MOOOMMMM literally though they’re the coolest”

greg wouldn’t be a DICK but he’d side eye you an think oh god there’s another

okay m tired

[dotster001]

Congratulations on 1.5k followers, you deserve it! I was wondering if for your event I could request a type one matchup for twst. (Sorry if this is a bit long I’m just trying to give as much information I can-) I’d say I’m a pretty calm person in general, but sometimes I tend to be chaotic and a bit impulsive when I get excited. I do have a slight problem with sleeping aka I tend to sleep a lot more than the recommended hours and get sleepy easily. I am an ambivert leaning towards extrovert(somehow) and tend to have to be the one standing up for my friends. I have a wide range of interests but the main ones would probably be sharks/any kind of marine life, dinosaurs, and plants(help I sound like your average 5 year old kid-) I love to drone on about my interests unless the other person will get bored then I just don’t. I’m not as empathetic as others would presume but when it comes for the people I really care about I’m not afraid to go above and beyond for them. I am in band and love musicals and theatre in general, but I also do enjoy playing video games and making comics for fun. I do also like tending to my plants and bake. I don’t really dislike anything, I just find it annoying when people don’t understand that no means no and when people bother me in my sleep(even if they have the best intentions)

I hopes didn’t drone on too long and that you have a wonderful rest of your day/night ^^

Event Closed

I match you with Azul Ashengrotto.

Is this partially because I saw "marine life" and couldn't think of anything else? Yes. But for real, he loves to hear you go off about your ocean interests, cause sometimes things are different in our world. Plus, he gets to be the coolest person in your eyes when he takes you on a tour of his home, and wows you with his extensive knowledge on marine life of the area. (He also has a couple shark mers who owe him a favor. He can def introduce you if you want to hear about shark's straight from the…uh…the shark's mouth.)

You probably start dating because he tricks you into a contract with a potion to help you stay awake. He 100% had a crush on you, and used it to his advantage. Yeah it's skeezy, but you eventually fall for him back, so all's well. Classic enemies to lovers. But pretty soon, he finds he likes when you sleep longer, because it means your clingy octopus has lots of time to cuddle and cling. (He makes sure the twins know they will not be receiving a paycheck if they ever disturb your sleep. And if you beat them up for waking you up, he'll look the other way)

He likes your ambivert/extravert side. He plans to be a high achieving business man until he can retire, so he'll be doing a lot of networking, a lot of parties, and he'll need people to help him run the business. He hopes he can count on you for some of that, but if you can at least be someone to attend parties with him, he'll be so excited to show you off.

He also likes your not so empathetic side. He likes to see you be snarky or devious. He thinks it's so hot. There was one time you had to fire a terrible worker, and when you were done, he took you into the VIP room to make out. It was the hottest thing he's ever seen.

Literally, all your hobbies make him fall more in love with you. If you bake him something, if you buy him a plant, if you draw him something, if you invite him to game with you, oh my God! The man is weak! His poor heart(s) can't take it! He is puddy in your hands. He'll give you anything in this entire world! You're just too much for him!!!!!

"Say you'll share with me one life, one lifetime,"

Azul looked up from his paperwork, searching for the voice that was able to draw him in far better than any siren could.

"Say the word and I will follow you."

He left his desk, and quickly ran out the door, in the direction of the lounge.

"Share each day with me, each night, each morning."

He found you singing into a microphone, standing in front of one of the tables, which was decorated with candles and a romantic place setting.

"Anywhere you go let me go too."

He came right up to you, and grinned, pretending his eyes weren't littered with tears, just like they were  every time you sang him a romantic ballad from your world.

"Love me. That's all I ask of you."

He nodded vigorously, before kissing you deeply. He wanted to imprint every part of this moment into his memory. For so long, he thought no one could love him as much as you.

"Azul, stop snogging, your fucking spaghetti's getting cold!"

He sighed, and glared at Floyd, who had just arrived at the table. He wanted to engrave almost every part of this into his memory.

[theprayerfulword]

May 12

John 7:37-38 Jesus said, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, 38 and…drink.”

Isaiah 66:13 [The Lord says,] “As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you; you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.”

Isaiah 57:15 For thus says the high and lofty One--He Who inhabits eternity, Whose name is Holy: I dwell in the high and holy place, but with him also who is of a thoroughly penitent and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble and to revive the heart of the thoroughly penitent [bruised with sorrow for sin].

Romans 11:33 Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out!

Psalm 42:5 Why are you in despair, O my soul? And why have you become disturbed within me? Hope in God, for I shall again praise Him for the help of His presence.

Philippians 2:13 For it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do, of His good pleasure.

May you not turn aside or depart from following the Lord when you find that you have made a mistake or chosen wrongly; rather, turn from the sin, be of good courage and serve the Lord wholeheartedly, worshiping Him without reservation, for He will not reject you since He is pleased to make you His own. 1 Samuel 12

May you be sure to revere the Lord and serve Him faithfully with all your heart, remembering what great things He has done for you and how grandly He has dealt with you. 1 Samuel 12

May you wait on the Lord, though everyone else disperses, for the Lord is never late, though he wait till the last minute to test your heart and let you see your faith. 1 Samuel 13

May you not speak on your own, lest you draw honor to yourself, but may you work for the honor of the One Who sends you, for then you will be a man of truth. John 7

May you not judge superficially, or with partiality, based on mere appearances, but let God show you what lies beneath the surface so you can make a righteous judgment. John 7

You are My portion, My child, given to Me by My Father and received in My heart with joy unspeakable. I have eagerly prepared, from before the foundations of the earth, all that you will need along the path that I draw you, My precious one, and I have gladly placed abundant supplies for your use at the places you will need them. There are challenges along the way, My persistent one, and they are yours to choose to overcome; when you make that choice, you will find the resources I have placed right at hand to accomplish the task, meet the need, resist the evil, win the battle, cleanse the temple, sanctify the altar, and prepare for Me a dwelling place. My desire is that you would reflect My heart and accept Me as your portion, as your inheritance. Rather than an undisturbed eternity of quiet, clean, pure fellowship with each other, We chose to be involved in Creation with all of the noise, chaos, confusion, pain, dirt, and conflict. I came as a servant, humbling Myself, seeking the good of all, dying to make the way open, whether any followed it or not. Cleanse yourself of pride, for it causes you to struggle against others, and separates you from Me. Trust Me to do what is needed in the hearts of others, and walk in My steps, drawing on My resources as you face these challenges which will test you to the limit, and more, bringing you nearer to Me, in the fellowship of My suffering, for I understand your pain and have sent My Comforter. Make Me yours, as I have made you Mine.

May your heart be steadfast before God as you sing and make music with all your soul, awakening the dawn as you praise the Lord among the nations and sing of Him among the peoples, for His love is higher than the heavens and His faithfulness reaches to the skies; therefore God is exalted above the heavens and His glory is over all the earth. Psalm 108

May God save you and help you with His right hand so those whom He loves may be delivered. Psalm 108

May God lead you into battle, giving you aid against the enemy, for the help of man is worthless; only with God will you gain the victory as He tramples down your enemies. Psalm 108

May you allow God to heal and anoint your tongue and bring forth gentle, wholesome, peaceable, soothing words which give life to the hearers whose crushed, broken, shattered spirits have been breached by deception, crookedness, perverseness and deviousness. Proverbs 15:4

[haunted-linguini]

Hoodie being a stalker/yandere-ish with fem reader??? happy ending pls i cannot take angst rn 🙏🏻

he is quite literally my favorite and i am honored to do this request <3

TW: yandere themes, violence, stalking, crazy mf syndrome

Follow You

You were beautiful. Everything he could've wanted in a person. At first it was just keeping distance at the park you frequented, which turned into following you to stores, events, and eventually your home. The hooded man desperately wanted to know you and have you love him, even if you didn't want to. Spying on you through your windows became a nightly habit of his. Watching you sing and read and do your makeup. Watching you undress before a shower, and then redressing after. He adored you. And he was set on making you adore him just as much.

You were walking along the trail through Rosswood, trying to clear your head. There's an exam coming up and you still can't figure out organic chemistry. Sighing, you change the song that was currently playing in your earbuds, and try to shake the feeling of being watched. 'It's the woods, everyone kinda gets like that out here', you reassured yourself. You turned the volume up, hoping you could play the music loud enough to not think coherently.

The hooded man has been following you for about two miles now on the same trail. Hiding behind trees and waiting for the perfect opportunity to rescue you. Or, "rescue" you. He held the thick metal pipe in his hands, shooting another glance at you. Noting that you had turned your volume up, he took the risk and started approaching you. He kept a steady pace, keeping his footsteps quiet to not alert you, and eventually got within three feet of you.

You were completely oblivious, just taking in the scenery and decompressing from your life stressors. Completely unaware.

He brings the metal pipe up slowly, and swings it, hitting the back of your head. Not enough to kill you, or really damage you more than a blackout. He's gotten really good at knowing how hard to hit someone. You fall forward, unconscious before you hit the ground. Hoodie grabs you in his arms and takes his shortcut out of the woods, and moves toward his place of residence.

Black. Black. Black. Stinging. Hot. Bright light.

You wake up laying on a couch, sun beaming right into your eyes. Immediately panic and adrenaline flood your body. 'What happened?', 'Where am I?', 'I'm going to get murdered', 'This is how I die', are the sequence of thoughts that flew a million miles an hour through your head. Glancing up, you note the door out is partially cracked, and get up to try to find a way out. The door opens and you make your way into a kitchen, where a man is standing. You make eye contact with each other and fight the urge to scream.

"Hello. You okay?" He inquires.

"Yeah, fine. Just some head pains. Must've passed out and hit a rock or something." You reply, shuffling anxiously.

"I found you while I was out running, I figured it was probably best to get you off the ground and such; I know how creepy some men are", he gives a small, toothy smile. "Water?" He offers a glass towards you.

You hesitantly reach out and take the glass from him and down it. "Thank you."

The man nods as a response. "My name is Brian, sorry we meet under bad circumstances", he chuckles.

"I'm Y/N, nice to meet you. Thank you for the help, again. Do you mind telling me where exactly we are?" You notice his smile dissipate a little bit.

"Well uh. You probably shouldn't leave so soon, that's a nasty wound you got. Maybe just stay around for a little bit, yeah? I'm not weird or anything, promise", he says in a voice like honey. You meet his eyes again, and fight to keep ahold of some kind of rationale.

Brian was cute. Like. Really cute. You never really acknowledged men at your college because the program you were in was rigorous and needed all of your time. But him, he was really easy on the eyes, and to your knowledge, very sweet. Maybe being around a nice man, who just happens to be really really cute, wouldn't be THAT bad of an idea.

...right?

[adultswim2021]

Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job! #12: “Dad's Off” | November 26, 2007 - 12:15AM | S02E02 

Season 2, episode 2. A stronger outing compared to the season premiere, I’m glad to say. I’ll end with the wraparounds, because the idea of the last paragraph of this thing be me describing a perverted David Liebe Hart song is just too disheartening. 

The first piece is another Kids Break song. The boys who brought you “I Sit Down When I Pee” and “I Smell My Dad’s Socks When I’m Alone” bring you “I Think My Sister’s Cute”. It doesn’t quite stack up to the other ones, but really none of them stack up to “I Sit Down When I Pee” so we’re just splitting hairs here. These Kids Break segments continue to trend downward into things that are less and less common in kiddom and more troubling. I never thought my sister was cute, but I imagine this kind of incest is common enough that it keeps most parents up at night: imagining new ways to surveil and monitor their children for incest. It’s one of the reasons I refuse to have children.

Thocks was the most publicized sketch (having appeared on both Tim & Eric’s Nite Live program as well as Dave Navaro’s ManiaTV internet streaming show). It’s in the same vein as other Cinco products; combining two things and calling it something funny. The first batch of these all tended to have dirty-sounding names, like B’owl, T’ird, and B’ougar. The diminishing returns continue with “Thock”, which to my knowledge isn’t a double-entendre at all, really. Onomatopoeia shouldn’t qualify it as such, either. I don’t want to hear it. 

The actor they got for this is so funny. Mike Carlucci is his name, and he was the guy from the video in the “White Collarless” episode of Tom Goes to the Mayor. I thought he was more regular than this, but according to IMDB he only showed up in the Chrimbus Special as an audience member after this. Maybe IMDB is wrong, and I am right. The great little touches in this sketch include the woman on the street looking disgusted at the man proudly showing her his thocks, and the wife’s breathless utterance of “oh god what have I done” after making love with her husband. This sketch memorably ends with an extended vanity card for the Cinco family of subsidiaries, building upon the idea of Cinco being the Weyland-Yutani of the Awesomeverse. 

Thocks was pushed as the favorite to win, but Spaghett is probably the sketch of the night for me. This one is built partially on the honored tradition of Tim & Eric characters being way too impressed with Spaghetti as well as hokey 20th Century hidden camera prank shows. Spaghett is a bizarre-looking Tim character who wears a red turtleneck, has a receding hairline, and a long greasy ponytail. His pranks are ineffectual and lame. All of his pranks are just him popping out from his hiding place and yelling his own name, Spaghett!” a very puzzling thing to have yelled at you. This is juxtaposed with traditional prank show editing and celebratory graphics and footage of Spaghett declaring that he spooked his mark. His marks always gave a brief interview where they are less spooked and more confused as to why a grown man would behave like such an unrepentant dipshit. Spaghett would become a recurring character on the show, and at one point they made a big mascot costume of him for events. 

The last sketch before the wraparound wrap-up is David Liebe Hart singing a love song to one of his female dolls. It’s technically a duet; she loves him back! Contains the memorable line “love her to bit, I wanna kiss her on the lips!” which gets called back much later. 

The wraparound for this week’s episode is a high-effort one, mirroring last season’s second episode with Tim getting limp lip. In this one, Tim and Eric are part of competing families, and one of Eric’s boys (played by Nite Live’s David Gore) keeps running off to experience superior rearing from the Heidecker patriarch. Tim even gives the kid his own bluetooth headset so he can father him from afar. I love the exchange they have where Tim tells the boy he bought him some “funny pants”, and then just tosses off that they cost “thousand bucks”.

It’s so funny that right-wingers sorta started trying to imply that these guys were normalizing grooming when all their comedy seems to strive to point out how gross it is to be inappropriate with other people’s children. This has a satisfying conclusion where Eric tells his children that they’re all going to be absorbed by the Heidecker family, and he’s going to be demoted to one of their siblings. I love happy endings.

MAIL BAG:

Why does everyone hate Flipz Pretzels? Like what's the big fucking idea. It's chocolately, it's salty, it's sweet, it's crunchy. That's four great things. People would rather eat bland nilla wafers or some shit.

Personally my issue is that I rarely enjoy chocolate. i prefer when my sweets are literally just covered in granular sugar. I need my deserts to be as unsubtle as possible.

Eric Wareheim here. Thank you so much for reviewing our show.

I can tell this isn’t Eric because he’d be calling me “dude” in this e-mail message. I smell a rat.

Hey, Tim Heidecker checking in. Eric is not allowed to message any children on this website. Just so you know, have a great day.

FAIR ENOUGH.

Do you think Fred Armisen is a dicey proposition these days? Please answer truthfully and don't beat around the bush.

What was the worst thing he did? It sounded like he was just a bad boyfriend right? I don’t know man. I don’t care. I’ve had enough of him, bad boyfriend or not! Let’s all say “no thank you” to movies and products featuring this famous foul-mouth.

Richard Dunn gets a little more than he bargins for by popping in later as Tim drops a big piece of cake on his head!

LOL that’s for sure!

[fox-buried-in-maple-leaves]

Elysian Realm - 1

His blade tore through enemies with minimal struggle, his small battered frame made his weak swordsmanship show further. He could only feel relieved when his enemies fell around him, looking around for signs of any more enemies. The exhaustion was staggering, but his heart for survival outshined his mind’s tiredness.

“Hi~!”

He turned quickly, lifting his heavy blade with little recourse. Bright blue eyes, pink hair, her hands held up in surrender. She wore an outfit of black, purple, and white, with accents of blue running throughout. “State who you are.” He demanded, his voice far more confident than he felt. She did not look like his previous prey, she’d be harder to beat in his state.

The woman laughed, dropping her hands to clasp them behind her back. Her eyes fell on the boy, tilting her head at him. “You’re so young! I wouldn’t expect him to send somebody like you in here!” She nodded her head towards a certain path and he began to lower his blade. “I am Elysia, and my beauty matches my name!” 

“Honoré. Kevin did not explain my mi…mi… mis… Hm. Mission.. I assume you are to?”

Elysia hummed as if she was thinking, rocking on her heels. “Honoured one! Fitting, from what I know.” She crossed her arms partially over her chest, tapping her chin with her gloved one. “In the common tongue of Mu, Elysia means Paradise.. Friends call me Ellie, and you can too!” She gestured with a flourish and began to walk that way.

“You wish to know about your mission?” He nodded as he struggled to keep up with her longer strides. “I don’t know what it is!” He stopped to stare and she laughed, throwing her head back. “I don’t know your mission! Or his. I’m merely a partner of Kevin the Great Hero! A MANTIS from the Previous Era. Well.. The real Elysia wouldn’t waste her time this far below ground, I’m just her double.”

Her explanation made sense, Honoré knew of sims, his father’s knowledge somewhat useful to him. He hadn’t seen many so far with his time at World Serpent. But he wouldn’t be surprised if there were more. Even unusual ones like her. “A simulation carrying her personality and experience?” He questioned as he continued to walk by her side. 

The woman smiled and nodded. “I like that! A simulation carrying her personality and experience.. Hehe, doesn’t matter. You can still see me, talk to me, make physical contact even.” Elysia gestured around them and he looked at the world as it existed around them. “The Elysian Realm is a world of memories, where a sim like me fits right in.” 

Honoré lowered his head as she led him somewhere unknown. A realm of memories? The boy personally couldn’t fathom wanting to remember. But who was he to judge? A child from the Current Era, so unaware. “Well, are you ready to hear our stories?” She questioned him and he lifted his head. Was he?

His introduction to the Elysian Realm had been a rocky one. 

Pools of flames opened on the rocky ground of the training arena. A ‘miniature trial’ the mad man laughed. Honoré wasn’t exactly pleased, his still healing body made dodging a difficult task. His innate ability for ice kept the flames at bay, but the heat still singed his skin. He was hot, and he was tired as he did his best to fight while avoiding the flaming pools.

“Kalpas! He’s just a child! Stop!” 

Elysia..?

He could sense her.. But not see her..

Where….

Honoré inhaled shakily, his lungs burned with every breath, the exertion getting to him. But he had to keep going. He jumped back as a tornado of flame touched down, sweeping up enemies and attempting to pull him in. Tired… His grip loosened on his blade, he could feel every bruise on his body, every cut, every touch.

“No need to fuss over righteousness. I’m just letting him vent his inner anger, cleave everything, kill everything. Maybe even burn it to the ground!”

Her voice called out again but it fell on deaf ears as the overwhelming flames finally got to him. He didn’t want to fail. Really, he didn’t. But Honoré was weak going in, no real fighting skills, injured. And so tired. The boy’s blade slipped from his grasp, clattering to the rocky ground. His knees hit the ground hard. He pressed his palms to the heated ground, breathing growing heavier.

“Kalpas!”

“Successor?”

Honoré collapsed onto his side, consciousness quickly fluctuating, darkness spotting his vision. Would he wake back up in the real world? Or would he wake back up here? Would he be injured? Healed? He had so many questions, so many curiosities. Brown-green eyes swiftly closed, footsteps quickly approaching. 

He was momentarily jostled awake when he was hoisted into the air, warm arms wrapping around his small body. “I didn’t think he’d send a defenseless child in here, who is that stupid?!” The voice irritated his ears, so loud.. But it was no match for the fading consciousness and the warm lull of sleep.

“Ugh get him off of me.”

“I think it’s cute he’s so clingy in his sleep!”

Hm..? He didn’t recognise the voices.. Was he dreaming? He adjusted his position without opening his eyes. A mistake, something sharp pressed into his thigh. “Two idiots, Elysia. Two.” He was dropped suddenly. Honoré’s eyes snapped open as his back hit a soft surface, he was staring up at the ceiling of the lounge, two faces leaning over him.

Elysia.. And.. A mask?

He reached up, fingers hesitantly brushing against the mask. “Ah.. S-Still.. Here..” He dropped his hand to his side before the masked figure could slap his hand away. Honoré sat up, his entire body ached. Elysia quickly crouched down beside him, worry clear on the woman’s face as she checked him over. “None of this is real.. Why are you fr…fr.. Fre…”

“Spit it out!”

Elysia shot the man a pout and Honoré averted his gaze to his lap, growing silent instead of attempting to finish his sentence. He balled his hands into fists, keeping his head down as Elysia and Kalpas went back and forth. “Pay him no mind! This is Kalpas.” Elysia turned her attention back to the boy, giving him a reassuring smile.

“Where is my sword? I must continue my mission.”

Kalpas crossed his arms over his chest with a scoff, quickly looking away from the two. Or namely, looking away from Elysia’s expectant stare. “It was consumed by the tornado when you collapsed like a weakling.” The man got out quickly, like it burned his tongue. Oh. Honoré didn’t exactly have another weapon with him..

“We’ll get you another weapon while you’re in here!” Elysia promised, nodding her head at him with a smile. Kalpas merely groaned, turning and throwing his hands in the air as he walked away. “But you should return to your world, Ré.” That nickname.. “You’ve been weakened. You need to rest, real rest. We’ll be waiting for you with the answers you seek once you return.”

“But Kevin’s mission for me..”

“Would be to keep yourself safe, first and foremost.” Or at least… She hoped that the Kevin she once knew would show him that kindness. Elysia hated that she wasn’t fully sure. But there was a reason he’d sent the boy here. And judging by what she saw in front of her.. She tilted her head as she smiled at him, soft and reassuring. 

“I will be back.”

[ongolecharles]

DAILY SCRIPTURE READINGS (DSR) 📚 Group, Wed Sept 18th, 2024 ... Wednesday of the Twenty-fourth Week in Ordinary Time, Year B

Reading 1

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

1 Cor 12:31-13:13

Brothers and sisters:

Strive eagerly for the greatest spiritual gifts.

But I shall show you a still more excellent way.

If I speak in human and angelic tongues

but do not have love,

I am a resounding gong or a clashing cymbal.

And if I have the gift of prophecy

and comprehend all mysteries and all knowledge;

if I have all faith so as to move mountains,

but do not have love, I am nothing.

If I give away everything I own,

and if I hand my body over so that I may boast

but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind.

It is not jealous, love is not pompous,

it is not inflated, it is not rude,

it does not seek its own interests,

it is not quick-tempered, it does not brood over injury,

it does not rejoice over wrongdoing

but rejoices with the truth.

It bears all things, believes all things,

hopes all things, endures all things.

Love never fails.

If there are prophecies, they will be brought to nothing;

if tongues, they will cease;

if knowledge, it will be brought to nothing.

For we know partially and we prophesy partially,

but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away.

When I was a child, I used to talk as a child,

think as a child, reason as a child;

when I became a man, I put aside childish things.

At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror,

but then face to face.

At present I know partially;

then I shall know fully, as I am fully known.

So faith, hope, love remain, these three;

but the greatest of these is love.

Responsorial Psalm

--‐-----‐--------

Ps 33:2-3, 4-5, 12 and 22

R. (12) Blessed the people the Lord has chosen to be his own.

Give thanks to the LORD on the harp;

with the ten stringed lyre chant his praises.

Sing to him a new song;

pluck the strings skillfully, with shouts of gladness.

R. Blessed the people the Lord has chosen to be his own.

For upright is the word of the LORD,

and all his works are trustworthy.

He loves justice and right;

of the kindness of the LORD the earth is full.

R. Blessed the people the Lord has chosen to be his own.

Blessed the nation whose God is the LORD,

the people he has chosen for his own inheritance.

May your kindness, O LORD, be upon us

who have put our hope in you.

R. Blessed the people the Lord has chosen to be his own.

Alleluia

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

See Jn 6:63c, 68c

R. Alleluia, alleluia.

Your words, Lord, are Spirit and life,

you have the words of everlasting life.

R. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

--------

Lk 7:31-35

Jesus said to the crowds:

“To what shall I compare the people of this generation?

What are they like?

They are like children who sit in the marketplace and call to one another,

‘We played the flute for you, but you did not dance.

We sang a dirge, but you did not weep.’

For John the Baptist came neither eating food nor drinking wine,

and you said, ‘He is possessed by a demon.’

The Son of Man came eating and drinking and you said,

‘Look, he is a glutton and a drunkard,

a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’

But wisdom is vindicated by all her children.”

***

FOCUS AND LITURGY OF THE WORD

When I began to read the familiar words of Corinthians, I was immediately transported to countless weddings where the words “Love is patient, love is kind” are read as a celebration and a guide. We hear the words at a joyful time when people are starting on this life journey together, happy with each other and happy to be surrounded by family and friends.

Perhaps when we really need to read or hear these words is when love is tested. When we aren’t feeling so patient or kind. When we are brooding or slow to forgive. Love often isn’t easy. Or we make it hard. I think too often I am that “resounding gong or clashing cymbal,” when I don’t really hear those around me even when I think I am doing the right thing.

Love never fails. We might fail each other. We might fail ourselves. But God’s love never fails even when I feel like a clashing cymbal. We need to hear that message over and over again.

The way to God is love. In the Gospel, Jesus uses the examples of different paths. It can be hard for people to embrace the idea that love is kind and extends to the tax collector and sinners. Love can “endure all things” even when we don’t see the way out of our own difficulties. 

I need to remember in times of celebration of love and times when it seems that love is absent, that truly love is patient and kind. That means I too must try to be patient and kind, to make sure that my own resounding gong and clashing cymbal proclaim hope, faith and most of all love in my thoughts and my actions

***

SAINT OF THE DAY

Saint Joseph of Cupertino

(June 17, 1603 – September 18, 1663)

Saint Joseph of Cupertino’s Story

Joseph of Cupertino is most famous for levitating at prayer. Already as a child, Joseph showed a fondness for prayer. After a short career with the Capuchins, he joined the Conventual Franciscans. Following a brief assignment caring for the friary mule, Joseph began his studies for the priesthood. Though studies were very difficult for him, Joseph gained a great deal of knowledge from prayer. He was ordained in 1628.

Joseph’s tendency to levitate during prayer was sometimes a cross; some people came to see this much as they might have gone to a circus sideshow. Joseph’s gift led him to be humble, patient, and obedient, even though at times he was greatly tempted and felt forsaken by God. He fasted and wore iron chains for much of his life.

The friars transferred Joseph several times for his own good and for the good of the rest of the community. He was reported to and investigated by the Inquisition; the examiners exonerated him.

Joseph was canonized in 1767. In the investigation preceding the canonization, 70 incidents of levitation are recorded.

Reflection

-----------

While levitation is an extraordinary sign of holiness, Joseph is also remembered for the ordinary signs he showed. He prayed even in times of inner darkness, and he lived out the Sermon on the Mount. He used his “unique possession”–his free will–to praise God and to serve God’s creation.

Saint Joseph of Cupertino is the Patron Saint of:

Air Travelers

Astronauts

Pilots

***

【Build your Faith in Christ Jesus on #dailyscripturereadingsgroup 📚: +256 751 540 524 .. Whatsapp】

[dfroza]

Today’s reading from the ancient books of Proverbs and Psalms

for june 18 of 2024 with Proverbs 18 and Psalm 18, accompanied by Psalm 92 for the 92nd day of Astronomical Spring, and Psalm 20 for day 170 of the year (with the consummate book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Proverbs 18]

Whoever pulls away from others to focus solely on his own desires

disregards any sense of sound judgment.

A fool never delights in true knowledge

but only wants to express what’s on his mind.

When wrongdoers arrive, disgrace is right there with them,

for shame is the companion of dishonor.

Words bubble up from waters deep within a person;

a stream gushes from the fountain of wisdom.

It is wrong for a judge to show partiality to the guilty

or to rob the innocent of justice.

When a fool’s lips move, a fight breaks out;

it’s as if his mouth is begging for a beating.

The mouths of fools are their destruction,

and their lips entrap their very souls.

Whispered gossip is like a delicious first course:

it is devoured with pleasure and penetrates deeply.

Those who slack off at work

are no different from vandals.

The Eternal is known to be like a sturdy watchtower;

those who do right flee to Him for protection.

The rich think their wealth is their sturdy fortress;

they imagine it to be an invincible wall of security.

A proud heart precedes destruction,

and before honor is humility.

To respond to a matter before you hear about it

shows foolishness and brings shame.

The human spirit can endure a long illness,

but who can survive a crushed spirit?

Clever people go after knowledge to obtain it,

and wise people attune their ears to hear it.

The right gift at the right time can open up new opportunities

and gains access to influential people.

The first ones to tell their side of a story seem right

until cross-examined by their peers.

Casting lots can settle conflicts

and decide between powerful opponents.

Winning over an offended brother is harder than breaching a strong city’s defenses;

such fights are as tough as the iron gates of a castle.

Good words satisfy like a fine meal;

yes, good conversations are sure to satisfy.

Words have power in matters of life and death,

and those who love them will savor their fruit.

The man who finds a wife finds something good,

and the favor of the Eternal is indeed his.

The poor plead for help,

but the rich respond harshly.

Someone with many so-called friends may end up friendless,

but a true friend is closer than a brother.

The Book of Proverbs, Chapter 18 (The Voice)

[Psalm 18]

I love you, God—

you make me strong.

God is bedrock under my feet,

the castle in which I live,

my rescuing knight.

My God—the high crag

where I run for dear life,

hiding behind the boulders,

safe in the granite hideout.

I sing to God, the Praise-Lofty,

and find myself safe and saved.

The hangman’s noose was tight at my throat;

devil waters rushed over me.

Hell’s ropes cinched me tight;

death traps barred every exit.

A hostile world! I call to God,

I cry to God to help me.

From his palace he hears my call;

my cry brings me right into his presence—

a private audience!

Earth wobbles and lurches;

huge mountains shake like leaves,

Quake like aspen leaves

because of his rage.

His nostrils flare, bellowing smoke;

his mouth spits fire.

Tongues of fire dart in and out;

he lowers the sky.

He steps down;

under his feet an abyss opens up.

He’s riding a winged creature,

swift on wind-wings.

Now he’s wrapped himself

in a trenchcoat of black-cloud darkness.

But his cloud-brightness bursts through,

spraying hailstones and fireballs.

Then God thundered out of heaven;

the High God gave a great shout,

spraying hailstones and fireballs.

God shoots his arrows—pandemonium!

He hurls his lightnings—a rout!

The secret sources of ocean are exposed,

the hidden depths of earth lie uncovered

The moment you roar in protest,

let loose your hurricane anger.

But me he caught—reached all the way

from sky to sea; he pulled me out

Of that ocean of hate, that enemy chaos,

the void in which I was drowning.

They hit me when I was down,

but God stuck by me.

He stood me up on a wide-open field;

I stood there saved—surprised to be loved!

God made my life complete

when I placed all the pieces before him.

When I got my act together,

he gave me a fresh start.

Now I’m alert to God’s ways;

I don’t take God for granted.

Every day I review the ways he works;

I try not to miss a trick.

I feel put back together,

and I’m watching my step.

God rewrote the text of my life

when I opened the book of my heart to his eyes.

The good people taste your goodness,

The whole people taste your health,

The true people taste your truth,

The bad ones can’t figure you out.

You take the side of the down-and-out,

But the stuck-up you take down a notch.

Suddenly, God, you floodlight my life;

I’m blazing with glory, God’s glory!

I smash the bands of marauders,

I vault the highest fences.

What a God! His road

stretches straight and smooth.

Every God-direction is road-tested.

Everyone who runs toward him

Makes it.

Is there any god like God?

Are we not at bedrock?

Is not this the God who armed me,

then aimed me in the right direction?

Now I run like a deer;

I’m king of the mountain.

He shows me how to fight;

I can bend a bronze bow!

You protect me with salvation-armor;

you hold me up with a firm hand,

caress me with your gentle ways.

You cleared the ground under me

so my footing was firm.

When I chased my enemies I caught them;

I didn’t let go till they were dead men.

I nailed them; they were down for good;

then I walked all over them.

You armed me well for this fight,

you smashed the upstarts.

You made my enemies turn tail,

and I wiped out the haters.

They cried “uncle”

but Uncle didn’t come;

They yelled for God

and got no for an answer.

I ground them to dust; they gusted in the wind.

I threw them out, like garbage in the gutter.

You rescued me from a squabbling people;

you made me a leader of nations.

People I’d never heard of served me;

the moment they got wind of me they listened.

The foreign devils gave up; they came

on their bellies, crawling from their hideouts.

Live, God! Blessings from my Rock,

my free and freeing God, towering!

This God set things right for me

and shut up the people who talked back.

He rescued me from enemy anger,

he pulled me from the grip of upstarts,

He saved me from the bullies.

That’s why I’m thanking you, God,

all over the world.

That’s why I’m singing songs

that rhyme your name.

God’s king takes the trophy;

God’s chosen is beloved.

I mean David and all his children—

always.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 18 (The Message)

[Psalm 92]

What a beautiful thing, God, to give thanks,

to sing an anthem to you, the High God!

To announce your love each daybreak,

sing your faithful presence all through the night,

Accompanied by dulcimer and harp,

the full-bodied music of strings.

You made me so happy, God.

I saw your work and I shouted for joy.

How magnificent your work, God!

How profound your thoughts!

Dullards never notice what you do;

fools never do get it.

When the wicked popped up like weeds

and all the evil men and women took over,

You mowed them down,

finished them off once and for all.

You, God, are High and Eternal.

Look at your enemies, God!

Look at your enemies—ruined!

Scattered to the winds, all those hirelings of evil!

But you’ve made me strong as a charging bison,

you’ve honored me with a festive parade.

The sight of my critics going down is still fresh,

the rout of my malicious detractors.

My ears are filled with the sounds of promise:

“Good people will prosper like palm trees,

Grow tall like Lebanon cedars;

transplanted to God’s courtyard,

They’ll grow tall in the presence of God,

lithe and green, virile still in old age.”

Such witnesses to upright God!

My Mountain, my huge, holy Mountain!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 92 (The Message)

[Psalm 20]

For the worship leader. A song of David.

May the Eternal’s answer find you, come to rescue you,

when you desperately cling to the end of your rope.

May the name of the True God of Jacob be your shelter.

May He extend hope and help to you from His holy sanctuary

and support you from His sacred city of Zion.

May He remember all that you have offered Him;

may your burnt sacrifices serve as a prelude to His mercy.

[pause]

May He grant the dreams of your heart

and see your plans through to the end.

When you win, we will not be silent! We will shout

and raise high our banners in the great name of our God!

May the Eternal say yes to all your requests.

I don’t fear; I’m confident that help will come to the one anointed by the Eternal:

heaven will respond to his plea;

His mighty right hand will win the battle.

Many put their hope in chariots, others in horses,

but we place our trust in the name of the Eternal One, our True God.

Soon our enemies will collapse and fall, never to return home;

all the while, we will rise and stand firm.

Eternal One, grant victory to our king!

Answer our plea for help.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 20 (The Voice)

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

The Hell he’s been through;

The Knights have no clue of the suffering Merlin has endured… until one day, they do.

TW: Scars, panic attacks, nightmares, PTSD except they don’t have a word for that, non-graphic description of scars/injuries

Part 2(final part)

It was the height of summer, the bright blue sky was utterly free of clouds and the noon sun beat viciously down onto the training field.

Only the central six knights, their King, and Merlin braved the exhausting heat, the other knights had chosen to train later in the day, when it was cooler, so the field was empty of anyone else. Merlin was sat cross-legged in the shade of a tree, jacket and neckerchief removed (not that Arth- anyone noticed. Definitely not.), though his sleeves were still pulled low over his wrists and his tunic was fastened high up his neck. Despite that, the lack of an extra layer definitely displayed Merlin’s surprisingly broad shoulders more than normal (another thing that Ar-no one noticed). 

The knights were shirtless, despite Merlin’s warning of sunburn, sparring semi-playfully with wooden dummy swords, the type squires train with, and no armour.

Merlin rubs absent-mindedly at the dull, almost gone ache in his ribs, just below his armpit, as he rolls his shoulder. The injury, if it could even be called that, had never been serious and hadn’t even hurt that much when he’d gotten it on the last patrol (a stray mace swing from a bandit just clipped him), at least, not compared to other injuries he’s sustained over the years, but it was an annoyance that made his shoulder stiff on occasion.

Unfortunately, the movement caught Arthur’s eye, and the King frowns, stopping his observation of Elyan and Mordred’s spar to lay a crudely hidden concerned gaze upon his manservant. 

He’d fussed endlessly when he found that Merlin had bandaged his own torso after the fight, demanding that he let someone help next time; Merlin just rolled his eyes at that. The other knights had wisely chosen not to comment, knowing that the attack, and Merlin’s subsequent injury, had already put Arthur in a bad enough mood; though admittedly, the only thing stopping Gwaine from ruthlessly taking the piss out of Arthur’s mother-hen tendencies all the way home was Percival harshly clamping a hand over his mouth and pushing him away.

Merlin looks up to see Arthur staring at him, and the King quickly covers his concern with a look of annoyance when the manservant raises an eyebrow:

“If you’re not going to do anything useful Merlin, get up here, you clearly can’t be trusted to even cower effectively, so you’re going to have to learn to defend yourself.”

Merlin’s eyebrow just rises higher as the rest of the knights’ attention is drawn to the conversation. Lancelot and Mordred hide knowing smiles, well aware than Merlin was more than capable of defending himself, if he really needed to. Gwaine went to open his mouth with teasing grin, though quickly pouts when Percival punches him on the shoulder, and Leon and Elyan smirk at each other before moving their amused gazes to Arthur.

When Merlin doesn’t move, just stares at him disbelievingly, Arthur rolls his eyes and gestures at the half-empty rack of wooden swords:

“Come on, Merlin, up on your feet, grab a sword.”

Merlin just snorts in amusement and shakes his head, settling back against the tree trunk even more:

“Absolutely not. I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much.”

The knights (bar Lancelot and Mordred of course) raise their own eyebrows. Gwaine snorts out loud, stepping up next to Arthur and dropping an overly-friendly hand on his shoulder, much to The King’s displeasure:

“I know you can hold your own in a tavern brawl Merls, but that’s not the same thing as facing bandits and assassins and shit. Princess is right, it might be worth it for you to at least know how to use a sword.”

Arthur turns an accusing gaze on Gwaine, shrugging his hand off as he says:

“And I presume all the tavern brawls Merlin has apparently been getting into are your fault?”

Gwaine grimaces slightly before shrugging with a smirk, and Merlin hides his laughter with a cough before inserting:

“Entirely his fault. Gwaine starts the fights, promptly passes out, and I have to finish them.”

Arthur laughs incredulously; Mordred has to hide the angry clench of his jaw and Lancelot has to hide his sorrow when Arthur replies in a taunting tone:

“I’m meant to believe that you are regularly winning Gwaine’s unfinished fights, am I?”

Merlin shrugs in mock defeat, a grin on his face:

“Believe what you want, Sire, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing, I don’t need training.”

Arthur resists the urge to smirk at the appealing way Merlin manages to make his title sound insulting, and he instead raises his eyebrows:

“You’re not getting out of this, Merlin. I can’t have you bruising yourself every time we leave the city.”

Merlin takes in a deep breath, settling a disconcertingly assessing gaze on The King for a few moments before he sighs and stands up, walking towards the equipment and picking up a sword before turning back to Arthur:

“I suppose you’re right, I doubt any of the other servants would be willing to put up with you if I got too injured. Who would you like me to spar, My Lord?”

Arthur scoffs and shakes his head as the others step back, looking upon the whole scene with fond amusement, bar, once again, Lancelot and Mordred, who are looking an odd mix between concerned and proud. They know that Merlin is capable of more than he lets on, even with a wooden blade.

“You can’t spar with any of us, Merlin, that would be far too dangerous. We’ll start with some basic moves, and then maybe we can move on to a slow, choreographed spar.”

Merlin twirls the sword expertly in his hand, and he’s vaguely away of Gwaine nodding approvingly and Leon raising an eyebrow out the corner of his eye, though he pays them no mind, raising an eyebrow of his own at Arthur:

“Surely starting with a simple spar will tell you my exact skill levels so you can tailor the lessons? You need to know how crap I am before we start.”

Lancelot hides a snort behind a hand, knowing full well that Merlin is just trying to goad Arthur into letting the servant show off his skills without too much effort beforehand. Or without giving Arthur the satisfaction of thinking that he was the one who taught Merlin how to fight. Thankfully, Arthur takes Lance’s snort as a teasing one aimed at Merlin, as opposed to what it really is, so waves him into the ring with a smirk.

Merlin just rolls his eyes, moving to stand opposite his best friend and muttering, just loud enough for everyone to hear:

“Fine, but I’m not taking my shirt off, I’m not as arrogant as you lot.”

Lancelot widens his eyes as Arthur freezes, dread growing in his stomach at the knowledge that The King would take that as a challenge. Arthur turns slowly, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Lancelot grimaces as Arthur claps his hands together:

“Right! I wasn’t going to mention it, but you do have a point, Merlin, if you are to train, you must train as one of us. Come on, tunic off.”

Elyan, Percival, and Gwaine just laugh, but Leon rolls his eyes exasperatedly, and Mordred and Lancelot frown in concern. Neither of them have seen Merlin’s scars in their entirety before, but knowing about the servant’s secret second life had definitely made them more observant than the others, and they had seen hints of old injuries here and there. That’s not even mentioning the times he’s shown up in their chambers, bloody and bruised and in need of treatment, but not wanting to worry Gaius.

Merlin just flushed and stared at him indignantly and Arthur’s teasing grin grew:

“Don’t be shy, Merlin, I’m sure whatever horrific mole or ugly birth mark you’re ashamed of isn’t that bad.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, stepping away from Arthur when he moves towards him. The demand to de-robe, even partially, had immediately put him on edge, and he had gone from playfully annoyed to genuinely irate in a split second. He crosses his arms over his chest protectively when Arthur gestures at him demandingly:

“I don’t have a weird mole, Arthur, you Clotpole, but unlike you lot, I’m not all that keen to show off my old scars.”

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say. Merlin was hoping that mentioning his scars in passing would appeal to the knights’ warrior sides, would make them sympathetic to his… shy-ness. It did not. It just made them laugh, even Leon, and they all began to point out various scars they had on their chests and back, remarking that he couldn’t have worse than them. 

Gwaine twisted to the side, patting a pink, jagged circle halfway down his back, a grin on his face:

“This beauty is from when I propositioned a lovely fella who was, apparently, already taken. Man’s wife smashed her bottle on the counter and damn near took my eye out with it.”

Elyan cackles at Gwaine’s story, pointing to a perfectly square burn on his shoulder-blade:

“Yeah, well at least you didn’t fall back into a red hot brand at the ripe old age of fifteen because a girl smiled at you.”

Merlin’s back-up plan, which was sneakily sulking off whilst the knights compared their most embarrassing scars, was cut short basically immediately when he heard Arthur yell out:

“Absolutely not, Merlin, I’ve already told you that you’re not getting out of this. Tunic off, spar Lancelot.”

Merlin huffs, annoyed, feeling rather like he was backed into a corner, and Mordred walks forward, to be between him and The King, quietly saying:

“You don’t have to Merlin, just fight with it on.”

Arthur narrows his eyes in suspicion, but before he can say anything, Merlin squares his shoulders and looks at him defiantly, dropping his sword to the floor as he begins unlacing his tunic, his words coming out harshly, his tone dark:

“No, no it’s fine. The King wants to see my scars, and we all know that The King gets whatever he wants.”

The smiles melt rather quickly off the knights’ faces as Merlin speaks, and Arthur flinches slightly at his tone, starting to realise with just a little guilt that maybe this wasn’t funny anymore. He opens his mouth to take it back, to tell Merlin that he was only teasing and he could keep the tunic on if he really wanted to, but before any words come out, Merlin is gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling it over his head swiftly and screwing it up before tossing it to the side, not once breaking his stare on the now pale King.

Arthur lets out a sharp breath at the patchwork of scars that cover Merlin’s chest, and he’s vaguely aware of the various low cries and gasps of outrage coming from the knights behind him. There are so many, some are large and some are small, some look to be from clumsiness, but others look like they should have been fatal. Arthur’s eyes can’t focus on just one, he’s barely taking in each scar before his gaze is drawn to another, and then another, and then another; it’s a little overwhelming, and it’s only when he starts to feel a little woozy that he remembers to breath.

When he finally comes to the conclusion that his brain isn’t going to able to process this for a while, he looks up to Merlin’s face, instead taking in his resolute expression and hard eyes:

“Merlin, what… what happened to you?”

Merlin raises a slow, mocking eyebrow before breaking his statue-like stillness and picking his sword up again, turning to face a distraught looking Lancelot. This movement only reveals the second mosaic of scars covering his back, but he speaks over the next round of gasps and muffled curses, his tone still unbearably dark as he gestures Lance to get into position:

“I told you, I’ve faced worse than you lot and come out singing.”

The knights are so distracted by the myriad of scars covering Merlin’s torso that it takes the servant’s first harsh, well-aimed blow with his sword to break them out of their stupor. They watch the ensuing spar with morbid fascination, finding that not only can Merlin hold his own, he’s winning. Lancelot loses his breath and rhythm much quicker than Merlin does, and the fast-paced spar only lasts around three minutes before Merlin lands a strong punch to the centre of Lance’s chest and the knight stumbles back in shock, lowering his sword just enough for Merlin to step forward and trip him up.

The scarred servant’s chest rises and falls deeply, but not too rapidly as he lowers his sword and offers a hand down to the beaten knight. Lancelot takes it with a slightly shocked smile, patting Merlin on the shoulder as he stands. Merlin flinches away from the touch, no one misses it, clearly not too fond of people touching his bare skin, and Lance drops his hand rapidly, frowning only briefly before he smiles again:

“Bloody hell, Merlin. I knew you were good, but not that good.”

Merlin gives him a strained smile, grateful for the distraction. Everyone sees the moment Merlin’s mask goes up again; he gives Lance a smug grin and twirls his sword once again as he shrugs mockingly:

“I’ve been watching you lot train for ten years, and I’ve been in a few sword fights in my time. I picked up a few things.”

Arthur finally reacts, scoffing as he shakes his head in disbelief, scars momentarily forgotten:

“There’s no way that you can- that was a fluke.-”

He looks smug as he says it, like he’s figured out some great secret, and Mordred lets out a low, annoyed growl; no one notices thankfully, but Merlin shoots him a quick frustrated line across their mental link:

“Please try not to antagonise him any further.”

Mordred looks to him, keeping his face blank as he nods almost imperceptibly. Lancelot and Gwaine look openly disapproving of Arthur’s assertion, but Leon, Percival, and Elyan look almost convinced. Arthur nods decisively, picking up his sword once again and waving it in Merlin’s direction:

“-My turn. And once I’ve beaten you, you’re going to tell us about all of… that.”

Merlin’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t say anything, just nods slightly as he holds a placating hand out in Lancelot’s direction when it becomes obvious that his best friend is going to start trying to defend him.

Arthur takes Lancelot’s place in the ring and Merlin grips his sword tightly, his shoulders tense and his face showing only mild annoyance, despite the anger that Lancelot and Mordred were sure was simmering under his façade. At Arthur’s nod, Leon reluctantly counts them in, and the match begins.

This one is somehow even more fast-paced, though no one is surprised. The last ten minutes had caught Arthur extremely off-guard. An off-guard Arthur is a grumpy Arthur, and a grumpy Arthur is, unfortunately, still the type to take his frustrations out on others. Arthur wasn’t good at dealing with his emotions, meaning the disturbing mix of horror, guilt, and anger at Merlin’s scars, slight… shock, (because he refuses to call it anything else) at his deceptively strong physique, and surprise that apparently his servant can take out one of his best knights without all that much effort, all together have The King bursting with adrenaline. 

He throws blow after blow, but Merlin’s defence is incredibly strong, and Arthur has yet to land a hit anywhere other than the opposing sword. After a couple of minutes, Merlin switches styles, and Arthur almost trips when he realises his servant has, in the space of a second, gone from fighting like Arthur, to fighting like Leon. The knights notice it as well; Gwaine lets out a low whistle and Elyan smacks Leon on the shoulder, pointing incredulously at a sequence of complicated footwork that usually only the First Knight can manage so gracefully. Apparently Merlin can do it too.

Arthur adapts to this quickly; Leon was his sparring partner most often, meaning that he was accustomed to switching between their styles, and they were the most similar fighters in all the group. 

Another minute passes, and the pair still don’t slow, seemingly unbothered by their dumbfounded audience and the sweltering heat, and this time Merlin suddenly starts fighting more like Gwaine. Instead of staying on the defensive and trying to trip Arthur up, he goes on the attack, landing heavier and heavier hits as The King barely manages to defend himself in time.

Merlin is quickly growing tired, his stamina not nearly as good as Arthur’s, but The King grows complacent, even with the vicious pace, certain that he just has to wait Merlin out. He was wrong. Arthur finally gets an attack of his own in but Merlin dives to the side instead of blocking it, rolling and coming up to Arthur’s left before the blonde has time to regain his balance and turn around. He freezes in place when Merlin touches his wooden sword to the side of Arthur’s neck. He can feel it shaking, but it’s undoubtedly a killing blow, and when Merlin drops the sword to the floor in favour of bending over, one hand on his knee and the other on his side again as he pants, Arthur turns around faster than he thinks he’s ever moved before:

“How the fuck did you do that?”

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights all clapping and shouting encouragement at him, but he doesn’t look up, just waves dismissively in Arthur’s direction:

“I told you, I’ve been watching you lot train for years. It’s easy to imitate you after a little practice.”

Arthur just stares at him in disbelief, but Leon hands the servant a water-skin, ripping his gaze from the whip marks on his back with clenched teeth before schooling his tone and face into something more friendly:

“Merlin, you switched styles twice in as many minutes… you beat the best swordsman in the Kingdom after already being tired from another spar, that’s… that’s incredible.”

Merlin drinks the entire skin as Leon speaks, looking up with another playful mask on his face:

“Well believe me, I’m so sore I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do it again.”

Merlin’s smile drops when he realises everyone is back to staring at him, more specifically, his scars. He steps away from the curly-haired knight, who furrows his brows in concern and resists the urge to reach a comforting hand out to him. Merlin crosses his arms over his chest defensively, hunching his broad shoulders slightly as he frowns at the floor.

Lancelot quickly throws his tunic to him, and Merlin scrambles to pull it on as quickly as possible, but before he can even get his arms through the right holes, Arthur snatches it away, a stern, angry look on his face. Though every one of then can see the badly hidden concern as well:

“No, you agreed to tell us.”

Merlin makes a move for his tunic, but Arthur jumps out of his reach. The servant huffs, annoyed and close to tears all of a sudden as he petulantly replies:

“Actually, you said once you beat me, I had to tell you. I won.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, taking another step back:

“I’m happy to go another round if you are, Merlin?”

Merlin glares at him angrily for another few moments before completely sagging, staring at the floor with sad, tired eyes as his arms drop to dangle at his sides. Arthur and the knights are completely taken aback at Merlin’s sudden change of disposition, though it heartbreakingly strikes them as less of a change and more of a... reveal. A reveal of some kind of sadness that’s been there all along. How did they not notice this??

Arthur’s breath hitches and his tight clutch on Merlin’s tunic loosens slightly as he all but whispers:

“Merlin... who did this to you?”

Merlin finally looks up at him, letting out a humourless chuckle as he rakes a hand through his sweat-dampened hair roughly:

“Does it matter? Most of them are dead, I-”

His eyes narrow and his voice lowers. The knights hear it nonetheless:

“... I made sure of that .”

Arthur lets out a huff of frustration, not bothering to hide the desperation in his eyes as he pleads:

“Please, Merlin, you’re my... subject, you’re meant to be under my protection. And don’t lie, none of these are more than eleven or twelve years old at most and you got here ten years ago, so they happened in Camelot, under my watch. Please, Merlin.”

Merlin sighs, walking towards the tree’s shade once again. For a moment Arthur panics, thinking he’d pushed Merlin too far as he turned away, knowing that if this conversation wasn’t had now, their relationship would never be the same. But before The King can say anything, the servant slumps back into place against the tree trunk, sitting cross-legged again and biting his lip as he looks at Arthur expectantly.

Before anyone else can move, Mordred and Lancelot take the places either side of Merlin, sitting protectively close. Lance gives Mordred a pointed look, to which the younger knight nods before settling a blank expression on the side of Merlin’s head. Merlin doesn’t look back at him, but pats the knight’s knee as the corner of his mouth turns up briefly in a barely-there smile.

Arthur narrows his eyes, but stores that odd exchange in the back of his mind to deal with at a later date before sitting across from Merlin; the other knights look to each other, worried, before settling in the empty spaces to complete the circle. The group is silent for a while, all staring at a statue-still Merlin who in turn is staring at the grass in front of him; he doesn’t move even when Lancelot brings his hand into his lap, stroking his thumb over the servant’s knuckles absent-mindedly.

It’s Percival that finally breaks the silence, asking in a quiet voice:

“What happened, Merlin?”

Merlin looks up suddenly, as if he had forgotten he had company, taking in a deep breath and tightening his grip on Lance’s hand. He gulps before once again running his free hand through his hair, shrugging slightly as he mutters:

“I don’t recall all of them in perfect detail, just ask about... whatever catches your eye I guess, and we’ll see what I can remember.”

The knights all nod, looking to each other expectantly, no one really wanting to go first. Eventually Leon clears his throat, his voice gentle:

“Why don’t we start with the whip marks on your back?”

Merlin nods, grateful that they were at least starting off with the non-magical injuries. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he speaks, his voice croaky and quiet:

“The newer ones are from Cenred, from a few years ago. He wanted information and I spat at his feet and told him to fuck off. He... he didn’t take too kindly to that.”

Gwaine lets out a quiet curse, and Arthur sits up straight, saying in a crackingly authoritative voice:

“Merlin, if anyone ever tries to extract information from you again, you give them anything. Everything. We’ll deal with the fall-out afterwards, it is not your job to withstand torture.”

The other knights nod approvingly but Merlin just looks up at The King with a raised eyebrow:

“Like hell. I can put up with a remarkable amount, I’d never sell Camelot, or you, out. Never, Arthur.”

Arthur huffs and resolutely ignores the tears gathering in his eyes, but Elyan beats him to the mark:

“That’s not... you shouldn’t have to put up with anything Merlin, it’s not necessary. You just... keep yourself safe. We’ll worry about everything else.”

The other knights nod again, but Merlin scowls and tenses even further, even as Lancelot squeezes his hand comfortingly:

“I’ve been through literal hell, multiple times, in order to protect my home and the people that are important to me. I’m not going to stop that just because it makes you lot uncomfortable, and you have no right to tell me to it’s not my place.”

Everyone looks desperate to argue, but they can’t deny that, after what they’ve seen today, in the last half a candle-mark only, Merlin is evidently a lot stronger than they’ve ever given him credit for. Both physically and mentally. Leon just gives Merlin a small smile and nods; he’s the only one here who has known Merlin just as long as Arthur, and he may not be as close to the younger man as The King or Lance or Gwaine or Mordred, but he’s seen his loyalty in action several times over the years:

“You said the newer ones were from Cenred. You’ve been flogged more than once?”

Merlin nods at the knight, grateful for his understanding and change of subject, even if said change of subject was back to his scars. His expression turns slightly guilty as his gaze moves to Arthur, and The King has a feeling he’s going to feel incredibly terrible at whatever it is Merlin is about to say:

“The others are from... uh.... Uther.-”

Arthur takes in a sharp breath as the tears he had just about managed to get under control gather again. The other knights just look angry, bar Leon, who, though miserable, looks as though he sort of expected it:

“-He didn’t like me very much.”

Arthur whispers his response:

“When? Merlin, when and why did my father have you flogged, and how did I not know about it?”

Merlin tenses his jaw, going from guilty to angry in a split second, snapping his response:

“Why do you think?!-”

Arthur recoils and Merlin closes his eyes briefly as he takes a deep breath, looking back to Arthur with a blank mask and speaking in a monotone voice:

“What did you think he would do every time I took the blame for you missing a meeting or a meal or a training session because you were entertaining a woman or pissing about with your knights? I had to walk into the council room and apologise for your absence because I slept in or I forgot to tell you or I sent you on a hunt on the wrong day. Uther was in the habit of burning people and chopping off an alarming number of heads, did you really think I would get away with it punishment free??

Arthur goes pale as a sheet and his hands tremble with the understanding. He shakes his head slightly as he looks to his lap, ignoring the tears on his cheeks as he murmurs:

“Merlin I am so sorry, I didn’t... I didn’t think... if I had known I would have duelled him in the damn town square to protect you.-”

Arthur looks up sharply, wiping his face clean as he settles an assessing gaze on his servant, ignoring Gwaine’s murderous glare as he slowly continues:

“-... which is exactly why you never told me, isn’t it?”

Merlin shrugs, a small smile on his face:

“You may never admit it, Arthur, but you were protective of me, even then.”

Arthur flushes slightly, before frowning again and shaking his head:

“You should have told me, it’s my job to protect you.”

Merlin raises an eyebrow, smirking slightly:

“I think we’ve already had this conversation.”

Arthur huffs and narrows his eyes again, good-naturedly this time, and Merlin just rolls his eyes before seeming to sag again, speaking quietly:

“Come on, next one.”

Elyan raises his hand slightly before pointing to the centre of Merlin’s chest:

“How the hell did you get a burn like that?”

Merlin tenses, rubbing a hand over the roughly circular, pink and white scar in the centre of his chest. The flesh looked melted in places, white scar tissue spider-webbing out from his sternum, beginning to fade just before it stretched around his sides, and stopping a few inches above his naval:

“Witch threw a fireball at me. Hurt like hell, but there was quite a lot of adrenaline at the time so I didn’t really notice the pain until later.”

Gwaine raises an eyebrow, evidently trying to control his anger as he asks, in a shaking, though forceful, voice:

“And what were you doing fighting a witch powerful enough to throw fire around?”

Merlin stops rubbing at the scar when Lancelot tugs his hand and Mordred mutters “You’re going to hurt yourself, Merlin.” in his head, curling his hand tightly in his lap instead and speaking slowly, as if he were choosing each word individually:

“Only Leon and Arthur were in Camelot for that. Arthur was dying from the Questing Beast bite, I... went to the Isle of the Blessed to speak to the followers of the Old Religion. There was said to be someone there who had power over life and death and I... Arthur was dying, I had to try.-”

Arthur’s eyes widened at Merlin’s words, mostly the mention of such a power, but stays silent, nodding at him to continue:

“-But the Old Religion requires balance, a life for a life,-”

Leon releases a deep breath, looking to the floor at the implication with his eyes closed, and Arthur lets out a whispered whimper, knowing the depths of Merlin’s loyalty:

“-I offered my own in exchange for Arthur’s. She, Nimueh, that is, accepted,-”

Arthur opens his mouth to say something, he’s not sure what, but before he can yell about Merlin’s self preservation, he notices the darkness on his dearest friend’s face and his voice catches in his throat. Merlin stares at the floor, his face drawn and angry and his voice stormy and clipped:

“-but she tried to trick me. I didn’t appreciate that, we fought, she died. Her life for Arthur’s: the deal was done.”

An audible gasp goes up around the circle, and Percival, who is (other than Merlin and Mordred of course) the most well versed in Magic Info, responds breathlessly:

“Merlin... Nimueh is a High Priestess, The master over Life and Death, she’s very very powerful.”

Merlin looks up at the gentle giant sharply, his gaze unforgiving and his tone harsh:

“Yeah, and she’s also very very dead, because she pissed me off.”

Percival gulps and lowers his gaze, but Arthur seems to have missed everything the two of them just said as he stares blankly at his servant:

“You’d barely known me a year, and I’ll admit that I was an arse back then, and you tried to give your life for mine. Why?”

Merlin looks at him curiously, not responding for a few moments as his anger dies down and his pride grows:

“I had it on good authority that you would become a Great King one day. It only took a little squinting to see it, you were a good man, a man I was, and still am, prepared to sacrifice myself for. You were an arse, yes, you still sort of are, but I have faith in you, always have, always will.”

Lancelot and Mordred smile fondly at him as the other knights stare dumbfounded, but Arthur clenches his jaw, ignoring the shaking in his voice as he says:

“Well, I... I forbid it. You are officially forbidden from sacrificing yourself for me, legally.”

Gwaine perks up slightly:

“Out of curiosity, do we all get the same-”

Arthur interrupts him with a forceful, though slightly amused:

“Shut up, Gwaine. And no, you’re a knight, your entire job description is to jump head first into danger so I don’t have to. I have every faith that you’ll die for me one day.”

Everyone lets out quiet snorts at that, bar Gwaine of course, who looks jokingly affronted before he nods and shrugs, quietly muttering “Yeah, fair enough,-”, the rest of his sentence (”especially considering you’re in love with him but not any of us.”) goes unheard and unchallenged.

Merlin chooses not to respond to Arthur’s demand, but everyone knows that’s his way of not committing to anything, knowing full well that Merlin had never listened to Arthur’s orders before, and sure as shit wasn’t going to start now.

“Next one.”

Merlin’s face had fallen slightly, knowing he wasn’t going to get away with explaining only two sets of scars, and Gwaine asks next, his eyes being drawn to Merlin’s gesturing hand:

“The red bands around your wrists and neck. They look like burns, but not very deep ones. How did they scar if they weren’t deep?”

Merlin looks down at the scars on his wrists, resisting the urge to absent-mindedly claw at the one he knows sits low on his neck. They’re about two inches wide, pale pink and almost impossible to see in the dark but impossible not to see in the light of the noon sun, even sat in the shade. The edges were clean cut and perfectly straight, and Merlin winced slightly at the memory of his magic being contained in such a way.

He looks around the circle, speaking easily. Though it was painful, it was no where near the worst Merlin has ever had, and even if he couldn’t tell the full truth, it felt sort of nice not to have to hide these ones:

“Some sort of enchanted chains, they drained my energy, made me sick and tired, but the magic in the metal sort of... stung, I guess. I don’t really know. I’d been captured by Morgause (is Morgana not mentioned in this entire fic but still Good? Yes.) again and I suppose she didn’t want to take any chances.”

Everyone looks shocked at his casual admission, and Leon is the first to break the tense silence:

“When were you captured by Morgause?”

Before Merlin can respond, Arthur pipes up incredulously:

“Again. You said again. Merlin, how many times have you been kidnapped by Morgause without anyone realising? How many times have you been kidnapped in general?!”

Merlin winces slightly, speaking in a slightly defensive tone as he stares at Arthur as though the answer is obvious:

“Arthur... I’m The King’s personal manservant. I have the power to overrule the Steward and the Housekeeper if I wanted to; as far as servant’s go, I have the most authority, even more than some low level nobles, especially when it comes to running the citadel. I’m sort of... a big deal. I have access to pretty much any information I could want, even more than this lot-”

He gestures to the knights around the circle. Mordred and Lancelot look a little proud once again, Leon is staring at Arthur, shocked that The King didn’t know this, and everyone else stares at Merlin, only just realising that... Merlin was right. None of them have considered it before, but he practically runs the castle.

“-most of the time, and I’m the only one who knows every single state secret, simply from my proximity to you and your council and your paperwork. That is rather... desirable to people like Morgause, people who want to attack Camelot.”

Merlin purses his lips awkwardly as everyone stares at him blankly, but Gwaine is the first to break the silence:

“... and we’ve just been letting you walk around, unprotected.”

Merlin raises as eyebrow:

“I think we’ve already established I don’t need protection.”

Arthur huffs and throws his hands up awkwardly:

“Well you obviously do, if you’re getting kidnapped so often. When even was this?? You haven’t disappeared for a while, and we haven’t had any trouble from Morgause in months.”

Merlin’s face falls, and the knights are taken aback at the reappearance of the... cruel darkness in his expression:

“Believe me, I know. She... won’t be bothering us any longer, I wasn’t fond of her repeated attempts to kill me or you so I... took care of it.”

The knights go pale at Merlin’s casual admittance of killing yet another High Priestess of the Old Religion. He smirks into his lap briefly until Lance once again squeezes his hand, as if reminding him of the mask he should be wearing. Arthur stares at his servant and long time friend, struggling to reconcile the clumsy ideal he has in his head with this... hardened, tortured protector:

“How? Nimueh and Morgause... just... how??”

Merlin’s eyes slowly move up to meet Arthur’s gaze, and The King gulps at the assessing way the servant tilts his head:

“Playing the role of clumsy rural idiot can be a little demeaning sometimes, but it also means that people tend to underestimate me. They think I’m an easy target, and by the time they realise I’ve played them, it’s too late.”

Arthur recoils slightly, and Merlin once again changes dispositions, shrugging casually and smiling easily, his tone light:

“You can get away with a remarkable amount when people think you’re stupid.”

The circle lets out an in-sync breath. All of them knew that Merlin wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but they didn’t realise just how smart he is. None of them would admit it, but Elyan, Leon, Percival, Arthur, and even Gwaine on some level, still subconsciously considered Merlin “just a servant” in the back of their minds. At least... they did. 

(Not that that old thought process made them think any less of him, they just didn’t think of him as complicated, as a warrior.)

Merlin takes a deep breath, knowing that his friends would never see him in the same way, but sort of hoping that that was a good thing, gesturing vaguely to the circle once again. Arthur asks the next question, touching his hand to the back of his own neck softly:

“There’s a cut on the back of your neck. It looks deep, like it was reopened over and over, what is it?”

Merlin grimaces slightly, wiping his free hand over his face in exhaustion as Lancelot squeezes his other hand, and Mordred pats his knee comfortingly:

“That one was a few years ago, courtesy of Morgause again. She put something called a Fomorrah in me-”

Percival gasped slightly, harshly whispering “Gods.” under his breath. Arthur spares him a quick glance, making a mental note to question how his knight seems to know so much about sorcery at a later date:

“-so she could try to make me kill Arthur; it sort of... controls you. Makes you only able to focus on whatever instruction you’re given when it’s first put in you. Gaius kept having to cut it out of me, it wouldn’t stop re-growing until we killed the rest of it’s body, and that was with Morgause somewhere out of the city.”

Arthur looked a little outraged, hiding the worry of “I now know that Merlin could kill me without any trouble at all so how the fuck am I alive?”. Apparently he doesn’t hide it well; Merlin gives him a comforting smile and shrugs his shoulders slightly:

“I fought the compulsion pretty well, kept coming up with increasingly complicated assassination plans instead of just... stabbing you in your sleep or something.”

Arthur goes to respond, but he’s interrupted by Leon loudly cursing, his eyes wide as he stares at Merlin with flushed cheeks:

“I just... gave you a crossbow!! You said you were going to kill Arthur and I thought you were joking and I let you walk out the armoury with a crossbow and a handful of bolts!!”

Merlin chuckles, a blush of his own rising as he responds, rubbing the back of his neck again:

“Yeah... I don’t really remember it, but Gaius and Gwen filled me in on what had happened. To be fair, it’s kind of flattering that you never considered that I was the assassin, despite the repeated attempts being made on Arthur’s life and the fact that I admitted it to your face.”

Leon stares at the floor with wide eyes, seemingly trying to process the fact that he had pointed a would be assassin in the right direction, muttering something along the lines of “oh my Gods oh my Gods oh my Gods” over and over until Elyan awkwardly patted him on the back, breaking him from his embarrassed horror.

Arthur clears his throat, staring at Merlin with an almost unreadable expression:

“I did wonder why the attempts just... stopped?”

Merlin understands the question in his tone and nods slightly before replying:

“Hmm. Gaius and Gwen figured out it was me, found a way to paralyse the thing in my neck until I managed to get back to Morgause’s little lair and kill the main body.”

Arthur nods distractedly. How many times had this happened? “This” being something entirely ridiculous and/or incredibly dangerous right under his nose.

Percival clears his throat and Merlin looks to the nervous man, nodding at him to ask whatever it was that was on his mind, despite his growing discomfort:

“There’s... on your back, it looks like a stab wound but... worse. The veins around it are black and it looks painful despite it’s obvious age and... well... it looks like a Serket Sting, but it... it can’t be, right?”

Merlin tenses, back to looking as exhausted and scared and as ready to bolt as he had at the beginning of the conversation. Lancelot squeezes his hand again, tightly this time, and Mordred takes his other to stop him from clenching it too harshly, murmuring:

“You don’t have to, Merlin, not this one.”

Arthur clenches his jaw at the knowledge that two of his knights had known about this. Had known the collage of agony on Merlin’s body, had known what he’d been through and done nothing. Hadn’t prevented it, hadn’t brought it to Arthur, hadn’t protected him. But equally, with how protective and loyal and secretive Merlin is, and how heartbroken the two of them had looked when Merlin first took his tunic off, they likely hadn’t known the full extent of damage.

Merlin just sighs and shakes his head, sensing the curious stares of the others before rising to his knees and turning around, running a shaking hand over the scar briefly before dropping his hand to his side again. The others stare, astounded. They’d only caught brief glimpses of it before, but now they could see it properly it was undoubtedly a Serket Sting. 

The deep puncture mark on his lower back had closed up, but the skin was still sunken in slightly, red and angry looking with hints of purple towards the middle. Percival was right: dark veins, as if permanently poisoned, stretched out from the centre of the wound, dipping below the waistband of his trousers and fading about halfway up his back. 

After a few moments, Merlin turns around again and sits back down, placing his still shaking hand back in Lance’s lap without prompting. Arthur’s one-word question is whispered and cracked, and no one judges him for the tears in his eyes; most of them have tears of their own gathering and falling at their friend’s pain:

“How?”

Merlin gulps, not looking up as he leans slightly into Mordred’s shoulder. The young knight presses back, knowing how fond the servant is of warm pressure, not minding the sticky sweatiness of their still uncovered torsos in the noon heat:

“Morgause again. She got annoyed with me always ruining her plans, getting in the way. Left me chained up in the middle of a nest of... in the middle of a nest.”

Leon takes a deep breath, rubbing his eyes harshly and sniffing before asking, his voice strong despite the slight waver:

“How did you survive that? I’ve... I’ve seen men get stung by serkets and it’s not... nice.”

Merlin breathes shakily, his mouth open slightly as he stares at the floor, memories flashing through his mind and the scar on his back twinging uncomfortably. Again, Percival was right, despite it’s age, it did still hurt. He takes one last deep breath, clenching his eyes shut tightly before looking up at the curly-haired knight, not quite making eye-contact:

“I uh... a lot of screaming, and the help of an... old friend. I was out of Camelot for a few days whilst I recovered, my friend didn’t fancy being executed for helping me, for just existing.”

Arthur furrows his brows but the others, bar Leon, nod in understanding, looking only slightly guilty and not looking to The King as he asks:

“What do you mean? If someone has found a way to cure a Serket sting then they most definitely wouldn’t be executed for it.”

Elyan snorts and Mordred and Lancelot frown at the floor as Merlin stares at Arthur with poorly concealed contempt:

“Arthur... the cure for a Serket sting has been around for centuries, it just involves very strong, very complicated magic. I didn’t fancy dying in absolute agony, and my friend didn’t fancy being executed for the act of saving my life so we stayed away from the city whilst he treated me.”

Arthur looks at his servant, dumbfounded and confused, and the knights stay silent in their awkwardness. Leon, a lifelong citizen of Camelot, is the only other person to look surprised at Merlin’s explanation, though he nods after a few moments, conceding that it... makes sense. Of course it does.

Mordred frowns when he notices Merlin’s knee begin to bounce up and down slightly, but it’s the way he gulps and tightens his grip on Lance’s hand that has the two knights begin to properly worry. They share a quick look, obviously agreeing on something, before Mordred takes Merlin’s other hand and settles a soft touch on his vibrating knee whilst Lancelot looks to Arthur:

“I think we’re done for the day. This has been... a lot.”

Merlin is getting paler by the second and Mordred can sense the man’s distress, shooting Lance a desperate look before subtly trying to shuffle closer to Merlin, who leans even further into his touch. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, looking annoyed at Lancelot’s assertion and rolling his eyes before moving his gaze back to Merlin’s quivering form:

“No, Merlin’s suffered and I need to know why. There are mace wounds on both your shoulders, I remember one, but not the-”

Arthur is interrupted by a low whine from the back of Merlin’s throat as he thumps his head back against the tree, eyes still shut tightly. His words out come quietly and broken, as if it were a struggle to breathe, let alone speak:

“Can we please stop now?”

Mordred ignores Arthur, moving to kneel in front of the servant whilst Lancelot glares at The King. Arthur just huffs slightly, though he obviously completely underestimates the distress his friend is in, looking concerned, but not letting up:

“Merlin, we’ve barely gone through a third of them, we can’t stop-”

Lancelot lets out a low growl, letting go of Merlin’s hand and moving towards Arthur, glaring as he says:

“Arthur, we need to stop. Now.”

The young King looks taken aback, though the argument is stopped in his throat when Mordred’s quiet voice interrupts him:

“Merlin, you need to breathe.-”

He peers around the young knight as best he can, but Lance’s still vicious glare stops him from moving too close. Mordred brings one of Merlin’s hands up, pressing it against his chest and continuing his soft instructions:

“-Copy my breathing, alright? Can you tell me where you are right now, Merlin?”

The knights all stare on in horror at Merlin’s pale skin and ragged breathing, staying still in their places when Lancelot gestures at them firmly. It’s Merlin’s next word, cracked and whispered, that trigger another round of tears to gather in their eyes:

“C...cave.”

Mordred shakes his head slowly and Lancelot curses under his breath, kneeling back next to Mordred and retaking Merlin’s other hand, holding it between his own securely. Mordred’s soft voice floats in the wind, and if the knights weren’t so distracted by their friend’s pain, they would think it sounds almost magical:

“No, you’re safe, Merlin. Think, listen, feel. Can you try to tell me where you are again?

Merlin shakes his head roughly, his still-shut eyes not stopping the tears from squeezing out as he flinches, strikes of lightening-like agony shooting out from the scar on his lower back. Lance worries his lip between his teeth, rubbing one of his hands up and down Merlin’s shivering arm; a nod from Mordred has Lance speak, his words soft and low despite the waver in his voice:

“Merlin, you know where you are, and me and Mordred are right here with you. You need to open your eyes buddy, tell us where we are.”

Merlin’s breathing instantly seems to calm a little at Lancelot’s voice, and he cracks his bloodshot eyes open, immediately sighing when his blurry gaze lands on the canopy above him, whispering:

“Tree... sky... Camelot.”

The others can see Mordred let out a relieved sigh, and they force themselves to relax slightly. Merlin’s body sags again and Lance frowns, but the young servant’s stuttering words as he stares blankly up into the tree interrupt any reassurance he could have offered:

“Please, I can’t... I don’t... please don’t make me-”

Lance stills his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, not even paying the slightest bit of attention to anyone else as he replies:

“No one’s going to make you, Merlin, we can carry on another day-”

Arthur’s interrupted “But-” is quickly shut down when Lance turns around to glare at him, a sharp “-I said we’re done for the day.” sent his way.

Merlin flinches again, the pain in his back getting worse and worse and making it harder to keep a grasp on reality, so damning the consequences, Mordred presses a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes and he mouths the words to a sleeping spell as quietly as he can. Thankfully, everyone’s attention is on the glaring contest between Lancelot and The King, so no one immediately notices the way Merlin falls forwards into Mordred’s arms, not until he nudges Lance in the leg and mutters:

“He passed out. We should get him to Gaius, he needs proper rest and pain medication.”

Lancelot nods his head firmly, back to ignoring Arthur and the others as he moves to Merlin’s side, pulling his arm over his shoulder as Mordred does the same on the servant’s other side. Mordred’s eyes scan over the knights, searching for whoever looks the most likely to help without question; his gaze stills on a terribly worried looking Gwaine:

“Gwaine, run ahead to warn Gaius, tell him that Merlin had a really bad episode and then passed out.”

Gwaine gulps but nods, gathering his tunic in quick hands and putting it on haphazardly as he sprints back to the castle. Mordred and Lancelot adjust their grips, standing and bringing Merlin up with them as they turn in the direction Gwaine had ran and begin the careful journey back to the citadel. The knights follow behind them closely, hastily dressing themselves and desperate to ask questions, but knowing that now was not the time. Elyan jogs ahead of them to open doors and clear a path, and Percival had grabbed Merlin, Lancelot, and Mordred’s tunics as Leon put all of the swords away before catching up.

Thankfully they don’t come across many people, though Lance and Mordred still do their best to conceal Merlin between them, knowing that he would be distraught if anyone else saw his scars. They make good time to Gaius’ chambers, and they find the Physician preparing a few strong pain potions and sleeping draughts as Gwaine paced.

Gaius looks incredibly worried, but unsurprised, and Lance and Mordred carry Merlin up to his room without prompting; the sick feeling in Arthur’s stomach tells him that they’re practiced at this. The King goes to follow them, but they kick the door shut behind them so they can have at least a little privacy whilst they settle their friend in his bed. They leave the covers off, knowing that he’d just overheat or kick them off in the nightmares that they know are coming. Lance nods knowingly at Mordred, and the younger of the two moves swiftly back into the main room, shutting the door behind him again softly, avoiding eye contact with anyone bar Gaius, even as Percival hands him his tunic.

The elderly Physician raises an eyebrow, and Mordred answers the wordless question quietly, though not quiet enough for the other knights to not hear him:

“Not yet, but soon, he’ll definitely need a sleeping draught to get him through it. It was his back, so he’ll need the strongest pain one you’ve got.”

Gaius nods, picking up two of the many concoctions he had prepared, not reacting to Arthur’s desperate questions, leaving the conversation to Mordred:

“What are you talking about? Get through what??”

Mordred sighs and frowns slightly, unable to get over all of his anger at the King for pushing Merlin so far:

“The nightmares. He always gets them, especially after an episode that bad.”

Arthur recoils, just a little horrified, but Gwaine beats him to the mark, asking in a shaking voice:

“Episode??”

Mordred moves his gaze to the worried knight, a little more sympathetic to the man he knew was more loyal to Merlin than he was to The King:

“Flashbacks, panic attacks. Merlin has been through... a lot. Chronic pain or difficult conversations sometimes trigger a sort of... breakdown, he struggles to differentiate between memories and reality. Normally he can just wait it out with a little help. When it’s really bad we put him to sleep, it’s the only way to stop him from hurting himself accidentally.”

Everyone looks horrified at that, their focus on Mordred rather than Gaius, who was stealthily ascending the steps to Merlin’s room, potions in hand. Arthur is the first to break the tense silence:

“How long? How long as he been getting these episodes, and why the hell did no one think to tell me?!”

Mordred moves his harsh gaze back to The angry King, glaring at him when his voice rose:

“With all due respect, My Lord, lower your voice. Merlin needs rest, he needs to not be disturbed.”

Arthur looks annoyed, though still heartbroken, but nods slightly, almost whispering as he responds:

“You didn’t answer my questions. How long, and why wasn’t I told?”

Mordred sighs, looking to the floor briefly as he crosses his arms over his chest . After a few moments of considering his answer, he finally looks up again, suddenly appearing exhausted and resigned as he replies softly:

“I don’t really know. He didn’t tell us, we just... found out. It took us a while to convince him to explain it properly and let us help. He didn’t want anyone worrying or treating him like glass; it doesn’t happen very often at all, and this is... this is the worst one I’ve ever seen.”

Arthur frowns and shakes his head slightly, but it’s Leon that speaks next:

“Why not tell us, at least? What if something had happened and you weren’t with us? We wouldn’t have known what was wrong.”

Mordred takes a deep breath and shrugs, nodding slightly, obviously aware that he couldn’t tell them about his and Merlin’s mental link:

“We tried telling him that, but he wouldn’t have it. We were maybe one more conversation away from convincing him to tell Gwaine or Guinevere, but I guess that’s not necessary anymore.”

Arthur pushes down the twinge of jealousy that Merlin had never even considered telling him, but it obviously shows on his face; Mordred scowls slightly, clenching his hands to try and cover his annoyance. Before either men can say anything, Lancelot comes back down from Merlin’s room, leaving Gaius with the young servant:

“It’s starting, Mordred we need to go, everyone else, out.”

Percival throws Lance’s tunic to him as the knights move to the door, albeit reluctantly, but Arthur doesn’t move, glaring down at Mordred angrily when the younger man stops him from going into Merlin’s room:

“He’s my manservant, I want to be there when he wakes up.”

Mordred narrows his eyes, and Arthur kicks himself for never realising how much Merlin meant to him before now, but before the knight can say anything, Lancelot steps up next to him, answering in his stead:

“No, me and Mordred will be there, that’s all he needs. You need to go, My Lord.”

Arthur gears up to argue, to pull rank, squaring his shoulders and snarling slightly, but an angry Lancelot is something he’s never seen and never had to deal with before, so he’s far too surprised to say anything when the knight interrupts his posturing:

“I said no, Arthur. He has to pretend in front of you. You’ve already done this to him,-”

He gestures angrily to the door to Merlin’s room:

“-he needs to not tense up and stress out immediately upon waking up.”

Arthur steps back slightly, but clears his throat, pushing through the slight heartbreak and guilt to argue:

“Oh, and he doesn’t have to pretend in front of you two?”

Mordred rolls his eyes, giving Lancelot a pointed look before stalking up to Merlin’s room, leaving the older knight to deal with the angry King. Lance clenches his jaw and lets out a harsh breath, looking away briefly, as if trying to stop himself from saying anything cruel, before giving up and glaring back at Arthur:

“No. He doesn’t. Because we, and Gaius, are the only people who actually know the first thing about Merlin, and he trusts us. He needs space, and time to heal, and comfort, not the demanding presence of a King whose already pushed him too far, who treats him like shit and forces him to think he has to hide who he is. For God’s sake, Arthur, can you please, for once, think of anyone but yourself.”

Arthur widens his eyes, and though Lancelot looks a little like he regrets what he said, he doesn’t back down, nodding to the door behind Arthur and not moving away until The King steps back again. Arthur takes a deep breath, turning to exit the Physician’s chambers before the knight could see the guilt on his face and the tears in his eyes. He leaves without looking back, ignoring the gaggle of knights waiting worriedly in the hall and stalking straight to his chambers, only just managing to shut the door behind him before the tears finally started falling.

Back in Merlin’s room, the servant thrashes in his sleep, whimpering despite Mordred’s comforting whispers in his head, Gaius’ hand in his hair, and Lancelot’s soft lap as a pillow. 

This... was going to be a tough one.

~

The End of part 1!!!

This was legit supposed to only be one part buuuuuuut we can all see how that went. Part two will follow on really quickly, but it was getting far too long to leave all as one 😅

I hope y’all enjoyed it, link to part 2(the final part) at the top!! :)

[sunmoonandeddie]

edge of the devil’s backbone

pairing: knight!bucky barnes x princess!reader

word count: 4,918

summary: Your knight has sworn to protect you always, even if that means committing a grave sin.

warnings: Smut, cussing, violence, murder, angst with a happy ending.

a/n:  Lol I really hope you enjoy this.  Bucky is kinda dark but??  Not really???  Also, I suggest listening to Devil’s Backbone by The Civil Wars while you read this.

It’s midnight when he slips into my room, Selene’s soft light guiding him to the bed where I lay, dozing peacefully amongst my mountain of pillows.

A slumber he hates to disrupt, but knows that he must.

To leave me without a word, without a goodbye and a promise to return one day when he can, would be the utmost betrayal to the delicate heart he holds in his hands.

“Princess,” he whispers.  Slinking through the room like a cat, he manages to not make a single noise loud enough to wake me.  It is not until his fingers gently brush against my cheek that my eyes flutter open.

“James?  What’s going on?” I ask, brows furrowing as I slowly push myself up on my elbows.  One hand holds the blanket to my chest, as though it’s anything he hasn’t seen before.

James is… familiar with my nightgowns, to say the least.

“I have to go,” he whispers, his hand shaking as he cups my cheek.  “I have to go before they catch me.”

“What?”  I lean into his touch instinctively, not even thinking about the strange wetness on his fingers that I feel.  “What do you mean?  What did you do?”  When my eyes adjust to the light, I realize what he means.

James’s white undershirt is stained with blood, the hot liquid smeared across his cheek like it is on mine now.

Letting out a squeak of alarm, I rush to look him over, trying to find any injuries to speak of.  “What happened?!  Are you okay?!”

“I killed him.”

I freeze, my hands pressing against his body through the thin fabric of his shirt.  Despite the chill of the oncoming winter, he is so, so warm.  Even with the knowledge he has given me, there is nothing I want to do more than drag him closer and make him cocoon himself around me to keep the cold away.  There is nothing that could ever make me not love him anymore.  Even murder.  I would still run to his embrace and spend the rest of eternity in his arms.

A foolish dream, considering our stations.

Even though James does love me the way I love him, my father would never allow a union between the two of us.  James has been my personal guard since I was young, barely five years old.  A peasant boy granted the honor of training to be a knight because he had found me after I had been kidnapped by bandits and kept for a ransom.  He’d just been fourteen at the time, and braver and smarter than my father’s entire army.

But no, none of that matters.  According to father, princesses must marry princes, who will make good kings.

Anyone with any sense could see that James was worth more than every prince and king put together.

“You killed him?  What him?” I ask, rushing to get out of bed to grab a rag.  I wet it carefully before moving to his side to gently clean off his face.  Even though I want answers, that doesn’t matter as much as getting him presentable again.

But he pushes my hand away, his sea blue eyes glimmering with something that causes a pit to form in my stomach.  “My princess…  My love…  I have to go,” he says, taking my hands in his and squeezing.  “I killed Prince Brock, and they will know it was me come morning.  I have to go…”

“James, don’t be ridiculous,” I scold as I try to start cleaning him off again, tugging to get his ruined shirt off.  “You need to change.  We’ll make it so they’ll have no idea it was you.”

James whispers my name, his bloody hand coming up to cup my cheek as though I am made of glass.  “They will know it was me, and regardless if they didn’t, the king would still pin it on me…  My affection for you is not exactly the world’s best kept secret…  And we both know how the maids like to gossip…”

Tears prick my eyes, and I shake my head desperately.  “No.  No.  You cannot leave, I forbid it!” I say, clutching onto him desperately.  “James, you cannot leave me.  Please, don’t leave me.”  My throat is suddenly dry and tight, my heart pounding within my chest so hard that I am sure I will not make it out without a few broken ribs.

A small price to pay if only my knight will stay by my side.

“You have stayed by my side for sixteen years, do not leave me now,” I order, trying to put on my most commanding voice.  I have been practicing for when I eventually become queen, but it has never ever worked on my most precious knight.

A choked laugh tears from James’s throat.  It’s harsh and broken, a far cry from the usual melody that I chase after.  “My love…  If I do not leave now, they will have me in the gallows by noon,” he says quietly, his forehead pressing against mine.  “Or worse, on the chopping block like a hen ready for the feast.”

I try to push the images from my mind, tears freely flowing down my cheeks.  “No.  No, they won’t know it was you.  Please, don’t leave me…  Or at least take me with you…  Please…”

“I need you to promise me something, princess,” he says as both his hands hold my face, his calloused thumbs rubbing against the tender skin under my eyes to get rid of wayward tears.  “If they catch me…  If I am sentenced to death…  Do not watch.  Do not watch them hang me or draw and quarter me or behead me, whatever it is, I forbid you.  Do you hear me?  I said, do you hear me?!”

“They can’t kill you, I won’t let them,” I sob, still somehow trying to get him to stay.  “I’m the princess, they have to listen to me.”

I have not gone a single day without seeing him in over sixteen years, and I do not plan to now.

But it seems as though there is nothing I can do to stop him.

The silk of my nightgown slides against my skin as I trace his features with my fingers.  “Will you come back to me?” I ask desperately after he denies my request another time.  “Once it is safe, will you please come back to me?  Come home?  I cannot live without you, without knowing you will come back to me one day…”

“I will,” he says reassuringly as he takes one of my hands and presses kisses over each fingertip, each neatly trimmed nail, each line in my palm.  “I will…  I swear to you…  But I could not let him live after today in the garden…”

“I am not angry with you,” I whisper reassuringly as I watch him, trying my best to memorize even the smallest of details.  “You swore to protect me… from anyone and everyone…”

“And I shall always keep my promise.”  He says it with such conviction, with such a fire in his eyes.  He always had, which is partially why I am not surprised that he punished the prince for his crimes against me.

When it comes to my safety, my happiness, James is the judge, jury, and executioner.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

A growl rumbles in his throat as he pulls me closer, letting his eyes shut as he allows himself the comfort of knowing that Prince Brock had not gotten far enough to truly hurt me, to permanently mark me.  “I told him that nobody who touches you without your permission gets to keep their hands.  He didn’t believe me until about an hour or so ago,” he grumbles.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, I can’t fight the giggle that erupts from my lips.  “My hero…,” I murmur as I look up at him.  As my eyes meet his, I am reminded that he needs to leave.  “I will miss you…  Please…  Try to find some way to write to me…”

“I will,” James says, his nose nudging against mine.  His blue eyes sparkle with tears as he swallows around the lump in his throat.  “Steven knows I am leaving…  He knows what I have done.  He is the one you can trust with your safety now, the only man I trust with your life, and he is outside your door now.”  Chapped lips press against my forehead for a lingering moment.  “I will write to him, and he will get the letters to you.  I swear on my life, princess.”

“Before you go…”  I take a deep breath.  “Before you go, will you grant me a kiss?  Just one…”

It is a request he does not think hard about, grabbing my face and kissing me so gently I think I may wither away from the sheer tenderness.  “I love you,” he says, stealing another kiss from my lips, over and over again.

It seems that now that he has started, he cannot stop.

Or will not.

I will not argue either away.

“I love you…  I love you more than words can say, James,” I say, fingers tangling in his long hair.

“I must take my leave, my darling… my dearest,” he breathes out.  “Before dawn comes and the lark sings…”  He stands, his weight disappearing from the bed, and a pang hits my heart.  “You must get sleep, my sweet nightingale.  Once they realize what has happened and that I have disappeared, they will question you for hours, I am sure, if not all day.  But rest well knowing that when you wake, I will be safe and waiting until I may come back for you.”

Tears roll down my cheeks as I hold onto his hand for as long as possible.  “I cannot watch you leave,” I whisper as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“You don’t have to, my love,” he says soothingly, pressing a kiss to my hair.  “Rest…  I will be home to you before you can even miss me…”

His hand slips from mine, and I do not hear him leave the room.  “James, please don’t leave me!” I say as I open my eyes, thinking he was still there.

But he had slipped through the door without a sound and left me alone in my cold bed.

My dearest,

It has been a month since I left you, and it has been the hardest month of my entire life.  I did not have the time to write to you until now because I was unable to get my hands on some parchment and a quill, and I had some trouble finding some place where your father and King Alexander could not reach me.

I cannot risk telling you precisely where I have had the luck to find myself, on the off chance that the letter is intercepted.  I cannot see why it would be, as it is carefully hidden with a letter written to Steven, but considering the man that I know your father can be…

Well, I am aware that I shall not need to explain more than that.

What I can tell you is that the sea here is beautiful.  The journey here was hard, filled with storms and a tumultuous sea, but it was worth it.  Though, it would be much better if you were with me to see it, my love, but you already know that.  Seeing the sun rise on the blue water—Water clearer than any I have ever seen before!—made me hopeful for the first time since I left your side.  In fact, the dress that you wore to your father’s last birthday feast is the exact shade of the sea here.  The soft sand reminds me of the gold trim, the white diamonds embedded in the leather…

Do you see what you have done to me, my love?  I miss you so, my heart longing to see you again, to hold you, that I have started to wax poetic about your gowns.

I cannot start on the way the flowers here remind me of the scarlet rouge you use to stain your cheeks and your sweet lips or I shall never stop.  But, I have dreamed of your lips each night, of the way that my name falls like a prayer, of the way you told me you love me…  I dream of kissing you again.  More mornings than not, I wake with tears on my cheeks because of the need I feel to have you close again.  I had waited for so many years to finally tell you how I feel, despite knowing the way we both felt it, and the night that I did, I had to leave.

It feels like a tragedy from one of those books you like to read so much.

One of the sailors on the ship guessed that I had left a woman behind that had broken my heart, and he told me that time would heal the gaping wound.  It was all I could do to explain to him that I had been the one to break both of our hearts, and that time could do nothing because I am counting the days until I may run to you again.

Time may also do nothing because of the depth of my adoration for you.

I wish that I could tell you where I am so that I may receive a letter in return.  I hope you do not regret what happened the night I left, the kiss.

I hope you will still want me, still love me, when I return to you.

All of my love,

Your James

My dearest,

It has been a year since I have seen you last, since I left your side, and I fear I am on the verge of dying if I cannot get a glimpse of your sweet face soon.

Despite writing to you every few weeks, I feel as though there is so much more I can say.  Every tiny little thing that occurs during my days, I wish to tell you.  I wish to tell you so you do not think that I am at the taverns, flirting with every wench that I set my eyes on.  Despite the way they bat their eyes, they can do nothing to even catch a glimpse from me because I am always picturing you.

Have you thought of me since that night?  I imagine you have had to, since I am writing to you and I am sure that Steven is getting these to you.  He may be a dunce in some things, but he is generally a capable man.

When I saw you in your bed that night, slumbering so peacefully, my first thought was that you looked like an angel.  I had been worried that I would be scared to touch you, to even set my eyes upon you, after what I had done.  But all I felt was reassurance that I had done the right thing.

I still cannot apologize enough for leaving you alone in that garden for so long.  Despite knowing that it technically wasn’t my fault, considering that the king had called for me to discuss the journey back home, I am wracked with guilt.  I should have had a servant fetch Steven to take my place while I was gone before I left.  But, I was naïve enough to assume that the palace guards that were present in the garden would protect a princess, even from their prince.

Coming back and seeing you so upset, panicking as he gripped your soft, sweet body hard enough to bruise…  I had realized when I looked at you that you thought I had abandoned you.

I hope you know that no matter where I am, I have not abandoned you.  I could never leave you forever, my dearest.

Your handkerchief no longer smells like you.  I had swiped it from your room as I left, needing something to comfort me on my journey.  I sleep with it pressed to my nose so that I may see you in my dreams.  But now it has lost your scent, and I have been on a search to find the perfume that you wear so that I may buy a bottle and need not worry about it losing your scent again, but alas, I have not been able to come across it.

I fear it would not smell exactly like you anyway, my love, and I would simply be disappointed.

I have pressed a few more flower petals to send to you, but I may not be able to send them again for a while, as winter will be here soon.  Even in this warm kingdom, it brings a chill that withers the flowers and crops.  Until then, I shall send you as many as possible.

All of my love,

Your James

My dearest,

It has been two years to the day, and I can only pray to whatever gods that I will be able to be with you forever soon.

Did you get my present?  I snuck into the palace after deciding that I couldn’t wait much longer to see you.  Even if I was not able to speak to you, just seeing your angelic face as you slept gave me a moment of peace.  My heavy heart was lightened.

You may need to hide the letters I write you better, it only took me seconds to find your hiding spot.  Of course, your father doesn’t know you as well as I do, so he most likely won’t think to check behind your mirror.

The necklace I left on your pillow is inlaid with pure opals and diamonds.  I had never heard of opal, I must admit, until I found my way here.  It is a great source of pride in this kingdom.  I knew the second I saw it that you would look absolutely stunning in it.

Perhaps you will wear it on our wedding day.

Every day I grow fearful that your father will find another suitor for you and force you to marry him before I can make it back to you.  I know how adept you are at avoiding the princes and lords that he shoves in your direction, but what can I say?  To see you with another man, even if you did not truly wish to be with him, would kill me.

I have been on a ship again for the last few weeks, so unfortunately there is not much to write to you about.  But please, know that you are in my thoughts every moment of every day.

All of my love,

Your James

My dearest,

I have just gotten the news of your father’s passing.

I am on my way home to you.

All of my love,

Your James

I sigh as I sit on the throne—my throne.  Mere hours before, I had been crowned as the new queen of my kingdom.

The scepter is heavy in my hand, the cold metal seeming to burn my skin.  How can I do this on my own?

My father raised me to be a queen, a wife, but not to rule.  I was raised to be the queen to a king, to support the man I end up marrying as he rules the kingdom.

But the only man I will ever marry is not here.

Steven is standing beside the throne, his hands clasped behind his back.  He has been good to me the last few years, as I have waited desperately for the day that my love, my true knight, will come home to me.  “You are troubled,” he says quietly as the both of us watch the nobility dance in magical patterns that draw the eye and lift the spirits.  “You should be excited, Your Majesty.  Today is a day of great celebration.”

“He isn’t here,” I say.  It’s all I need to.  His last letter is pressed against my breast, hidden inside my gown.  The necklace he left for me is heavy around my neck, the precious jewels glinting in the light.  “He said he was coming so where is he?”

The prince that had been seeking my hand before my father died is present, his gaze continuously finding me as he slowly works his way closer.  Over the past weeks, I’ve been able to avoid his advances with claims of my grief.

As if I could ever truly grieve a man as cruel as my father.

“It is possible his ship may have been caught in a storm,” Steven comments, trying to soothe my anger.  He has seen how unstable my emotions can be when James is not close by.  “He will be here.  You know he will, my queen.”

I am growing more and more annoyed as I realize that I will soon be expected to join the dancing.  But dancing is the last thing I want to do without my love there.

Beside me, Steven tenses, and I watch as his blue eyes flit around the room.  “Interesting…,” he says under his breath, almost too low for me to hear.

“What is it?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter.

“It appears that your latest suitor has disappeared.”

What?  Brows furrowing, I look around the room, pointedly searching for Prince Quentin for once.  Sure, he is a handsome man, but his blue eyes are forgettable when I compare them to James’s.  “Well, perhaps he found some maid to consort with in the gardens,” I say with an eye roll, quickly giving up on the search.  “It is not as though he is getting any sort of connection from me.  Let him have his fun.”

Steven snorts, his head dipping for a moment.  “I think it is time for you to join the dancing,” he says simply, in a tone that makes me wonder what he has up his sleeve.

He knows something that he is not telling me.

“Fine,” I say with a glare in his direction, getting to my feet.  I hand my new scepter off to the servant who has immediately rushed to my side, the song currently floating in the air coming to an end.  A new one begins as I step into the fray, easily joining the dance.

I am so swept away in the swirling skirts and joyous laughter of the crowd that I do not notice the man that had joined the dancers on the other side.

Passing from partner to partner, I keep a fake smile plastered on my face and absentmindedly nod with everything that is said to me.

“It has been a long time, my love.”

My eyes snap up to focus on the man whose arms I have just been passed into, and my heart stops inside of my chest.  “James?” I breathe out.  My eyes well up with tears just at the sight of his loving face, his sea blue eyes sparkling in the bright light of the ballroom.  “James, is it really you?”

His smile is almost blinding, and I realize that his own eyes are glassy as well.  “It is me, my princess.  Or should I say, my queen?”  Despite the rest of the people around us switching partners, he refuses to let me go, his hand tight on my hip and the other holding my hand firm.  “I saw your coronation this morning.  You looked radiant.  You still do, my dearest…”

I barely notice the world around me as I watch his tongue flick out between his teeth to wet his chapped lips.  “You were there?”

“Of course I was,” he chuckles, his large hand squeezing my hip.  “Do you really believe that I could ever even risk missing your coronation, sweetheart?”  Feeling the crowd’s stares, he leans in a little.  “Meet me in the garden in a few moments.  By the gazebo.”

Twirling in time with the music, my heart sinks as I am passed to the next partner and the next.  My hands are trembling with the fear that he could disappear again.  Logically, I know that he won’t.  But after spending so many years away from him…

“Go,” Steven says after I finally break away at the end of the dance.  “He is waiting for you.”

I don’t need to be told twice.  As I make my way to the corridor to slip out to the gardens, I have to reassure several servants that I am alright, but just escaping for a fresh breath of air.

The gazebo he told me to meet him at is further back in the garden, out of view from any of the palace windows.  His dark figure stands at one of the railings, looking out at the ocean.  The necklace around my neck burns as I take a moment to look at him, really look at him.  His hair is longer than it was when he left, and stubble lines his face.

Did he shave just for me?

I like the thought of him preparing to see me, nervously checking his appearance in the mirror.  Perhaps he bought a new jacket and waistcoat in his excitement.

“James?”

He turns to look at me immediately, a smile brightening his face, and I feel as though I am a teenager again, fresh with the feelings of love and adoration.  “My dearest…”  He does not waste any time as he pulls me close, his lips slotting against mine and his hands roaming over my body.  “I have missed you…  I have dreamt of you each night.”

And I know that anyone could come out and see us at any moment.  And I know that the gossip would run rampant and the possible alliance with Prince Quentin’s kingdom could crumble.

But I do not care.

I have been craving his touch for years, praying to the gods he would come home and hold me just as he is doing now.

“I need you.  I need you, James,” I say as my hands tug at his jacket and push it off his shoulders, going for his waistcoat next.

Thankfully, he does not argue.  “You’ve dreamt of this as much as me,” he says in relief as he unties my corset enough to tug it down to reveal my chest to him.  James chuckles as he catches his letter as it falls.  “You kept this so close to your heart, my love.”  Seeing the letter only makes him more ravenous, his lips attaching to my neck as he works his breeches down.

Pain runs through me as he sits and pulls me on top of him, finally joining our bodies together, but I don’t take the time to care.  The glory of finally being with him is far greater than any pain I could ever feel.

We are so tangled that you cannot tell where one of us ends and the other begins as he moves me, taking his pleasure and granting me my own.

“You’re mine,” he growls, nipping at my neck.  “That sorry excuse for a prince thought he could touch you.  Thought he would ever be worthy enough for you.”

It suddenly occurs to me that his arrival and Prince Quentin’s disappearance were correlated, and I see a drop of blood on his white undershirt.

It tears a moan from my throat.

The knowledge that a man as powerful, as strong, as my knight would protect me in such a dangerous manner, so desperately, sends a jolt down my spine.  The fact that he is willing to go to the ends of the earth, to commit such a sin…

It is delicious.

The dagger he must have used glints in the low light of the moon as it rests on the stone floor, having fallen from his breeches when they’d been torn down.  The sharp edge is crusted with a dark red, almost brown substance.

“I am all yours.  I have always been yours, my knight,” I say as my fingers tangle in his hair and pull, our lips locking.  “I love you.  I love you so.  I cannot breathe without you.”

“I am never leaving you again.  Never.”  His teeth grab onto my lower lip as he picks up the pace, grinning as he glances down to watch my body.  “Fuck…  It’s even better than I dreamed of.  I love you so much, my queen.”

My release is fast and hard, knocking the breath out of my lungs as I cling to him, my nails scratching at his back and creating a rip in his shirt.  “JAMES!”

James is quick to follow, his hips jerking as he reaches his peak and spills inside of me.  “Perhaps you will become heavy with my child,” he whispers as he steals another kiss, tenderly fixing my dress before helping me stand and dressing himself.  “Perhaps we will have a little prince or princess on the way.”

“Well…”  A smile spreads over my face as I cup his cheeks, running my fingers over the dark stubble.  He would look so delectable with a beard.  “In case you have not been informed, I have been made queen…  And I decree that you are to be my king.”

A laugh bubbles in his chest as he pulls me close once more, dipping me low and kissing me something fierce.  “Your wish is my command, my dearest.”

[pascalpanic]

Popping Pearls and Purple Skies (Din Djarin x f!reader)

Summary: While in your home system, Din takes you to your home planet for your favorite treat.

W/C: 3.6k

Warnings: food mention, Star Wars cursing lol, mentions of physical fighting, mentions of trauma

A/N: okay. this was inspired by me thinking Grogu would love popping boba bc he loved the frog lady’s eggs so much!! I hope I did it okay :) Siruus, reader’s home planet, is supposed to be a mishmash of cultures, none specifically, I just picked cool elements from a variety of cultures!

One of the delights you missed most from your home planet was, you discovered, practically unattainable on any other planet. You’d scoured far and wide, hoping maybe you’d cross paths with another Siruusian or an admirer of the culture, but found nothing. It was only on Siruus that you could find your favorite drink: a milky tea with popping pearls.

Din knows you miss your home. Late at night, in the hull of the ship, he’d confide that he missed his home planet too. He told you tales of growing up in Aq Vetina, the feather-light and velvety robes that he wore every day, the spicy foods his mother would cook- which later made him a great Mandalorian.

Did you know that the Mandos love spicy food, cyare? We have a whole vocabulary to describe the heat of a dish. It’s traditional. I was raised on it, and the comfort of a burning mouth was a universal sensation: one that reminded me of my real parents and my adoptive clan.

Rarely did the Mandalorian man let his guard down, but never had he completely done so like he has with you. From the moment he hired you to care for his little green son, he’d been entranced by your laughter, the smooth sound of your voice in the language you’d been raised speaking. He caught you teaching the kid some vocabulary, and he’d quiz him on it when you weren’t around. The kid couldn’t speak yet, but he could point and match words to images or objects, which he attributed entirely to you. You were the child’s primary caretaker and kindergarten teacher in one, and Din admired your care and commitment.

Something about you spoke to him, and over time he thinks he came to realize it was the fact that, though you’d never heard of The Way before meeting Din, you were the holistic ideal of a Mandalorian. You valued knowledge and valor, and though you didn’t work in the traditional Mando fields of bounty hunting or working as a warrior, you embodied another aspect: that care for children.

Watching you with the kid was what made him realize he was in love with you. He’d told you everything. When you looked over your shoulder and laughed, the baby watching you too, the gaze was a love Din has never felt but immediately recognized. It hit him and his whole body shuddered, harder than it had when the Maldo Kreis cold had seeped into his bones, even through the beskar. At the same time, he felt too warm in his own skin, like the fever he’d had as a toddler that threatened his life- he’d told you that story too.  Dank Farrik. This was not in the plan.

You had told Din all about your home planet too. You told him of the bright flowers that bloomed in the cold of winter, that released a pollen that made the birds in the area start laying their eggs. He listened intently every time, clinging to every word he told you like he’d never hear that beautiful voice again. He’d hear you singing Siruusian lullabies to the baby, and on nights you missed home.

He’d offered to take you back many times. Any time you were near, there was a standing offer to pop in for a visit. But you’ve always declined; the child and Mando would bring too much attention to your quiet little planet, you explained. That was only partially true, so you didn’t feel as bad lying by omission to Din. You’d neglected to mention, every time, that this was your life now, and more specifically that you never want to leave his side again.

Din really is something. You’d never even heard of Mandalorians before he swept you off your planet, never understood the intricate Creed and their strong beliefs. It didn’t matter to you, that you couldn’t see his face; at least at first. Of course you’d respect the slightly terrifying man’s customs.

But over time you’ve fallen for him, and that’s made everything just a little harder. The man seemingly made of steel was warm and gentle beneath it, with you and the child. He’d wrangle a bounty into the carbonite freezer then tenderly tuck a flower he found behind your ear, calling you sweet names in Mando’a that you didn’t understand. The juxtaposition of the man’s very being- covered in impenetrable, freezing metal to hide an ooey-gooey center like that of a warm pastry- was exciting and beautiful to you.

How could you not fall in love? The three of you became a little family, even as you joined Din on the quest of returning your little green son to his people. You’d treated the baby as your own son, the way Din did too. You’d tried to shepherd him away from the Frog woman’s eggs, only to find him munching on them moments later, scolded him with love and promptly hidden the container.

That day made you miss home even more. The eggs reminded you of the popping pearls you loved so much- no wonder the kid loved them. You’d never eat the Frog’s eggs, of course, but you’d sung the baby to sleep that night in the hull of the ship, another lullaby from your youth. Maybe next time you’d take Din’s offer to visit home seriously. Maybe. There was still another reason you didn’t want to return: if you came home, you weren’t sure you could leave again.

Now you’re in hyperspace, nestled into the small bunk, your child snoozing softly above you with gentle grunts and snorts of sleep. Din is up in the cockpit and you can’t sleep. You wonder if he’s awake too. Maybe you’ll go check.

Sliding on warm slippers to pad your bare feet from the cold metal of the floor, you climb the ladder to the cockpit and see Din sitting in the captain’s chair. You’re unsure if he’s awake or not; it’s hard to tell through the beskar. His shoulders shift a little as he hears you moving and you can tell he’s awake. “Hi. Couldn’t sleep,” you admit as you assume your regular position. The chairs move with the pull of a lever, and you scoot yours closer to Din and prop your feet on his arm rest.

Din nods, resting against the chair. “Me neither. The kid?”

“Asleep,” you confirm and nod, slumping down in your seat.

It’s nice and quiet between the two of you, a relaxed silence as the stars fly past and the Crest hums its low rumble of engines and filters. Just being in his presence soothes you more than being alone in that coffin of a bunk. If you think this is calming, you ponder, just his presence, imagine his arms around you while you sleep. Imagine his warm skin beneath the beskar surrounding you and radiating heat.

He’s thinking the same thing. You look impossibly soft and warm. Your plush skin prickles with the cold of the cockpit and Din wants to put an ungloved hand over it and let the heat of his flushed body sink into yours. He doesn’t. He just stares off at the stars. “We’re approaching your home system,” he murmurs softly. “Would you like to visit?”

Well damn. You hadn’t expected to be confronted with the question so soon, and you’re not quite sure how to answer. “I don’t know.”

It’s quiet again. Din’s silence invites you to speak your inner monologue, to throw your tangled thoughts into the open so he can help unknot them with his nimble mind. In response to his lack of words, which say as much as any sentence, you respond. “I haven’t been there in so long. I don’t know if I want to go back. I like my life now, and I’m scared I’ll want to stay if we visit.”

Din nods as you speak, processing the meanings of your words. “Well,” he begins, “what if I rephrase it like this: would you like us to visit?”

Us. What the kriff does that entail? The three of you, your little family, perhaps? You and Din as friends, as coworkers? Or as something more… your mind spins and you can’t make sense of it, so you give it up. “What does that mean?”

Din turns his chair to face you, moving your legs to drape across his lap. Even through the gloves, he holds back a shiver as he rests his hands atop your shins. “We’ll go, all three of us. If you like your life now, we’ll be your reminders of it.”

Your mouth curves into a warm smile, your body feeling soft and fuzzy all over. “How kind.”

“I’ll even buy you that tea you ramble about,” he offers.

Gasping in excitement, you clap your hands together. “Will you try it? Oh, Din, you’ll love it, it’s the most delicious thing in the galaxy.”

“We’ll see about that,” he chuckles through the modulator, a sound you wish you could hear without the mechanical suppressor.

Popping up, you kiss the top of his beskar-clad head in excitement before you can stop yourself. “Thank you, Din.”

“Anything for you, cyare,” he says with a certain warmth to his voice, a large hand finding your waist. “Go get some rest, lie down. We’ll be there in about half a day.”

“Only if you rest too,” you tell him and your hand rests over his. It’s the most he’s ever touched you purposefully, and now all you want is for him to slide that hand back until he’s wrapping you in his muscular arms. Din nods and you pat his forearm. “Sweet dreams.”

-

The ramp comes down and your mouth forms a soft ring in excitement. It’s a beautiful day, the nearest sun making the atmosphere the beautiful purple you grew up under. The oranges and yellows of the architecture surround you, and you instinctively clutch the Mandalorian’s hand. “Welcome to my home,” you tell him with a grin and lead him down.

Your little green child is strapped to your chest in a baby carrier, a birikad in Mando’a, and he looks around in wonder, squealing excitedly. As you walk through the streets of the small city, vendors call in Siruusian, a language Din is slowly learning from you. He thinks he recognizes a few words here or there.

Venturing to the side, a stall sells small animals made of a gorgeously embroidered fabric. You had many of these as a child; your favorite was a blue and silver bantha, an exotic animal you’d never seen before your adventures with Din. The child coos at the menagerie in front of him and you squat so he can look at them.

“Toata,” you coo in Siruusian, a word to mean little one, “can you pick the frog?”

That’s one of the words you worked on with him. A tiny, green, three-fingered hand grabs a gorgeous yellowy-brown frog and holds it up in triumph. “Good job, cutie! Aren’t you a smart little thing?” you grin and kiss his forehead. “Is that the one you want?”

Din watches from a few meters back, grinning beneath the helmet. When the child nods excitedly and squeals, he almost laughs softly at the beautiful sight. You pay for the frog and Din meanders over, the baby already chewing on a long leg of the plush.

He wants to see you like that for the rest of his life: glowing with excitement, the little kid strapped to your chest, absolutely at ease and relaxed in the place you used to call home. “You want one too?” you ask.

He shakes his head at first, but after a little haggling, Din purchases himself a copper and yellow blurrg and a mudhorn made of silver for you. The symbolism of the mudhorn, of Clan Djarin, is not lost on you. It makes your heart flit nervously around your ribcage as you wander through the market, making your little mudhorn and the baby’s frog pretend to fight. As always, the littlest member of Clan Djarin triumphs over the mighty mudhorn.

An aromatic smell wafts through the air and your face lights up to see a stand selling your favorite beverage. Din spots it too and makes his way over, getting in the line, his hand holding yours once again. This time, he initiated it. You like that. It makes you giggle and squeeze his fingers softly.

“What do you usually order?” he asks you.

You frown and scan the menu. You explain your drink to him, an orange-colored, sweet and herbal milk tea with your favorite citrusy popping pearls in the bottom. He asks what you think he’d like and you pick a drink for him: a blue, warmly-spiced milk tea with the same pearls. “It’s not the proper drink without it,” you explain.

Picking the baby from his carrier to face you, you ask him questions by the process of elimination. “Okay, toata, do you like… mushfruit?” He makes a noise of disproval. You knew he hated that one; you wanted to ensure he was listening. “No? How about…” you pretend to ponder it. “How about panga?”

The baby squeals in excitement. The green fruit has always been his favorite when you and Din require him to eat his fruit. “Wonderful, and a panga milk tea with you. Do you remember froggie’s eggs?” You ask him, pointing to the frog toy he holds. He tilts his head in confusion.

“The snackies I said no?” That clue does it. He nods, cooing and giggling. “These taste like those! You’ll love it.”

The rest of the time in the line is quiet, shuffling forward slowly to reach the stand. “Is it what you’d hoped?” Din asks after a while.

You nod and smile. “As soon as I get my tea, it will be.”

“And you… you don’t want to stay?”

“Nope,” you agree, popping the p with your lips.

He doesn’t know quite what to say. He’s not the wordsmith you are. “Well. I’m glad. I, uh. I’d miss you if you left.”

The words are simple but they warm your heart. “I’d miss the two of you far too much to leave,” you assure him. “For different reasons, respectively.”

Your flirtation is more than mild, but it hangs in Din’s mouth like a spicy Mandalorian food. He knows what you imply, and the thought that you could feel the same practically sends him into orbit, above Siruus’s atmosphere and next to one of its 4 moons. He can’t respond. He just tightens his grip on your hand.

Once you’ve acquired the drinks, Din holding his and the child’s, the three of you make your way back to the Razor Crest so Din can enjoy the drink too. Walking up the ramp, you sigh as the air-controlled atmosphere warms your slightly-chilled skin from being outside for so long in the Siruusian spring.

You unpack the kid from his carrier, and grin as he toddles to his father, making grabby hands for his green drink. “Oh my, toata,” you tease. “Your drink is the same color as you!”

Din laughs softly, and sets the drink on the floor for him. The baby tries to hold it and walk but the cup is too tall to move with his tiny body. You lift it for him and move it so he can sit in a circle with you and Din, cross-legged on the floor.

The baby plops down in front of his drink then realizes it’s too tall for him to sip from the thick straw while seated. The baby makes a little whine of frustration and you scoop up the kid, putting him in your lap. You hold the cup for him, and his two tiny hands grab the straw to drink from. The baby squeaks as he pops a pearl in his mouth. It’s just like the froggy eggs, and he couldn’t be more excited.

Your free hand holds your drink, and you close your eyes in happiness when the first sip of your tea reaches your tongue. You make a content little moan at the flavor, then open your eyes to see the child vigorously slurping up the drink. “Woah, little man. Slow down.”

Din just watches the two of you, smiling to himself. When your eyes return to him, he lifts his drink. “I’m not really supposed to do this,” he admits as he grabs the edge of his helmet. Both you and the child watch in bewilderment as he lifts his helmet just enough to expose the bottom of his nose, his lips and chin.

You’d never really processed that Din would be… well, so human. The strip of his face, exposed, reveals warm skin, dark stubble, and lips that look ridiculously soft. It’s a sight to see, a Mandalorian cross-legged on the floor and sipping tea with popping pearls. It makes you grin, and both you and the baby lean in closer to try and look under the helmet further.

“That’s as much as you get,” Din teases as he lowers the helmet, once more covering his entire face.

You frown, but the excitement of Din trying your favorite treat overwhelms it for now. “What do you think?” You ask.

Din tilts his head and does exactly that: thinks. “It’s very good,” he nods as he looks at the child, nearly halfway done with his green milk-tea. “I really like it. That’s delicious.”

“Yay,” you smile and sip your own drink again, sighing. The three of you continue like that for a while, sitting together and drinking your tea. Every time he lifts his helmet, you consider those plush lips, the scruff coating his defined jaw and chin. When his tea is gone, you frown to realize the moment of intimacy, of seeing just a little of his face, is over.

The kid is tuckered out from his day. You put the baby to bed in his hammock over the bunk, kissing him goodnight and singing him a lullaby as you rock the knit cradle. He falls asleep quickly,  tummy full of a delicious treat very similar to his favorite snack. While you put the child to bed, Din pilots you safely out of the sky harbor and away from Siruus, out of the purple-tinted sky and back into the darkness of space followed by hyperdrive.

You climb up to the cockpit, entering and standing behind Din’s captain chair. “I had a wonderful time today. Thank you.” You put your hands on his pauldron-covered shoulders.

“Thank you,” he insists. “I’d never go there for any other reason. The drink was wonderful and the kid absolutely loved everything about it.” “Maybe we’ll have to vacation there sometime,” you chuckle, spotting Din’s little toy blurrg peeking out from a pocket on his utility belt.

Din turns and stands from his chair, looking at you through that black t-visor. You’re not sure why he does it; in all honesty, he isn’t either. You stare into the helmet, where you suspect and hope his eyes are. “You’re very handsome under there,” you tell him, putting a hand on the divot of his helmet, where the beskar caves inward over his cheeks.

“I’m nothing special,” he shakes his head, a hand covering yours. “Nowhere as special or as beautiful as you.”

Heat rises in your skin, blood flowing closer to the surface. “That’s not true, Din.”

“It is. You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve seen in the galaxy,” he murmurs, his other hand cupping your cheek through leather gloves.

“Well, thank you,” you laugh softly, almost nervously, “but I meant you’re very special. I haven’t even seen all of your face and I know you’re absolutely gorgeous beneath that helmet.” You pause, tracing the curves of the beskar. “What color eyes do you have? I want to finish the mental picture.”

��Brown,” Din breathes out, barely able to control himself with you this close.

“Din?”

“Mesh’la.”

“Can… can you do what you did with your helmet to drink the tea?”

He lifts it just enough, just exposing those goddamn taunting lips and the scruffy jaw. “Like this?”

“Exactly,” you exhale before cupping his soft jaw, feeling the stubble beneath your palms as you press your lips to his. Those lips are a little dry but warm and strong, just like you’d assume the rest of him is. He puts a hand on your waist and pulls you in close, kissing you back deeply.

The beskar right above his lips makes it more difficult but not impossible. He lifts the helmet a little higher so he can tilt his head to the side, can kiss you with the energy and passion you’re putting into it. Mentally, he adds this to his lists of favorite tastes: spicy Mandalorian cuisine, your favorite tea with popping pearls, and you.

It lasts a while before you break away and Din lowers his helmet all the way once more. You breathe heavily from the fervor of the kiss, lips swollen and damp. Maker, he wishes this visor had a photo capability to take a picture of the way you look. “Come rest with me. Please, Din.”

Din can’t say no to that. He retreats downstairs with you, strips himself of the beskar save for the helmet, and snuggles into your side. Your wish comes true then and there, when you learn that he’s as good of a cuddler as you’d hoped. “Goodnight, Din. Thank you,” you murmur.

“Goodnight, mesh’la. Thank you more.”

The baby above you gives a little snort in his sleep. That’s the last thing you remember before falling asleep in his arms.

-

Taglist: @remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles @1800-fight-me

[burnedbyshoto]

I wanted to make myself like the ravine

— There are plenty of things that Hawks knows about, but there are few he knows none about. A journey of how Hawks navigates the meaning of the word love. 

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pairing: hawks (takami keigo) x fem!reader

warnings: recent manga spoilers, future!au, alcohol consumption, fem!reader

word count: 6,819

a/n: this is for the pocuties valentines day collab! rhank you for letting me join! inspired by the poem to the title of this fic!

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A G A P E

—

Hawks is one of the fastest men in the world.

It’s not a brag; it’s the truth.

A cold, hard, damning truth.

Hawks is a Pro Hero with the power, skill, and finesse required to take the fall for the entire country. He is someone who is loved by all, who thrives off of the appreciation and the cheers, but he knows — he understands — he’s expendable. He’s a tool—an object seconds from being put to rest.

There are many things that Hawks knows; he’s been training to be a hero since he was in his very childhood. Blindfolded, tested and conditioned to be the ideal hero, the perfect pawn.

Hawks is no idiot, and he will never deny that often times that he isn’t sure what he is feeling.

Emotions are weird for him. Feelings are oversimplified in everything he was taught, yet disgustingly really and oddly interfering the second he had set foot into the spotlight. He was used to the cold, the people who would view him as a specimen, experiment 20493, codenamed: Fierce Winged Hawks. The only emotions he understood was apathy, seriousness, anger, resentment, bitterness, disappointment, and relief. When finally, finally, the Hero Commission broke his wings, his spine, and his mind, the small boy so eager to be a Hero ultimately nothing but a soldier, ready to follow commands to the T.

Hawks has only heard of love from the blurry, unclear memories of his childhood. His mother muttering how she had no love for him to be taking care of him as he did, or his father saying he could never love him. Love was foreign, strange, alien to him. Even when he was eighteen and finally given a bit of freedom from the chains the Hero Commission bound him in was expressed out of love. But he was put into the cage that granted him the ability to spread his stiff wings; love made no sense.

He saw lovers making out in alleyways, and he furrowed his eyebrows, wondering just why anyone would want to kiss in the smelly, dark, virus-infected areas. He saw his colleagues come in looking dazed, refreshed, reborn, yelling loudly, and singing poetry about their love for some other person they met just yesterday. He also couldn’t ignore the days, weeks, months later when they would rearrive with red-rimmed eyes, swollen eyes, and a tremor to their voice.

Love seemed… awful to Hawks.

Love was a deception of brain chemicals. Nothing more than your mind bending, flipping, and twisting to make something that made absolutely no sense make sense. 

Hawks had expressed that one day to a sidekick of his, his barriers and walls crumbling away because he had been on a stakeout for five days straight now. The world that could never keep up with him was numbing his brain.

“Well, that’s romantic and flirtatious love for ya,” his sidekick explained with a halfhearted shrug. It seemed that he both agreed and disagreed with what Hawks had to say. “They’re amazing loves, don’t get it wrong, and they definitely don’t make sense, but they’re loves not meant to last.”

Hawks blinked.

“What?”

His sidekick chuckled, hands rubbing at his eyes as he peered out the window again, his sullen eyes looking even more tired.

“Have you never learned the different types of love before, Hawks?” the sidekick teased as much as he was curious. “I figured a pro as popular and smart as you are would know the different types of love.”

Hawks feathers fluttered in his inability to keep his lack of knowledge to himself.

“I don’t.”

“Wow, finally something Hawks isn’t aware of!” the sidekick laughed, and his hand opened his phone, fingers hitting the screen before shoving the device into Hawks’ chest. “I’m sure you’ll find that you can understand at least one love.”

Hawks grabbed the phone, head cocking to the side in his curiosity as he scrolled down through the phone.

There were eight different types.

Eight different ones that he could have experienced within his then twenty-one years, and he found himself unable to look away from one.

Agape: universal, selfless love

“Hawks, they’re moving!” the sidekick squawked, and Hawks handed over the phone, and with nothing on his mind, burst out the window, ready to take down this organization.

Hawks had to admit that later that night, when he was finally able to sleep in his own bed, he felt selfless love. It was for the people of Japan. The many citizens who needed his help and the heroes of the country who rose to the demands of the job. Maybe it wasn’t the type of love depicted in anything he’s ever read or watched before, but that was okay. It was love.

The love he has for the citizens is enough to keep his head afloat.

This is the only love he needs in his life right now, the only love that matters.

But he’s no longer twenty-one, he’s twenty-five, and the wings on his back that feel practically invisible to him, are hurting. His back is in pain, his quirk almost gone, save for the smallest, insignificant feathers perching from the stumps of what was his beginnings of a wingspan. It still burns, phantom singes and phantom heat whenever he thinks about his nearly gone, never to be grown again, wings.

“Well, Hawks, you already know that this is going to happen,” comes the cold voice of one of the board members of the Hero Commission. A man who had practically raised (see managed) him. 

Today was the end of Hawks life, more or less.

“AFO, Shigaraki Tomura, and the well-known former members of the League of Villains were finally stopped,” Hawks speaks with a nod. He knows, even though he could not be a soldier, he had been around to see the young UA students, Endeavors Interns, bring them to justice.

The biggest names of evil were dead, and Hawks already knew he was over.

To be fair, he was glad it was over.

But still, it hurt to hear the indifference in his voice, the apathy, the tedium.

“Operation: Fierce Wings - Hawks is officially over.”

“I could’ve figured that one out pretty easily,” Hawks jests, unable to show the way his heart twisted and withered under the knowledge that he was no longer a hero. His love, his agape, for the people were still there. Still, just as he recognized in his colleagues who were experiencing the different forms of love, it didn’t matter how much love you held for someone, something, for the innocent, helpless people…

Life takes, it destroys, and love doesn’t seem to have a chance.

“Thank you for your twenty years of service. I hope you find the freedom you had been looking for.”

P H I L A U T I A

It’s been a week.

Seven days, twenty-one hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds since Hawks was fired (see Honorably Discharged) as a Pro Hero.

Hawks has always felt that the world moved oh so slowly behind him. It had been his wish that heroes be able to relax, laze around because society had evolved enough that criminals knew better, were treated better, and could integrate into a truly peaceful society.

It had been his dream.

But right now, he was bored.

B o r e d.

“Fuck, I don’t care,” Hawks grumbled, face smooshing into a pillow as he watched the Netflix Series Bridgerton drone on the screen. “Dump his ass.”

His apartment, it was safe to say, was a mess. There were cups, bowls, plates, and chopsticks everywhere. His hair was ruffled, stringy, held back by a hair clip he had stolen from Miruko. His beard was nearly fully grown in, and there were bags under his eyes despite the fact he was sleeping for more hours of the day than staying awake. He was sore, tired, bored.

So bored.

He didn’t think being bored was going to suck this much, going to hurt him like this.

Fuck.

“Open the damn door, bird boy!” came a sharp scream and powerful kick from the front door.

Hawks glared at the door, the tiniest of feathers he had been able to regrow, trying to pathetically open the lock on the door. A sheen layer of sweat pushed against his forehead, and Hawks grunted, trying to lift the heavy lock.

BAM.

The door swung open, forcefully kicked open by none other than Pro Hero Miruko.

“Yo!” Miruko waved, lips pulled in a fierce grin as she entered through the broken doorway with nothing but a bag of unknown items. “I figured you were here!”

“...you broke my door,” Hawks pointed out, eyes narrowed as dust and destruction danced within the air.

“You took too long,” Miruko breezed, slamming her plastic bag on the kitchen island. “It’s a fucking rats nest in here, birdbrain; I thought you were somewhat organized?”

Hawks groaned loudly, sinking further into his couch as Miruko began reorganizing his kitchen area — dumping the dirty dishes into the sink and throwing things away in fast, practiced skill. “Life is too boring, and I’m too bored to do anything about all of the mess,” Hawks exaggerates partially, hand twisting and dancing as he speaks. “Thanks for cleaning up the mess.”

“I’m not cleaning up your damn mess, birdbrain,” Miruko barks out a laugh, her hands slamming against the now, somehow, clean surface. “I’m just making my life easier!”

Hawks looked over the top of the couch with a semi impressed, semi uncaring look and shrugged.

“You seem to have a great handle over those robot limbs now,” he points out.

Sure enough, Miruko had two bionic limbs, limbs that she had finally managed to work into a fighting career. After spending two years on the sideline, relearning how to walk and then fight, she was back on the field.

She was a hero again, despite it all, unlike him.

“Damn right, I’m amazing!” Miruko preened, chest puffed, and bunny tail wagging excitedly. “But anyway, I figured your dumbass would be depressed, so I brought you some shit.”

Hawks watched with a curious gaze as Miruko quickly hopped once from where she was in the kitchen to a place on his couch, landing on Hawks' legs unintentionally.

“OW!”

“Look at what Rumi brought you,” Miruko laughed, slapping Hawks on the back as he cradled his legs. “And yes, I just referred to myself in the third person, so shush.”

Hawks grumbled, lips in a half pout, half frown.

Taking the opaque bag from Miruko, Hawks pulled out the many items in the bag.

Carrots, a KFC gift card, Korean skincare products, a movie about Miruko’s recovery process, and a 1001 Things to Do (A Book on Finding Self Love).

Hawks stares at the book.

“The perfect items for a self-care, self-love spa day,” Miruko nods, once again slapping Hawks on the back. “Some old sidekick of yours told me that you don’t know what love is, so I figured that I would help teach you the most important one! Self-love! Truly the hardest one to master, in my opinion, but damn if it isn’t a good one.”

Hawks feels transfixed almost, unable to look away from the book as Miruko slaps him on the back yet again as she moves to leave. He hears her yelling about forwarding the bill to fix his door to her, her agency would pay for the damage, and how she’s off to train with some bunny hopping boy from UA.

Opening the book, Hawks looked at the number one thing to do on the book and sighed.

#1: Look in a mirror and name five things you LOVE about yourself.

Well, it’s not like he has anything better to do.

-

Hawks is on number thirteen (Stand at a bridge and scream into the void about the things you love at dusk) when he realizes that maybe… he doesn’t love himself. 

It is without saying that he loves people; agape, after all, is the only love type that made sense to him, but philautia, self-love, was way lost on him. Objectives 2 - 12 on the book were entertaining to do! They had Hawks going outside of his house much more than his week trapped indoors, and for the first time since the day his wings had been burnt off, his house was spotless.

But it was clear to Hawks that he didn’t feel love for himself.

Whenever he tried to convince himself that he should love himself, that there were terrific qualities in himself, he thought back to the dirty, burnt room. 

“I still gotta protect their happiness!” the phantom in his mind screamed, the broken sob collected in his throat.

Hawks shivered, unable to let himself recognize the pain and hurt in the phantom's eyes, or the way that he now wished he had never done that… why had he done that?

What a mess…

The small chirping of Hawks phone interrupts his morose thoughts. He looks at the screen, eyebrows raising in slight mirth and caution as none other than his former intern was currently calling him.

“Tsukuyomi-kun!” Hawks laughs into the receiver, the weight of his past for a moment forgotten. “How are ya?!”

“Hello, Hawks-sensei,” Tokoyami’s calm tone fills Hawks' ears. “I was calling because I have a request to make.”

“Name it,” Hawks spoke immediately, slouching against the cold bars of the bridge, eyes closing as he tried to relax. “You need a letter of rec or something?”

“Nothing of the sort, actually,” Tokoyami says. “We third-year students are graduating in a few days; I was inquiring if you would attend on my behalf.”

“Wow, Tsukuyomi-kun, no need to be so formal with me!” Hawks laughed delightedly, his hands carting through his feather-like hair, “I’d love to come and watch you guys graduate! Is it true that the finger-smashing boy is the valedictorian?”

“That would be false, Midoriya-kun has nothing on Yaoyorozu-san.”

“What a bummer, you’d think he’d be first after how he helped win the war for us, huh?”

“You’ll find that Yaoyorozu-san is highly gifted and undeterred by most things,” Tokoyami sighed. For a moment, Hawks chuckled at the melancholy tone to his old intern's voice. It sounded as if he had been striving with great difficulty to reach the highest marks as well. 

Hawks began speaking to his rather odd ex-intern with great curiosity with the blanket of the night surrounding him. His defenses and thoughts whittling away the more they spoke, the later it got in the morning.

“Ne, Tokoyami-kun, I have a question?”

“Concerning what?”

Hawks pauses, his brows furrowing as he looks up into the still dark sky, “Do you know how to love yourself?”

Silence.

Had it been anyone else, Hawks would have panicked at the lack of noise. Still, his already less than chatty intern typically took to not speaking much to begin with.

“Self-love is difficult,” Tokoyami finally spoke, his words slow, carefully chosen. “We humans are flawed; we all have demons. Most of the time, we only recognize and see our demons, oftentimes forgetting that being human also means being weak and at times immoral. Loving oneself is a hard task because we know ourselves better than any other. It’s a work in progress for everyone to love oneself, it's a type of love by the Ancient Greeks, but it’s not always everpresent. One must accept all flaws to love oneself, and remember that flaws don’t make you less, even if you believe otherwise.”

“...wow, I asked for a sentence answer, and you gave me a speech. Who would’ve known you were so in check with your emotions, Tokoyami!”

“You knew, I’ve already revealed this side of me before. You laughed last time too.”

Hawks finds himself home thirty minutes later, and he stares up at the ceiling, fingers drumming against his chest.

Self-love… it seems like an ever-evolving type of love, but it’s there. He knows that even if he has regrets and hardships and things he hates about himself, deep down, self-love exists and that it will exist. 

Patience.

Even the fastest man in the world could demonstrate patience.

L U D U S

“What can I get for ya?”

“I have no idea honestly, do you have any recommendations?”

Hawks could say with complete honesty that he felt entirely out of place.

He was at a local bar. The bar was semi-busy today. Most young adults dressed in an arrangement of clothes, each on a different level of soberness as they cheered to this and that. 

Why was he at a bar even though he was slightly uncomfortable? Well, you can blame #73 in the book for that.

(#73: Enter the first bar you find, order a drink, and flirt!)

“What type of liquor do you like? Hard or soft?”

Hawks blinked; he didn’t know.

“Hard?”

The bartender looked a bit unsure of him for a bit before nodding and turning his back to him.

Did hard liquor mean he was going to get an iced drink? He’s never consumed alcohol before.

“Here you go!” the bartender sang, slamming two shot glasses before him. “Two shots of Bacardi.”

“Oh, thank you?” Hawks tilted his head as a small cup of OJ was placed in front of him (“That’s your chaser,” the bartender had laughed). Bringing the small glass shot glass up, Hawks looked around at the throngs of people surrounding the bar and looked at you. You were cheering loudly as you raised your own shot glass in the air with a whoop and, in a fast, fluid motion, brought the shot glass to your mouth and took the liquid down easily. Hawks was definitely unimpressed now; that looked entirely too easy. “Here we go, cheers to me.”

Imitating your own actions, Hawks shot back the liquid in his shot glass, and immediately his entire body tensed.

EW.

NO.

EW.

OH GOD, NO!

Spitting out the sour, bitter, disgusting — dear god, how do you even describe this taste?! — liquid, Hawks, chugged the OJ, his lungs and throat and tongue burning from the shot.

“That was disgusting!” Hawks spat to absolutely no one, his hands covering his mouth as he stared at the other awaiting shot of ‘Bacardi.’ “Why would anyone drink that?!”

“Only madmen drink Bacardi while sober,” a voice joined in on Hawks' one-sided conversation. “Or bitches who are self-sabotagers. Never trust a hoe who says Bacardi is their favorite drink.”

Hawks turned around to see you, the girl he had regrettably underestimated for taking the shot, smiling at him with a not entirely sober look to your face. 

“You look like neither. That and the way you took the shot obviously means that you had no idea what you were drinking.” Hawks continued to stare at you, completely perplexed by your casual conversation, the dress on your body that was twisted a bit, screaming wonders about your level of sobriety. You took to the empty barstool beside him with a grin and a calculating look, “You’re Hawks, right?”

“Yeah, Hawks,” he spoke, his tongue feeling weird in his mouth as he bowed stiffly in his chair. You were beautiful, fuck.

“I’m y/l/n, nice to meet you!” you speak easily, fingers grabbing at his other filled shot glass with a concerned look. “I have a feeling you shouldn’t try to take this other shot.”

“Dying of alcohol definitely isn’t in my vision of ways to go out,” Hawks grins. Pushing through his haze of awkwardness as you shift in the barstool so that you’re now facing him entirely, knees pressed to his thigh. “I’ve never actually drunk before?”

You inhale sharply, your eyes going wide as you break all levels of personal contact that’s acceptable of strangers in Japan and grab his cheeks.

“Alcohol virgin?!” you gasp, the sweet smell of some liquid drafting from your breath. “I’ll teach you everything that I know, don’t worry!”

You let go of his face, neck turning away from him, looking for the bartender to flag him down.

“Don’t you have—?”

“They can wait,” you wave at the bartender before turning back to Hawks with a confident grin on your face. “I have my favorite Pro Hero right beside me; I think they’ll understand.”

“Alright, what is it that I need to know?”

“My full name,” you breeze with a wink. “Y/l/n y/n.”

“A beautiful name.”

“I am a beautiful woman.”

Hawks chuckled good-naturedly, his head nodding in agreement, “I think we were talking about the alcohol, though, not your attraction as a female.”

“All in good time, all in good time,” you laugh, taking to the bartender and ordering two drinks, both of which were entirely foreign to Hawks.

Hawks would not consider himself to be an expert at flirting. He was attractive, a great conversationalist, and did have a type of edge to his words that often seemed playful or a warning, depending on how you looked at it. But it appeared that his natural way of speaking was more than enough to make him flirtatious enough to match the way you spoke to him.

You had introduced him to a single mixed drink, telling him that getting drunk by yourself at a bar typically wasn’t a smart thing, so keep to something with a low alcohol percentage. Just enough to make you loosen up, but not enough that you were incapable of getting home. Hawks liked the way your hand rested on his forearm. How you smiled and laughed at something to show your interest but not at everything to show that you weren’t faking your amusement at what he was saying.

You matched his every word, not backing down from his bluffs. Soon enough, Hawks felt his cheeks warm when he finally looked directly at your smiling face (he wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or not). 

Eventually, though, the night ended, and you shimmied off the bar stool as your friends had come to collect you to leave.

“Can I get your number?” you ask, eyes mostly entirely sober as you handed him your phone. “I know you were the man who was just a bit too fast, but I think I can handle that.”

Hawks snorts, his eyes rolling in his amusement, “That was horrible.”

“I’m drunk, I have an excuse!” you exclaim with a pout that quickly turns into a giddy smile as Hawks enters his number to your phone. “Don’t worry though, once I’m sober, I’ll flirt your eyebrows clean off!”

“That sounds painful!” Hawks yells as you wave goodbye, your arms linked with a line of other girls as you leave the bar with teasing laughter and undecipherable words.

It was with you that Hawks realized that he had come to find a new type of love.

Ludus, the love of flirtation and playfulness.

Damn, who would’ve known.

P H I L I A

Hawks was having a pretty bad day.

It wasn’t anything super terrible happening, all things considered. It was a lovely day out; the sun was warm, the sky so blue, and the birds chirping. Nothing on the news to be concerned about and all his precious people were safe.

But it was still a bad day because instead of being out and about with you, his now borderline best friend/girlfriend, who he was stupidly having a crush on, he was stuck at home.

Hawks was sick.

Deliriously, stuffy nose, goopy eyed, chapped lips, and feverish sick.

You: Are you sure you’re fine????

Hawks: Im perfectly okay. Ill go with you to the park next time sorry

You: Thats not what im concerned about stupid!!!!!

Hawks: Bye have fun!

You: I knoW YOURE SICK ASSHOLE

Hawks chuckled, rereading his messages with you.

Blowing his nose for what felt like the umpteenth time, Hawks resumed the movie on the screen that you had recommended him to watch — Disney’s Chicken Little — because it reminded you of him, or something like that. The TV droned on with the movie, and Hawks found it hard to keep focused as the Sandman danced on his head and whispered in his ear.

He hadn’t noticed he had fallen asleep until a loud banging was heard on his door.

Shuffling towards the door, Hawks opened the still slightly broken door with bleary eyes and a stuffy nose.

In front of him was none other than you.

You… with a basket full of things.

“Hi!” you greeted him, pushing past Hawks easily and walking into his apartment. “You look worse than I thought you would be!”

“That's hurtful,” Hawks pouted, closing the door behind you, sneezing, then following after you. “Why are you here? I thought you w-were — achoo — going to the park?”

“I was, but we were supposed to go together to check off number 184, and I wasn’t about to go alone to complete a list meant for you!” you exclaimed, dumping the overfilled basket on the kitchen counter.

“Mm,” Hawks hummed, his voice dry and cracking as he pulled the blanket closer around him. “What’s this?”

“A get well care basket,” you say in an unmistakable like tone; you glance at him, smiling widely, and gesture dramatically to the basket. “Follow along, if you can.”

“Pfft.”

“So first, I have some sleepytime tea; I swear to the gods and back that this tea will cure you and knock you the fuck out,” you say, pulling out the thing on top of the basket and putting it to the side. “Next, we have some tissues because you obviously need them.”

“Hey!”

Hawks watched through red-rimmed eyes as you carefully and thoroughly explained what and why you had brought him. Fuzzy socks, a blanket, his favorite snacks and drinks, medicine, DVD’s to more movies you told him he had to watch, an embarrassing childhood picture of you that he had been wanting and swore he would never expose least he wants to die, more oils for his diffuser, and a signed Endeavor poster he had been wanting.

Safe to say that after he had been drugged up, eating some soup and drinking some tea on the couch, wrapped up in the blanket you had bought him, laying between your legs, Hawks was feeling much, much better. It had been hours since Hawks had coughed or sneezed, and he was talking with you about how Disney movies were being produced less and getting sort of worse with each one. The movie titan slowly losing its ground.

“Okay, it’s almost eleven pm; I have work tomorrow, you are still sick, let's pack it up!” you eventually say during a moment of comfortable silence.

“I can’t believe you have to work,” Hawks sniffled, standing up off the couch so that you could get up. “Seems like a crime.”

“It’s not so bad! Being a celebrity PR manager is a million times easier than a hero PR manager. At least we can help decide what's seen!” you laugh, helping to clean up his living room of the bags of chips and drinks.

“Sure, sure,” Hawks grins, keeping the trashcan open for you so that you could place the trash in. “Thank you.”

Walking you towards the front door, Hawks comes to the sudden and almost alarming realization that he doesn’t want you to leave. He wants you to stay. He thought this was a friendship, and it was one, a good one at that! For about a month now, he had known that there was a type of love he had for you, one of friendship.

It was called philia. 

So why did he want to keep you wrapped up in a hug, to pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your forehead, to your cheek, to your lips?

“—I’ll be back tomorrow to check up on you during my lunch break,” you say, slipping on your shoes as you pull on your jacket. “If you need anything at all, call or text—”

The words on your tongue die immediately when Hawks still slightly chapped lips press against yours. The sick must that was present earlier on the day is no longer there, and you can feel heat and fire bursting from your cells as Hawks pulls away from you.

“I’m sorry,” Hawks breathes out, a small smile on his face, a daze in his eyes that tells you he definitely was not completely sorry. “I couldn’t resist anymore?”

“W-We will talk about that later!” your voice squeaks, your heart hammering in your throat because fucking Hawks kissed you. “If I-I get sick, I’ll rip out your eyebrows!”

“Will you go out with me? On a date?” Hawks continues on, leaning on the doorframe you’ve yet to pass.

“...I hate you, yes,” you warble, hands pressing against your burning face as Hawks grin grows.

“Perfect, I’ll text you,” he allows you to pass through the doorway where you feel both entirely light and giddy yet awkward and mechanical.

“Hawks, I swear, if your stupid kiss got me sick!”

“You’ll rip out my eyebrows,” Hawks laughs, waving a hand. “If you rip out my eyebrows, I demand a kiss for every hair you pluck out.”

He laughs at how he can basically see the heat rising from your ears as you squawk and run away.

Looking at #184 of his book, Hawks smiles as he crosses it out (#184: Ask out your crush!) and sighs. Philia was love between friends, but it was also, if he remembered correctly, one of affection. And it was without saying that he held a deep affection for you.

E R O S

As much as Hawks claimed he knew about the world, he was as clueless as a newborn baby when it came to the topic of love. Reasoning? Well, today marked a year of being together. It had been a year since Hawks had kissed you when he was snot-nosed kissed (you did get sick, by the way, and while you didn’t rip out his eyebrows, Hawks had kissed you plenty in apology), and then took you on a date where you went to a trampoline palace.

He was clumsily romantic. More often than not, he wasn’t actually romantic. Still, the sincere thought and emotions he put into it made his actions seem so thoughtful and sweet.

You’re not sure why you actually believed that on your year anniversary, he was going to plan something for the two of you. So the reaction he had when you showed up on the year anniversary, armed with a bouquet of flowers and a small personal gift for him, Hawks looked deeply confused.

“This is still not bad!” you exclaim, watching as Hawks attempts to redecorate his apartment from the messy bachelor vibe into something of romance. It was easier said than done, especially as your boyfriend had no decorations in his house that wasn’t fanboy or bird material.

“I didn’t realize that one year anniversaries were meant to be out and about!” Hawks yelled back, failing to nail the fairy lights onto the ceilings. “I knew you wanted to do something, but I thought it was going to be like ‘let’s go get some KFC!’ sort of thing!”

“Definitely not,” you laugh, sitting on his couch with the take out food sitting on the table. It had just arrived, and Hawks was still not accepting the lack of romance in his apartment. “But it’s okay, really Hawks! I didn’t tell you, which is entirely my fault! Come on, let's watch something together, eat, and relax!”

Hawks sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

He should have known that one year anniversaries were a big thing in dating too. They sure were in businesses; what a rookie mistake. Not satisfied with the lack of romance in his apartment but also unable to do anything more to it, Hawks sulked over to the couch and sat beside you, grabbing his dinner plate.

“Thanks, dove.”

“You’re most welcome, baby vulture. Thank you for the food!” you grin, breaking the chopsticks and digging in.

The food is eaten with a mirthful conversation, the TV playing the 100 Funniest Hero Fails playing on Youtube. Eventually, the purples and pinks of the sky became dark.

Night is here.

Hawks went from sitting right beside you to lying on the couch and having you snuggled into his stomach at some point in the night. YouTube is no longer playing Hero Compilation videos. Still, it is now instead showing a chef with a giraffe quirk demonstrating how to make your very own pancake treehouse, no clickbait!

Hawks is transfixed on you, watching the way your eyes sparkle and shine as you stare up at the screen, your lips moving as you give your side commentary, but he can’t hear a thing.

Five weeks ago, on this day, was the day that Hawks realized that the philia love he had for you had evolved once again. It had become one of eros. Romantic, passionate love. He loved you; he loves you. Anything you wanted or needed in the world, Hawks would do anything to give it to you. He had yet to tell you said realization; after all, he needed to make sure it wasn’t some fluke but found himself chickening out each time he wanted to confess.

Gliding his thumb against your cheekbone, Hawks stared adoringly at you, head tilted as you laughed at the video before glancing up at him. It was evident that you hadn’t been expecting him to be staring at you so intensely. As soon as you glanced back at the TV, you snapped right back, curiosity blazing off your gaze.

“What’s up?” you asked, hands pressing to his chest as you lift up a bit. “Do I have something on my face?”

“I love you,” Hawks whispered, the words coming out so much easier than he thought it would. “Y/l/n y/n, I love you.”

Your eyes widen significantly, your jaw dropping as your eyes grow just a bit watery.

Hawks smiles softly, knowing that for so long you had told him you loved him without a single moment where he returned the affection. It hadn’t bothered you. Obviously, you knew why he didn’t say it, but finally hearing him say it seemed to break you just a bit in the best of ways. He kisses you softly, fingers wiping away the single tear that fell.

“I love you,” he repeats.

“I love you too, Hawks,” you blubber, your smile so bright yet wobbling with your heartfelt emotions.

“Takami Keigo,” Hawks corrects. “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Hawks watches as you process his name, and a wet laugh bubbles from your throat as you nod your head, hands reaching behind his neck to pull him close for the first soul-consuming, fiery kiss of the night.

“I love you, Keigo.”

If this wasn’t eros, well, then, Hawks didn’t know what it was.

P R A G M A

two years later, valentines day

Keigo sits on the bed, fingers adjusting the tie around his neck as he stares at you doing your makeup in the bathroom. Your eyes intensely concentrated on your reflection as you painted dark red lips on yourself.

To sum up the last two years in a single, simple phrase, Keigo would say that love now made even less sense to him.

It wasn’t precisely that it made perfect sense before. Some days he still argued and wondered about how love could exist in specific scenarios. Or why, after you stole his final KFC chicken leg he was saving, he could always love you after such betrayal. It made no sense to him, but also made perfect sense, hence the complete confusion.

But it was without saying that as you twirled in your outfit in front of him, a grin plastered so large and lovingly on your features, that it made sense.

How could he not love when he had someone like you.

The walk to the restaurant was perfect; he had even taken a moment to slow dance with you when you came across some performers. Your sweet smile meant just for him made Keigo hum contently as he kissed you gently.

Dinner was amazing. The food rich and luscious, entirely to die for that had the both of you moaning about how great it was before laughing because the waitress definitely heard that. After dinner was over, you and Keigo were now waiting on desserts when he simply grabbed your left hand and slid a simple ring over a very important finger before placing a kiss on your palm.

“I know I was at one point too fast, and maybe I think I was too slow to ask this, but would you like to wake up and have chicken with me every day?” Keigo asked, watching as your face went through a million stages of understanding, processing, internalizing, accepting, and pure emotions.

The kiss was sloppy and wet, the tears streaming down your face beautifully, like diamonds in the dark sky.

It was today that Keigo unlocked the last love he ever thought he would have.

Pragma: committed, enduring love.

[crowtrinkets]

Loved, Past Tense

WARNING: LUCIO REVERSED ENDING SPOILERS

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Word Count: 2,123

The apprentice is now the devil, they have the undying love and admiration of Lucio. But they cannot help by miss Asra their friend. With their new-found knowledge and powers, they attempt to talk to Asra, confront him.

I was inspired after reading Lucio’s revered ending, plz don’t judge my attempt at angst too hard.

--

The click of Lucio’s boots exiting through the gate as he heads back to the mortal world echoes in my realm. That's right. My realm. I run my clawed hand along my throne admiring its handiwork. I wonder how many millennia the previous devil spent sitting here, waiting for entertainment. I do not desire to grow bored here all alone while Lucio makes conquests for Vesuvia in the name of the Devil. My name. Nadia fights back with her family in Prakra, I feel a slight tinge of remorse knowing she’s fighting so hard. I wish she would submit it would make things so much easier if my friends were on my side. Then there is the matter of Asra. My dear teacher, my friend, he left without so much as a goodbye. I wish he said goodbye. With a wave of my magic, an image appears before me. My shop, our shop. It looks like no one has been home in months. The dust building on the counter brings a frown to my face.

"I have to find him."

I will the image away placing my hands in my lap. I’ll have to meditate on this. Becoming the Devil gave me a vast knowledge of the unknown. Secrets I never knew as a mortal suddenly became common knowledge to me. I know about my past, all the details of it, Asra's deal with the Arcana. If I were not how I am now I may have lost my mind with the knowledge of my life before my death, but I’m stronger now. Asra and I share a heart, I can use my magic, my power to find him. It’s just a matter of if he will let me. Closing my eyes I reach out, with my magic or my newfound powers I cannot tell the difference. It seems they merged together. I find a thread and grab it, but it severs the minute I grab hold. Asra must have recognized me. I will find him. I lounge into my throne admiring the palace-like structure the devil created for this realm, it's a little vast for my taste but maybe I’m just used to my shop. No matter, I have other things to worry about.

—-

I stand out in the red fields, running my hand over a crater and filling it with water. I have found that Asra is partial to water magic. I have tracked his location without raising suspicions. It was all thanks to my creatures that Lucio is so fond of. I managed to find an item tethered to Julian and tracked him, being as they are traveling together, Asra as well. They’re in some far off desert town. Whatever they’re doing there I do not know, nor do I care, I just want to talk to Asra. I wave my hand over the water and concentrate on Julian's aura. He doesn’t use a lick of magic so he wouldn’t even notice my presence.

“Asra! Tubs free!” I hear the ring of a man's voice, Julian's, judging by the red hair poking underneath a towel as he walks out of view.

“Thank you, Julian, did you refill it?” Asra's voice.

“Ah I did, I hope the water is a good temperature?” I roll my eyes at the attempt of flirting. I hear Julian leave and the door close. Asra lets out a sigh, I hear the movement of fabric, as he removes his shirt. Asra approaches the tub reaching a hand towards the water, but stops when he sees my face staring back at him.

“Hello Asra,” is all I can muster to say. Asra stares stunned for a minute then starts.

“H-hello,” it seems he’s at a loss for words, rare for him.

“Why have you been hiding, why haven’t you visited me,” Asra’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“I don’t understand, why would I visit you? Do you know the carnage Lucio has laid waste to in Vesuvia?” His voice is in a harsh whisper, he doesn’t want the others to hear that he’s talking to me. No matter I do not care about them.

“Lucio is doing what I asked of him, those people don’t understand I’m doing them a service,” I continue to stare Asra down, my eyes refusing to leave his. He looks at me, his expression neutral but I can see behind his eyes. Fear, anger, sadness, I can feel it in our shared hearts.

“Allowing people to die? Raiding nearby territories? That's what you call service? What happened to you?” Asra grips the edges of the tub, disgust forming on his face. “Why did you leave us, back there, with the world turtle, you didn't even say anything, no goodbye….. No nothing,” I feel the taste of anger settle in my mouth.

“Why did you leave me!” I hiss, leaning close to the water. Asra takes a step back. “All those days you left on your journeys, leaving me to run the shop on my own, disappearing in the morning without so much as a goodbye?”

“You wouldn’t understand, MC-“

“Oh? Wouldn’t I?” I tap the water with a claw, allowing it to distort and ripple the image of Asra. I reach into the water and allow myself to be engulfed. For a second I don't see anything, then my eyes settle. I'm in the bathroom Asra is in. It’s small, wooden, there is a multitude of towels folded on shelves, countless bottles of soaps and scents on a table. A window behind me reveals a vast desert. I turn back and face Asra who looks up at me in horror.

“Do not be afraid Asra, I mean you no harm, I just want to know why,” he takes a step back, craning his neck up as I stand in the bathtub. I crouch down into the tub, sitting so my height is less intimidating. If I wanted to scare him I would’ve done it ages ago.

“I-I can’t tell you,” Asra avoids my eyes, looking to the floor instead, as he backs up and falls into a stool. He puts his head into his hands and lets out a sigh.

“I know, Asra,” he looks up at me. Before he starts I interrupt. “I know everything, I know about my death, how I died of the plague. How we were friends before… more than friends,” I pause allowing my words to take root. “Your deal, the reason my memories were wiped. I. Know. Everything.” I growl, gripping the edges of the tub, leaning forward to emphasize my words, my anger at his secrets. Asra gawks for a second, leaning his elbows on his knees before he starts.

“Then why bother asking if you know everything, I ran away for a reason, MC… To get away from you,” There's a hint of anger in his wavering voice.

“Then why leave, if you were so fond of me Asra, why did you not act on it, I have seen realities where you and I could have been together,” I can feel tears welling in my eyes, but I barely feel the sadness, it remains in the back of my mind, sitting behind a glass wall, visible but unreachable. “I loved you Asra... Loved,” Asra winces at confession.

“I should have been there for you,” his voice wavers, tears threatening to leave his eyes.

“Yes! You should have... You left the second before Countess Nadia came into our shop that night. Maybe you knew it was her, and you wanted to get rid of me... you were tired of taking care of me and you didn't have the courage to say anything,” Asra stands.

“No, no no that’s not what happened! I-I I couldn’t bear the thought of not being with you, holding you, calling you mine. W-when I would tell you of your past you would go into this catatonic state,” Asra’s voice begins to break. “I couldn’t bear to hurt you anymore so I had to let you go... B-but for you to end up with Lucio? Why would you do this to me… I loved you,”

“Lucio has shown me more love and dedication than you ever have!” I lurch forward sending the baths water over the edge.

“You call that love? Him blindly following you like a lost pup?” Asra tenses. I can see the mental battle going on in his mind. I can feel the way his heart pounds in his chest, as mine mimics his.

“Lucio stole my parents from me… I was so alone for years, having to fend for myself,” he places a hand on his chest, attempting bravado.

“Your parents brought that among themselves, they knew the terms of their deal with the devil and the took it,” I bark out, window-rattling behind me. “Lucio was doing what was asked of him by the devil, the fact that your parents even took the deal says a lot about them, about you,” Asra of all people should know that deals are not a one-sided project.

He reaches down and picks up the shirt he previously removed and grabs hold of the doorknob. At that moment I summon chains to grab hold of the knob and slam it close before Asra can make his way out. Asra flinches and stares at them, backing up and leaning against the wall, his stare shifts to me, cold and deadpanned.

“I may have forgiven Lucio for what he did to me, but that does not change his past! The things he did,”

“People can change Asra,” I say almost sing-song.

“You’ve changed… For the worst,” his voice shakes, his fists clench and I can feel his magic reach out, trying to find anything to fight me with.

“Oh yes Asra, I have changed,” I step out of the bath, one hoof at a time, sauntering towards to him, as though we were having a friendly conversation. Towering over him I can feel the fear creeping up inside him.

“But not for the worst. You and I, master, we’re similar.” Asra’s eyebrows furrow in confusion and anger. “You recreated me, for your own selfish means, why couldn’t you just let me stay dead? You wanted a weak, helpless follower. To worship you, love you and you got what you wanted,” I reach up towards Asra’s head.

“N-no that’s not what I wante-“ I grab him by his hair, angling him so he can look at me properly. He hisses in pain grabbing my wrist attempting to pull free. But my grip is too strong.

“And now that I’ve surpassed you, you can’t bear the thought. Your poor little Apprentice doesn’t need you anymore. So you run away, hide from your regrets, I will always know where you are, Asra,” I lift my hand, poking a claw into Asra’s chest right over his heart, not enough to break the skin, but enough to sting. His breath hitches when I make contact. “We share a heart remember? I know everything you’re feeling, I know you feel disgusted and fearful. But you even yearn for me. You can’t forget me,” I see a spark of magic forming in Asra’s hand, I summon chains to bind his hands above his head before he does.

“You’re no better than the last devil,” he chokes out through pained gasps. Tears fall from his face, but his expression remains full of anger. Hatred.

“Maybe, maybe not, but you can’t do anything to stop me. Killing the devil almost destroyed me. That’s why I had to become him, you could never do something like that… Lucio saved my life he aided in my ascension, you revived me to keep me to yourself,” I let go of Asra and back up towards to tub, keeping eye contact. Once again I feel tears threatening to fall from my eyes, but I do not feel sorrow. Asra on the other hand is crying. I feel his heartbreak, and mine as well but I am numb to the feeling.

“I-I hate you…” He means it.

“That may be so, but you still love me as well,” I step back into the tub.

“I HATE YOU!” Asra flings a bottle at my head but I am already sinking in the water, too fast for it to make contact. I hear a crash and then nothing.

I pull my head from the water, sitting up. I am back in my realm, sitting on the edge of the water. I look back down but there is no image, just the reflected red sky above me and my face, distorted by shadows. Something drops into the water causing it to ripple. I bring a hand to my face.

Tears.